things don't work and that's okay

OCTOBER 23, 2011

Okay, so maybe it seems like the uneven sidewalks are going out of their way to stub your toe, or the shower is laughing at you as its temperature switches between scalding and frigid at will, but Ecuador, you're getting the job done. 

This is a city of millions, growing every year, and everybody's out to make a dolla.  The pollution is bad but the nobody gives a rat's ass because the buses are all getting us from point A to point B.  Naturally as a foreigner, it's easy to see how much more smoothly things run in the States. 

if Quito didn't exist, this terrain would extend for miles and miles

On Friday, I accompanied two friends to a bike path that extends 50km over an old rail way.  We forked over $5 for rental bikes and were off!  I was irrationally expecting something similar to the Norwottuck Rail Trail in Amherst, which was converted quite successfully to a beautifully flat, paved bike path, with a spraypainted warning at every crack in the asphalt.  Instead I was greeted by a bumpy, gravel road that was always sloped in one direction or another.  We hit a beautiful valley after about an hour, and called it a good point to turn around.   At that point we were thirteen kilometers out, and mi amiga admits that her front tire is completely flat.  That's funny, the only other story I had heard about this path was from a friend who had to hitchhike back when her buddy's bike lost air.  So, our lil' trooper said she's fine, and vamanos!  We make it for a few kilometers, with the normally strong girl trudging along far behind, until she calls for a break.  We switch, and the rugby girl takes over.  A few more kilometers pass, when we see that the rubber from the tire has fallen right out of the rim--she had been riding on pure metal. 

Sharing the road with some asses. (look at the rope on the left)

Luckily we were at a crossroad where many a-car were passing, and we hesitantly began to wave down trucks.  A nice young guy pulled over in his Mazda Protogé and told us he'd go grab his truck and come back for us.  It was then that I told my buddies that this entire semester has just been filled with a series of losing and regaining faith in humanity.  People like him were the best type of ambassador for the country.

We waited 20 minutes, and naturally he never came back.  Ahem, nevermind then.

A few more people stopped for us, but they weren't heading in the same direction, or they offered tools instead of a ride.  It's okay, guys.  Let's just rough it out so we can get back before the sun goes down.

So it was my turn, and we only had a few miles to go.  At one downhill point, my hands turned to a pretty beet color from all the friction of the handlebars being propelled up and down by the metal-on-tierra action.  Within a hundred meters I saw that same car parked on the side of the road.  That nice young guy was probably chowing down some dinner inside.  The rest of the trip was a climb, slow and unrewarding, until we finally returned the bike to the rental lady.  She had an extremely unsurprised look on her face as I returned the broken bicycle.

Excuse the conspicuous analogy, but this bike sums up what I think of Quito.  The tire was broken, but the bike still went.

So, instead of anthropomorphizing the plumbing, I remind myself that this bipolar shower is still getting me clean, and the sidewalks, however uneven, support my weight alongside every car-filled road.  And, okay, maybe it's not the most effective method for the propane trucks to beepbeepbeep a horn that sounds like it belongs to Bozo the Clown to alert the neighborhood that it is passing through, but the tanks get distributed. 

Whatever works, man.