by Rachel Dann
I stare at him, feeling wrong-footed yet again.
‘Some… work? But… you’ve already got a job. You asked for time off from it, to come here. I don’t understand.’
My hangover unexpectedly makes its presence known with a lurch of nausea and wave of dizziness. I sit down abruptly on the end of the bed, rubbing my eyes. ‘What do you want a job here in Ecuador for? We’re supposed to be travelling.’
‘Yes, of course, but… Luke’s offer last night made me think. This seems like a cool place, and what harm can there be in sticking around here for a bit? You know, get to know Quito, find a proper place to stay. We could even rent that apartment from Gabi’s friends like she said last night? So we’re not just living in hotels…’
But that’s the whole point of going travelling, I think. You move around and stay in hotels and see different places.
‘… and it’s not like a permanent fixed contract or anything. They just really need someone to help out with the beginners’ English classes. It’s just for a few weeks or so, a month at most… because a teacher had to go back to the USA suddenly last week for a family issue. They’re offering good money, as they really need someone to stand in.’
I stare at my boyfriend across our hotel room, and for the second time in the last month wonder how we could spend every day together yet sometimes operate on such completely planes of existence.
‘But… you’ve got savings. We talked about this, worked it all out. We’ve got enough to last us the three months, if we’re careful, then you have a well-paid job waiting for you when we get back in June. I don’t understand why you would need to think about earning money out here?’
Harry is looking down at his empty coffee mug, swilling the dregs around in the bottom, seemingly unable to meet my eyes.
‘Don’t you like Ecuador?’ he eventually mutters.
‘Harry, we’ve been here twenty-four hours! Yes, of course I like it, but…’ My voice trails off as I think of my travel folder, full of ideas and potential, already unpacked and resting on top of my backpack just waiting to be opened and explored.
‘Well, there you go then.’ He’s smiling at me and getting out of bed and walking towards the bathroom as if that’s the subject settled. ‘People always say you experience a country and its culture much more vividly from the inside… when you actually live there for a while. And we’re not committing to anything, right? I’ll teach a few hours a week and we’ll still have plenty of time together… we could go to the beach? The jungle?’ His voice takes on a pleading tone.
‘I want to go to the Galápagos Islands, and Angel Falls,’ I mutter.
‘And you will, Kirst… we’ll go everywhere you want. Let’s just take a little bit of time here first, okay? Settle down a bit, get used to things, save some more money… Luke asked me to go and see the school on Friday. If it doesn’t work out then we’ll move on. I promise.’ He’s standing in front of me now, peering earnestly into my eyes and stroking the side of my face with his thumb.
Settle down a bit. We’ve been ‘settling down’ – without really actually settling down – for the last five years. With the idea of this trip, Harry woke up the adventurous spirit in me. I had just started to get into the mind-set of a wandering backpacker, albeit temporarily… and now he’s talking about settling down.
‘Just for a few weeks… it won’t be that much longer than we’d planned on spending in Quito anyway, I promise,’ Harry continues. Looking back at his earnest face and pleading blue eyes, I realise this seems to be something really important to him. Perhaps, in the way I’ve been seeking volunteer opportunities, using his teaching skills in an exotic setting is something Harry needs in order to really make the most of this experience.
And if he does this, it would give me time to get involved with the prison volunteering, I realise. Perhaps staying in Quito a little longer than planned wouldn’t be such a bad idea…
‘One month,’ I hear myself saying. ‘One month tops, okay? I don’t want to spend any longer than that in one place, otherwise we won’t have time to fit in all the other things we’ve already agreed to do. We had planned to visit two other countries as well. And I am not missing out on those places.’
‘Amazing, babe!’ Harry enthuses. ‘I knew you’d understand. Spending some more time here will really help us get a true feel for the place, experience the country from the inside, do you know what I mean?’ He leans down and kisses me, acutely reminding me of the conversation only weeks ago in which he’d convinced me so utterly to embark on this venture with him – blindly, trustingly. Except, this time, it’s going to be slightly different…
I stare levelly back at Harry, and take a deep breath. ‘Yes, I know exactly what you mean,’ I reply, not completely recognising the new, firm tone in my voice. ‘And that’s why, if we’re going to stay in Quito for a few weeks, I’ve decided I’m going to do some volunteer work. Visiting prisoners.’
I watch the smile slowly fade from Harry’s face.
Bet you weren’t expecting THAT.
‘But… are you serious? Isn’t that a bit… dangerous?’ He’s frowning at me with a truly confused expression.
‘No, it’s quite safe,’ I tell him, wishing I felt as certain as I sound. ‘Gabriela told me all about it last night. They go in with proper authorisation from the prison authorities, it’s all official. And it’s something I want to do.’
The confusion on Harry’s face deepens. ‘Babe… are you sure? This just doesn’t seem like… like you. I mean, no offence, but at home you don’t even like going downstairs to lock up and turn the lights off on your own. Now you’re talking about going inside a prison? A place full of dangerous people?’ He forces a chuckle, but I keep my expression serious.
‘Maybe it is like me,’ I say, feeling increasingly filled with a new form of determination. ‘Actually, I was already researching various types of volunteering out here to possibly get involved in. If not here, then Peru or Venezuela… there’s loads out there. And this, now, seems like the perfect opportunity.’
‘Volunteering is one thing, babe, I’m all up for that, but… prisons?’ Harry is still staring at me as if I’ve just popped up in the middle of the room inside a time machine.
‘It’s my condition,’ I say firmly, turning away from him and walking over to the balcony to indicate the conversation is closed. ‘If you want to stay in Quito a few more weeks and work at this language school, fine – but I’m going to help Gabi with her prisoners.’
Harry is silent for so long, I start to wonder if he’s heard me. I stare out at the vast expanse of mountains and unexplored city stretching out below us, hardly daring to breathe. Eventually I turn to look back at him, and see he hasn’t moved from the spot, and is staring at me with the same baffled expression as before, rubbing his hand over his hair in a familiar sign of stress.
‘I don’t understand why you’re suddenly so determined to do this,’ he finally says, grumpily.
‘You don’t have to understand,’ I say calmly, stepping past him towards the bathroom. ‘But you do have to support me. Now, I’m going to have a shower.’
As the bathroom door closes on Harry’s still-bewildered expression and the hot water streams down around me, I feel a churn of different emotions. A sense of triumph at having put my foot down and imposed some conditions of my own on this whole venture. Mixed with a healthy dose of nervousness at the thought of actually going through with the idea of visiting the prisons – now I’ve said it to Harry, I will simply have to do it.
Too scared to go downstairs and lock up for the night – pah! I’ll show him…
But underneath all this I also feel a deeper unease, a sense of misgiving about Harry and me that I have not ever fully admitted to myself before. If we’ve only been here a day and are already talking at cross purposes over our plans for this trip… what do the next three months hold for us? Surely it shouldn’t be necessary to negotiate, to lay down
conditions to your own boyfriend about a mutual adventure?
Going abroad won’t solve anything, you know. My father’s voice bursts unbidden into my mind.
Determinedly I block him out again. Dad knows virtually nothing about my life, so how could he comment on my relationship with Harry?
If he was even talking about my relationship with Harry?
It’s not that by agreeing to go travelling with Harry I wanted to solve anything… but somehow I had felt that if we left our old life behind for a while we would draw closer together again, realign on the same wavelength.
I close my eyes and let the water stream over my face, holding on to the sense of strength, of conviction, that filled me just now when I told Harry I was going to volunteer with the prisoners. A feeling, I realise in an instant, that I’m not going to let anyone take away from me.
Chapter Five
‘Here we are!’ Gabi pulls up her clunky old Chevrolet and turns to smile at me in the back. Harry, in the passenger seat, has his eyes closed. ‘This is Liza and Roberto’s house.’
My heart starts to pound in excitement as I look up at the modest, yellow-painted, box-like house standing before us among a row of similar, colourful houses in this narrow, pot-holed side street. A few minutes from now, not only will we meet our potential new landlords, but also – far more excitingly – I’ll finally be able to find out more about the prison volunteering.
We’re only about fifteen minutes from Casa Hamaca but I’ve watched the bustling town centre give way to quieter, residential surroundings. Now we’re parked in a narrow side street, lined either side with more of the box-like, tumbling apartment buildings we saw in the city outskirts on the drive from the airport. Some are well cared for and neatly painted, others faded and stained with graffiti, while others are still bare concrete blocks with ugly corrugated iron roofs. A reflection, I suppose, of the varying economic circumstances of their owners. As we step out of the car into the blazing sunshine, I find myself marvelling again at how almost all of Quito is built on some degree of slope. We seem to be about halfway down one side of a steep valley – like gradient seats in the cinema, our road is just one of many parallel lines scarring the side of the hill. It has taken five minutes of bumpy downhill driving, during which Gabi has surprised me by unleashing a series of colourful Spanish swear words, before a sharp left turn brings us on to one of the narrow streets branching off to the side.
Harry is rubbing his eyes and looking around him.
‘You okay?’ I reach for his hand as we follow Gabi a few feet down the road.
‘Gnnnrgh. Yeah. Just didn’t sleep too well last night.’
As Gabi stops outside one of the better-cared-for buildings and presses the buzzer beside a heavy iron door, I search Harry’s face and realise how tired he looks. His usually alert blue eyes have heavy shadows under them and there are some new frown lines on his forehead.
‘It’s just the altitude.’ He smiles down at me and squeezes my hand. ‘Don’t forget we are over two thousand metres above sea level. I think a lot of people find it hard to sleep here to begin with.’
I’d almost forgotten about the altitude. Climbing stairs is a bit harder than usual, but it certainly hasn’t stopped me sleeping. In fact, after staggering my way through the first two days of horrendous jetlag, I feel more energised than ever, thanks to the constant supply of fresh, delicious food and perfect weather.
Needless to say, Harry’s trial teaching day at the English school went well, and he came back raving about how laid-back everything was and how they let him use art materials as part of the English classes for adults. I haven’t even seen the school yet, but Dreadlocked Luke has stopped by Casa Hamaca several times (notably, only when the bar is open) and also raved about what a great job Harry is doing and how grateful he is for the last-minute help.
The problem is there doesn’t seem to be any particular schedule, with Harry being called in to work every day for either a few hours in the morning or the afternoon, usually at the last minute. So, after nearly a whole week in Quito, we haven’t been able to plan any trips or visits anywhere. Almost all my free time has been spent with Ray and Gabi, who have naturally taken on the role of friends as well as hosts in the few days we have spent at Casa Hamaca. On Harry’s first day at the school, Ray took me to the top of the Pichincha volcano, one of the imposing peaks surrounding Quito and after which the whole province is named. We stood at the top and took panoramic photos of the city spread out before us, legs trembling and pulses racing from the nearly 4,000-metre altitude, then rode the dizzying cable car back down the mountainside, where Gabi was happily devouring a large ice-cream sundae while waiting for us in the café at the bottom.
Every morning they have invited me into the back room of the hotel for a coffee and some form of homemade local treat – yesterday it was llanpingachos, the impossible-to-pronounce fried potato cakes typical of the mountain region, the day before pristiños, sugary deep-fried types of mini doughnut. After the first few days I stopped thinking about calories or cholesterol and just tucked happily into the colourful, delicious, horrifyingly fattening food.
I would have preferred to spend more time with Harry, of course – especially in moments like seeing the sun set from the top of Pichincha and riding the cable car – but I keep telling myself we’ve only just got here, and he’s only doing this job temporarily. Harry’s weird phone call is there at the back of my mind all the time, too – like a tiny splinter in your finger, aggravating enough for you to know it’s there, but not enough to make you want to prod around and sort it out… yet.
Gabi reaches out to press the door buzzer again, turning to smile apologetically.
‘Sorry about this. Sometimes they’re a bit…’ She doesn’t finish her sentence, but makes a ‘crazy’ gesture and rolls her eyes. ‘Oh, and they don’t speak a word of English…’
What? Oh no… we’ll have to communicate solely in Spanish…
I don’t have much time to dwell on this unnerving prospect, because we hear a woman’s voice cry out from inside, in perfect Quiteño dialect:
‘They’re here! It’s them!’
Then a man, in a lower, measured tone: ‘Calm down woman, we don’t want them to think we’re completely—’
The female voice replies shrilly: ‘But they’re early! We haven’t even finished the packing up yet!’
Back to the man again, sounding irritated now: ‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, it doesn’t matter, just open the—’
Suddenly the door swings open. Standing before us is a tall, stern-looking man dressed in a smart grey suit, which matches the last tufts of hair clinging on behind his ears. Beside him is the owner of the female voice, as short and dumpy as her husband is tall and stately. She’s wearing heels, smart trousers and a bright-red poncho swathing her upper body, her jet-black (presumably dyed) hair in short, neat curls, and bright-red lipstick to match the poncho. They both look about sixty-something and very formal. I cast a glance at Harry’s saggy jeans, ancient SuperDry T-shirt and scruffy hair, and even my own cut-off trousers and plain top, and feel a sharp twinge of embarrassment. Not to mention nerves at the imminent requirement to speak Spanish properly for the first time since we arrived.
No one else seems to have noticed any of this, as the woman has already propelled herself forward to envelop Gabi in tight hug, crying ‘Gabriela, sweetheart!’ and planting an enthusiastic lipstick stain on her cheek.
‘Auntie Liza, Uncle Roberto…’ Gabi smiles as she extricates herself from Liza and leans up to kiss Roberto on the cheek in greeting.
‘This is the couple I told you about, from England—’
She doesn’t get the chance to finish as the woman, Liza, has already thrown her arms around me and given me a huge kiss on the cheek, for which she has to stand on tiptoes even with the high heels.
‘It is an honour to meet any of Ray’s countrymen,’ she beams. I feel a flash of relief that her acce
nt is surprisingly clear and easy to understand. It would be awful if I had to ask her to repeat the first ever thing she said to me…
‘Lovely to meet you, too,’ I say politely, making a real effort with my accent. ‘I’m Kirsty, and this is my partner, Ha—’
Liza abruptly lets go of me and steps back, surveying me from head to foot, her expression suddenly dubious.
‘Krusty?’
‘Um, no, Kirsty,’ I explain patiently, realising my name probably seems quite unusual for the average Spanish speaker. Gabi can only just get it right, and she speaks almost perfect English.
‘Sí – Krusty!’ exclaims Liza, suddenly gleeful, clapping her hands together. ‘Like the clown! Or am I not saying it right?’
It would seem I have been given a name that is not only unusual, but completely unpronounceable in the Spanish-speaking world. Excellent.
Gabi is trying very hard to not to laugh. ‘How about Kristie?’ she ventures diplomatically, shooting me an imploring glance. ‘Like Christina?’
‘Ahhh – Kristie, of course,’ says Liza, nodding in approval at me. ‘Like Christina. Why didn’t you say so?’
I smile and resign myself to being Kristie for the foreseeable future.
‘I’m Harry.’ Harry bends down almost double to kiss Liza on the cheek.
Oh-ho, I wonder, how are they going to pronounce THAT? He’ll probably get stuck with ‘Enrique’ for the rest of our trip.
‘Harry? Like the young English prince?’ Liza squeals rapturously, throwing her arms around Harry’s neck. ‘Oh, you ARE just like the prince, every bit as handsome!’
Oh. Right. Typical.
Don Roberto, who has been watching the whole exchange with a twinkle of amusement in his eyes, shakes both of our hands kindly and gestures for us to follow him inside. ‘So, evidently, you both speak Spanish?’ he enquires.
‘Well, sort of…’ I start to say, at the same time Harry replies, ‘Yes, we’re both fluent!’ Don Roberto looks back at us both and winks, then says directly to me, ‘from first impressions your Spanish certainly seems excellent, Kristie.’ I’m not quite sure what he means by the emphasis on my name… Harry has certainly been showing off his finest latino accent from the moment we got here. If anything, I expected them to comment on his Spanish before mine. Nevertheless, I smile back at Don Roberto, not wanting to seem impolite. Maybe Gabi is right and they are a little eccentric, I decide.