Therapy with Norm

Just when I want to curl into a ball, hide under a blanket the size of an ocean, and forget about the world, I decide instead to let Norm help me.

He knows how to just listen. I can take all of my frustrations out on him. He takes the brunt of my anger, fear, hopelessness…and in his own quiet way; he’ll challenge me to suck it up. Or pedal faster.

Norm’s my bike, if you haven’t caught on. We’ve gotten very close in the past 6 months. At times he acts like a child, losing a part here, jamming his chain there. Other times, he acts like a close friend, helping me escape when I’m just about up to my neck in problems. He’s my baby, plain and simple. Some people have their cars, or their pets, or a vacuum clean perhaps. I have Norm.

I really needed him today. I’ve hit the half-a-year homesickness checkpoint, and there was a delay in pulling out of the station. This past week, I’ve been bombarded with thoughts and reminders of people back home, mainly, my best friends. Coming from a family that’s not super lovey-dovey, I don’t get many “We miss you! Come back home!” messages. As long as I’m alive and well, that’s sufficient.

Add that to the fact that I hadn’t heard from my best, best friend for almost 2 months, and I was feeling pretty low. In her defense, she says she hadn’t received my messages for some weird reason. I’m telling myself that’s the truth, because I had a good cry this morning, just thinking that most people took the “out of sight, out of mind” approach to my new life in Ecuador.

After a second round of tears today, I turned to Norm. Take me somewhere, anywhere! So I pedaled and pedaled and got lost for a bit, then found my way back home. The stress seeped down from my cranium, through my arms, and down into my burning legs, which just kept going and going and going. Norm loved it; no words needed, just pedal to the metal, and we were off. Fueled by womanpower, we trekked through the ‘burbs of Cuenca, and slowly but surely, my worries and concerns blew away with the breeze brushing against my face.

Okay, so maybe I have a somewhat obsessive relationship with my bike, but it beats shelling out my well-earned dough for some stranger to listen to me weep on their sofa. I bet that sofa wouldn’t even be comfortable. It’d probably be some microfiber aqua-colored get-up that only looks chic but feels like crap. J Look! I’m feeling better enough to crack jokes!

Everyone has their way to deal with problems; A.K.A. life. Some people are perfectly fine sitting on a couch and spilling their guts. Others journal. Some talk to their best buds about it. There are those who turn to their faith for consolation. Personally, I prefer a combination of all of these things.

Nobody said life was easy. I believe life can be great! But great isn’t the same as easy. Everyone faces the highs and the lows. When you’re far away from the people you care most about, it can be disorienting. Yet, in a way, I suppose it’s making me stronger. Anyway, I’ve got a lot to be thankful for; the list keeps growing every day.

You can bet that Norm’s on the list.

Kiss Me, I'm Not Cuencana

With the little Irish blood I have, Happy St. Patrick’s Day. With the non-existent Ecuadorian blood I have, Felíz Día de San Patricio.

The past few days have been eventful in my own weird way. This month’s First Friday Art featured a local artist who makes a lot of street art in Cuenca. In fact, I was astounded when I recognized a piece in his portfolio…it was the mural I’ve seen in a woman’s house! The woman who owns Ginger, the dog I walk three times a week, has a huge mural in her dining room, and it was painted by this artist. What’s more, the dog in the mural is Ginger herself, so I know a famous dog. Ha-ha.

Anyway, I truly enjoyed his art, and we had a nice conversation at his exhibition. I love when an artist is so passionate about their work, and this man was so enthralled by what he does that talking to him had me somewhat entranced. I also met an expat woman who manages an online arts magazine. When I told her that I like to sketch, paint, and write, we really hit it off, and she offered me a monthly column to write about the First Friday artists! I met up with the artist for an interview and a little city tour of his work; it was great!

In other news, I finally made it to a dentist’s office. It was actually a dental student, I was referred to him by someone in the CEDEI (the school I work at.) I ended up there the first time to accompany my friend, who had a dental emergency (a piece of her tooth fell out!) I scheduled an appointment for a cleaning with the dentist, and he told me I had 4  -count ‘em, 4-    cavities. What the heck? I’ve had maybe one in my lifetime, and my last cleaning was in the summer before I left. I was in serious doubt, but then he showed me pictures using some mouth camera, and I saw dark spots on my teeth, but I’m no dentist. It could be nothing for all I know.

I talked to the other teachers who’ve been to this dentist. I got super scared, especially after hearing that the dental tools smelled strange and used, and a teacher said that even after her cleaning, her mouth still felt plaque-y. Also, I witnessed the dentist work on my friend’s mouth, go open a door (with his gloves on) and then proceed to stick them back in my friend’s mouth. The office also doesn’t have a receptionist or dental nurse, just two guys. And they keep their appointments in a simple notebook (they take your name only.) So…I am not going back there. I did ask one of my students (who is also studying dentistry) to look in my mouth, and she said I had cavities. Now I have an appointment at the end of the week with a dentist who speaks English and treats lots of gringos. She comes recommended, so I feel better. Believe me, it’s intimidating to sit in a dentist’s chair, only half-comprehending what he’s saying (I don’t know much dental vocab in Spanish) and be told he has to drill 4 holes in your teeth.

There is something to celebrate though, and that’s the end of classes! I only have one more Saturday to teach, and I’m not even really teaching, just giving a final exam. Cue the evil laughter. I’m very determined to be a kick-butt teacher next cycle. I’m not going to lie: I’ve been lazy the last few weeks. In the fact that I go to work, open the book in front of my students, and right then and there decide what I’m going to do. Really bad, I know. Things are very laid-back here; we don’t really get evaluated, and there is no set structure to follow, just the books, which, to their credit, are chock-full of activities and such. I guess that’s Ecuador for ya.

For one thing, Ecuadorian internet service stinks! We’re with ETAPA, and had to whine about screwy service for 3 weeks until anything happened. Days were spent waiting around the house for the technicians to come. “Manaña, manaña…” Everyone knows manaña here doesn’t mean tomorrow. Even so, things have finally been patched up.

I also got wise and finally bought myself a helmet. I’d been warned by my friend (“Your parents would be so pissed if you died!”) and I witnessed a hit-and-run last week, which is quite a common occurrence, since in Ecuador you are guilty until proven innocent. It shook me up, and I called the police and stayed with the victim until an ambulance came. He was conscious, but looked in a lot of pain, obviously. There’s not really a culture of bicyclists here, but things are improving slowly. Cuenca is getting more bike paths, but motorists are really disrespectful. If I bike on the sidewalk, the pedestrians yell at me. If I bike in the street, the cars honk at me. Until I sprout wings, I must deal. And wear a helmet. At least I feel safer now, traversing and getting lost in Cuenca.

I love that feeling…exploring unknown territory, losing my bearings, but always finding my way back home. It’s fun to do this in regards to my physical location, but also metaphorically…I mean, I’ve put myself in this situation where I’m living and working in a foreign country, sometimes struggling to communicate, and addressing cultural and social norms that aren’t at all normal to me. It’s a blast. I recommend it to everyone.

Not-So-Crazy Carnaval

     We survived Carnaval. Really, there wasn’t much to fear, because in Cuenca, most people scuttle off to the beach or to the nearby towns, such as Gualaceo or Chordeleg. So Cuenca is almost a ghost-town, with the occasional blast from a water gun or shot of espuma (foam.)

     I was just excited to have a little vacation from classes! Friday through Tuesday, I was free to do as I pleased! It was nice to have a few days where I had no obligations, although on Friday night, I subbed for my friend’s class. It was a nice deal because I only had to do some review and give a Mid-Term exam.

     Most of the long weekend was spent relaxing indoors, to avoid getting attacked by avid Carnaval participants. One day, while riding through the center of town, I got blasted by some kids with espuma; it was actually pretty funny because I was on my bike and caught totally unaware, but it made me laugh. I’d rather have the foam (even if it stained my skin slightly blue) than the water. Cuenca’s up in the Sierra, not on the coast; it’s too cold to be drenching people with water, even though the weather can go into the 70s.

     Apart from Carnaval, I met a nice little girl one day while waiting for some friends. Her name was Camila, an eight-year-old Ecuadorian girl who intrigued and amused me. Not being much of a kid person, I watched her for a few minutes and realized she must have been extremely bored; a little girl sitting out in a plaza with no other kids in sight. This is common in Ecuador; kids don’t have computers or videogames to keep them occupied. Rather, they’re usually meandering along sidewalks outside their homes or their parents’ business, playing with sticks, stones, paper, leaves, whatever. Kids use their imagination to the fullest here, it’s refreshing to see. On the other hand, it can be quite a shock to walk past the very young kids in markets or on street corners while the mothers sell fruits and vegetables. I’ve come to associate Ecuador with stark contrasts…I teach some very privileged, upper-class kids (my 12-year-old student had a Playstation 4 before I even knew it existed,) and I also mingle with the modest Ecuadorians as well, usually dressed in the traditional, indigenous clothing. Anyway, this little girl and I kicked around a soccer ball for about a half-hour, then chit-chatted in Spanish about where I was from and what I'm doing here.

     It’s things like this that make me want to experience life abroad with the people I care about most: my parents, my sister, my best friends. It’s such a bummer to return from an exciting, far-away trip only to realize that nobody back home really cares. And it’s the truth. It’s terribly difficult to appreciate an experience that you yourself haven’t had…personally, I love hearing about people’s excursions to different countries or places I’ve never been to, but I’m one of a handful, I think. Most of the time, people would rather discuss something relevant to everyone, not just that one person who did this, or went there. Maybe they perceive it as showing off or something. I don’t see it that way. I want to learn through others, sometimes that’s the only way to do it. Maybe I’ll never get to Kenya or Tibet (I’d love to,) but hearing about these places through someone who has been there would help me explore them more. Anyway, all of this contemplating has got me now wondering: Who actually reads this blog? How many people are genuinely interested in it? In my adventures and my thoughts? Oh well, if anything, this blog’s a nice writing exercise…