It was close to 6:30 when I woke up the following morning. Only after 7:00 would the free breakfast be available. "Free" as in it was a part of the room charges. So, I spent some time organizing my backpack, and straightening out the bed.
The dining area was on the top floor of the hotel, with a fantastic view of Plaza Santo Domingo and the Virgin on the hill. I walked up the stairs a few minutes after 7:00, and two, in their early twenties--graduate students, perhaps--were already half-way into their breakfast.
I had made a habit of sitting at a different table every morning, in order to get a new perspective each time. I walked up to get myself a cup of tea (as the guide-book had warned, regular coffee was no good. The book's explanation was that all the good coffee was for export.) By then, another woman, in her early thirties, had come in as well, and she was getting hot water and milk for tea.
While I am typically eager to chat with strangers, particularly in foreign lands, I suppose I am a tad hesitant these days because of my self-consciousness over my status as a single guy. In the past, in the company of wife or daughter, or both, I was always confident that my intentions would not be mistaken. But, now, there is always the possibility that I could be viewed as a cliché.
Finally, it didn't matter. "Where are you from?" I asked her.
"Germany. How about you?"
This simple question dogged me throughout my trip. Whether it was the taxi driver or a fellow tourist, when they asked me where I was from, I was always tempted to stop with "the US." But then, I knew that they knew that I am from somewhere other than the US. So, at a little after seven in the morning, when a young and attractive German woman asks where I was from, well, I am sure it is not difficult for anyone to imagine me trying to figure this question out.
"From the US. Have lived there for a long time after I moved from India." I was happy with this answer and decided to use the same anytime people asked me this question during the rest of the trip.
As we walked back to our respective tables, I sensed some kind of an anxiety in her. I sat across after asking for her permission to join at her table. She could easily be from the US, I thought to myself. And, like most Western Europeans, she spoke English very well, and her accent had very little of a German sound in it, unlike mine that is heavily loaded with an Indian tone.
"Where in the US are you from?"
"From Oregon. It is north of California."
Turned out that she was a dentist from a small town near Munich, and she was on her way to Cuenca for a five-week dental camp for the not-so-well-off.
"But, how did you figure out from Germany some place in Ecuador for this camp?"
"I am with Dentists without Limits."
"Oh, like Doctors without Borders?"
"Ja"
As we talked, I found out the reason for her anxiety. Her flight from Germany was via Venezuela, and her bag didn't make it to Quito after Caracas. And her flight to Cuenca was only hours away.
"I am so sorry. I am sure it is terrible" I said.
"All the donations for the dental camp are in that bag. And, I have no clothes other than what I am wearing now."
The tip of her nose was getting red, like how my daughter's used to when she was a teenager. It was always a sign that my daughter was ready to explode into tears. I looked at the clock-tower at the Plaza--it was already past 7:30.
In a way, it is awful that we have very little time to sit with and console a fellow human. I decided to skip my shower and instead chat with this woman and encourage her as much as I could.
"Well, let us hope that your bag will come through. The best I can offer is you are my clean t-shirts. I have lots of chocolate that I can give you though."
"Thanks That's ok. I put all the food items from my fridge into my carry-on bag, and so have chocolate and cheese and cookies for now. What do you say in English, "keep your hands together""
"Yes, keep the fingers crossed"
"Ja. Fingers crossed" she said.
"Look at it this way" I told her, "you will have some interesting stories to tell your friends after you return."
"I don't think I will tell them. Because they will immediately say "I told you not to go anywhere in South America" ... all these countries have too much crime and violence and my friends didn't want me to come here."
"True. Anywhere in South America is awfully unsafe these days" I replied.
It was almost 7:45. I told her I had to get going, because of the tour starting at 8:00.
"Where are you going today?
"To Otavalo, and stops along the way." ... "I am sure your bag will come through."
"I hope so. It is not the money value, you know. There are items there--not costly--but items from my trips to Bali and other places. Those cannot be replaced. And, of course, the dental donations."
"But, you have to go, right? Enjoy your trip to Otavalo."
As I stood up to leave, I felt terrible that I could not spare any more time to help her out. There was nothing I could do--I don't know the language, for starters. But, if only to chat with her.
"Hey, good luck. Nice chatting with you. Bye."
I rushed to my room. Was glad that I had already organized my backpack. Brushed my teeth and got out of my pajamas. Deodorant, in place of a hot shower. Jeans and a t-shirt. Socks. Shoes.
The phone rang as I was getting my backpack. "Your tour guide is here."
"I will be down in a minute. Thanks."
Two flights of stairs later, I was at the desk and Ivan introduced himself as the guide.
We started walking to the van that was parked by the Plaza Santa Domingo. Only now, as I type this, do I realize that it didn't occur to me to look at the window above and wave out to the lonely German woman who was visibly discombobulated over her lost luggage!
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