Accommodations

San Eduardo is a town of about 400 people in southern Ecuador. Which probably sounds quaint. But think less ....early colonial and more....post-modern cinderblock. The Escuela Ann Stevens school/church compound is about six or seven mostly cinderblock square rooms around a concrete plaza. To get the proper feel of the place, think of your brother’s college roommate who decided to make a tv stand out of cinder block.  And then rather than outgrowing his infatuation with cheap furniture, he decided to play Sim City with it and build San Eduardo. 

So when our group of 27 arrives, everyone has to decide which of the concrete-on-concrete classrooms they’re going to camp in. Several of the classrooms comfortably accommodate like 10 bug huts, which is about 9 more than my comfort zone. So for a few of us, there is always an awkward dance of trying to find a place to sleep other than the group dormitories. In fact, on this particular trip, there is a trio of slightly older ladies who are passionate about serving others and dressing in private. 

The good news is there is one “finished” room in the compound that we have access to that usually houses the women seamstresses, but that we were able to finagle our way into. 

I thought the room had air conditioning but that turned out just to be windows consisting of missing cinder blocks. But the room DID, however, have its own bathroom.....with a shower. Which is the equivalent of being platinum in terms of missionary upgrades. It wasn’t that others on the trip couldn’t use this bathroom, but no matter who used it we managed to keep it fancy by stocking things like ....soap. 

The room even offered enough privacy to house an afternoon “salon” where several of us reflected on our week of service (“salon” being mission-speak for “wine bar”.  That’s right people, I said wine bar.  I mean, give back...but host parties while you’re doing it.)

And I did say it had its own shower. But I swear, no matter what time I showered, some bitch had used all the hot water.  Seriously, I don’t know how the water gets so cold there. The beers never get that cold, that’s for sure. Apparently, we should take the beer bottles out of the “fridge” and put them in the water reservoir.   And yet, Ecuador is the only place you can take an ice cold shower and still be sweating right in the middle of it. 

Here’s the only problem with this idyllic Facts of Life dormitory (why yes, I WAS Jo, why do you ask)....the larger group was going to meet in that same space during the day.  That means we had to break down our tents and mattresses each morning.  Now look....I am nothing if not a woman who knows her limits.  I mean....every one of you bitches reading this can’t believe I set up a tent once in a row. The odds of me successfully putting up a tent four days in a row were folly.  So rather than trying to tempt the fate of a broken bug hut, one of my roommates and I decided to sleep out on the room’s balcony where we could leave our stuff up.  It was a fine line between the room and the balcony anyway. No....like....literally....a fine dirt line and not much else between the “room” and the balcony.  

But the one feature the balcony did offer was a sidecar-like proximity to the one and only street lamp in the compound. I’m pretty sure you could change that 4,000 watt light bulb from my bed, that’s how close it was. I’m not one to let a little light (or much else) bother me while I sleep, but this may have been more than a little light. I only say that because on the first night, i kept dreaming of being a Big Mac under a McDonald’s heat lamp. On the second night, I got wise and draped my towel over my bug hut, which works like a dream. Funny thing, however....turns out that things that block light also block air flow...  

None of that blocks sound, however.  Which is an interesting story for the following nights Carnivale celebration.  But that’s another story. 

S.S. San Eduardo

Before leaving for our trip to San Eduardo, the group discussed extensively the potential for “digestive distress”. Apparently when you mix 600 sick patients, suspect dedication to hygiene and a single public bathroom, bad things happen. In fact, these are conditions that seem like a ridiculous exaggeration of a public service announcement.  Like.....who the hell is going to invite hundreds of sick patients to a compound where someone keeps stealing the soap from the only bathroom and then invite them all to share the sign of peace in mass later that night. Our American-based alter egos would tell us we were asking to shit ourselves. In fact, we should quit being surprised that people got sick and instead get incredibly suspicious of people like me who didn’t get sick (Apparently staying in your room while pretending to count pills reduces your risk substantially). 

And it wasn’t the first person who went down that worried you, it was the dirge-like three-day roll call of the afflicted that started to get to you. By the morning of our third day it became entirely acceptable to stand on my balcony and shout out an update on my roommate to the group below “she doesn’t have the vomits, just the diarrhea”. This behavior back home would have ended our friendship. 

As the week progressed, person after person went down and you had nowhere to go to try to preserve your digestive tract, nevermind your dignity. It was the tropical equivalent of the “poop cruise”: trapped in unairconditioned accommodations, unreliable plumbing and a group-wide shitfest.  The S.S. San Eduardo. 

But worse than getting sick on day two in San Eduardo was getting sick the night before boarding the bus for the interminable bus ride out of San Eduardo. I don’t remember all my literature studies, but I’m pretty sure when the arrival at a roadside Ecuadorian "bathroom" is the pinnacle of your hopes and dreams, you’ve entered one of Dante’s circles of hell.  And while I know the front seat accommodations were intended to reduce carsickness for our patients, I don’t know if it was helpful to have 25 fellow bus riders shuffle past you after each rest spot with 22 offers of crackers and a few dozen head pats. I don’t know what makes us think a grown adult wants a head pat, but speaking as a patter, it’s practically reflexive. 

Unfortunately, the viral (s)hit parade didn’t end with our departure from San Eduardo. This particular pageant of the Norovirus was like a slow boil through the group even when we got back to civilization. Someone would complain of “rumblings of discontent” and the next thing you know their roommate is asking about zofran suppositories. And it’s not like the hotel we stayed at in Cuenca offered any privacy for you to work through your illness. “La Inca Real Hotel” was 17th century quaint, which is a euphemism for sound-enhancing piazzas.  During the night Thursday, we all heard something that sounded like death paying a visit.   Assuming it was a human making those sounds, we knew someone else had gone down, we just didn’t know who.  Friday morning reflection was a silent vigil as we waited to see who didn’t appear for breakfast so we could send the zofran and the head pats. 

Camping Gear

As part of our mission trip, we basically have to bring all the gear we need for sleeping/bathing/primping for the week. And while camping outside is not my thing, outdoor camping is actually MUCH MORE accommodating than camping on the concrete-a-thon that is San Eduardo.  After going to Ecuador last time, I decided I needed to upgrade my air mattress.  See….I thought we were supposed to be all economical with what we packed….and my compact little air mattress reflected my good citizenship.  Then on the last trip, I arrived in San Eduardo to 25 missionaries pulling out the air mattress they use when their brother-in-law comes to town.  My REI “starter kit” had me prepared to sleep on the side of a mountaintop that has been untouched by civilization.  Meanwhile, my roommate was prepping her Westin-worthy Heavenly mattress.  I decided this year I should upgrade my mattress in the hopes of actually sleeping during the trip. 

Unfortunately, I am not exactly a well-informed shopper when it comes to camping gear.  I really should do more than ask the REI salesperson – which one of these do you recommend?  Because the REI salesperson is thinking millennial minimalist while I am thinking middle-class American spare bedroom.  So instead of a mattress upgrade from the last trip, I inexplicably managed to spend $150 while ending up with a worse air mattress. (I am well on my way to an entire garage sale’s worth of useless, but expensive, camping gear.) 

Just to provide context… my roommate’s air mattress looked like this>>

While my air mattress looked like this>>

Have I mentioned the Ecuadorians’ love of concrete?   I don’t know about you, but my joints need more than 3” of separation from the hardest surface known to man.  My mattress should have come with a coupon for a hip replacement.  

The mattress ALSO should have come with a better description of its operation.  Or maybe I should have just read the label.  Here are words you do not want to see upon arrival at your 1,000 degrees celsius new home:  “built-in hand pump”. Ummmmm....I beg your pardon?  I don’t know how well you know your camping gear – but while this mattress is the perfect post-apocalypse accessory, there is NO good reason to forego an electrical pump when my tent literally sits next to an electrical outlet!!

   

So let me tell you how this works….the “built-in” pump is actually this weird air-trapping mechanism built into the “pillow”.  And as the name suggests, you inflate this bastard by closing the sealant cap; pumping down on the pillow; unsealing the sealant cap; releasing the pump (thereby sucking air into the pillow-pump); then sealing it again and pumping.  I know I didn’t describe it properly because it is actually a non-sensical series of actions that is supposed to eventually end up as an air mattress.  All I know is that pumping up my little sliver of an air mattress required repeating that ridiculously complicated action about 600 times.   I looked like I had arrived in Ecuador and decided to suddenly get my CPR certification.  I am sure the entire pillow was completely soaked with the last vestiges of hydration I would see for a week.   

The good news is once fully inflated, if you laid on it exactly right with your weight evenly distributed, your body was, in fact, suspended in a mattress-like balance.  The bad news is whenever I would roll over (which, by the way, happens WAY more often than you would expect when sleeping in a jungle), the equilibrium is disturbed, and a surprising number of body parts are all battling Ecuadorian cement.  

Honestly, everything about that particular purchase was like stupid in a bag.  Screw economical packing.  Next year I am bringing our queen-sized air mattress and 1500 thread count Egyptian sheets.