THE FOREIGN SERVICE JOURNAL | JANUARY-FEBRUARY 2025 85 Little did I know as an 8-year-old attending the bilingual school Colegio Americano in Quito that Latin culture would become a recurring thread throughout my life. My family was in Quito for only a year and a half. My father, a career diplomat trained in economics, worked on the Pan American highway and consulted with the Ecuadorian government on trade issues. I liked everything about Quito, a city that in 1959 had a population of only 300,000 (compared to more than 2 million today). We lived on Garcia Street, in a funky house with multiple inner and outer balconies and passageways, and a terrace on the third floor where my sisters and I roller-skated. From one of those inner balconies we placed the star on top of the Christmas tree. I loved Quito’s dramatic mountain backdrop and cool equatorial weather, bicycling or walking to school, my classes (Spanish in the morning, English in the afternoon), and great friends. Sixty years later, my Quito phone number is the basis of my password. Even more strikingly, I still remember the names of my best Ecuadorian friends: Alicia Davalos, Esperanza Suarez, Rocio Ruales, Luisa Chiriboga, and Gioconda Faini. In fact, when my husband, Barry, and I visited Quito together 40 years ago, A Latin Love Affair Spanning 60 Years BY LOUISA ROGERS REFLECTIONS my father’s former secretary, who was still working at the embassy, was able to help me connect with two of them. And I’m still in touch with a close American friend from my Quito days. Back then, I spoke 8-year-old conversational Spanish but never studied formal grammar. After Quito, my family returned to the Washington, D.C., suburbs—my toughest posting—where the de rigueur foreign language was French. In the seventh grade, my junior high school offered a pilot program in French, and for the next several years, that’s what I studied, which suited me. French seemed exotic and sophisticated, whereas Spanish was a bit down at heel and had less cachet (to use a French word). It wasn’t until I was a high school junior that I finally studied Spanish grammar. Then, in college, I returned to French. It was as though I couldn’t decide which orientation I preferred— Europe and French, or Latin America and Spanish? That dilemma continued for another 30 years. In the 1980s and 1990s, when Barry and I started traveling to Latin America, we often signed up for Spanish classes, but then we’d return to the States and lose the incentive to study. Meanwhile, we often also explored Europe. Because Barry is British, we’d visit his family in England and, while over there, tack on a bicycle trip to a different part of the continent— the Dordogne, Tuscany, Sicily, Ireland, Croatia, and more. Somehow, though, we kept returning to Mexico, which was closer to our home in California and much cheaper than flying to Europe. We were particularly drawn to the UNESCO World Heritage City of Guanajuato, which we visited several times. Gradually we realized that the city, with its colorful pedestrianized centro, great weather, vibrant arts scene, and nearby hills easily accessible for hiking, was the perfect place to satisfy our dream of an international base. In 2005, after several visits, we bought a 200-year-old adobe house, and only then did I finally get serious about learning Spanish. Nineteen years later, we still love living here part of the year. I’m now fluent, though I still study with my tutor, Camila, who helps me with the hundreds of modismos (slang) in Mexican Spanish. And just as in Quito, in highelevation Guanajuato I walk everywhere, speak Spanish every day, and hear the church bells toll. The rhythm of the city and the clackety sound of the language feel almost like my genetic heritage. Some State Department kids return to the U.S. and never leave; others, like me, can’t stay away from international life. Growing up in Quito, my favorite childhood home, gave me a gift I could never have anticipated: a deep, abiding love for Mexico, a country that has claimed my heart. n Louisa Rogers is a writer who divides her life between Eureka, California, and Guanajuato, Mexico. The daughter of Jordan Thomas Rogers, who served as an FSO from 1947 to 1975, she grew up in Hungary, Argentina, Ecuador, Maryland, and Pakistan. Her Reflection, “It Took Me 30 Years, but I Finally Put Down Roots,” appeared in the October 2023 FSJ.
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