Balcony of the World: Quito, Ecuador

Speaking of balconies, try living in Quito, Ecuador, altitude almost 10,000 feet.  My family and I lived on that lovely balcony of the world for eight memorable and mostly wonderful years. It is there where we attempted raising, as much as any parents can, our three children.  In my memory, it was an ideal era in our family history.  Memory is like a balcony where we gaze down to the past and marvel over its beauty, often unable to see the ugly and uncomfortable parts.   Who knew that all those years of glorious, sunny Quito days would burn right through our sunscreen and clothes to cause the skin cancers at least two of us in the family have, years later, developed.  High altitude, plus sun, plus intense radiation equals danger. 

Speaking of danger, our first Quito house was precariously stuck into the side of a mountain that looked down upon the city of Quito. The house had at least five levels, which meant that almost each room had its own level.  At our evening meal, we would gather in the dining room and watch the airplanes on their approach to the International Airport.  We actually looked down upon the airplanes, one of which dramatically missed the runway and plowed through a neighborhood.

In front of our house were descending rows of other houses which led down to the old Atahualpa Olympic Stadium.  I remember going to the overlook area across the street and watching what was reported to be a million faithful who crowded in and around the Olympic Stadium to see the Pope.  If we peered hard enough, we could actually gaze upon the Pope from our house.  The kids, faithless creatures that they were, seemed more excited about the Pope-mobile than the Pope!

The views were extraordinary from that Quito house.  We ate breakfast viewing the looming Pichincha volcano.  We saw the tanks roll out on the tarmac at the airport the day General Frank Vargas attempted a military golpe of the government.  I was on the last flight from Guayaquil to Quito that day before the government closed all the airports, and was safely home watching from the balcony when the tanks rolled out.  Frank Vargas failed in his attempt, being arrested a couple hours later as he hid in the lingerie section of a nearby department store. Meanwhile, on the swings at the park next door, the kids pretended they were flying.  Indeed, their feet were higher than the planes that flew through the valley below, and the tanks were barely visible and silent except for one or two loud shots.

When I’m asked why I sit in the balcony at Church, I suppose it’s partly because it brings memories of the Quito years and the balcony experiences when the Hermans lived on the top of the world, in the land of eternal springtime, on the equator.