Hello Goodbye

My despedida on Thursday night ended at 4:15AM, as I was spooned to sleep by my loving roommate. I had planned a quiet dinner party, but one thing (beers at Bar de Beto) led to another (body shots at Millenium), and who wants to go straight to bed when half a chocolate cake is sitting in the fridge, and biking in the night air is so lovely. I woke up to catch the boat 45 minutes later.

A friend asked what I would miss about the Galapagos, but the realization that I am changing places never strikes me until take-off. Then I pull out a pen and start making lists of things I look forward to in the new place. This is my process. As for the question, I never know what I miss 'til I'm gone.

I can tell you what I miss about Vancouver (big trees, biking home, drinking wine, crossing bridges at sunset), because the distillery of time has poured those elements into a glass for me. I have hunches about the Galapagos miss-list (siestas, wishing hearty buenos diases to the neighbours, yogurt-at-the-tienda days...) but I won't really know for weeks.

In short: Hello, Vancouver! Goodbye, Galapagos!

Have a happy week

Mom and I followed flutes when we were in Quito and found these dancers.

Little girls balancing bottles on their heads.

Older ones swinging hats and hands.

Don't they look happy?

No hablas español

Slimy Jaime is a bureaucrat with a gold finger hanging around his neck and a silver SUV streaked with black flames. When Heather and I are forced to share breathing space with him (in the interests of using Ingala's free internet) he does one of two things: makes sexual advances on us in front of our students or lashes out with mean comments.

Yesterday was a little of column A, a little of column B. Let me first explain that he speaks too fast and slurs his words. Combine this with the fact that I don't give a shit about what he has to say (Donde estan las otras gringas? Come look at these gross photos of my half-dressed teenage daughter. Eres muy guapa, sabes. Did you know I fly to San Cristobal every ten days? etc.), and you arrive at Disculpe? land, where I beg pardon after every question because I either don't understand or don't want to understand his inane articulations.

This annoyed him more than usual, so he lashed out. 

No hablas Español, no?

Umm, hablo un poco.

Pero, no bien. No hablas bien.

Por que me dices esto? No es muy simpatico decir esto a una amiga.

Pero tu amiga Heather habla mejor.

Ella ha estudiado por catorce años, y ella enseña español en los estados unidos.

No hablas Español. Necesitas praticar.

Go fuck yourself.

But it stung. Even coming from ridiculous Slimy Jaime, the words stung, and cued some first-child, Type-A personality guilt: I could have learned more in this time. I swam, and thought this. I biked to class, and thought this. I went to bed, and thought this. Then I woke up and remembered some truth: Criticism is a poor soil to grow in. I'm putting down the words Jaime gave me and walking away.