Not Every System Here is Broken

While I'm still trying to figure out how to conclude my naturalization process (which now involves my parents' passports, even though people in this country have told me that it is not a sufficient proof of citizenship...I was told that I need a letter or document from the US government to prove that my parents are US citizens...I'm sorry, but considering that you need proof of US citizenship to get a US passport and a US passport can only be issued by the US government, why is it such a document unacceptable?), I have been doing some other paper pushing here in Cuenca.  And it took less than 45 minutes!

Just When You Thought it was Safe...

So I returned to Quito on Wednesday to finally finish the naturalization process.  I had everything I needed.  All I had to do was go back to the Civil Registry, pay my money, and wait.

The morning went well enough, even though I had to wait two hours for a process that I was told would take half an hour.  But I finally got my papers and all I had to do was walk over to the "rectifications" desk and they would input my data and I would be able to get my ID (NB - apparently I technically am a citizen already, but have no way of proving it until I get my ID, which I need in order to get a passport, which I need to get back into the country if I leave since my work visa expires in three weeks).

Certifiable

Today I went to the Civil Registry in Cuenca.  As I mentioned before, the Civil Registry in Quito would not proceed with my naturalization process until I procured two copies of my marriage certificate, which could only be gotten in Cuenca.

Actually, I need to back up to yesterday.  Yesterday I tried to go to the Civil Registry in Cuenca.  I mean, I went to the office, but they weren't there anymore.  Apparently they are renovating their offices and the temporary location is on the other side of town.  Well, the other side of downtown.  If downtown Cuenca is about 10 by 15 blocks, the temporary offices were about 20 blocks away from the permanent ones.  And I'm not exaggerating, I counted.

Trust but Verify

Or measure twice and cut once.  Actually, in Ecuador you probably should measure three or for times before cutting.

I know I haven't written much lately, but I've been busy.  Besides working, I'm in the process of becoming an Ecuadorian citizen.  I actually think I am a citizen already, and the process involved lots of papers and notaries and copies, but still need to go through the process of getting my ID and passport. 

My First Potential Coup

A state of emergency has been declared in Ecuador.  The military is now in charge and are backing the president.  The airports and major roads are closed.  This is all due to the fact that the police are on strike apparently due to the reduction of their retirement benefits.

However, in Latacunga nothing is happening.  I'm so safe that I'm practically cloistered.

I've been working 16 hour days this past week since we are issuing drawings tomorrow.  So I basically leave the office for lunch and dinner is ordered in.  And our apartment here is half a block away. 

The internet was shut down nationwide earlier today for a few hours.  Which was good for me because I was able to get more work done :)

If anything interesting happens, I'll try to write about it.  But for now, back to work.

How to Register Your Car - Act III

We spent some time pondering how to register the car until Mami came up with a solution so simple and devious that I was afraid it actually might work.

Since Friday was the last day to register the car, why not go then, when it would be busy, and try again.  But this time, if asked, just say that grandpa was old, not dead. 

How to Register Your Car - Act II

The mechanic was finished with the car at around noon on Friday.  It cost $20.  However the muffler had not been fixed.  Apparently mechanics in Ecuador specialize. 

So on Saturday we took it to a mechanic that just did mufflers.  Ours was beyond repair so we had it replaced.  For $45.

How to Register Your Car - Act I

I've been back in Cuenca for about 10 days now.  I've adjusted to the altitude all right, but not so much the life. 

The past few days we have being trying to figure out how to re-register/inspect Carlos's car.  Because of his plate number or ID number or something like that, he was the entire month of May to complete the process.  And you definitely need the whole month.

On Vacation

Will return in May.

Rants About Ecuador

Caution:  Really long rants ahead!

Yesterday really sucked.  I mean, it was one of those days that made me wonder why I live here and how terrible working here could be.  Two events occurred while dealing with vendors that made me wonder if they had ever heard the phrase "customer service" or understood the concept of "don't lie to your customers".  I'll start with the photographer.

In our contract with the wedding photographer it stated that we would receive 200 prints a CD with digital copies of those two weeks after the wedding.  Well, two weeks after the wedding, nothing.  Three weeks, nothing. Finally, a month after the wedding he finally asks us to come to his studio to show us the photos.

How to Ring a Doorbell

On my list of pet peeves here in Cuenca is the fact that people do not seem to know how to ring a doorbell.  Some people ring twice, or ring once then wait maybe 5 seconds and ring again, and some people don't even use the doorbell, but just bang on the gate.  Sometimes I arrive at the door and the person who was laying on the buzzer or pounding on the gate is gone.

So please, ring once and wait around for a moment or two.  Gracias.

Morning Ritual

Carlos wakes up at 7AM.  Without an alarm clock.  I don't know how he does it - the only time I have witnessed him oversleep is when he has been ill.  I don't wake up then.  I mean, I hear him, but burrow back underneath the covers until 7:45AM or so when he comes to say goodbye and then leaves for work.  I am awake then, but still refusing to leave the bed.  I stay there until about 8:30AM.  The only reason I get up is because I'm having nightmares again, and I know if I stay in bed they will stay in my head.

After being off my thyroid medicine for a month and being put back on it a few days ago, I feel 100% sure that these nightmares are drug induced.  They are the sort of dreams that would be called delusions if they occurred while I was awake.  I wake up mumbling to Carlos about dinosaurs or floods or my brother wearing a Victorian suit, complete with top hat (he actually has the top hat, I think it was our grandfather's).  If engineering doesn't work out for me, I'm sure I would have a profitable fiction career based on these dreams.  But they are not just dreams, they are nightmares.  Nightmares are dreams whose effects linger throughout the day.

After I get out of bed I make some tea and get dressed and get on the computer.  Everything is fine and normal until about 9:50AM.  There may be a 10AM blackout.  So I finish my downloads. complete important correspondence, warn who ever I am talking to that I may disappear at soon.  But at 10AM everything is fine.  Then 10:01AM.  10:02AM.  10:03AM.  We're safe for now, I can consider doing laundry.  10:04AM.  Then the beeping starts.  The power is out (for some reason something in the neighbor's house starts beeping when there is no power).  It will return at 1PM.  Until then I really can't do much.  I need to find matches if I want to light the stove.  Laundry is out of the question.  I can wash dishes.  Or I can read.  Or write thank you notes.  Or see if we need anything at the market.  Or take a walk in the cemetery.

Sometimes it is 10:06AM and we still have power.  Phew.  I can cook lunch.  I can bake bread.  I can do laundry.  I can download lectures from the London School of Economics to listen to during the day (my new favorite educational podcast to listen to, though This American Life will never be dethroned).  And at 12:55PM, I do the same thing I did three hours earlier, seeing if the 1PM blackout will blanket the neighborhood.

And then it is no longer a morning ritual.

Baking Soda Post Script

One thing that I forgot to mention in the previous post was the comment of the stock boy to my shocked reaction to there not being baking soda in the supermarket.  He said to me, "Why don't you just use baking powder?"

Any amateur cook and chemist (or professionals for that matter) knows that they are not interchangeable.  Baking soda is sodium bicarbonate, a base.  Baking powder is sodium bicarbonate plus and acid. While you can use baking soda in conjunction with cream of tartar to replicate baking powder, there is nothing that you can take away from baking powder to replicate baking soda. 

Maybe the stock boys weren't awake in their chemistry classes.

However, at a baking shop I did manage to find a 70g bag of baking soda.  I bought it.  But while ringing it up, the women told us that it had to be sold as baking soda, not sodium bicarbonate, or it would be illegal :)

Rules of the Road

I still haven't driven in Cuenca. I will, eventually. I have my international driver's license and we have found a few places for me to practice (we have a 35 year old manual truck, that is a bit, um, heavy, to drive). The thing that has actually been holding me back the most is trying to understand the rules of the road here. A few examples...

No Turn on Red?
Here in Ecuador, you are not allowed to turn right on red (like in the US, the driver is on the left hand side of the car and the traffic drives on the right). However, it is quite common to see people turning left on red. It seems perfectly acceptable to turn left on red while the cross street is green, even if there are come cars coming.

Crossing the Street
Over the past year, the former mayor had installed new traffic lights and crossing signals in the center of town. All the streets there are one way. With these new lights I have observed something strange - people tend to cross the street when the traffic light and crossing signal is red, not green. It's like the people wait until the light turns red to cross the street. Maybe it's because drivers here believe they always have the right of way, thus do not slow down (while turning) for pedestrians on the crosswalk.

Green Means Go, Yellow Means Slow, and Red Means Stop
In our neighborhood there is a stoplight that doesn't have a yellow. It goes from green to red immediately. It was not always like this, I think while programming other lights over the past few weeks, someone made a mistake. But as dangerous as this seems, it really isn't, because people here tend to accelerate on the yellow, and going from green to red actually causes people to slow down and stop. But, that's not always the case, lots of drivers don't seem to want to break on yellow even when they are still a few hundred feet from the light, so they speed up then honk the horn to let other drivers know that they will be zooming through the red light.

And We're Back...

Yesterday, we finally got internet in our apartment. It took three months, which I don't know if that is quick or slow. Anyway, I can now once again connect with the world.

The Way Things Work Here

Yesterday Carlos informed me that it would take three to four weeks to get a phone line installed in our new apartment. I didn't mind too much, since I never use the phone. But apparently you need a phone line to get internet. A month without internet! That, I could not handle.

I gently reminded Carlos that if we don't have a phone in our home office, and that if he doesn't yet have a phone is his work office, he wouldn't be able to work (yeah, he's two months into his job and they haven't given him a phone yet so he spends half the day working from home). He said he would figure something out. And he did.

Today Carlos went to the municipality to start the request for the phone line in our apartment. They looked at his name, then asked if so-and-so is his brother (yes, he is, and he has worked for the municipality for about 15 years) and if so-and-so is his sister (yes, she is, possibly an old friend). OK, they said, we can install the line for you this Monday.

That's the way things work here.

A Matter of Trust

I've been looking for jobs lately. It's hard for an expat. None of the rules are the same.

Last week, I brought my resume to a company where a friend of Carlos works. Well, the resume was alright. But it was deemed a bit thin. In the US, you are supposed to limit your resume to one page with just the most important elements and the person hiring can ask for more information if the resume looks promising.

That's not how things work here. You are expected to list every job you've ever had, every project you've ever worked on, every conference you ever attended. You are expected to disclose your race, sex, age, national origin, religion, disability, sexual orientation, and marital status. Well, maybe not all of those, but you are expected to have a photo on your resume.

I was asked to provide my original diplomas so that they could be copied. Not notarized copies. The originals. Most people in the US have their diplomas mounted and nailed to the wall. A diploma is just to look at, not for actual use.

Then, I was told that I would need to get "Certificates of Employment" from my former employers. I'd never heard of that before. That means I needed to contact former bosses and ask for documents stating my dates of employment, projects worked on, cost of said projects, my responsibilities, etc. I mean, are they going to think any different of me when they find out that I used to work on projects that cost half a billion dollars (yes, that is billion with a "b", even though the civil part was a tiny fraction)? They can talk for me for five minutes and find out much more about my experience.

When I first saw Carlos's resume, I laughed at it, because it was a tome. He had the names and dates of every conference that he attended AND copies of the certificates stating that he did indeed attend. Is that really necessary? I mean, just because you have a certificate, it doesn't mean that you learned anything. I was appalled by the behavior some of the guests at the conference I attended last month in Cuenca. People had not only not turned off the ringers on their mobiles, but actually answered them and started chatting in the middle of the conference while speakers were talking. Some eventually left the room, but others didn't. Not only is that incredibly rude, but these people who spent two days chatting on the phone got the same certificate that Carlos and I did. And I should admit that I didn't learn nearly as much as Carlos did since the conference was in Spanish.

But that's how things work here. If it's not signed and sealed and stamped, it is worthless.

I think I will start designing my own stamp.

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.

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.

The Economist: The $100 issue

When my parents visited in December, they brought me lots of wonderful gifts from home. Basically, everyday items that I could not find here, like pine nuts and vanilla extract. And The Economist - my favorite magazine. It is not published in Ecuador because the guy who owns the rights has chosen not to publish it, probably because he couldn't make money off of it. I'm sure that I would be one of maybe 13 readers in this country of 13 million.

Unfortunately, the special double winter issue, which is the best of the best, was not available when my parents were coming here, so they shipped it to me when they returned to the states, along with a book, a sweater, some contact lenses, Cheez-Its. All simple stuff. The FedEx invoice stated the value of all items to be $25 (even though they are probably worth a little more). I don't know how much the shipping itself cost, but lets assume another $30, or more like $40 when you include the labor done my my parents to acquire and pack all the items. That's $65 already...

The package was shipped three weeks ago. It was supposed to arrive two weeks ago. After repeated calling, we finally found out where the package was. As of yesterday it was in Cuenca, but to get it into my possession I need to pay another $35! This is how it breaks down...customs is about $20. I mean, I have to pay $20 for customs to go through my box, try on my sweater, and probably eat the Cheez-Its. Apparently the government does not pay for this service, but the people using it do. Of that $20, $15 is for "management," $2 is for "storage" and $3 for "other." Then that $20 is taxed. So I get to pay about $23 for the privilege of customs keeping my stuff in a warehouse for two weeks.

Then there is the other bill, $12 in taxes. I need to pay $12 in import taxes on items that are worth $25. That's about 50%! And then, of course, I have to pay taxes on the taxes (well, I guess it's taxes on the tariff, but that's really the same).

So, in total, one issue of The Economist has now cost $100.

I hope that it's good :)