That's not actually the reason we are less venturesome, but except for shopping trips every second day, we are staying put. Not so bad for me, because I can continue my Spanish acquisition project and watch the market as the U.S. approaches the "fiscal cliff" of tax hikes on Jan 1st and another debt ceiling we'll hit in February, but Deb is getting bored, I guess. She has finished two books and is trying to get into a third, but does a lot of animated card-making, emailing, Skyping, online scrabble and a balloon popping video game to fill her time. We haven't been able to stumble upon anything like a community centre or other social outlet; the nearest we've come is the Explorer's Club downtown, but that didn't seem very actively social either, although they will throw a New Year's party for members. We haven't joined.
Walks with Zoey punctuate the day, but longer hikes seem unwise - the traffic pollution is unpleasant and probably unhealthy, and since Deborah has read about the risk of muggings if you walk through the parks as opposed to walking around the outskirts, she isn't keen to visit any, although I might try locate another one to drag her out to this weekend. Or another museum, perhaps...we have only a week left here, anyway, and then we're off to Latacunga, Isinlivi and Malingua Pamba for the next chapter.
We find ourselves taking care of Zoey more than we'd anticipated. Maggie has suddenly had to take on a babysitting job for a mother who is bedridden with a complication to her second pregnancy, and who also has a two-year old to be cared for. That's in addition to the afternoon cleaning job she has at another home; for the last two weekdays we only saw Maggie early in the morning and then again later in the evening. However, I'm delighted to say that since Deb began keeping a timing log of Zoey's needs, we've virtually eliminated indoor eliminations.
Two days ago I just about went buggy from an entire neighbourhood of dogs barking all day long (residents leave them out in their yards while they're away at work), setting each other off every few seconds, in addition to the car alarms and incessant car honking, jetliners buzzing us thunderously as they came in to land, police and emergency vehicle sirens, recycling trucks with loudhailers, and other constant city noise. "Quiteños" certainly have a much higher noise tolerance than Torontonians, and more than I do. Yesterday there were no dogs, at least - they'd mysteriously all become silent.
There was lots of latin dance music from surrounding apartments, though, and we looked down on one outdoor patio to see couples dancing; that was at least a more pleasant form of noise pollution. There was a really loud dance party going on at the Toyota/Innova offices a few doors down from here, with lots of music and dancing, hollering and drumming; latin rhythms alternating with "Gangnam Style", everybody dressed in rodeo clown and Sadie Hawkins style costumes, the girls with curlers in their hair, and several four foot effigies in the same style of dress - partiers take turns having their photos taken with them.
There have been fireworks. I've noticed them intermittently all week, at all hours of the day, and yesterday at 6 p.m. there was a barrage of explosions just outside our living room window. One might have thought the U.S. ambassador's apartment was under siege, but we ran to the balcony to watch incredibly loud fireworks arcing from the back courtyard across the street. They're so percussive, they set off car alarms in all the nearby streets. As they scream into the air, observers cheer and whistle.
One ember landed on a neighbour's balcony, still burning. I thought the fireworks were related to the Christmas or New Year's season, but Maggie said it happens every Friday at 6 p.m.; that doesn't explain why I've been hearing them through the rest of the week, but they must be at least common enough to explain why Zoey takes them in stride. Our dogs used to experience fireworks once a year, and would go berserk. But the car-alarm-triggering fireworks are happening every few minutes all through the afternoon today, as well. It's completely beyond me to understand why so many Quiteños prefer to explode their fireworks in broad daylight rather than at night when we can enjoy their sensational luminosity.
Dec 31st, 6 p.m.: We've had two days of blissful quiet; Quiteños do respect the Sabbath, and today not many people were at work, it seems. On shopping excursions, we've noticed that the army of vendors that thread their way between the cars at every intersection now have more than fruit and magazines to flog. They have fireworks, clown hair and masks, and flammable cartoon effigies. The fireworks have started again, and the city sounds as if it is under artillery attack.
There was an annual parade today at Atuntaqui, about forty minutes drive from here. Men dress up as clowns, and as women, in drag. There are a few floats, and costumes with giant heads. We didn't go. It looks like a bit of fun, but with not much that's unique enough to other parades around the world.
Tonight Quito will hold its own version of Times Square, as so many cities do. The younger and wilder element will gather at a section of Avenida Rio Amazonas where they will drink and dance and eat street food, set off projectile fireworks, and burn special effigies called "muñecos" (puppets) often dressed up to represent something about the old year that they're especially glad to see the back of - a politician (most commonly the President), or a celebrity that they're quite sick of. A lot of the men will dress as women, or as "widows" (but they'll look more like two dollar hookers), and they'll barricade the streets with light ropes and demand small change from cars, "for charity" (but I'm guessing it'll also pay for a few drinks).
It all sounds like fun, except for standing around in the dark next to drunken strangers with projectile fireworks - will their aim improve as the night progresses? - and dancers who pile onto makeshift platforms until they collapse (the platforms, that is, not the dancers). There will be daredevils leaping over burning effigies of paper and sawdust like British nutters on Guy Fawkes Day, and a plethora of pickpockets and muggers, I suspect. It's well described here.
Yay for the Brave New World that includes Youtube. Now that we know what to avoid, we'll bring in the New Year right here, but we won't escape the smoke and madness completely. It seems that there were enough muñecos on the street for every home and business to have one, and their ritual purpose is to clean and purify, burning up the residual spirits of the old year to get a clean start on the new one. They'll burn on the sidewalks in front of buildings all over the city; we've had three that I know of on our block already, just below our balcony, while young men and women in cars, trucks and motorcycles cruise the streets in high spirits; fortunately, they all headed down to the main event as night fell, and our street became fairly quiet except for the more distant fireworks. In some of the barrios it'll be pretty lively this evening.
Many residents who can afford it escape the city for nearby towns on this weekend. Edwin and Any went all the way to New York, although admittedly not only to escape the New Year - maybe they're at Times Square tonight. Any emailed us a Happy New Year message.
Here on Whymper Avenue (BTW, those who love the Rockies, Alps and Andes should learn who Edward Whymper was), there was lots of whistling and hollering, racing and revving of motorcycle engines, and a few flying bottles. From our balcony we can enjoy frequent fireworks against the backdrop of city lights stretching up the mountain, but Maggie is sequestered in her room watching her favourite Nigerian live church service on her Macbook, where the New Year has already arrived. She enjoyed the lighting of candles as midnight struck in Nigeria, and will spend the evening Skyping her Ghanaian family and friends when they return home from church.
Deb and I have had Maggie's delicious lasagna for supper, and for dessert we tried out another new fruit called a babaco; it has the flavour of a watery pear and an edible skin like an apple, but with a tartness to it (just acidic enough to make a unique new wine, I think); Deb thinks it has a slightly soapy taste, and didn't eat much (mind you, she hates pawpaw, too). In the morning she will teach Maggie yet another of her recipes, so we will bring in the New Year tomorrow morning with delicious smoked salmon quiche.
That's the quiet New Year of "sexagenarians".
January 1st: Last night we had an experience that I wouldn't have believed if anyone had simply told me about it. In Toronto we have fireworks two or three times a year usually financed by the gov't at some level, detonated by professionals, and carefully spaced for maximum effect, and we are all dutifully impressed. Many people drive a long way to enjoy them.
Quiteños in general, in spite of the event I described last night, celebrate the New Year at home with their families. The fireworks continued to build all evening. Deb and I were tired, and we'd retired an hour before midnight, but at around 11:30 the explosions had become so intense we had to get up to see what was going on. In all directions, up the hillsides, fireworks were being detonated, one block apparently trying to outdo the next, and our own block was no exception. Zoe, who'd taken fireworks in stride until now, had never experienced anything like this (she's not a year old yet) and began to cry frantically in her room, so I went to get her and carry her around to watch them with us. She settled down when I held her and she realized I wasn't in a panic about it.
Our best view of the most impressive ones was northward toward the airport, but there was no direction that you didn't see the same thing happening. They became more intense as midnight approached, and within ten minutes of midnight the cumulative sound of distant pops and nearby booms and bangs was like - this is absolutely true, we both remarked on it out loud - the roaring rhythm of a long prairie freight train from inside an empty boxcar, and sometimes like breakers on an ocean shore, regular but with very short frequency. We both wondered, "How can they afford this?", and the celebration continued. There are busy lottery ticket sellers who dodge the cars at intersections, but this seemed to be a mass propitiation to all the saints and gods by a populace of two million all at once.
Neighbours down the street poured out of their houses and danced around their flaming muñecos on the sidewalks. They set off fireworks there and from the rooftops of the collection of six story highrises like ours. The entire city sounded like it was experiencing a bombing raid, and the barrage continued unabated for at least another half hour but it didn't stop. When I go to bed I usually drift off like a baby, but by 1 a.m. it continued to thwart my effort to fall asleep.
This memory of Quito will stay with us. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to be impressed by a fireworks event anywhere else in the world.
Next: Quietly Quitting Quito
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