This weekend Ryan and I along with a great new friend took a red eye bus from Quito to the beach town of Atacames in the province of Esmeraldas.  The bus ride was about 6 hours long and we arrived to our destination about 5:45 am and totally bleary eyed and catatonic from our long overnight ride. We boarded a rickshaw taxi and checked into the first hotel listed in our trusty travel guide. We climbed into our bunk beds and proceeded to sleep into about 10 am when we were awoken by the Reggaeton music that is ubiquitous in Atacames.  We started off our day with a bowl of delicious Ceviche de Camaron, which was a refreshing dish consisting of shrimp, onion, and lime juice paired with a bowl of fried banana chips and an appetizing tall glass of chilled coconut milk.  I am a huge fan of breakfast foods and this dish will definitely give llapingachos a run for their money as my current favorite meal in Ecuador.  Atacames is your typical little beach town complete with vendors, thatch roofed huts serving cold drinks, and tour guides offering boat rides to the surrounding beaches.  For only about 1o bucks a person per ride we were able to visit the beaches of Sua and Same, the mangroves and the Island of Birds that was home to dozens of blue footed boobies.  Atacames was a much needed change of pace and is definitely a good time for those visiting the Northern coast of Ecuador.

Little did we know our luck was about to change.

On our way back from Baños, we split up and took two different buses. Laurene and Freddie needed to get back to Quito to work/find work the next day so they left after lunch. But I didn’t have any pressing engagements (let’s be honest, no job prospects in sight) so I was contemplating traveling further south for a few days. After much deliberation, I ended up going back to Quito, so I took an afternoon bus with Evan, our field producer and cameraman.

We were seated in the last row of the bus on the right hand side. On the left side of the bus there was one additional row of seats further back that were directly across from the bathroom. Our bags were under our seats, and our seats backed up against the bathroom.

The 4-hour bus ride had lulled me to sleep and by the time I woke up about 30 minutes from Quito, our camera was missing. We searched frantically all around us, on the top shelf of the bus and under our neighbor’s seats. They noticed us panicking and one young couple offered to help: the girl went to talk to the bus driver, who called the police.

Within ten minutes, our bus stopped on the side of the road and a police officer boarded to inspect everyone’s bags. Every passenger on the bus had to open their bags to prove that they hadn’t taken the camera.

The search was fruitless. The couple in the very last row across from us recalled a guy sitting next to them on a stool in the aisle who had gotten off the bus mid-way through the trip. He must have been the thief. He didn’t even take the whole backpack, but had the nerve to unzip it, remove the camera, and zip the backpack up again before high-tailing it off the bus.

We had all been hearing horror stories from the moment we arrived about theft and muggings in Quito. In all fairness (not quite sure how it’s fair though), it was probably a matter of time until we were robbed – in fact, Laurene was pickpocketed on the trolley a few days before.  Apparently our neighbors even had Laurene and Freddie over for a “safety talk” when they first moved in.

Of course I was incredibly bummed out, but that doesn’t even begin to describe how miserable Evan felt about the whole thing – and it wasn’t even his fault. That camera was his job, his livelihood, his passion – it was like someone kidnapped his dog, crashed his car, and forced him to watch Twilight on repeat – all at the same time.  And we all know there’s nothing worse than that.

Baños is nearly four hours away from Quito, and halfway through our ride two young women carrying babies boarded the bus. Our bus was already full, so they stood in the aisles. I kept waiting for someone to stand up and give them a seat, but no one budged.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. It was outrageous that in a bus full of people, no one would give up their seat for a young mother carrying a baby. I walked to the front of the bus and offered the women my seat. One of the women squeezed past me with her baby and sat down. A few moments later, a few people got off the bus, and the other woman (who turned out to have a second child in tow) sat down on a plastic stool crammed in the last row of seats.

The polite Westerner sitting next to the young mother offered me his seat. The mother had her arms full with the baby so her young daughter sat on my seat with me and I held on to the little girl as the bus jostled us along the bumpy road.

In my broken Spanish we tried to strike up a conversation. It hit me like a tidal wave when she said she was the same age as me – 24. Except unlike me, she had three children and had been married since she was sixteen. She was on her way to visit her husband, who is stationed in the army three hours away from her hometown. She makes the 6-hour trip every two weeks to see him. When I asked her for how much longer he will be in the army, she said, For life.

I’ve noticed tons of women with babies in Ecuador so I asked her how many more kids she wanted. She looked at me with the tired eyes of a weary young mother and admitted she didn’t want any more kids. She told me she lived in the campo, the countryside, and then explained that she already didn’t have enough money to send her three children to school.

I asked her how many kids a typical family has and my jaw dropped as she replied, Seven, eight, ten kids. Talk about a lack of family planning. And perpetuating the cycle of poverty.

The little girl on my lap had fallen asleep and I half held, half cradled her so she wouldn’t slide off the seat. She was the size of a toddler, but her mother told me she was five years old.

The woman next to me could have been me- if I had been born in Ecuador instead of California, if fate had rolled a different set of dice. We had compared birthdays (she’s a month older than me), and as we sat in silence for a few minutes I knew we were also comparing our lives.

She asked me how many kids I had, whether I had a husband, and when I told her I had neither, she asked why not. All I could say, and it pained me to say so, was that I was too young, that I wanted more time to do the things I want to do.

Baños

The Vietnamese are really outgoing and I have found it easy to make local friends. Up until recently, “23/9 park” on Pham Ngu Lao boulevard had been my main channel for making friends.

I met Yen at the aerobics class that takes place in the park everyday at 6.00pm. We connected right away and since then, she has introduced me to many of her friends. I also met Nhan- the one who took me to Ky Quang orphanage- at the park when she and other Vietnamese students asked me to practise English with them. I ended up sitting there for three hours answering their questions about France, the US, Vietnam, politics and cinema. Then Nhan introduced me to her own friends.

Making friends: Anh and Yen

I have now found another channel to make local friends: the bus. I take the same bus to work everyday at 6.40 am. Needless to say, I’m not completely awake at that time in the morning, thus I don’t really pay attention to who else sits on the bus. One afternoon however, I notice the sandals of a girl in a school uniform. As I get off, she asks me if I’m French.

“How do you know that?” I say.
“I’ve seen you talking to a woman on the bus.”
“Oh, that must be Mrs Thy.”
“…”
“I like your shoes”, I say. “Where did you buy them?”
“I got them in Hông Than Shop, in district 3. I don’t remember the address.”

We exchange email addresses and say goodbye.

The next morning on the bus, she slips a note into my hand before she gets off. Middle school memories of passing notes to the other end of the classrom come back to me. The note reads:
”Now I remember. I buy my shoe in the Hông Than Shop on Nguyen Dinh Chieu Street, District 3. I’m glad to see you again. Bye bye.”

Nhan #2 and I playing badminton.

The next day we meet in the park. She happens to live a block away from my guest house. Her name is Nhan. Nhan #2. She’s not a high school student, contrary to what I thought. She’s 20 years old and studies Business English at a small university.
She teaches me to play shuttle cock, but I’m not very skilled with my feet. Two Vietnamese boys join us and give me some more tips on how to play this very popular game in Vietnam.

The day after we all get together to play badminton.

I’ve missed that, playing sports with friends just for the fun of it.

* * * * * * *

SE FAIRE DES AMIS

Les Vietnamiens sont très amicaux et il m’a été facile de me faire des amis locaux. Jusqu’ici, ma stratégie pour rencontrer des gens était de me rendre au parc “23/9″ sur le boulevard Pham Ngu Lao.

J’ai ainsi rencontré Yen au cours d’aérobic qui se déroule dans le parc tous les soirs à 18 heures. Nous sommes rapidement devenues complices et depuis elle m’a présenté de nombreux amis. C’est aussi au parc que j’ai rencontré Nhan, qui m’a emmenée à l’orphelinat Ky Quang, quand un groupe de jeunes Vietnamiens m’a demandé de les aider à pratiquer leur Anglais. J’ai passé trois heures assise parmi eux à répondre à leurs questions sur la France, les Etats-Unis, le Viêtnam, la politique et le cinéma. Puis, Nhan m’a présentée à ses amis.

Depuis, j’ai découvert un autre moyen de se faire des amis: le bus. Je prend le même bus tout les matins à 6h40 pour aller au travail. Bien sûr, je ne suis pas complètement réveillée à cette heure-là de la journée et donc je ne fais pas trop attention aux autres passagers. Une après-midi pourtant, je remarque les sandales d’une fille en uniforme scolaire. Alors que je descend du bus elle me demande si je suis Française.

« Comment le sais-tu? dis-je
- Je t’ai vue parler à une dame dans le bus.
-Ah! Ce doit être Mme Thy.
- …
- J’aime bien tes chaussures. Où les as-tu achetées?
- Au magasin Hông Than, dans le troisième arrondissement. Je ne me souviens plus de l’adresse. »

Nous nous quittons en échangeant nos adresses e-mail.

Le lendemain matin dans le bus, elle me glisse un petit papier dans la main avant de descendre à son arrêt. Souvenirs de collège où les élèves se passaient des messages d’un bout à l’autre de la classe…
« Maintenant je me rappelle. J’achète mes chaussure dans le magasin Hông Than, rue Nguyen Dinh Chieu Street, 3ème arrondissement. Je suis contente de te revoir. Au revoir. »

Le lendemain nous nous retrouvons au parc. J’apprend qu’elle habite tout près de mon hôtel. Elle s’appelle Nhan, Nhan n°2. Contrairement à ce que je pensais elle n’est pas lycéenne. Elle a 20 ans et étudie le Business English dans une petite université.
Elle m’apprend à jouer au volant, mais je ne suis pas très habile de mes pieds. Deux garçons vietnamiens nous rejoignent et me donnent quelques conseils sur la technique de ce sport très populaire au Viêtnam.

Le jour suivant, on se retrouve tous les quatre pour une partie de badminton.

Cela m’a manqué, faire des jeux d’extérieur entre amis juste pour le plaisir.

Tunes by Tettix!