Spanish class is over. Oh, thank the sweet Lord. I thought I might die. But on the up side, I didn't. And you'll all be proud to know that I earned an 86%. Not that the grade means anything except for the mental satisfaction of passing.
In other news, I start back to work two weeks from today. Wow, writing that made it seem closer. Hate that. This week I'm hoping the guys will come paint my ceilings and that my landlady will give me the ok to buy the paint to paint my walls. I don't have anything on the walls in the meantime and I'm anxious to decorate a little.
Today in class we took a mini-field trip to an art museum and I used the restroom while I was there. It was so nice that I thought about the niceness factor for the duration of my visit. My visit to the loo, that is; not the museum.
It has been my experience that the term "nice public bathroom" is variable as one crosses borders. Here are some multiple-standard examples:
In the US: contradiction in terms; no meaning.
In the Dominican Republic: it is free of insects which are larger than my hand
In Germany: the lady cleaned the toilet immediately before I went in
In Russia: there is a toilet seat (not just the bowl)
In Argentina: you can flush the tp
In Romania: there is someone to stand where the door should be to block the view while I do my thing
In China: it's a western toilet (as opposed to a squatty-potty)
In Ecuador: it has have toilet paper
Anyway, back to today's art museum toilet. Not only did it have toilet paper, it also smelled good (especially good in a country where usually the pipes can't handle tp so everyone throws their used tp in the trashcan); flushed well; had locking doors and a hook for my purse; soap and water AND paper towels. I mean, high quality.
Makes you wonder which country's public toilets I'll get to critique next, doesn't it?
[Editor's Note: Leslie's experiences with public bathrooms are not necessarily representative of the average public facilities of each country.]
Friday, August 14, 2009
Saturday, August 8, 2009
To Shower Curtain or Not to Shower Curtain...THAT is the Question
I'm in the process of furnishing my apartment. Well, sortof furnishing it. I already have the needed stuff- a bed; a fridge; a table. But the stuff that makes you happy to walk in....like your pictures on the wall or some candles or such- that stuff I'm working on.
I have this ongoing argument in my head. I'm pretty sure this is my mother's fault. She was the bargain-buyer of the whole world, basically. So whenever I buy a non-essential item I go through this debate- I don't need it; it's expensive; how many hours would I have to work to pay this off; can I get a better deal somewhere else; in three months will I regret this purchase; etc.
Anywho, I've been looking for a shower curtain. I've checked several different places and haven't found anything even close to what I want. The price ranges were between 7 and 20 dollars, usually for plastic. Yuck.
Then on Wednesday I was walking through a store in the mall to get to the grocery store, and I saw a shower curtain display. And the perfect curtain. Just the right color and not plastic. It was $27.
That's a lot of money. I mean, compared to $7. So I drooled over it for a couple minutes, put it back, and went to get my groceries.
Now I'm back at home, without a shower curtain, wishing I'd bought it. I figured it out, that with tax, the curtain would cost me $1.26 per month of my remaining two years of contract at AAI. And I think, hmm, that's not very much!
Is it?
I really hate this division of living overseas; some people here could eat for a month on $27. But does that mean I shouldn't spend that much on a shower curtain? Not getting the cool curtain will not help any of those people. On the other hand, being wasteful is bad. So maybe I should settle for the cheap plastic curtain?
Moral dilemmas. So annoying.
On a lighter note, a friend pointed out to me tonight that the word "parasol" seems Spanish- para means for and sol means sun. Like an umbrella is called a "paragua"- for water. Latin based?
Anyway, I'm going to bed now. If you have any input on my shower curtain dilemma, feel free to comment.
I have this ongoing argument in my head. I'm pretty sure this is my mother's fault. She was the bargain-buyer of the whole world, basically. So whenever I buy a non-essential item I go through this debate- I don't need it; it's expensive; how many hours would I have to work to pay this off; can I get a better deal somewhere else; in three months will I regret this purchase; etc.
Anywho, I've been looking for a shower curtain. I've checked several different places and haven't found anything even close to what I want. The price ranges were between 7 and 20 dollars, usually for plastic. Yuck.
Then on Wednesday I was walking through a store in the mall to get to the grocery store, and I saw a shower curtain display. And the perfect curtain. Just the right color and not plastic. It was $27.
That's a lot of money. I mean, compared to $7. So I drooled over it for a couple minutes, put it back, and went to get my groceries.
Now I'm back at home, without a shower curtain, wishing I'd bought it. I figured it out, that with tax, the curtain would cost me $1.26 per month of my remaining two years of contract at AAI. And I think, hmm, that's not very much!
Is it?
I really hate this division of living overseas; some people here could eat for a month on $27. But does that mean I shouldn't spend that much on a shower curtain? Not getting the cool curtain will not help any of those people. On the other hand, being wasteful is bad. So maybe I should settle for the cheap plastic curtain?
Moral dilemmas. So annoying.
On a lighter note, a friend pointed out to me tonight that the word "parasol" seems Spanish- para means for and sol means sun. Like an umbrella is called a "paragua"- for water. Latin based?
Anyway, I'm going to bed now. If you have any input on my shower curtain dilemma, feel free to comment.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
The Mumble Trucks of Quito
I’ve been back “home” in Ecuador for more than a week now. I’m pretty happy to be on this end of Week 1, given how tumultuous it was. I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me that coming back to Quito and moving into a new apartment at the same time would cause me considerable emotional instability. I am, contrary to what this oversight might indicate, reasonably self-aware.
In any case, I’m back, I have a roof and a bed and hot water and electricity and a tv that I can turn on and lots of other good things. Currently my toilet isn’t working, which is somewhat less than ideal, but the good news is that I can fill a bucket from the shower and flush the toilet with that until the plumber comes. Tah-dah! It makes me happy to have been raised by two of the most resourceful people I know.
In other return-to-Quito news, I have survived my week one of three in an intensive Spanish course. I am pleased to report that I did quite well until about 12:15 on Thursday. It seems that at that time the linguistic area of my brain shut down from overuse, and was down for recovery for a couple days. Today (Saturday) it seems to be functioning again. I expected this shut-down to occur. I’ve decided it’s a safety feature programmed into our brains to prevent implosion and total destruction. It happens to me every time- Germany, Russia, Argentina, China, and now Ecuador. It’s good to be able to count on some things, isn’t it?
It’s loud in my new apartment. It’s funny what you notice as weird when you leave and come back. For me, one of those things has been the art of honking in Quito. Where I’m from honking is pretty straight-forward. You honk to warn someone of danger or when someone’s driving like they’re in a coma and you lose your patience. The only other reason to honk is if you’re passing the house of someone you know.
Here, it’s a much more developed art. People honk here for the reasons mentioned about, although there’s a lot more honking to say, “Careful, I’m coming” instead of, “You crazy moron!! Who taught you how to drive!?!? Get out of my way!!” For example, drivers here tap the horn when they’re coming to an intersection to warn other drivers who might be running the stop sign. But the fun honking is what I’m talking about. It took me a couple months to begin distinguishing one honk from another.
If, for example, I’m walking and I hear a car behind me tap his horn once or twice very lightly, I know it’s a taxi, asking if I want a ride. If I’m trying to sleep in on a Saturday morning and I hear this: honk-honk-honk-honk-honk-honk (pause; repeat) it means the truck with the gas tank refills is passing by. If I needed to exchange my tank for a full one, I’d run out and flag him down. If I didn’t need to exchange my tank, I would feel around blindly on my nightstand for my earplugs and go back to sleep.
But my favorite is the mumble truck. The mumble truck doesn’t actually use the horn. Instead he has an electronic megaphone attached to the roof of the pickup. In the bed are various kinds of produce for sale. The mumble truck is so named (by me) because the quality of the megaphone is always so terrible that it’s essentially impossible to understand what he’s selling. It sounds kinda like this:
“Masransabandabasintreporundolardanesco-la!”
It’s sortof a chant, with everything being chanted on the same note except the last syllable, which goes down a couple notes. I’ve never bought anything from a mumble truck, but I think I will sometime this year. That’s the nice thing about living somewhere for an extended time- no hurry.
Well, while I wrote this the plumber came, fixed my toilet, made a big mess on my floor and left. I think I’ll go mop my bathroom floor (which, in the plumber’s defense, needed to be mopped before he came) and use my newly-functioning toilet.
Ah, it’s gonna be a good day.
In any case, I’m back, I have a roof and a bed and hot water and electricity and a tv that I can turn on and lots of other good things. Currently my toilet isn’t working, which is somewhat less than ideal, but the good news is that I can fill a bucket from the shower and flush the toilet with that until the plumber comes. Tah-dah! It makes me happy to have been raised by two of the most resourceful people I know.
In other return-to-Quito news, I have survived my week one of three in an intensive Spanish course. I am pleased to report that I did quite well until about 12:15 on Thursday. It seems that at that time the linguistic area of my brain shut down from overuse, and was down for recovery for a couple days. Today (Saturday) it seems to be functioning again. I expected this shut-down to occur. I’ve decided it’s a safety feature programmed into our brains to prevent implosion and total destruction. It happens to me every time- Germany, Russia, Argentina, China, and now Ecuador. It’s good to be able to count on some things, isn’t it?
It’s loud in my new apartment. It’s funny what you notice as weird when you leave and come back. For me, one of those things has been the art of honking in Quito. Where I’m from honking is pretty straight-forward. You honk to warn someone of danger or when someone’s driving like they’re in a coma and you lose your patience. The only other reason to honk is if you’re passing the house of someone you know.
Here, it’s a much more developed art. People honk here for the reasons mentioned about, although there’s a lot more honking to say, “Careful, I’m coming” instead of, “You crazy moron!! Who taught you how to drive!?!? Get out of my way!!” For example, drivers here tap the horn when they’re coming to an intersection to warn other drivers who might be running the stop sign. But the fun honking is what I’m talking about. It took me a couple months to begin distinguishing one honk from another.
If, for example, I’m walking and I hear a car behind me tap his horn once or twice very lightly, I know it’s a taxi, asking if I want a ride. If I’m trying to sleep in on a Saturday morning and I hear this: honk-honk-honk-honk-honk-honk (pause; repeat) it means the truck with the gas tank refills is passing by. If I needed to exchange my tank for a full one, I’d run out and flag him down. If I didn’t need to exchange my tank, I would feel around blindly on my nightstand for my earplugs and go back to sleep.
But my favorite is the mumble truck. The mumble truck doesn’t actually use the horn. Instead he has an electronic megaphone attached to the roof of the pickup. In the bed are various kinds of produce for sale. The mumble truck is so named (by me) because the quality of the megaphone is always so terrible that it’s essentially impossible to understand what he’s selling. It sounds kinda like this:
“Masransabandabasintreporundolardanesco-la!”
It’s sortof a chant, with everything being chanted on the same note except the last syllable, which goes down a couple notes. I’ve never bought anything from a mumble truck, but I think I will sometime this year. That’s the nice thing about living somewhere for an extended time- no hurry.
Well, while I wrote this the plumber came, fixed my toilet, made a big mess on my floor and left. I think I’ll go mop my bathroom floor (which, in the plumber’s defense, needed to be mopped before he came) and use my newly-functioning toilet.
Ah, it’s gonna be a good day.
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