By Sean Speckin
I'm greeted by streaks of morning sun peeking through the curtains. Groggy, I crawl out of bed and pull them open, filling my bedroom with light. The neighbors are already up; mom’s making breakfast while dad wrestles the kids into their school uniforms. I walk outside to water the plants on the balcony.
The streets are slowly coming alive; kids run to catch the school bus, store owners carry last minute goods to their stores, and street cats search for shady spots to snooze the day away. Cars parked for the night now purr idly, patiently waiting to carry families to markets, jobs, and churches. I see an elderly woman hauling the family’s laundry to the washboard out back with a smile; she’ll likely spend the morning washing the mountain of clothes.
I look to the houses. Each is unique; earth toned cement walls with occasional yet vibrant splashes of blues, reds, oranges, and greens. Some have roofs covered by layers of tin or clay shingles, while others remain exposed to the strong coastal sun. Almost all of them have hammocks, woven with fabrics of every color imaginable. The neighborhood is alive; the neighborhood is happy.
I'm greeted by streaks of morning sun peeking through the curtains. Groggy, I crawl out of bed and pull them open, filling my bedroom with light. The neighbors are already up; mom’s making breakfast while dad wrestles the kids into their school uniforms. I walk outside to water the plants on the balcony.
The streets are slowly coming alive; kids run to catch the school bus, store owners carry last minute goods to their stores, and street cats search for shady spots to snooze the day away. Cars parked for the night now purr idly, patiently waiting to carry families to markets, jobs, and churches. I see an elderly woman hauling the family’s laundry to the washboard out back with a smile; she’ll likely spend the morning washing the mountain of clothes.
I look to the houses. Each is unique; earth toned cement walls with occasional yet vibrant splashes of blues, reds, oranges, and greens. Some have roofs covered by layers of tin or clay shingles, while others remain exposed to the strong coastal sun. Almost all of them have hammocks, woven with fabrics of every color imaginable. The neighborhood is alive; the neighborhood is happy.
Above the streets and neighbors’ houses, the CNT logo is visible on the sheer face of a nearby skyscraper. The towers of luxury hotels and Mall del Sol help populate the skyline. Inside the hotel rooms, tourists and entrepreneurs sleep soundly in frigid air-conditioning. Mall del Sol looms silent; it won’t open until late morning. The bushes and trees that decorate each entrance are perfectly manicured, almost too perfectly. Inside, kiosks and stores await thousands of shoppers.
From my balcony, I look the other way. Early flights arrive and take off from Guayaquil’s airport, their engines roar through the sky, some carrying travelers to faraway adventures, others bringing them home. In the distance I can hear city buses and trucks speeding on the highways that snake through the distant high-rises. The city is alive; the city is busy.
I recently moved into an apartment after living with my host family for six months. My apartment lies in the middle of a small neighborhood with a strong sense of community. Though I’ve only been here a week, I’ve been welcomed with smiles by the store and restaurant owners. The neighborhood itself is much like what I expected from Peace Corps; there’s so much character here that is otherwise lost as the modern corporations begin to creep in.
There’s such a contrast between old and new here. When I accepted my invitation to serve in Peace Corps Ecuador, I never thought I’d spend my afternoons at Sweet & Coffee sipping iced tea in a mega mall. What’s even more bizarre is that I can lie in my hammock in my tiny little neighborhood while gazing at the massive buildings next door.
When friends and family back home ask me what it’s like to live in Ecuador, I have a hard time coming up with a response. So often people expect Peace Corps to be a 180 degree reversal from the norms of the U.S. It’s certainly a shift, but it’s nothing you’d ever expect. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced… and something I’d never give up.
From my balcony, I look the other way. Early flights arrive and take off from Guayaquil’s airport, their engines roar through the sky, some carrying travelers to faraway adventures, others bringing them home. In the distance I can hear city buses and trucks speeding on the highways that snake through the distant high-rises. The city is alive; the city is busy.
I recently moved into an apartment after living with my host family for six months. My apartment lies in the middle of a small neighborhood with a strong sense of community. Though I’ve only been here a week, I’ve been welcomed with smiles by the store and restaurant owners. The neighborhood itself is much like what I expected from Peace Corps; there’s so much character here that is otherwise lost as the modern corporations begin to creep in.
There’s such a contrast between old and new here. When I accepted my invitation to serve in Peace Corps Ecuador, I never thought I’d spend my afternoons at Sweet & Coffee sipping iced tea in a mega mall. What’s even more bizarre is that I can lie in my hammock in my tiny little neighborhood while gazing at the massive buildings next door.
When friends and family back home ask me what it’s like to live in Ecuador, I have a hard time coming up with a response. So often people expect Peace Corps to be a 180 degree reversal from the norms of the U.S. It’s certainly a shift, but it’s nothing you’d ever expect. It’s like nothing I’ve ever experienced… and something I’d never give up.