Arrival

I am now in Quito. Flying over the city at night made me think of Los Angeles or any other big city. Having never been here I just did not have any expectations although I tried to imagine what I would find. It was just too far out of my ability to create an image of what would be here or perhaps I realized that it would be wrong to paint a picture of what I wanted rather than what it is.

I had the good fortune of sitting beside an English speaking woman on the plane from panama to Quito which took me out o my head for the short flight into Ecuador. I was pleased because in Panama no one spoke English so it was difficult to  ask for help not knowing if they understood what I was saying. I could not get information on Miss Mali which was very unsettling. She had been so upset as you will read in my previous entry, and I had no idea where they would keep her while we were separated for the night. I could imagine her discomfort only too well as I stepped off the plane and walked towards the customs lineup in Quito airport for I was facing my own discomfort and uncertainty. I find it interesting that both Mali and I are on a similar journey of finding trust and ultimately the strength attained from this discovery. Each of us alone in a place we do not understand, connected through our love for each other over the miles between us. I will be so happy to see her today

Going through customs took all of 3 minutes which was a blessing. As I walked towards the carousel to pick up my suitcases I hit a bit of a wall in my mind. Here I was in a foreign country, unable to speak the language, no one to greet me at the other side of the glass doors, and no Mali. I could not face going those final steps for about half an hour, just sitting there looking at where I had to go unsure of how I would manage facing a situation where I had no idea of where to go or how to get there. Up to this point the airports had been a safety zone of sorts, I was in a protected bubble where decisions were made ahead of time by me and other people along the way. Leaving this place of controlled decisions was not at all easy for me. I went into the washroom to clean up my bag where some of the medicines I had brought spilled, gathering  up the courage to take the next step. Everyone else on the plane was in such a hurry to leave the airport – they all had a destination and people to see, while I stood there alone like the island I have always been. It was quite symbolic really to find myself understanding that this is exactly how I felt growing up; surrounded by people but not connected to any of them. I was stranded on an island throughout my childhood, so stepping through the door on the other side the final of X-ray machine my suitcases would have to go through, I understood I was stepping into a world that included others. The world I had been taken from which I now wondered if I capable of belonging in again.

I was smart to take the time pondering otherwise I would probably have forgotten to ask where I was meant to pick Mali up  the next morning. This had not been explained to me before I left, so I made the assumption that she would be at the airport. I asked a very nice young woman who spoke limited English (still better than my non-existent Spanish) who explained that I had to get her from “Cargo” about a kilometre from the airport. While she went to get the official who would have more information for me the panic rose began to rise up and I was filled with concern about not actually being able to take a taxi on my own. I was trying very hard not to fall apart and still listen to the instructions knowing I would be very likely to forget something important. While they stood there discussing in Spanish, so the one girl could translate, they also remembered to tell me that I had to pay with exact cash. And while I was exchanging the money she also remembered that I had to give a photocopy of my passsport. With each added step  it became more difficult to hold myself together stepping aside to hide my shame of unstoppable tears, trying to just breathe. They were so kind though and I was fully capable of understanding even through the fog of my breakdown which was very fortunate. This thought leads me to the understanding that I have indeed been very fortunate my whole life despite all the trauma and unforgivable circumstances. There has always been a person, animal, place or inspiration spring from the back of my mind to guide me through everything. It is truly amazing.

Still, as I left the departures area and headed to the doors leading outside, I could not face the idea of getting a taxi and finding a place to stay for the night. There was nowhere to sit and wait for morning, so logic finally won over and I went through the doors where a line of taxis waited to wisk people away. A driver approached me but he spoke no English so I could not explain about the cargo and the staying close and the absolute fear I had of getting into that cab with him. He called to a woman who came to his aid and she did her best to explain where they would take me. But she got concerned that I wasn’t understanding and so took me back inside to the information booth where another very kind and patient woman helped me find the hotel room where I am now typing this entry. She arranged for a driver to pick me up to take me to the hotel, then return the next morning to take me to cargo, and finally back to the hotel where my friend would meet me to take me to his village near Otavalo.

How much would that cost in our world? I don’t know for sure as I have never had the experience of making these kind of arrangements anywhere let alone in Canada, but I’m sure it would be pretty expensive. Here I paid $28.80 American for the room and $14.00 for all the taxi rides. I of course gave extra, but could not help but be amazed. Two women picked me up drove me to this out of the way place down a questionable street, and pulled up in front of a beautiful Spanish style villa which I imagine was someone’s home at one time. The girl at the desk did not speak English, but between the 4 of us we managed to get some understanding and I gratefully walked into a lovely room with a bathroom, small but very comfortable. An experience I would have missed had I struggled to stay overnight at the airport as I first thought I would do.

At last I had wifi and all my devices began to chime. It was midnight and I was tired and thirsty (I forgot to buy water in my confused state) but I had to get some messages out. This was a wonderful feeling to realize that I had people who were wondering about me and how I was doing. I have not had that before, this amazing gift called friendship. If the only thing I discover from the journey I’m on, is this knowledge it will be sufficient to know that I am no longer an island in a sea of people.

With love and gratitude to all those wonderful friends back home who have stepped well over the line to help me achieve this goal of “Finding Home”. There just are not enough words to express my thanks.