September 6: Climbing birthday party
Linde texted the teacher group chat during the first week of school to announce that she was having a birthday party at El Cap, a climbing gym on the west side of Parque Carolina. Come on out! We came on out. About 20 teachers and some non-teaching partners (even more than pictured here) showed up, some hitting the bouldering walls, some just sitting upstairs at the little bar to sing, play cards, and celebrate. For me, this evening was a beautiful early indicator that the Americano teacher community does not need much warning or notice—if a gathering is happening anywhere in Quito, people will show up and make it a fun time. In the months that followed this first trip to the climbing gym, I’ve tried again and again to build a habit out of climbing, as I have for the last few years of my life. I bought climbing shoes and a chalk bag at the local REI-equivalent, a store called Tatoo, and by December, I made Monday biking trips to the gym a light habit. Linde, Roy, Ben, Rob, Ry, and I went on one outdoor climbing trip in November, and we now have a group chat to encourage each other to stick to our gym routines.
September 10: Walk in the park
I’m going to borrow the caption I wrote for this photo on Strava (which is where you really need to follow me if you want updates on what I’m up to sooner than 4 months after the fact):
I recently read the sentence, “Oftentimes finding your purpose within your community and the parallels with your inner journey can provide great relief and meaning,” and I’m learning that my position in this community right now is to be the initiator of outside time, and I do indeed find great relief and meaning in that.
Many years ago, probably in the spring of 2021, probably at the light by Buffalo Soldier, probably on a drive to the Sierra Vista climbing gym trying to build a habit that didn’t stick, Noah and I were having a conversation about inviting friends to activities, discussing how he always seemed to be the one texting our friends, and he made a very small, very well-intentioned comment to the effect of, “Well, Sarah, you’re just not the kind of person to initiate activities,” and I burst into tears. We’d been living as roommates for at least six months at this point, so Noah was no longer phased by my bursting into tears in his truck. I responded back that I very much wished I was the kind of person who would initiate activities with our friends, but those activities—what I at the time called “Noah activities”—like hiking, and climbing, and camping, and bike riding, just felt so new and foreign to me, and I felt so insecure when I tagged along that the idea of initiating them myself seemed impossible. Noah, the friend who helped me buy my first pair of hiking pants and taught me what a Jetboil is, apologized a lot, and we continued on our drive.
I feel very confident in outdoor spaces now, obviously in huge part thanks to Noah’s patience and guidance, and equally thanks to many years wandering about the Huachuca Mountains with Katembe, with friends, or alone. When our new cohort of teachers first arrived in Quito, I fit right in with the outdoorsy folks, sharing that of course I’d brought my tent and four different bike lights with me in my checked luggage. All fall, I’ve spent multiple days a week hiking or biking in Parque Metropolitano, the massive wooded park that’s a five minute walk from my apartment, sometimes alone, but often with whoever responds to my message in the neighborhood group chat. I try my best to be gentle and inclusive towards my peers who are learning about outdoor activities—what 2021 Sarah would be shocked and heartened to know that I now think of as “my activities”—here, paying forward the kindness that Noah and many others showed me for years and years.
September 28: High Desert Classic VI (from afar)
“Just don’t go too over the top,” I told Steph. But...it’s Steph.
This September marked the first High Desert Classic I’d missed since I started playing pickleball nearly five years ago. Steph hatched a plan to have me video call during the tournament so I could catch up with the Sierra Vista pickleball community, who I miss very, very much. Using pool noodles, rope, and her creative genius, Steph fashioned a human-sized figure that held her phone so I could watch the games and chat with whoever passed by the centrally-located tree at the courts. Everyone who came up to talk opened with one of two lines: “Wow Sarah, you’ve lost some weight!” or “I really thought Mike had lost his mind and was talking to a tree.” (Both of these comments did not make sense until someone texted me a photo of my skinny noodle body and a handful of Mikes talking to the tree.) I spent a few hours there, visiting with so many dear friends like Linda (pictured here), and explaining, regrettably, that I hadn’t yet found pickleball in Ecuador. My heart was overflowing with joy after this afternoon, and I was so grateful that Steph, as always, ignored my request to keep things low-key.
October 4: Mindo bike ride
I first heard about the Mindo bike ride when I spoke with Louise, the now-retired Americano teacher whose apartment I took over, way back in June of this year. I’m glad I knew about it so far in advance, because that meant I knew how much altitude training I’d need once I arrived in Quito and got my bike assembled. (I suppose I didn’t really know how much training I’d need, but I knew it was a lot.) The Mindo bike ride is an annual epic trek from the city of Quito way west to the birder’s-destination-in-the-cloud-forest, a little town called Mindo. Teachers from Colegio Americano and Academia Cotopaxi, the two biggest international schools in Quito, have been organizing the ride every October for the past many years. This ride was very, very hard, and I felt so proud of my body after completing it (no walking the whole way!). Some stats for those of you who still aren’t following me on Strava: 53.34 miles, elevation gain of 4,797 feet, elevation loss (steeeep, muddy, rocky downhill) of 6,483 feet, moving time of 6:47:40, total elapsed time of 9:45:04. Photo is from a rest in the tiny town of Tandayapa, the last stop before the famously daunting “second climb.” Keeping up with (and even passing) some of the fastest men in the group on that tough second climb felt amazing.
October 11: Baños waterfall
Longtime fans of my blogging will be happy to know that there is a new “Tom e Jerry” in my life, and it is this group of people, affectionally known as “Cedrus etc.” the name of our WhatsApp group chat. (“Edificio Cedrus” is the name of the building where 4/5 of the group lives—I’m the “etc.” directly across the street in my nameless apartment building.)
The five of us were sort of thrust together as friends when we became neighbors three days after we all moved to Ecuador in August. This built-in community, a microcosm of the broader built-in school community that comes with international teaching, has been a major part of my daily life the past few months: we take the bus to work every morning, making sure to text or call when one person is running late, and we debrief about our days on the long rides home in the afternoon. When I got sick in early October, Izzy (Individuals and Societies, grades 9-10, far right) dropped off homemade banana bread at my door, and when Katembe got sick a few weeks later, she dropped off paper towels to help with a terrible rug situation. Ben (Language and Literature, grades 9-10, green shirt) learned that I grew up loving Bruce Springsteen, and he planned an evening for us to go see Deliver Me From Nowhere one rainy night in early November. Rob (Theory of Knowledge, grades 11-12, down in front) and I are the only two in our cohort who brought dogs and bikes to Ecuador, so we’ve found all the best parks in our neighborhood, as well as all the best coffee stops along the Ciclopaseo. Jabari (Science, grade 8, colorful bag) is sitting next to me as I type this—I use the oven in his apartment for baking, and as we were the only two of our little group to stay in Quito for the holidays, we got to spend extra time together baking cookies, discussing our shared love for writing, and watching an entire season of The Good Doctor on Christmas Eve.
The photo above is from a trip we all took to Baños, a town similar to Mindo that has waterfalls, rafting, and hot springs galore. We rented bikes and rode downhill along the Ruta de las Cascadas to see this waterfall, El Pailón de Diablo (Devil’s Cauldron), one of the most powerful waterfalls in South America.
November 2: Pululahua horseback riding
For a long weekend in early November, Elaine (Math, grades 11-12, the human in this photo) planned a trip to Pululahua Crater, one of only two inhabited active volcano craters in the world, which happens to be an hour-and-a-half drive from my apartment. Elaine rides the same bus as the Cedrus etc. crew, as she lives only a few blocks from us, and on one afternoon bus ride, she told us about her plan and threw out an invitation to anyone who wanted to join. I looked into where she was staying, saw that they had tent camping sites and were dog friendly, and I took her up on the offer. I actually got food poisoning the night before I was planning to leave and almost bailed, but I decided to tough it out. Elaine and I did some gentle walks together through the foggy farmland, we talked about our childhoods growing up religious and then finding teaching to be a form of service, and she lent me her Kindle when I decided I needed to sip some broth and lie down in my tent in the afternoon. After one night’s rest, my stomach was feeling more stable, and we went with a guide on a little horseback riding trip up a trail in the crater. Katembe, a dog who famously has tried to fight every horse, cow, and deer he’s ever seen, was an extremely good boy and became a friend to horses on that day. There were a few moments where his doggy intrusive thoughts got the best of him and he nipped at my horse’s ankles, and he did get stomped on one time as a result of such behavior, but I stand by my assessment: Katembe is now a friend to horses.
November 8: Cotacachi pickleball tournament
Along with a few dozen retired folks in Arizona, I was really, really worried I wouldn't find pickleball in Ecuador. After months of research before I moved, I made the difficult decision to pack my paddle but not my court shoes. Tennis and Padel are the popular racket sports in much of Central and South America; I was not overly hopeful.
At the end of October, after I’d studied Google Maps and asked colleagues and students if anyone knew about pickleball here and had still come up short, on a lark, I decided to check Instagram to see if there were any posts tagged with pickleball nearby. I found a page for a pickleball club in Tanda, which is a little town in the valley east of Quito. I sent them a message and was quickly connected with the leader of the club, a man named Pato (common nickname for Patricio here) who was thrilled to learn I had a paddle, a rating, and years of experience. “Can you play at 7pm tonight?” he asked, and just like that, I was folded into their little group that is working to grow the sport in this part of Ecuador.
The group I play with is all Ecuadorian men, mostly retired folks, but some younger guys, too. They do drop and dink, but of course there’s a lot of aggressive play at the kitchen line. A lot of the men I play with speak English, but they respect my desire to practice Spanish. I realized very quickly that making jokes with my partner and chatting before, during, and after games is a huge part of the sport for me, and it’s a type of communication I don’t use in any other settings: my Spanish tutor or my work colleagues can’t teach me the specific phrases I need in this specific sport. Figuring out how to say, “No, you were the first server!” and “Well, the ball doesn’t lie!” in Spanish was very important, and my curiosity helped me connect with the other players. In that little park in Tanda where we set up our temporary nets on courts lined for volleyball, I’ve started to feel like myself in Spanish, which has been a breakthrough: I already felt very confident on a pickleball court, and now I feel confident communicating on the courts, too. It’s a wonder.
One day a few weeks ago, a new guy showed up who I’d never met. We played a game and I crushed him with some skillful dinks at the line. He was smiling, but immediately asked for a rematch. My partner and I won again. We were sitting on the sidelines drinking water, when the new guy started saying things like, “We need to find a new name. Maybe Jorge, or Pedro...” I was confused, so I turned to my partner, Pablo. “He’s saying that we need a nickname for you because you play aggressively like a man,” Pablo told me, smirking. “Oh, or he could just live with the fact that he lost to a woman,” I responded quickly, and everyone laughed, even new guy, which was a relief. Pablo and I were partners in a tournament in Cotacachi, a town about two hours north of Quito, and we took silver after a long battle in the 4.0 mixed medal match. All I was thinking that whole match was how much I would love to play with the woman on the other side, who is rated a top-5 player in Ecuador. To my luck, she came to Tanda one Saturday morning and she was thinking the same thing: we paired up and gracefully, joyfully won some games together. One day I’ll have another female partner in Tanda. For now, I’ll keep practicing my Spanish and teaching these men some lessons.
December 7: Sunday call
I have been living away from home for over ten years now. This latest journey is the first time in all those years that my family and I have consistently stayed in touch on a weekly basis. I don’t recall setting this as a goal, but for months now, we have been talking every Sunday evening. Usually, my mom, dad, and Hannah have finished dinner, and I am making dinner and then eating as we get on the line. We chat about the goings on of the week in each of our little worlds. It’s very new for us, but I hope it sticks around. I think these calls are partly why I’ve been so lax in updating this blog, because every Sunday, I get to tell my stories and share my photos to my main readership. In this photo, I am giving a demonstration to show why we all need to agree on which direction we hold our phones.
December 13: A Christmas Carol
Jay (Individuals and Societies, grades 7-8, far left with candy cane, I’m done introducing teachers like this) is a fellow new foreign hire and party planner extraordinaire. In December, he organized a murder mystery Christmas party where we were all cast roles from A Christmas Carol. He created character cards for each of us that summarized our basic personality traits and gave important information that only we knew and would either have to keep secret or share. Throughout the night, dressed in our period-appropriate costumes, we mingled with other guests, trying to solve the mystery of Jacob Marley’s murder. I was cast as Ebenezer Scrooge, and I knew some of the ways that Marley had mismanaged some of the party guests’ investments, suggesting possible motives. In the end, the guilty party was the Ghost of Christmas Past. Bah humbug.
December 25: Hi Jeff!
Before the break, my students in my D2 class asked me if I was going home for Christmas this year, and when I said no, they were shocked. I explained that it was normal for me to be away from home during the holidays. When two Felipes pushed me to explain more, I did some math and told them that 2018 was the last time I was home in Massachusetts for Christmas. “But will you still miss your family?” my student Carolina asked. My family? I considered. A fair question, but hard to explain.
The family I really missed when I was alone on Christmas was not my own (sorry, main readership), but instead my friends’ warm families who had taken me in for Christmas for so many years: Claire’s family, Noah’s family, Steph’s family, and Cat’s family. Every year for four years during the winter break from school, I went to Tucson to visit Cat’s parents and brothers and played games, did puzzles, shared a meal, and laughed for hours. I think I only spent one Christmas with Noah’s family, but even when he traveled with them and I did not, we still called on Christmas morning to check in and share loving greetings. Steph’s Arizona family was a constant in my life, and I always saw her grandma Lupita around this time of year. I flew to Idaho last Christmas to be with Claire’s family after she, Harvey, and baby Leon moved from Arizona, because traditions are traditions, and waking up on Christmas morning with the Jacksons had meant a lot to me.
So, this year for Christmas, I called all of these families to visit from afar. Yes, I was alone, but I still got to hear Cat’s brother Zack call Katembe “Special K,” see the highlights of Steph’s Christmas morning with her fiancé and stepdaughter, talk with Noah’s dad about how busy he is in retirement, and even wave through multiple layers of technology at Claire’s brother Jeff, who was also abroad for the holidays this year. It was definitely a different way to spend Christmas, but my day was filled with connection and cheer nonetheless.
December 30: Papallacta hot springs
In a last minute effort to squeeze as much adventure out of the winter break as we could, me, Rob, Jabari, and Sharon (okay fine, Drama, grades 9-12, far right) planned a little getaway to the village of Papallacta, a cloud-foresty area like Mindo and Baños that is only an hour and a half east of Quito but feels like another world. We spent hours and hours soaking in the hot springs, occasionally getting out to dunk in the cold river water or just get cold by standing up in the rain, and then checked into our little mountain lodge, Mamallacta, and spent the rest of the day playing foosball and Rummikub and enjoying the Dot’s Pretzels Rob had brought back from his Christmas in the States. The lodge was dog-friendly, so Rob and I both brought our dogs, and they enjoyed curling up while we played games and exploring the farmland with llamas, cows, and donkeys just outside the window.
December 31: Tembe and Sama
Tembe struggled a lot with making friends when Noah and I first adopted him five years ago because he was still very young and very chaotic. He finally feels like an older dog these days, and he’s having a blast in Ecuador making friends with street dogs, park llamas, crater horses (see above), and farm cows. His very best friend in the whole world, though, is Sama, Rob’s cat-like Basenji who lives close by, right in Cedrus. When we walk out our door, Sama is always perched on the couch in her window across the street, watching Katembe make his sniffs. They go on walks in the park together, and they have traveled to Baños and Papallacta together, Katembe obliviously smothering Sama as he reaches to sniff out the window from the back of Rob’s car. Sama, ever the stereotype of the girl dog with a male owner, is usually curious yet standoffish around Katembe, except when she comes to our apartment and zooms around the backyard, stealing all of his toys and daring him to keep up with her as she bounces off couches and slips under chairs where he can’t fit. Katembe, with his old boy hips and legs, usually trails behind while Sama darts ahead on adventures, but he has wisdom to share as well, like teaching her how cool it is to stand on top of the dining room table in the Airbnb in Baños so they can look out the window and watch for their humans to return. In this photo, they pause from a hike along the rapids of Papallacta to pose before running back to dip their very-differently-sized paws in the river and look out for llamas together. They adore each other.