People watching has always been one of my favorite pastimes. Watching someone go about a daily activity, wondering who they are, where they are going, why they are doing what they are doing – sometimes I make up stories in my mind, and the busses in Cuenca provide an ample opportunity to do just that.
Wednesday afternoon I had some errands to run, things I wanted to do, and just wanted some time on my own. I’ve gotten much more comfortable getting around here, even by myself sometimes (but only in the daylight and in safe areas, Dad). I walked to a store about 10 minutes away and then hopped on a bus to head to the El Nomad center. I live on the opposite side of town so it was long bus ride.
I think what I am about to say sounds entirely cliché, but I am going to say it anyway. After watching people work here, work in America can sometimes appear to be a laughable concept. A few events sparked this thought in my head. A little boy, not more than 10 years old, got on the bus with his mother. She was dressed in clothes typical of women who live in the more rural areas, also those typically with much less money. With them, they loaded onto the bus 5 very large jugs, 1 box, and 3 containers of some sort. My guess is that they sell juice or some sort of food on the street somewhere. But it was the way this little boy loaded it all, helped his mother, and then sat with their belongings on the jerky bus ride until their stop came. I would guess he has been with her all day, helping her to sell whatever it was. He looked so young, but also looked like he knew nothing else. Family is VERY important here, and he was supporting his mother and family the way I’m sure he was raised to. Also on this bus ride, I saw several children with their parents selling similar food items on the street. The other day when Holly and I were souvenir shopping at our favorite market, a girl not more than 3 years old was pointing out scarves to us at one of the booths. Yet the age here that you can work, legally anyway, is 18. Hmm.
It’s observations like this that have become almost normal to me here, and to be expected I would assume. Yet it doesn’t get old or less impactful each time. That is the beauty of an experience such as this, though. It opens your eyes, makes you appreciate life more, and allows you to evaluate your own life in new ways. This quote sums it up perfectly, better than I ever could (Thanks Rebecca!):
“I beg young people to travel. If you don’t have a passport, get one. Take a summer, get a backpack and go to Delhi, go to Saigon, go to Bangkok, go to Kenya. Have your mind blown, eat interesting food, dig some interesting people, have an adventure, be careful. Come back and you’re going to see your country differently, you’re going to see your president differently, no matter who it is. Music, culture, food, water. Your showers will become shorter. You’re going to get a sense of what globalization looks like. It’s not what Tom Friedman writes about, I’m sorry. You’re going to see that global climate change is very real. And that for some people, their day consists of walking 12 miles for four buckets of water. And so there are lessons that you can’t get out of a book that are waiting for you at the other end of that flight. A lot of people – Americans and Europeans – come back and go, “ohhhhh.” And the light bulb goes on.”
Well said, Henry Rollins, well said.
Living the High Life 