The Spanish I Didn’t Learn in School: Ecuadorian version

I think three weeks is enough time here to give you a run-down on the phrases I’ve come across, out in the field. I am not a seasoned enough traveler to affirm their unique Ecuadorian identity. I am waiting on the experts (Liz, Santi, Erica, Janet, Ceci?) to tell me if they’re common throughout Latin America. I can only tell you they are new to this gringa’s ears, and I am enjoying them!

No te creo:  Literally, it’s “I don’t believe you,” and much like its English counterpart, the person doesn’t literally doubt the veracity of what you’re saying. It’s more of a “no way!” but less enthusiastic. “No kidding,” maybe.

Fresco: As far as I can tell, this is kind of a placating response, a “fine”, if you will. “Cómo estás?” “Ay, fresco.” Or Mónica has also told me before, when I’ve been concerned about not pulling my fair share (how often have you gotten turned down to help with dishes? It’s happened quite a lot over here), “No te preocupes—estás fresca.”

Miércoles: This is the equivalent of “shoot” or “dang” or some other euphemism for a curse word. If you can’t figure out what word this sounds like, ask someone. The French speakers should be figuring it out, too. It literally means “Wednesday.” I’ve heard it muttered under breaths, as an exclamation, but also in sentences. Just today, a friend’s younger host sister told me, “Mi papá se va a comer miércoles si no le contesto!” as a reason she needed to be by her phone. Make more sense?

De ley: I just recently learned this phrase. It translates literally as “from the law” or “by the law”, but connotatively it’s “for sure”. I used it around two Ecuadorian boys from the Polytécnica institute, and they were duly impressed.

La Rosalie/ El Mateo: When someone isn’t in the room (or even if they are, actually), and you are referring to them in third person, they take on an article. The Rosalie, the Matthew. It’s novel to me, and I still haven’t quite adopted it yet.

Gordo: There is just really not a stigma with calling someone fat, or chunky, here! It’s affectionate. My friend Erika calls her nephew Gordo and her son Flaco (skinny). There’s no malice or ill-concealed desire for someone to lose weight. It seems to be just a nickname based on someone’s appearance. Similarly, it’s no big deal to refer to someone as “negro”. Just today, one of the guys we were hiking with was called “el negro,” even though he seemed just as tan as anyone else to me. Alternatively, calling someone “estúpido” is much graver. An insult to intelligence is taken much more seriously—Mónica wrathfully muttered “Imbecil!” as a woman cut her off in the morning. Can you imagine? In our country, we call each other stupid playfully, yet we would never call to one of our friends, “Hey, fatty!” and expect the other to turn and smile at us.

Plata: Literally “silver”, but figuratively “money.” This is not just informal slang—the other day, my Environmental Project Planning professor lectured on how to receive “plata” for our proposals.

A la orden: As Santi taught me before I left, this is a very subservient way to say “You’re welcome.” You’re probably familiar with “de nada”, but that’s a very equal thing to say. In different power dynamics, you’re more likely to hear “a la orden.” For example, I’ve heard bureaucrats in the Ministerios say this, as well as vendedores in the market.

Coger: This is an all-purpose verb, meaning roughly “to get.” I’ve heard in other countries it can mean “to screw”, so I’ll need to watch myself. Here, at least, you can coger el bus, coger una clase, or coger some silverware.

Gua gua: There is definitely a Quichua influence on Ecuadorian Spanish from the indigenous groups still residing here. Gua gua is a child, be they infant in arms or running around and talking.

A cha chai: Another Quichua phrase, this one translates to “How chilly/cold!”

Tacos: Here, tacos are not a food item. They are slang for tacones, or high-heeled shoes. Any Ecuadorian woman worth her salt wears heels, no matter where or how far she walks. In the cordillera near Quilotoa this weekend, as I panted and huffed flat-footed on the muddy trails, indigenous women in tacos and skirts passed me by.

Mande: This is a polite command literally meaning “Order (me).” I’ve heard it around Erika’s family a lot. If one of her sons yells “Mami!”, her long-suffering parent voice (you know the one: there are no surprises left, so there’s a certain amount of resignation and lack of urgency compared to the child’s voice) replies, “Mande”. Similarly, if she calls to them, their response is the same. I think in an equivalent US situation, we would just say, “Yes?”

Qué bestia! This is a catch-all phrase. Not only does it have the positive, impressed “What a beast!” connotations, but it can also describe something negative. A lot of traffic? Que bestia. That guy just climbed up the rock face? Que bestia. Something really cool? Something kind of shocking and terrible? You got it—Que bestia!

I know I’ve got lots more learning ahead of me, and I’ll probably be incorporating Ecuadorian slang into my Spanish without realizing it. But here’s a taste of what I’ve been experiencing. I hope non-Spanish speakers have been able to relate, or at least get a kick out of the things I hear.

Oh, one last word. It seems like every area has its own word to say “cool”or “awesome”—some all-purpose word of approval. In Puerto Rico, it’s “nítido”. I’ve heard “genial”, I think for Mexico, and “guay” is somewhere else. In Ecuador, it’s “chévere.”

First Week of Classes

So, I feel like I should describe my new campus to you before the novelty wears off and I can’t remember what would be interesting to hear. My school, the Universidad San Francisco de Quito, is a small, private university in a neighboring valley of Quito, Cumbayá. There are approximately 4,000 undergrad students, and 250 of them this semester are exchange students! There’s at least one other foreigner in all of my classes, and it’s easy to tell. Their attitudes are a surprising mixture of friendliness and hesitance. I’ve actually met fellow Americans on the street. Just walking, there’s that face, half-open and half-guarded: I want to talk to you, but I’m not sure! It’s a trademark, and it’s how I’ve met three people who live on my street!

            As for my classes (the scholastic part of the program, the legal reason I’ve been admitted to the country: to study), I am taking 6. It sounds like a lot, but as Mónica so graciously pointed out, I don’t want to be staring at 4 walls all day. Better to stay on campus and meet people. Taking her advice to heart, I realized I could take classes here I don’t have the opportunity to in Georgia: one of those exclusive art classes (Basic Weaving!), and an Andinismo class, that has a field trip to a nearby mountain every weekend (we have to attend 3). So I have those two fun ones, which oddly enough are related. The word for weaving in Spanish is tejer, and it’s the same verb used to translate ‘tying knots’: you weave them. On Friday, we learned one called the mariposa, or butterfly.

            The classes that have had Ecuadorian students raising their eyebrows (apparently I’m taking a hard load) are: Tropical Rainforest Ecology, Planning of Environmental Projects, Indigenous Literature, and Eco-anthropology. All except for the ecology class are in Spanish. The class with the most foreigners is Indigenous Literature: a full half if not two-thirds of the class are gringos. The other day, we discussed the word ‘gringo’: its connotations and denotations. Some of my fellow gringos got up in arms, but I feel like the least we deserve for our American reputation in South America is a nickname that means light-skinned foreigner. Here, it’s allegedly not insulting but instead affectionate.

            My Tropical Rainforest Ecology class includes a field trip to Tiputini, the research station owned by the university in the Amazon. I’m looking forward to applying what we learn in class, though we won’t get to go until May. It’s an odd dynamic the Ecuadorian students have with the research station—most don’t ever have the opportunity to go, unless their majors are specifically related. However, all the internationals are offered the chance, regardless of their major. The hope, the International Programs director stated, is that we’ll go back to our countries singing the praises of the rainforest and pushing for its conservation.

            Now, to describe the campus….It’s a bubble, a lush, resort-like oasis in the midst of a bustling city block. High walls surround the entire university. There’s only one entrance and exit for students. I know this because I walked halfway around it in vain one day, figuring it’s good to have an exit strategy. There are guards at the entrance, but that’s not unusual. Like I may have mentioned, the school supply store up the road has a guard. My urbanización has three guards, one of whose jobs is to patrol on motorcycle. I am very jealous and have to squelch urges to invite myself along.

            There’s a lagoon, a pagoda, an ivory colored phallic tower, buildings painted all sorts of pastel shades, courtyards with fountains, and grassy patches where students lounge. As you can imagine, a campus for 4,000 is nowhere near the size of UGA. I frequently run errands to and fro. It probably would take 10 minutes to walk from one end to the other. 15 if you were slow. Accordingly, breaks between classes are only 5 minutes. That wouldn’t really be an issue either, though, considering classes don’t really start in earnest for at least 5 or 10 minutes after the time listed. Ecuadorian students know this and stroll in nonchalantly, greeting the teacher by their first name. “Como te vas, Angélica?” (It’s a university policy to call teachers by their first names and address them informally. It blows my mind.) That’s another way to tell the Americans apart. We are on time! We do not want to be late, especially the first week. We’re sitting in the hallway five minutes early. This is also how I’ve met fellow exchange students, exchanging that sheepish, you’re here early, too, huh? look.

            Our drop/add period is much longer. Classes started on the 11^th, and the add period just closed on the 20^th. We still have until the 1^st of February to drop. Lunches have been fun; there is a cafeteria on campus, but there’s a multitude of lunch places right off campus. The farther from campus, I’ve learned, the cheaper. Lunch is incredibly cheap anyway. An expensive one would be 3 or 4 dollars. The other day, we ate at an Italian place, and the calzone was $4.70. I felt extravagant. Other places offer more typical food, and one place we found, Del Horno (From the oven), provides a soup, plato fuerte (main dish), postre (dessert), and jugo (juice)…for $2.50.

            Classes are just now starting to pick up. I’ve mostly had readings so far, though there will be the future presentations, quizzes, and tests. I’m enjoying walking around campus and hearing Spanish all the time. Everyone has been very friendly; though of course it’s been easier to make friends with other foreigners (think freshman year mentality). I’m looking forward to this year and the promise it holds!

If You Were Walking Beside Me

If you were walking beside me in Quito, I’ll tell you what you would see. No, more than see. Experience.

            First of all, we’d be sweating. I promise. I have never seen the likes of these hills (and I thought Athens was bad! I see people biking, and I mentally salute them). Even to leave my urbanización, we’d be almost sliding downhill. The sidewalk would be smooth if we were lucky. I’ve tripped (and caught myself) a couple times, mostly when these pavers jut out at angles, ready to catch unaware feet. So hopefully you wouldn’t trip, or if you did, I’d catch you.

            Sometimes the sidewalk might be full of people or flowers, so we’d have to take our lives in hand a little and venture into the edge of the street. That would be nothing compared to CROSSING the street, though. We’ll get there. A florería would probably most likely be in our way. We’d dart around the buckets of flowers and kindly shopkeepers (25 rosas por un dolár!) and hustle back onto the sidewalk. We’d pass all types of people, just like in the US. Businesspeople, students, families with toddlers….We’d also see indigenous abuelitas in their colorful shawls, seated on street corners, hands outstretched, their faces creased with wrinkles. I would ask you what you thought about it, if we should give her money, talk to her, try to figure out her story…or just keep walking as I do when I don’t have you next to me. We’d see other women in traditional garb selling strawberries, blackberries, and other fresh fruit. I wouldn’t let you buy any because, as foreigners, our stomachs aren’t accustomed to the bacteria. I’ve been told diarrhea is inevitable, but let’s evade it a little longer. There are other people with small carts selling food—tamales, kebobs. We’d pass small cafés and restaurants, where an expensive meal costs more than 3 dollars.

            Eventually, we’d have to cross the street. We may have to go out of our way—crosswalks aren’t the most common. We’ll see other people just run across where they please, but I hold you back. Better safe than sorry. We walk until a bus stop affords us a nice wide crosswalk. There, a small green man says it’s ok to walk, and the signal chirps at us. But if I take you to the park or cross a street without a bus stop, or anywhere there’s a turning option….There, we’ll have to be wary. Up until 2 years ago, drivers had the right of way in Quito. They still think they do. Even if the little green man is stomping away and we begin to cross, anyone wanting to turn will accelerate through our crosswalk. It’s best just to keep moving at a steady pace (and watch out). If we take too long, we’ll hear honks.

            Actually, get used to hearing honks anyway. It’s a pretty common occurrence on the streets of Quito. See, everyone wants to get where they’re going, and they’ll do what it takes to get there. They’ll use their blinkers…and then move on over. Lanes are more suggestions than anything else, especially around curves. So are stop signs. I think a rolling stop is legal—at least, my host mother has no qualms in rolling right by a police officer every morning.

            There won’t be too much trash to step around. There may be a couple street dogs, poor things. We’ll hope they don’t get run over and remain wary of them. No good getting a series of rabies shots in a foreign country! You’ll like the graffiti that’s all over. Well, you’ll like the more artistic stuff, colorful murals that cover walls. Or maybe you’ll like the political, the satirical, the philosophical. I’ll translate for you :) Or I don’t know, you might like the graffiti of penises that seems a worldwide phenomenon. No need to translate that!

            We may get a little lightheaded from the pollution. It’s not really visible in the air, but you can smell it coming from all the traffic. Mixed with the high elevation (over 9000 feet!) and the hills we’ve been hiking, we may stop for a breather. Then, the wind will blow, and you’ll turn around. There, the clouds will be breaking over our local mountain, Pichincha. The whole sprawling city of Quito will carpet the valley and try to nestle up into the mountain. The buildings’ colors will please you—beyond white, there are all shades of coral. Maybe we stay at our vantage point until the sun sets and the clouds sink over the mountain, obscuring its top in fog. The lights of Quito will begin to wink at us warmly. And I’ll take you home because it will be getting cold.

Bussing

     I'm finishing up day 2 of my Ecuadorian adventure, and there's so much I could say to all of you. In the interest of time (and the knowledge that I turned the hot water heater on about an hour and a half ago and thus hot water awaits), I will restrict my story today to the bus.
     There are several colors of bus that frequent Quito. Mine is the lime green. Its name changes with each bus, which is why I know it by color. To get to the university, my host mother, Monica, made sure I knew where to get on (not the bus stop with lots of people, but the one up the hill where it was less..sketchy), where to get off (before the big traffic circle), and how much it costs (25 cents).
            What she neglected to mention where striking differences to an American, but everyday life to someone living in Quito. First of all, the bus passed me by. Two of them. Like a dutiful daughter, I hiked up the hill to watch in amazement as the bus stopped below and flew right on by. I went back down to try my luck with the more populated stop and noticed, as the third bus came quickly, a man flagging it down. Yes, much like taxis, you can flag a bus down! Even when it’s not a designated bus stop. Similarly, you can get off where you’d like, but I’ll get to that in a minute.
            I capitalized on this man’s gesturing and hopped on board, quarter in hand….Only to discover that you don’t pay immediately when you get on board. I sat down, confused, wondering if I had simply missed the bucket or drop box. Oh, maybe it’s towards the back once we get off, I thought. Then, I discovered another fixture of Ecuadorian buses. For lack of a better term, I’ll call him the bus attendant. He hangs out the door at times, enticing passersby to our destination or even gets off the bus entirely, jogging to get back onboard. And when you get off, you pay him.
            Being in another country makes me really observant. They already know I’m a foreigner, but I still don’t want to be a dumb gringa (or gringuita, as my host mom’s friends have affectionately called me). As the bus comes up to a stop, good bus passengers haul themselves out of their seats and make their way, while the bus is still hurtling towards the stop, to the entrance. They hand their coins to the attendant, get off as quickly as possible, and more passengers get on. It’s a race for time, and one has to be prepared.
            Not wanting to miss my stop, I hauled myself out of the seat at what seemed like the appropriate stop and approached the attendant. “Está cerca la Universidad?” I asked. “Ah, sí, sí,” he responded. So I handed him my quarter (which I had been clutching the whole ride) and prepared to disembark. “No, no, falta!” he protested. I stared at him dumbly. How could I be lacking in funds? Mónica told me it was 25 cents! He finally made me realize that we were lacking in distance. The university was still a ways away. I returned to my seat and was very glad I had asked him as I watched lots and lots of countryside pass by. When we came to the right stop, he gestured to me emphatically. “Venga, venga saliendo!” and ushered me off the bus. I said, “Gracias por su ayuda,” a phrase I’ve been saying a lot to the miscellaneous people that are helping me along the way, kind strangers. And so I got off the bus, walked around the corner to the university, and eventually met my host mom for lunch.
            The ride home was no less eventful. Again, I was afraid to miss my stop. Looking back, I’m pretty sure I got off at the right stop. Unfortunately, nothing looked familiar. I ended up wandering down one street, remembering a landmark, asking a girl about it, turning around, finding it, and then continued on. I was on the right street headed the wrong way. As I continued, nothing looked familiar. I started wondering what recourse I had. I haven’t bought my telephone yet (it’s on tomorrow’s agenda), but I wondered about finding a pay phone to call my host mother at work. I headed towards a gas station (where do you even find a pay phone these days?) when the light bulb came on. A taxi! Taxis are all over Quito, and since we had taken one the night before, I knew exactly what to tell the driver. I flagged one down; he pulled over. I hopped in and gave him the name. We were off! I asked him, sheepishly, “Está cerca?”
 “Ah, sí,” he answered. I watched carefully, and before I knew it we were home.
“Cuanto?” I asked.

“Un dólar,”he replied. I think it was the best dollar I ever spent.

Just so you know: other than bussing, I’ve been familiarizing myself with my new campus, bantering with my host mom, enjoying the valleys and mountains all around me, and trying to remember to not flush the toilet paper (they have small trash cans by the toilet you use. Thank goodness my friend Ceci told me so before I left the US because no one here has broached the subject. I double checked with my host mom, and she agreed that I should avoid flushing the paper if at all possible, with that look that says why don’t you know this already? I wonder if the other Americans know.).