My First Week in Ecuador by Tim Ghazzawi:
When my Uber driver Jorge accepted me as his passenger that morning, he blew out a sigh. 50 minutes, his phone read. Across the city in morning traffic. He spoke Spanish in a way I did not recognize, faster and more strung together than how I’d heard other Ecuadorians speak. Later I learned he was Venezuelan.
At first Jorge and I talked about traveling. He asked me about my backpack and where I was headed. Turns out he’d traveled a lot himself and had something to say about all of the places I mentioned I’d be visiting. Buenos Aires was his favorite city. It’s clean and organized, he said, with a charming European influence. He also liked Chile’s vineyards. Thought Bolivia to be too cold. Peru a worthy hiking destination but with an ugly coastline. And when he described Venezuela, he characterized his home country with a balanced sense of pride and remorse that made me want to visit it even more. Jorge’s commentary was short but insightful. I liked what he had to say.
He then told me he dreamed of visiting Egypt one day. When I told him I’d lived there as a child, his face lit up and he asked if I could show him pictures. I obliged. As we talked, he ordered peanuts from a street-side vendor and shared them with me. Then he told me about his mother and brother who lived with him in Quito. Showed me a picture of his last visit to Parque Metropolitano and shared in detail the story of the asthma attack he’d suffered from while trying to climb the Cotopaxi Volcano.
When we finally arrived at the entrance to the bus station, Jorge and I shook hands, said goodbye, and wished each other good luck. Just like that, we were friends no more. And, perhaps ridiculously so, part of me felt sad. Our friendship had been transactional and brief, but it had felt like a new friendship all the same, the first new friendship of my journey.
That night I dined alone. My hostel was empty. In the shower I accidentally broke the shower head and as I tried to fix it a spider fell from the ceiling and landed on my foot. Later I laid in bed and finished Season 2 of Mindhunter. And before long I was reminded of Jorge again as I planned my own excursion to the Cotopaxi Volcano for the next day.
When people say that the world is small, what they mean to say is that the world is the exact same size it’s always been, only more interconnected and cramped. I assumed I’d never see Jorge again until, in the parking lot of the same national park where he’d had his asthma attack, I reunited with an unexpected old-time companion: a bicycle tour guide I’d worked with one time eight years ago. I know the world is overpopulated and everything but there is something exciting and comforting about the strength of human connection. How lasting and revivable it is in spite of distance and time. Like untied laces on an old pair of shoes: worn and forgotten but just as easily tied as when you first bought them. Granted, I hope to make more substantial friends than an Uber driver and tour guide on my future travels. Though as I hurtled down the mountainside on a bicycle with my old guide in tow, I couldn’t help but appreciate just how good being interconnected and cramped could feel.
THE FACTS
Quito, Ecuador was the first destination of my newest travel journey. I’d been many times before and it remains one of my favorite cities to visit. A city guide of Quito is in the works. I stayed with my friend Chris while there. For now I hope the connection-building continues.
If you enjoyed reading about my first week in Ecuador, you might also check out the following stories related to other Central & South America adventures:
- “Two Blue Houses: Visits to the Houses of Frida Kahlo and Pablo Neruda” by Tim Ghazzawi
- “Broken Train Tracks: A Teacher’s Strike En Route to Machu Picchu” by Tim Ghazzawi
- “Dead Dolls: A Boat Ride in Xochimilco, Mexico” by Tim Ghazzawi
