We woke up at 6:00 a.m. and Marilyn had some last-minute cleaning and packing to do. Glenn didn’t think it was necessary, because he figured the Laurences wouldn’t mind doing any cleaning that she hadn’t gotten done. But he figured out that Marilyn was “paying it forward”, so we could return to a clean house in a year or so.
We called Linda Zeccola, our ride to the airport, to make sure the previous day’s rare Pflugerville snowfall hadn’t adversely affected her. The number didn’t work, which made me somewhat uneasy. But, all along, our mantra had been, “What will be, will be,” or as Marilyn sometimes succinctly puts it, “Let go, and let God.” So, I really had no choice but to sit back and see what would happen.
What happened was that Linda Zeccola showed up about 10:00 a.m., just as planned. As we drove by the farms, fields, and woods along Texas 130, I couldn’t help thinking it would be at least eight months before we saw them again. They were all brown and gray now, with green splashes provided by the cedars, but would soon be arrayed in wildflowers and their own particular shades of green. I knew I would miss that, though Ecuador is a beautiful country. At the airport, we unloaded our considerable “stuff”, bid “Hasta luego” to Linda, and got a skycap to help us check in.
During the long packing process over the past six weeks or so, we kept asking each other if we would be laughed at (or at least smiled upon) for thinking we had to bring so many of our “home comforts”. After all, we were supposed to be volunteering, not vacationing for a year in cushy comfort. We ended up with two duffel bags, a largish suitcase, a carry-on bordering on the line between checked and carry-on, my backpack stuffed to the gills, portable ramps, and a bag full of toiletries. We’d never traveled with that much before.
There were two fairly unique reasons contributing to what we took. First, Marilyn is fairly tall at 5’ 10” while the majority of women we had seen in the area where we’d be working were fairly short. Thus, unless Marilyn went to a major city like Quito to shop, she was afraid she wouldn’t find clothes to fit, especially pants. Second, we decided to take my portable ramps, which constitute a “bag” all by themselves. From previous experience, we knew that building entrances often have two to four steps and figured the portable ramps could come in handy.
After checking in and going through security at the Austin airport (including the most thorough security check I’ve ever had), we had time to get something to eat, since we’d had a pretty skimpy breakfast. While eating, Marilyn called Linda Laurence to find out how her day was going. She and Darrell had taken the day off to start moving things into our house. They were already there - had gotten there before Linda Zeccola had gotten our van back - and were busily moving things in. We are very glad to have the Laurences staying in our house while we’re gone for a year. I, in particular, did not relish leaving our home empty for a year. Still, it felt strange to me to know they were moving in before our flight had even left Austin - kind of like having a party right after a friend had died. We wondered if they’d be sleeping there tonight.
In Houston, before boarding the flight to Quito, I told Marilyn this was our last chance to back out. She just smiled and slightly shook her head. We had both worked hard to make this moment possible. The adventure had begun, and no one was backing out now.
The flight to Quito was just under five hours long. By the time we landed, I was almost begging to get out of that airplane seat. The plane didn’t park at a jetway, but rather wide steps mounted on a truck were pulled up to the plane. Several people merely carried me, in an aisle chair, down to the tarmac where my wheelchair awaited. One person was assigned to guide us through customs and baggage collection, cutting to the front of lines. I heard one man say, “We’ve been cut off!” Lo siento! (I’m sorry!)
Victor Vaca and Blanca Puma (founder and Executive Director of FEDICE, respectively) were there to welcome us with hugs, along with Luis (Blanca’s novio, or boyfriend) and Hugo (a son of Victor’s caretaker, Maria). Our luggage and my wheelchair pretty much filled the back of Victor’s pickup. Good thing he had two rows of seats for the rest of us.
Once ensconced in our basement apartment at Victor’s, we all talked until midnight. It was fun catching up. Though we’ve been staying in touch via email, it just wasn’t the same. During the course of our conversation, we learned that we’d be going to Otavalo on Saturday to look at a couple of apartment options. Later, in bed, we turned to each other and said, “Well, we’re finally here. Now, what?”
Flight boarding information – last chance to abort mission!
We’re really doing this, right?
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