The Foreign Service Journal, May 2011

M A Y 2 0 1 1 / F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L 31 and shopping centers, and clocking the driving distance from a poten- tial home to my husband’s work and children’s likely school. The masseuse at my hotel fills me in on the gossip: by coinci- dence, the Argentine national soc- cer team is arriving in Quito the next day and staying at my hotel. He tells me that Ecuadoreans aren’t optimistic about their chances against the Argentines in this World Cup qualifier match, given their status as former world champions and their star roster. A soccer player before my age and knees betrayed me, I’ve been attending as many games in Buenos Aires as I can find tickets and babysitters for. The last match I saw was Argentina vs. Venezuela, where the Argentines crushed the visitors 4-0, Lionel Messi dribbling circles around Venezuela’s defense. But that was Buenos Aires, and this is Ecuador. The national stadium here is near 10,000 feet. The altitude is no joke; I’m overtaken by dizziness my first night in Quito, to the point that I can barely stand, and experience faintness every day like clockwork in the late afternoon. I ponder the coincidence and similarities of our re- spective pilgrimages to Ecuador. The Argentine team and I are both here for a short period of time with spe- cific goals to achieve; tourism is the last thing on our minds. If we are successful, our future anxieties will be considerably lessened. Argentina will go on to play World Cup–winner Brazil with the confidence it so desperately needs, and I will have found a school for my children, a nanny to help care for them, a house to live in and a job for me — greatly easing our next move. For once, I’ll be able to really enjoy a country with my family as soon as we get there. Parallel Missions Yet as much as I’ve prepared for my trip, I worry I’ve overestimated what I can actually accomplish in three days in the developing world. I’m putting my money on the Ar- gentines. Day One. I pass children begging at stop signs, strip malls and ubiquitous KFC outlets. The look of the city near the airport, with its low buildings, cracked sidewalks and paint-chipped highway underpasses, is depressing, so I keep my eyes focused on the spectacular views offered in most neighborhoods, as fabulous as those found in Sydney or Cape Town. I visit seven potential homes, meet two nannies, tour three preschools and have an informa- tional interview with a consulting firm. The homes are overpriced, too large by embassy standards, or too small for my family. The preschools are decrepit or frighteningly expensive. The potential nannies under- whelm me with shyness and downcast eyes, and the firm isn’t hiring. I’m fighting off a blanket of resignation and depression. In the spirit of World Cup competition, I begin to keep score: Ecuador 1, Amanda 0. Day Two: Game Day. The streets of Quito are awash in a sea of yellow. Easily half of the population is wearing copies of the Ecuadorean national soccer team jersey. My driver politely suggests it may not behoove me to attempt any appointments during or right after the match, starting at 4 p.m. I concur and decide to watch the game from the comfort of my hotel. No, he says, the cable mafia have re- stricted the transmission of the game to the select few with premium cable. Bastards. Ecuador 2, Amanda 0. I visit a preschool and an apartment and love them both, and even have time to check out the supermarkets and hotel where my family and I will spend a month, or until our housing effects arrive. My mood is shifting. Op- timism is seeping into me as the day progresses. The score is shifting to my favor now: Ecuador 2, Amanda 1. Right before kickoff, the socialist-leaning government sticks it to the cable companies and broadcasts the soccer game on all local channels. I rush to my hotel room and turn on the TV. By halftime, the score is a lackluster 0-0. The Ecuadoreans are patting themselves on the back; they’ll be thrilled with a tie. Everything Changes The second half begins. Maybe it’s the altitude, but the Argentines play largely unenthusiastically. A rocket shot on goal and everything changes. Ecuador scores. I open the window in my hotel room to the roar of the stadium crowd from across the city. The TV broadcaster is screaming: “¡¡¡GOOOOLLLL ECUADOR!! ¡Un país humilde ju- gando lo grande!” (A little country playing greatly!) F O C U S As much as I’ve prepared for my trip, I worry I’ve overestimated what I can actually accomplish in three days in the developing world.