When I moved to Ecuador, Quito was in the middle of an energy crisis. At its worst, the power would go off for hours, and we never knew when (or where). That meant no lights and no hot water. Continue reading “Quimbolitos”
The Cold Outside
My grandmother kept a modest white house in Quito – it had pink roses all around it. The doors were old, wooden, and the inside rooms very drafty. My sister and I huddled under the heaviest woolen blankets when we slept there. We could see our breath in the drafts. In the morning, it felt like we had woken up outside. Continue reading “The Cold Outside”
Encebollado
Saturday mornings in Quito were still like the sun, and they felt just as hot. I used to walk to Chelita’s house for breakfast. The sun burnt my eyelids, my neck. The Andean sun was ever, always there. Continue reading “Encebollado”
Clouds and Chirimoyas 