Adventures in Babysitting

I made it back safely to Ecuador without having to argue with immigration again or pay anymore fines. I had a really nice time at home, and will share some stories from there...

Part I

I have a nephew Nicholas, who now is about two months old, but was just five weeks old when I met him. My sister Ruth came from Indy for a week with him, her husband Vince was only able to come for the weekend. I babysat him about half a dozen times (like when Ruth was drying her hair), but for no more than 10 minutes each time because whenever I was watching him, Mom would swoop in and take him away. Granted, usually he was screaming at me (babies just don't seem to like me), but Mom has turned into a fervent grandma. Apparently, when my sister was born my mom had never held a baby in her life and her mom flew in from South Africa to help out. Many of my mother's friends told me that same story. I guess this is part of grandparenting. Anyway, here is Nicholas...

Part II

On part of being home that I didn't miss was the daily round of "Wake the Kid." The Kid is my 23-year-old brother, David. He has some problems waking up and getting to work in the morning. He usually makes it there just in time, or within 5 minutes. But four mornings a week someone needs to wake him up with a combination of requests, orders, threats, and the occasional tearing the sheets off the bed.

I don't know how my parents manage. It's like playing a game in which you know that even if you win, you loose. And the most ironic fact is that once he is out of bed, if you have a conversation with him, he will acknowledge that he needs the help getting up and wouldn't be able to live on his own right now and appreciates what my parents do. But you wouldn't know that 20 minutes before he needs to leave the house, with one alarm clock playing hava nagila, the other, Clocky, spinning around the room, plus his blackberry buzzing, and him grumbling in front of a well stocked closet, "I have nothing to wear."

Part III

Connie (my former roommate) and Greg (former coworker) also have a baby, six month old Keira. Basically my vacation was a crash course in babies. While Nicholas still spends the majority of his day sleeping and is still figuring out how to lift his head, Keira is a playful baby who likes sucking on fingers (hers and other peoples) and toes (just her own). She also likes museums, so Connie and I took her to the Field Museum and the Art Institute where she got lots of compliments for being so cute and well behaved. Granted, she slept through the Monets and cried when she saw the stuffed buffalo. But Sue didn't seem to even faze her (Sue is a T. Rex, for those of you who haven't seen her yet).

Judith Maria

Back in Cuenca. Have been here since Sunday, but that was a busy day. And yesterday I napped, still adjusting to the altitude.

Unpacked everything. Put most of it away. Washed, dried, and folded four loads of laundry (apparently Carlos didn't wash anything in the two and a half weeks I was gone). Put most of it away. Washed some dishes. Didn't put any away (left them in the drying rack).

Freakonomics - Why There’s Only One Economist

This article from Freakonomics sums up my thoughts exactly.

Refusenik

I am currently in Chicago. I was supposed to be here last Saturday. But I arrived on Wednesday. Not by choice of course. Finally arriving in Chicago can only been described as a series of unexpected, though not completely unfortunate events.

On Friday night Carlos and I set of from Cuenca to Guayaquil. Not only did he want to accompany me to the airport to say goodbye, but he also had to work near Guayaquil over the weekend. We slept well and Carlos dropped be off at the airport at 8AM (for a 10:30AM flight), we said our goodbyes and I waited in line. And waited. And waited. After almost an hour the departures board changed from “On Time” to “Delayed”. I waited some more. I made some friends in line, sharing the bilingual gossip. The flight had been canceled. A replacement part needed to be flown in from the states. The agents were rebooking everyone on the Delta flight at 11PM.

After three hours in line I reached the desk. I was rebooked on the evening Delta flight and given a hotel voucher and told to wait for the hotel van. Waiting with me were two Canadians. We started chatting and I asked them to watch my bags for a moment while I got a coffee. It was almost lunch time and I hadn't had breakfast, so I was starving. When I got in line a century ago I had assumed that it would be quick. But at that point I needed to eat. Anyway, after returning with the mocha, the Canadians told me that the hotel where we were supposed to go was almost filled and that they were going to go to another hotel and would I like to join them. Hmm, sure.

The Canadians were in Ecuador on business, working on a gold mine in Machala. One was Colombian and a lawyer, the other a mining engineer, both based out of Quebec. Between the three of us we could communicate in mainly English, some Spanish, and even a touch of French. We went to the hotel, all called home to give updates on the flights, then went out for lunch. During lunch I asked lots of questions about mining (since the January 2009 issue of National Geographic was on gold mining) and about the politics here and base metal prices and everything else that I learned from The Economist. Then I told them a bit about me, my background, some stories about the middle of nowhere Zambia.

That's when they expressed a bit of surprise. The lawyer then told me that at the airport they had seen me looking a bit frazzled and felt sort of sorry for me. They had assumed that this had been my first trip out of the country and I had been a nervous and confused and wanted to help me. They felt sorry for me!?! I'll admit that I was frazzled, but that's just because I was hungry.

Long side note - When I say I was hungry, it wasn't just a bit of stomach rumbling. Because of the steroids that I'm currently on for my thyroid, I am always famished. Every few hours I whine to Carlos that I'm hungry. His mom is astonished that I am actually saying yes when she asks me if I want more to eat. I crave meat (steak sandwich for breakfast) and sugar (a liter of Gatorade at a time and two servings of ice cream a day).

Anyway, I spent the rest of the afternoon with the Canadians and by the time we returned to the airport they had almost offered me a job. The whole day was actually an interview. They told me that they needed a civil engineer, especially one with experience in water. I actually got my first job through a friend of my parents who met my former boss on a plane. So, I'll see how that turns out.

Back in the airport, I finally got in contact with Carlos again and he was a bit shocked to hear that I hadn't left yet and he joined me there for a short while. He had had a long day in a forest on the coast. After an hour together in the airport we said goodbye (again) and I went through immigration.

And that's where the problems began. I got to the desk and the man behind it said that I couldn't leave. WTF? He didn't speak any English. I told him that I knew that I may have to pay a fine, but he said that that wasn't possible. Censo, censo. I need a censo. What the hell is a censo? I asked to speak to his boss, but no. Just no (it was about 10PM at this point). He told me just to leave. I wasn't crying yet, so was able to ask him if I could call my boyfriend to translate. I just thought this was a language issue. I mean, I consider myself almost fluent. So I called Carlos and he spoke to the immigration officer and after a few minutes it was clear that I was not leaving. Carlos said he would come back to the airport to meet me.

I had to leave back through the door that I entered, past the ticket checkers. A women that I had met in line that morning came chasing after me and asked if she could do anything to help. She was great, an Ecuadorian American travelling with her mother, almost six feet tall and very, um, sturdy. Not bit or fat, but solid. She had a look on her face like she would beat the guy up for me. Unfortunately, she couldn't help me. Everyone was so nice (except for the immigration officer) and I really was able to appreciate the kindness of strangers.

Anyway, when I got to the ticket checkers I was in tears. I wasn't going home. It took three months and I had paid over a thousand dollars to my work visa, to be able to stay in the country and now they wouldn't let me leave! The lawyers never told us anything about this censo. Censo, censo, what's a censo? Well, the censo is a stamp on my visa saying that it has been registered. Why would we ever even think that we need to register my visa? Isn't the visa registration itself? And at 10PM on a Saturday night there was nothing that could be done until Monday. Come on.

I made my way back to the check in desk and explained the situation to one of the agents. He went back to immigration to double check, but no, I couldn't leave. Well, actually I could leave, but if I did my work visa would be invalid, which means that I would have to return on a tourist visa and the time and money spent on the visa would have been worth nothing. That was worth knowing. That was the information, the reason, that I had been waiting for. So I wasn't going home. We had to follow the back alleys of the airport to pick up the bags. And leave.

I was depressed. And of course, because of the steroids, I couldn't drink. We went out to a bar with friends, but I was no fun. Still in shock. I called my parents and they were just as surprised as me, but made me feel better by telling me that I was lucky that I had Carlos which me (which is so true) and everything can be probably be fixed with a little time and money. If I need to wait a few days to come home so be it, everything will still be there. Just get things done and get home as soon as you can. Just make it home for passover.

I have very wise parents.

Carlos was supposed to go back to the coast on Sunday and I would hang out for the day while he worked. But that didn't happen. Nothing in Ecuador ever seems to go according to plan. The day before he had gotten a few bug bites. When I say a few I actually mean a few hundred. His body was covered and he was itching and swelling and in general, not good. His coworker was the same. So we returned to Cuenca, before going to the pharmacy. We went to the doctor and Carlos got a cortisone shot and spent the rest of the day passed out in bed. The family voted for me to visit the immigration office the next day.

First thing Monday morning we went to the immigration office. Then we found out that we were at the wrong immigration office and were sent to the other one. At the other office there weren't many people, which was good, but the officers were having some technical difficulties. Like they couldn't log onto their computers because the guys with the password was on vacation. So they had to call Quito. After half an hour they got onto the computer, but they couldn't do anything about my case on the computer. So they called Quito again. The guy wasn't there. We waited. Then they called again and again and again. Finally, they told us to come back after lunch, that they were open until 6PM. After a bit of negotiation they told us that if we return at 3PM they will help us as soon as we arrive.

That was a lie. At 3PM we got there and were told to wait. And wait. And they called Quito. At around 4PM we got the word that we had to pay a $200 fine. Fine, we said, we'll be back right away. No they replied, can't you see we're busy? Please, I asked, my flight leaves Wednesday. Yeah, was the response, everyone leaves tomorrow.

We were gone for 20 minutes and when we returned the full room was empty, except for one other person. We waited almost an hour, chatting with an American family who had lived there for two years and needed something renewed. These guys had so much to say about the bureaucracy here. The guy said that he would probably get kicked out if they recognized him there. The last time in the office he let out such a string of curses that the officer there said (in Spanish), “Sir, I do not speak English, but I know that 'that' is not a respectful word.”

But were finally served. I got another stamp in my passport and a really cheap looking ID card. And that was it. I can leave the country? I asked. Yes, they replied. And can I come back? They had no idea.

Back at home I called the Ecuadorian Embassy in D.C. And told them my story. They guy said that I had everything that I needed. He even gave me his phone number and told me to call him if I had problems again in immigration. Now that's good service.

Tuesday afternoon I went back to Guayaquil and spent the night there. Wednesday morning I arrived at the airport by 7AM and made it to the gate buy 7:20AM. Four hours to Miami. Two and a half hour layover, another three hours to Chicago.

And then I was home.

Insomnia

I can't sleep.

Well, it's not that I can't fall asleep, I just can't stay asleep. I have always been the type of person who needs my eight hours or I'm cranky, but since I've been home I've been up at 7AM (today 6:30AM) after going to bed at 1:30AM or 2AM. Usually for me five hours is unsustainable, but I've felt fine.

Oh, and I've even gotten out of bed. Normally, if I wake up early I stay submerged under the covers, citing the fact that it's way too cold to emerge. It is cold this morning, but I couldn't stay in bed. And I maturing? Or just getting old? Is it the meds? Of the sea level saturation of oxygen?

The house it quiet. Except for the clocks. Even Nicholas is asleep.

I have the whole Sunday paper to myself and dim sum in three hours. I could get used to this.

Lessons Learned

I love my mac. Yesterday I was on Skype with Carlos. I had called him and turned the video on and pointed at Nicholas, so he could get a quick view of my new nephew. I didn't have a headset here, but was talking to the baby and my family near by. Suddenly Carlos typed, "I can hear you."

WTF? Apparently there is a mic on the mac. Why didn't anyone tell me that? It's so weird to talk to your computer without a headset and have it talk back (well, I understand the speakers). Totally pleasant surprise.

Welcome to Miami!

A ten minute trek from the plane to immigration. No functioning water fountains. The free wifi doesn't work. The automatic toilets and sinks have a mind of their own. And the outlets do not actually provide electricity.

And I thought this was the developed country.

Still in Ecuador

As some of you know, I should be in Chicago right now...but I'm not. I'm still in Ecuador. Immigration turned me back. In Guayaquil right now and will try to write the whole story while on the plane tomorrow.

The Woman Who Ate the World

Let me first make it clear that some of what I have to say may piss some people off, so I'll say it now and you don't need to read the rest if you hate me already. I lost 15lbs in three weeks (by being sick) and now can't seem to gain an ounce back even though I'm eating all the time.

I've been a bit ill for about a month and have finally been diagnosed with a thyroid problem. Hyperthyroidism, I guess. Apparently that was the reason that I spent most of the past month sleeping. A typical day was: wake up, have breakfast, read a little, take a nap, have lunch, complain how difficult it is to walk up one flight of stairs, play on the computer, take a nap, have dinner, go to bed.

So the doc put me on some drugs. If it were up to me those drugs would have been alcohol and marijuana, but no, I got steroids and antibiotics (it turns out I had an ear infection too). But that's not a bad trade.

Anyway, some of the symptoms (that I had) of hyperthyroidism are lethargy, hair loss (didn't figure that one out for a while, since I don't like to brush my hair), night sweats, and of course, weight loss. As soon as I got on the steroids I felt better. I had energy, I could stand for more than three minutes without needing to rest, and I stopped loosing weight.

Which brings me to the present. For about the past three days all I have wanted to do is eat. I can't seem to go 10 minutes without putting something in my mouth and still am hungry before bed. Carlos has never seem me like this (we've known each other for two and a half years and have been living together for almost a year and a half). Even his mom is surprised that instead of insisting that I am full after lunch (which I usually am, it's always a three course meal, popcorn or just corn first, then soup, then meat always with rice, but usually potatoes or pasta as well, occasionally dessert), I am asking for more.

So if take my earlier typical day and replace "nap" with "snack," you'll get the idea.

But I still have not gained any weight back. It's not all that great to loose about 13% of your body weight (yes, the bathroom scale is teetering on 100). All I want to do is be myself again. I can barely do a single push up (before the illness I was doing about 4 or 5 sets of a dozen every other morning). My pants are falling down and I'm tripping over hems, and no I do not own a belt. Plus, I feel even more cold than usual.

Ooh, chocolate...OK, snack is over.

Fortunately, this feeding binge will coincide with my visit home. On Saturday I head to the states for two weeks, mainly to meet my new nephew, plan my wedding, and be home for passover. But I am already planning my meals, day by day, restaurant by restaurant, kitchen by kitchen. It's not that I don't like the food here, it's good, but there is a slight lack of variety. For example, cilantro (which I hate) and achiote (which I refer to as poor man's saffron) are used to season pretty much everything. You don't see much rosemary, oregano, thyme, or any sage at all (how I miss such a simple sauce of brown butter with sage). Finding Indian spices is a bit tough too, but there is a decent Indian restaurant in town. But my problem with Indian food was that during my three week trip to India last year I never bothered to learn the names of what I was eating, and I actually liked almost everything I put in my mouth.

By the way, for those of you who do not know about my food habits, until I was about 23 years old (I am now 29), I had what one would call a "white food" diet. It wasn't truly white, just very pale. I pretty much only ate, bread, rice, pasta, potatoes, chicken, Cheerios, and cheddar or mozzarella cheese. I mean, I ate some other stuff too, like pizza and steak, but the closest I would get to something green was mint chocolate chip ice cream. I didn't cook back then either, because I went from living at home to dorm food to an apartment with a former culinary student (my sister), a line chef (Alexis) and Connie (who just always seems to know how to do anything and everything). I was the dishwasher.

Anyway, after traveling the world and living on my own a bit, I learned how to cook (and eat) and love it. Now when I visit another country, or even city, I always end up in the grocery store or market just to look, and maybe taste. After years without variety, now all I want is something different for every meal. I want tapas, sushi, dim sum, Indian, Peking duck, mac and cheese, rack of lamb, something Thai, deep dish pizza, thin mint cookies...I would even eat something Dutch. The cheese is what I miss the most from Holland, the shear variety was overwhelming (I miss the beer too, but those were from Belgium).

Now I'm hungry again. Chocolate's gone :(