The Ambassador of Peace

After spending Tuesday at the snake museum and in the park and Wednesday in the park, the plan for today was to go swimming. Our apartment complex has an indoor pool, but a month ago the roof fell in on it. The roof has since been repaired, but the pool hasn't been refilled. This is a big time drag to Rebecca, Maya, Jonah and especially me. All spring we've been telling the kids that our apartment in Ecuador has a pool and we can go swimming every day. Now we have to tell them that we can't. Plus, having a pool has been a big part of me believing that attending to the both of them all summer won't be as hard as it sounds. And here I am without a pool.

Even if the pool was filled, it's only open on Thursday and Fridays from 4 until 8 and Saturday from 1 until 8. We didn't know until we got here that it had such limited hours. So, this has been an adjustment we've had to consider - stay tuned about that.

Anyway, the guidebook we have indicates that there are two public pools in Quito - at intersections that are both fairly close to our apartment - but does not provide addresses. After lunch today, Maya, Jonah and I set out to find the closer of the two.

The taxi dropped us off at the intersection where the book indicates the pool is located. No sign of a pool. The fact that all the signs are in Spanish doesn't help. There were two guys in suits standing in front of a gated building, so I approached them and in my elementary Spanish asked about the location of the pool. They pointed me down the street.

We walked down this sleepy little street to a dead end. No sign of a pool.

There were a couple of kids on bikes and I asked them about the pool. They immediately set off up the street and told us to follow. The kids take us back past the suits, a little further up, and stop in front of a guy sitting on the curb. I asked him about the pool. He points over his shoulder and sure enough, there's a sign that says "piscina" (that means pool in Spanish. Before I asked the kids about the pool, I asked a security guard that we saw and he thought I said "oficina" - which, you guessed it, means office. After we got it sorted out that I meant pool - he said a bunch of stuff I couldn't understand. I told him this a few times and eventually he just got tired of me and waved me away. I don't blame him. I was getting tired of him too. How many times can you tell a guy to slow down and he not understand?)

So, finally, we located the building housing the pool. It was closed (if the guide book didn't provide an address you can be sure it didn't provide a phone number to call ahead). I'm not sure this pool is ever going to be open from the way it looked - weeds growing through the fence, five gallon paint buckets around, dirty windows. The kids were disappointed. We walked back to the corner where we started and the suits come over, asked what happened, and begin telling me about other pools in Quito. I pull out my map and they show me where we are (which I already knew) and where the pools are (one pool was the other that the guide book mentions.) The second pool the suits mention happens to be on Avenida Rio Coca, which is the cross street we live on. Next thing I know, they are inviting me into their SUV (spotless outside and in, leather interior, fancy schmanzy) to drive us to the pool I asked them if they needed to be at work, but they said it was okay. So, we get in drive off. In a moment, one of the guys' phone rings.

We head back to the building where they were stationed, and wait. One guy is doing most of the talking and is asking me what we are doing in Ecuador. When I tell him about Rebecca, he begins asking about who she is working for, what she is doing, etc. etc. Very interested. Finally, some fancy woman comes out. The guy gets out, gives her a kiss on the cheek, and escorts her to the back seat of the truck - next to us. She looks us over and we set off again.

She and the guy are chatting - I only caught bits of it - I can't figure out who she is - as we drive to the pool. We get there, I thank them as we get out, shake hands, and the guy hands me his business card before they drive away. The card says "Vicepresidencia de la Republica, Galo Cevallos Manchero" Whoa! Did I just get driven to the pool by the Ecuadorian equivalent of Dick Cheney?

No time to ponder that question. The kids are ready to swim. It cost $7.50 for us to swim and after buying groceries in the morning and swim caps for all of us (which is required to swim in any public pool in Ecuador) that was exactly all the money that I had in my wallet, so we got lucky again.

The pool was great. It was maybe 25 meters long (that's about 25 yards. 1 meter = 1.09 yards) by 10 meters wide, heated, and just deep enough so that Jonah could stand and have his head above water. The kids had a blast and, I have to say, looked damn cute in their swim caps. But sorry, no pics. Our camera still isn't talking to our computer.

During the course of our frolicking, a swim lesson was going on with about six kids aged a little younger than Maya. About halfway through, I pulled out the water pistols I brought from home for Maya and Jonah to play with when in the pool. Of course, they are shooting me, each other and everything else in sight. The other kids, their parents and teacher noticed. It didn't occur to me until I did it that unless you live under a rock you have to know about the American gun culture - and here it is on display in your pool. Oh well. Stereotypes need to originate somewhere. When I told her, Rebecca called me the Ambassador of Peace.

After our swim we had to walk home because I'd spent all our money. It wasn't far. And Maya and Jonah actually made it all the way without asking me to pick them up. We picked some flowers on the way home to prove that Americans really can be a sensitive, passive people.

By the way, if you google Galo Cevallos Manchero, and speak Spanish, you will read that he is not the vice president of Ecuador. He works as an engineer in the Secretary General's office of the Office of the Vice President of Ecuador. Basically, he's a civil servant, just like me.