If there is anything to be said about South America, it is the relaxed pace of life. The adventures are spontaneous and each moment is meant to be enjoyed. I talked about the concept of el tiempo es la vida, “time is life,” in my last post, and after spending the last day and a half exploring Quito, I am really beginning to understand what that means.
My host father arrived home late several nights ago just as I was finishing my delicious cena of sopa y plátanos. In my patchy español I talked about how excited I was to see el Centro de Historico, the Historic Center of Quito, the next day. He told me how beautiful it was at night illuminated by streetlights and lacking the congestion of all the traffic, and asked if I was listas para ir. I said, “Si, estoy muy emocionada para ver mañana” (Yes, I’m very excited to see it tomorrow). He laughed and said “No no, ahora!”
I grabbed my raincoat and we piled into his little Jeep. My host mother and her amiga Blaca sat in the back and I rode shotgun as we powered through the reckless Quiteño traffic. Something that struck me as very interesting were the street names. Some of las calles had names like 10 de Agosto, which sounds like a date rather than a street name. I got a valuable history lesson from my host father, who taught me that these fechas were things like el día de la independencia for Ecuador. Imagine how strange it would be if we had “Fourth of July” streets!
We entered el Centro de Historico and drove around, listening to la musica nacional for what felt like hours, but I enjoyed every second of it. When I wasn’t staring out the window like a wide-eyed tourist, I tried my best to carry on a conversation in Spanish and learned a lot about my host family. Meanwhile, my host father took every possible opportunity to park the car (even if it meant literally driving up onto the sidewalk) and get out so that he could take a picture for me in front of all las Iglesias, the beautiful churches of Quito. It was a grand introduction to the history of el ciudad. I stood alone in the middle of el Plaza de San Francisco, surrounded by nothing but streetlights and the opulent mixture of gothic, colonial, baroque, and neoclassical architecture that encircled the square. Trying to imagine the peaceful plaza during the daytime packed with tourists, street vendors, and pickpockets was unpleasant, it was just so perfect in the dark; eerily solemn but strangely uplifting in the way that only churches can be. The giant clock en el Catedral Metropolitana glowed in the dark as we drove away, taking place in the sky of the absent moon. I didn’t notice the time, though; we had been gone for hours but it felt irrelevant. I was so thankful for this impromptu adventure with my new family and their enthusiasm in showing me their city, and thankful that my first taste of Quito’s vibrant history took place before the crowds took over and the chatter of everyday life engulfed the quiet.
Today, I returned to el Centro de Historico with my little study abroad group and a big double-decker tour bus. Waiting for the tour to begin at Parque la Carolina, one of the largest green spaces in Quito, we watched some teenage boys play a game of fútbol. When the tour finally began and el autobus trudged forward, I recognized a lot of points from the night before. It was indeed very different seeing them in the daylight, now they were completely populated, crawling with security guards and patrons of el centro; but surprisingly I felt an even stronger radiance of history from all the beautiful structures than I did the first time. The people walking the historic streets of Quito were the descendants of those who built them, and it was interesting from an observer’s point of view to see the way that the people are really the ones creating the culture, not the architecture. However despite the dense crowd, it still felt as though we were the only gringas (white people) in the area. I have been very surprised so far by how tourist-y Quito isn’t.
One of the highlights of the bus tour was the terrifyingly steep, winding, incline up the massive hill (more like mountain) el Panecillo, to the best lookout point in the city and the statue of el Virgen del Quito. Most of the shaky road is unlined by any kind of safety feature, like maybe a wall, leaving us completely vulnerable to tumble down the practically vertical hill if the bus were to take too sharp of a turn.
The hill itself is 200 meters above the city, heightening our sensitivity to the altitude but making for an incredible view of Quito. One thing that I really love about this city is that you can view it all at once in its beautiful entirety, especially from the cielo that is el Panecillo. We took our time wandering the balconies, taking pictures of the cityscape and each other, and checking out the indigenous craft tents before loading back up on the bus for the trek back down the hill.
For lunch, we went to a restaurant at the Plaza de San Fransisco, my favorite location that I visited the night before. The jugo de mora, the blackberry juice, was to die for and our meals were delicious. Our instructor from Cimas, who was accompanying us on the tour, then led us to el Museo del Ciudad. We took our time as he showed us around the intricate exhibits, narrating the history of Quito’s indigenous beginnings to its colonial rule and independence from Spain. Just as the tour ended, raindrops began to fall through the sky and into the beautiful courtyard where we waited. Esto es Quito, “this is Quito,” our instructor said.
We zipped up our raincoats without complaint and walked at an andante tempo to la biblioteca. There, we sat in a large, bright, indoor courtyard and ordered drinks at una café, waiting as we listened to the rain pour on the glass ceiling above us. We must have spent at least two hours there, waiting but never bored, sipping our lightly-alcoholic canelazos not to drink but to enjoy. Our instructor spoke most of the time (in Spanish), chatting about the socioeconomic and political problems in this region of South America. I felt as though I understood most of what he was saying, but even when I had to resort to the “smile and nod” method of acknowledgement when I couldn’t comprehend, I thoroughly enjoyed the discussion and felt no need to move on to the next attraction. We were all enjoying each other’s company with no urgency to keep track of the time. We would leave when we felt like leaving, but all seemed perfectly content spending our time at that little café.
What I love about Quito so far is that I have time to enjoy it. There is no rush, and I am able to hear myself think and take in this new culture and beautiful scenery. I love that it is full of history, full of passionate people, and waiting patiently to be explored by our adventurous selves. It is not tapping its watch angrily, pressuring us to pick up the pace. The beat of the city is pulsing at its own leisurely tempo, and we can match its rhythm whenever we are ready to pause the conversation and move on to the next experience.