Mis queridos,
Things are picking up. I have no intention of flooding you with esoteric stories, but this weekend has been full of adventures that I thought you would all enjoy. The Spanish classes are going so well -- I am getting very confident speaking and the more confident I get, the better I get. Because I actually speak, so people correct me without feeling bad about it. A tip for any future language learners... I am also much busier, a fact which will soon become apparent. (FORESHADOWING!)
On Friday night I took my dinner break with the Ohioians at a famous restaurant called La Boca del Lobo: the mouth of the wolf. A brightly painted colonial style corner house enclosed by glass, with a tree growing right up the middle of it, right behind our long low table. Y que rico la comida!
On Saturday I caught a taxi to the kids' school, a French school called La Condamine, for Nicolas' final program. The theme was the history of Ecuadorian dance. The gym was stifling and crammed full of people, none of whom I knew, and the campus was covered with stalls of junk food and drinks, games and people selling their crafts and old stuff. I don't know what they did with the pet llamas, who normally graze in the yard, but I didn't see them in the crowds. I also met the president, and kissed him twice! He is a fascinating political figure, intensely hated and intensely adored by nationals and foreigners alike, with a pretty vivid socioeconomic divide. Based on my social class, I probably should not be a fan of him; but he is the president of my country of origin, and I kissed him. Twice.
We had some friends over for lunch in the afternoon, and after dessert I was sitting outside reading Harry Potter. Suddenly the neighbor's dogs appeared in the yard, two golden retrievers. One of them returned when he was called, but the other one was on the hunt. When I realized where he was headed I started yelling at him and running after him, but he had already snatched up one of the kittens in his mouth and ran off with it while I tried to hit him, to no avail. I will spare you the gory, traumatizing details, but the kitten died several minutes later. We buried him and drew pictures to stick on his grave.
Fortunately I had plans to go out with my coworker Marisabel that evening. She is 25 and divorced. I met her entire family in Calle La Ronda, in the Old Town. It used to be one of the most dangerous streets in the city, the red light district, but recently the mayor has put a lot of resources into making the city a little safer and it is now a well-lit, lively old road. We went with Papá and Mamá, Tío y Tía, Estefano her 5-year-old son and Jorge Luis her boyfriend, into a few little restaurants where we drank mora-flavored canelazo (blackberry sugar cane liquor) and ate fried empanadas with sugar, drank vino hervido or boiled wine and shared platters of meat and potato appetizers. I felt properly Ecuadorian, even though they all kept making fun of me for being drunk, which I was not, especially compared to Tío who kept pouring more vino and inviting guitarristas to play for us, and singing along very raucously. After La Ronda, we left Estefano with his abuelos and headed off to a karaoke. Marisabel and I did our makeup in the car, and it was, suprisingly, one of the best makeup jobs I have ever done. At the karaoke we met up with two other couples -- I was the seventh wheel, but didn't feel left out at all. The Ecuadorian style of hanging out with friends makes so much sense to me. We ordered a round of cerveza nacional, Pilsener's, and as we were finishing it up a fourth couple appeared, the guy calling out, "Oy hombres, a bottle of whiskey!" Everyone groaned, but it appeared and we slowly polished it off over the next few hours, singing raucously and dancing the night away. On our way out, we saw the parking guard sleeping on the stairs, all his tips spread out around him in careful piles. I slept in Estefano's bed that night, in Marisabel's beautiful departamento on the North side. In the morning, Jorge Luis appeared at the breakfast table blaming Marisabel for the gum in his hair.
Upon reaching home I found myself second-in-command of a storm of preparation for a 14-person trilingual dinner party. Some French friends from the school had their cousins and grandparents over from France, and we'd invited the whole brood over for a grill on Sunday afternoon, to the tiny 2-bedroom house in the middle of a fickle rainstorm. I took a break to race my cousin Nico along the path where our guests were apparently walking; we didn't meet them but reached home soaked, flushed, and happy. The six little boys immediately transformed themselves into a Crusading army, turned the floor black with mud, and disappeared into the trees, plastic swords clanging. After dinner someone put in "A Knight's Tale" in French, and Natalia and I spent the end of the afternoon getting hit on by the very rambunctious four-year-old Timoté. I think everyone was rather relieved when the whole bunch of them marched off into the gathering dusk.
Today I finally visited the downtown area with the student group, Ohio State + Clara -- we're getting closer, crammed on top of each other into a little yellow bus and adapting our growing inventory of in-jokes, slang terms, and personal historical accounts. At the center we climbed up onto the colonnade of el gobierno, the government building, looked down uncomfortably on a protest against the Honduras coup, bright green flags popping out of the mass of Ecuadorian flags and colorful indigenous dress. I have not toured the churches yet, though it is still higher on my list now that we have seen the outsides of some of them. There is something about churches...
My adventures continue, and I hope your summers are picking up as quickly as mine is. This email is in a better state now than it was when I started -- apparently as I get better at Spanish, my English deteriorates. Or maybe it's just bedtime...
Con mucho cariño,
Clarita
30 June 2009
23 June 2009
limbo #3: mi casa es tu casa
Dear all,
It's been three weeks but I did promise! And now it seems there's finally something to write about...
I have spent these weeks despairing a bit for my social life, which basically consisted of eating breakfast with this professor named Chad, who studied abroad here in 1993 and kept coming back! He is a very interesting and fun person to eat breakfast with, don't get me wrong, but he's 37 and spends all day in the archives. I also got food poisoning last week, which oddly enough made me feel more comfortable here. I guess I just needed a breaking in... I have visited some cool Ecuadorian culture museums, and an artisan's market, which I loved, but touring has been kind of a lonely activity so I started over on the Harry Potter series and found a used bookstore, and dove in to try and break my old records of reading 100+ books in a summer like I did all through elementary and middle school. Until instant messenger came out, I guess...
I found two Indian restaurants in the past week, a taste of home, and decided to start cooking for myself instead of eating out every day, so I walked to the grocery store yesterday and picked myself up some groceries -- a week or two's worth for only $10! A tiny bottle of sunscreen cost as much... But as I don't want to look like a sun-ripened potato chip when I get back in September, I decided it was probably worth it.
I am FINALLY getting the hang of my night receptionist job. The hotel has been fuller lately -- Lori laughed that I have a "buena espalda:" literally, "good back," or that I brought business when I came. At the beginning that was more bad than good, seeing as I had no idea how to do reservations or write up receipts, or answer any kind of questions about the area or on the phone, but it is getting better. I have met a cool Dutch couple that came through a few times, and last night around 11:30 this Australian guy hurriedly paid for a room to crash in so he wouldn't have to walk around the sketchy tourist district at night with a huge backpack on. He was a character, for sure. Today at breakfast he started us on a lively conversation about malaria and jungle illnesses by asking how he's supposed to take his malaria medicine with food when he can't eat it within two hours of ingesting calcium or iron. Chad said he avoids the medicine like the plague, and we decided that two gin and tonics a day (which apparently have enough quinine to prevent malaria?) and lots of bug spray are the better route to take. The other professors, Georgians, agreed laughingly.
The Ohio State students arrived this weekend, and today I sat in on my first Spanish class with a few of them. I am very happy to meet all of them and they seem like a solid group. At first most of them sidled around me nervously, until I joined a conversation through a kid in my level or just standing on the street, and somebody would ask "¿Y cómo te llamas?" Then they would all laugh and someone else would confide, "I thought you were Ecuadorian and I didn't want to speak Spanish!" I was, of course, delighted to hear that I had been mistaken for a native, but laughed and inevitably started a lively conversation with them. I was surprised, coming from St Olaf, that the boys outnumber the girls, but the group is small enough (17) that each of their personalities picks up its niche in the group, and it's always dynamic and interesting.
I spent the day with them, and as we waited in a telephone shop a mochilero (backpacker) approached me and asked what we are all doing here. We got into a conversation and as it turns out he's Irish, traveling with a buddy or two, learning Spanish and basically doing an Andean review. A week in Quito, a few weeks in other parts of Ecuador and then moving down through Peru and Chile, etc. Very interesting. As he walked away he waved, "¡Hasta luego!" and Dana said, "Ooh, he's cute!" She has invited me out already, and has her eye open for fun bars.
It took me awhile but I'm feeling more hopeful and starting to learn some useful things, about Spanish, sketchy equatorial parasites and diseases and about FARC, about working, about myself, and about life in general. I got my groove back. I also finally got resourceful and Facebooked a VERY old friend whose parents worked in the same missionary org as my parents and my grandparents, who I haven't seen in at least 10 years and possibly even 15. He is also in Quito this summer and though we may have only spoken 3-year-old Spanglish to each other he was enthusiastic about the idea to meet up, so that may also be an exciting blast from the past. Next on my agenda is to take some of the OSU girls to the artisan's market, and do a tour of the old town churches. I've heard they are spectacular, and I've always marveled at cathedrals and places of worship.
Also as promised, the link to the hotel's webpage, which has bits and pieces of my handiwork/penmanship scattered through it.
I think about all of you very often, and hope that your summers are going well.
Besitos,
Clarita
It's been three weeks but I did promise! And now it seems there's finally something to write about...
I have spent these weeks despairing a bit for my social life, which basically consisted of eating breakfast with this professor named Chad, who studied abroad here in 1993 and kept coming back! He is a very interesting and fun person to eat breakfast with, don't get me wrong, but he's 37 and spends all day in the archives. I also got food poisoning last week, which oddly enough made me feel more comfortable here. I guess I just needed a breaking in... I have visited some cool Ecuadorian culture museums, and an artisan's market, which I loved, but touring has been kind of a lonely activity so I started over on the Harry Potter series and found a used bookstore, and dove in to try and break my old records of reading 100+ books in a summer like I did all through elementary and middle school. Until instant messenger came out, I guess...
I found two Indian restaurants in the past week, a taste of home, and decided to start cooking for myself instead of eating out every day, so I walked to the grocery store yesterday and picked myself up some groceries -- a week or two's worth for only $10! A tiny bottle of sunscreen cost as much... But as I don't want to look like a sun-ripened potato chip when I get back in September, I decided it was probably worth it.
I am FINALLY getting the hang of my night receptionist job. The hotel has been fuller lately -- Lori laughed that I have a "buena espalda:" literally, "good back," or that I brought business when I came. At the beginning that was more bad than good, seeing as I had no idea how to do reservations or write up receipts, or answer any kind of questions about the area or on the phone, but it is getting better. I have met a cool Dutch couple that came through a few times, and last night around 11:30 this Australian guy hurriedly paid for a room to crash in so he wouldn't have to walk around the sketchy tourist district at night with a huge backpack on. He was a character, for sure. Today at breakfast he started us on a lively conversation about malaria and jungle illnesses by asking how he's supposed to take his malaria medicine with food when he can't eat it within two hours of ingesting calcium or iron. Chad said he avoids the medicine like the plague, and we decided that two gin and tonics a day (which apparently have enough quinine to prevent malaria?) and lots of bug spray are the better route to take. The other professors, Georgians, agreed laughingly.
The Ohio State students arrived this weekend, and today I sat in on my first Spanish class with a few of them. I am very happy to meet all of them and they seem like a solid group. At first most of them sidled around me nervously, until I joined a conversation through a kid in my level or just standing on the street, and somebody would ask "¿Y cómo te llamas?" Then they would all laugh and someone else would confide, "I thought you were Ecuadorian and I didn't want to speak Spanish!" I was, of course, delighted to hear that I had been mistaken for a native, but laughed and inevitably started a lively conversation with them. I was surprised, coming from St Olaf, that the boys outnumber the girls, but the group is small enough (17) that each of their personalities picks up its niche in the group, and it's always dynamic and interesting.
I spent the day with them, and as we waited in a telephone shop a mochilero (backpacker) approached me and asked what we are all doing here. We got into a conversation and as it turns out he's Irish, traveling with a buddy or two, learning Spanish and basically doing an Andean review. A week in Quito, a few weeks in other parts of Ecuador and then moving down through Peru and Chile, etc. Very interesting. As he walked away he waved, "¡Hasta luego!" and Dana said, "Ooh, he's cute!" She has invited me out already, and has her eye open for fun bars.
It took me awhile but I'm feeling more hopeful and starting to learn some useful things, about Spanish, sketchy equatorial parasites and diseases and about FARC, about working, about myself, and about life in general. I got my groove back. I also finally got resourceful and Facebooked a VERY old friend whose parents worked in the same missionary org as my parents and my grandparents, who I haven't seen in at least 10 years and possibly even 15. He is also in Quito this summer and though we may have only spoken 3-year-old Spanglish to each other he was enthusiastic about the idea to meet up, so that may also be an exciting blast from the past. Next on my agenda is to take some of the OSU girls to the artisan's market, and do a tour of the old town churches. I've heard they are spectacular, and I've always marveled at cathedrals and places of worship.
Also as promised, the link to the hotel's webpage, which has bits and pieces of my handiwork/penmanship scattered through it.
I think about all of you very often, and hope that your summers are going well.
Besitos,
Clarita
11 June 2009
limbo #2: son humanos todos
“Son humanos todos,” says Carlitos, the night guard. “Faltamos, pero trabajamos en equipo. Olvidó la alarma, dice, pero la salvé. Si ella falta, yo la salvo. Si los dos falta…” His hand slashes across his neck. “Nos necesitamos, uno al otro.”
This is something I have been needing to hear. We’re all human. We need each other. Someone has my back.
I called Mark to say that I was going out to grab some dinner before it got dark, and that I would try to be back within a half hour. He called back almost immediately to ask where I was going to eat. “If you want to join,” I offered, “I’ll meet you at the desk.”
We walk right up the street to Fonfone, the cutest café I have seen, with an open doorway full of books and salsa remixes of pop songs. I recommend the locro, a traditional potato soup with cheese and avocado. We talk about travelling, languages, culture shock, and rabble-rousing. The state of American education. The numerous species of hummingbirds in the Cloud Forest, about his daughters and my parents, what I will be doing three years from now. He is a biologist, I am a sociologist. We are both estadounidenses in Ecuador, faltando la comunicación, the nuances of interacting with people we meet on the street. We bond in our outsiderness.
And then the propiedora comes over and smiles, “¿Quieren cafés, algo, mi Corazon?” Yo soy su Corazon. Yo vivo aquí, en esta calle, y yo la conozco a esta mujer. She gives me a discount and a smile and we walk back to Casa Foch, the home amidst the discos. Chad and Carlitos stand in the foyer, teasing each other and talking about fútbol.
Today I dropped $10 on the street, and it was gone. Un militar appeared to help me look for it, but I knew it wasn’t worth it and tried to disappear quickly. Ten bucks is not much, but when I have challenged myself to spend no more than that each day, its loss is a thing to mourn. Yesterday I bought two things in the Mercado Artesanal, went to an art-history museum, and bought something for dinner on that allowance. Today I walked up and down Avenida Amazonas, dropped my allowance, and lost whatever energy I had to stay out on the street, stay confident and to walk with a purpose.
Then something pops, a rack of bright magazines in the entryway of a shop. A bookshop. My weakness and my strength. The clerks greet me, amused. ¿Una gringa buscando libros en español? ¡Claro que no! Pero sí, y encuentro a whole shelf of Paulo Coelho books, in Spanish. La propiedora approaches me and offers her help. I tell her I am just looking, but she points out the scant shelf of English novels, with special attention to the few Coelhos, and then asks, “Pero ¿hablas español?” For the first time since being here, I say yes with confidence, though I admit that it’s hard to read. “But it will be good for your Spanish!” she tells me in Spanish, and I know she’s right. “Especially Coelho, he’s simple but it will help your vocabulary.” And she pulls a book off the shelf. “Eso es un libro muy lindo.” I tell her I don’t have any money today and she invites me back anytime (even Saturday!) but warns me against trying to read Marquez. Even in English, he is not easy.
Chad and I share a passion for maracuyá, passion fruit. He goes to Supermaxi every day and comes back with random treasures, leaving bits and pieces of them on the desk for me. Yesterday it was a jar of Nutella, a tiny teacup of five-dollar wine to celebrate Ecuador’s victory over los argentines orgullosos; today another teacup, this time of the ten-dollar variety, and half a maracuyá! “I don’t have anything to eat it with,” he shrugs, laugh lines crinkling like Gramma Hazel’s. “You’ll have to use your hands…” I am in awe of it, and go in face-first, using my tongue as a straw. The little fingers lining the skin try to grab onto their fruit, in vain. It has been too long since I have tasted passion fruit. He shoots me a conspiratorial smile with the news that he requested fresh maracuyá juice for the breakfast.
We have taken to sharing breakfasts, talking about abstract things. That is where I get my intellectual fill: he tells me about his research, his days spent photographing old court records in the archives downtown. Today we talked about religion, the reasons we step inside of churches that have little to do directly with our faith, or lack thereof. Whether it is possible for God and suffering and compassion to all coexist. Why it can be wearisome to live in Ecuador, wearisome to be alive; why we close ourselves off to our fellows and discriminate against them when, as Carlitos says, “Son humanos todos.”
It gets harder to find kind people as you age, says Juan Miguel. He has been betrayed and cheated too many times. He knows the walls that people put up, he has seen and felt the things we do to hurt each other. And yet he also is aware of our capacity to love. In fact he is in possession of great stores of it. He sees my face brighten up when he invites me for lunch, or un cafecito, when I tell stories about my mom and the way she runs our house. When Nicolas and I chase each other around the yard for hours on end, when Natalia comes home and picks up a sword to join us. When she calls home from a friend’s house to say goodnight, especially to her little brother. When I saunter into the hotel, taking off my shades and baring my wares, and when I finish my sandwich when he still has half of his left. When Lori asks him to do something around the house. When he tells me about photographing my cousin Alex. He can snap, and be weary with the world, but he knows son todos humanos. He knows we need each other and that we have the capacity to be good to each other.
Sometimes, it is a matter of what we need to see in this moment.
This is something I have been needing to hear. We’re all human. We need each other. Someone has my back.
I called Mark to say that I was going out to grab some dinner before it got dark, and that I would try to be back within a half hour. He called back almost immediately to ask where I was going to eat. “If you want to join,” I offered, “I’ll meet you at the desk.”
We walk right up the street to Fonfone, the cutest café I have seen, with an open doorway full of books and salsa remixes of pop songs. I recommend the locro, a traditional potato soup with cheese and avocado. We talk about travelling, languages, culture shock, and rabble-rousing. The state of American education. The numerous species of hummingbirds in the Cloud Forest, about his daughters and my parents, what I will be doing three years from now. He is a biologist, I am a sociologist. We are both estadounidenses in Ecuador, faltando la comunicación, the nuances of interacting with people we meet on the street. We bond in our outsiderness.
And then the propiedora comes over and smiles, “¿Quieren cafés, algo, mi Corazon?” Yo soy su Corazon. Yo vivo aquí, en esta calle, y yo la conozco a esta mujer. She gives me a discount and a smile and we walk back to Casa Foch, the home amidst the discos. Chad and Carlitos stand in the foyer, teasing each other and talking about fútbol.
Today I dropped $10 on the street, and it was gone. Un militar appeared to help me look for it, but I knew it wasn’t worth it and tried to disappear quickly. Ten bucks is not much, but when I have challenged myself to spend no more than that each day, its loss is a thing to mourn. Yesterday I bought two things in the Mercado Artesanal, went to an art-history museum, and bought something for dinner on that allowance. Today I walked up and down Avenida Amazonas, dropped my allowance, and lost whatever energy I had to stay out on the street, stay confident and to walk with a purpose.
Then something pops, a rack of bright magazines in the entryway of a shop. A bookshop. My weakness and my strength. The clerks greet me, amused. ¿Una gringa buscando libros en español? ¡Claro que no! Pero sí, y encuentro a whole shelf of Paulo Coelho books, in Spanish. La propiedora approaches me and offers her help. I tell her I am just looking, but she points out the scant shelf of English novels, with special attention to the few Coelhos, and then asks, “Pero ¿hablas español?” For the first time since being here, I say yes with confidence, though I admit that it’s hard to read. “But it will be good for your Spanish!” she tells me in Spanish, and I know she’s right. “Especially Coelho, he’s simple but it will help your vocabulary.” And she pulls a book off the shelf. “Eso es un libro muy lindo.” I tell her I don’t have any money today and she invites me back anytime (even Saturday!) but warns me against trying to read Marquez. Even in English, he is not easy.
Chad and I share a passion for maracuyá, passion fruit. He goes to Supermaxi every day and comes back with random treasures, leaving bits and pieces of them on the desk for me. Yesterday it was a jar of Nutella, a tiny teacup of five-dollar wine to celebrate Ecuador’s victory over los argentines orgullosos; today another teacup, this time of the ten-dollar variety, and half a maracuyá! “I don’t have anything to eat it with,” he shrugs, laugh lines crinkling like Gramma Hazel’s. “You’ll have to use your hands…” I am in awe of it, and go in face-first, using my tongue as a straw. The little fingers lining the skin try to grab onto their fruit, in vain. It has been too long since I have tasted passion fruit. He shoots me a conspiratorial smile with the news that he requested fresh maracuyá juice for the breakfast.
We have taken to sharing breakfasts, talking about abstract things. That is where I get my intellectual fill: he tells me about his research, his days spent photographing old court records in the archives downtown. Today we talked about religion, the reasons we step inside of churches that have little to do directly with our faith, or lack thereof. Whether it is possible for God and suffering and compassion to all coexist. Why it can be wearisome to live in Ecuador, wearisome to be alive; why we close ourselves off to our fellows and discriminate against them when, as Carlitos says, “Son humanos todos.”
It gets harder to find kind people as you age, says Juan Miguel. He has been betrayed and cheated too many times. He knows the walls that people put up, he has seen and felt the things we do to hurt each other. And yet he also is aware of our capacity to love. In fact he is in possession of great stores of it. He sees my face brighten up when he invites me for lunch, or un cafecito, when I tell stories about my mom and the way she runs our house. When Nicolas and I chase each other around the yard for hours on end, when Natalia comes home and picks up a sword to join us. When she calls home from a friend’s house to say goodnight, especially to her little brother. When I saunter into the hotel, taking off my shades and baring my wares, and when I finish my sandwich when he still has half of his left. When Lori asks him to do something around the house. When he tells me about photographing my cousin Alex. He can snap, and be weary with the world, but he knows son todos humanos. He knows we need each other and that we have the capacity to be good to each other.
Sometimes, it is a matter of what we need to see in this moment.
02 June 2009
hemispheric limbo episode 1: the window-washer gets her fruit
Hola queridos!
Greetings from Quito! I finally reached on Sunday just before midnight, after wandering airports all day getting strange looks for carrying around a window fan in a box, and being forced to wear a mask to prevent "influenza porcina" from entering Ecuador. (Guess what that means!)
This is a city of beautiful weather, beautiful flowers, beautiful fruits. I woke up yesterday morning and walked outside to find myself surrounded by a yard of every-colored flowers and a bunch of different kinds of fruit trees! Blackberries, avocado, lemon, and some other native fruits. Lori and Juan Miguel live in a valley 600m below the city called Cumbayá, where the weather is perfect all day long -- sunny and the perfect amount of breezy, probably around 70 F. I woke up this morning to fresh blended passion fruit (maracuyá)-banana juice, and some of you know that I have been craving passion fruit juice for about two months now. I am a lucky girl.
I came to the hotel for the first time this morning, got the tour -- it is a beautiful homestyle boutique hotel called Casa Foch, with lots of woodwork and carefully selected color schemes in each room. The rooms are themed and decorated according to their corresponding element of nature. My favorite is Astromelia (some kind of flower) which is on the top floor, decorated in an unobtrusive orange. I spent today washing windows. Tons of them. They are beautiful windows (more beautiful now!) but I never want to see a bottle of window cleaner ever again. In fact, why don't you just keep me away from windows for the rest of my life.
Kidding! I'm still getting settled, but I am definitely missing my people (y'all) and hoping to get updates back on anything, everything, and nothing you all are doing while I'm chilling on the equator.
Chauchau,
Clarita
Next Episode: Snail mail! The Lost Art of Webpage Writing. Spanish Faux Pas (Hopefully Not!) AND... Making Friends in a Strange Land.
Greetings from Quito! I finally reached on Sunday just before midnight, after wandering airports all day getting strange looks for carrying around a window fan in a box, and being forced to wear a mask to prevent "influenza porcina" from entering Ecuador. (Guess what that means!)
This is a city of beautiful weather, beautiful flowers, beautiful fruits. I woke up yesterday morning and walked outside to find myself surrounded by a yard of every-colored flowers and a bunch of different kinds of fruit trees! Blackberries, avocado, lemon, and some other native fruits. Lori and Juan Miguel live in a valley 600m below the city called Cumbayá, where the weather is perfect all day long -- sunny and the perfect amount of breezy, probably around 70 F. I woke up this morning to fresh blended passion fruit (maracuyá)-banana juice, and some of you know that I have been craving passion fruit juice for about two months now. I am a lucky girl.
I came to the hotel for the first time this morning, got the tour -- it is a beautiful homestyle boutique hotel called Casa Foch, with lots of woodwork and carefully selected color schemes in each room. The rooms are themed and decorated according to their corresponding element of nature. My favorite is Astromelia (some kind of flower) which is on the top floor, decorated in an unobtrusive orange. I spent today washing windows. Tons of them. They are beautiful windows (more beautiful now!) but I never want to see a bottle of window cleaner ever again. In fact, why don't you just keep me away from windows for the rest of my life.
Kidding! I'm still getting settled, but I am definitely missing my people (y'all) and hoping to get updates back on anything, everything, and nothing you all are doing while I'm chilling on the equator.
Chauchau,
Clarita
Next Episode: Snail mail! The Lost Art of Webpage Writing. Spanish Faux Pas (Hopefully Not!) AND... Making Friends in a Strange Land.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)