Runa Reta - WISPA Squash Pro on Tour on www.squashtalk.com

The first WISPA Event in Ecuador just concluded ...

In my previous article, I discussed the nature of communications amongst global travelers, and in the process, boldly proclaimed that I would endeavor to become more proactive in my efforts to make myself understood in foreign countries (rather than rely on others to speak English to me). With this said, I had no other choice but to back these statements up with action. And what better place to start than in Ecuador, a small Spanish-speaking country on the western coast of South America?

With the Quito Open being the first WISPA tournament ever staged in the country, and with a draw that- except for 3 players- was entirely made up of South American and Latin American players, I saw this as a great opportunity to not only visit a new place, but also to test my abilities in getting by in a language that is completely foreign to me. With a Spanish-English dictionary in hand, I envisioned myself communicating effortlessly with the locals and endearing myself to the squash players, who would invariably marvel at my fluid grasp of the language. My dictionary even came equipped with often-used phrases translated into Spanish, which only helped to heighten my (delusional) self-confidence. After all, what more could I need if I knew how to say things like “De donde es usted” (where are you from?) “Me han robado” (I’ve been robbed) and “Me puede reparar la dentadura?” (Can you repair my dentures?) Clearly, I was in for a big shock.

Thanks to a travel agent that seems convinced that I enjoy going the scenic route to all my destinations, I was stuck with two connections en route to Quito. If telling my parents that I was going to Ecuador wasn’t worrying enough (the same place where we had recently watched protests being quelled on the BBC news), throwing in a stop in Columbia certainly didn’t make them feel any better.

Luckily, when I arrived in Bogota, a personal escort met me at the front of the plane to whisk me away to my connecting gate. As he led me hurriedly around the airport, he started to talk to me in Spanish. Since I didn’t have time to whip out the trusty dictionary, I had to settle for my last resort phrase: “no entiendo el espanol”. I smiled and asked him where we were going. He looked at me with a confused air- he didn’t understand English! I admit, up until this point, I thought that things would transpire more or less like this: I would try out a few words in Spanish, the person I was speaking to would realize that I was not from the region, and then promptly switch to English. This scenario was definitely not being played out the way I envisioned it. Instead, the two of us walked in silence, and even as the escort left me off at my gate, my words of farewell and gratitude (which I mustered up in Spanish) could not conceal the fact that this was going to be a very challenging trip.

Things did not get easier, as I boarded the plane to Ecuador only to be placed in the row of seats where the emergency exits are located. Now, a simple exchange with the stewardess in Spanish regarding what I would like to drink, I could achieve. Trying to comprehend the various steps and maneuvers that are required in an emergency evacuation is a bit more complicated. When the stewardess realized that I did not understand what she was saying, she muttered something to herself and walked away (turns out she didn’t speak English either). At least I could reassure myself with the thought that if the plane malfunctioned and we started to plummet to our deaths, the competent 12-year-old sitting beside me would man the evacuation like a true professional!

As if adding insult to injury on this long journey, I arrived in Quito to find that my bags had been lost somewhere along the way. Seeing as it was late and my previous attempts at exchanging in Spanish were less than successful, I was not enthused about having to speak to the baggage people in the airport. Luckily, they knew a bit of English, so between me using words I had looked up (such as “baggage” and “lost”) and lots of hand signals, I was able to communicate all the necessary details for recuperating my bags.

Despite the minor hiccups on my journey that had put me off slightly, arriving in Quito was like a breath of fresh air… (literally, Quito is more than 9,000 feet in altitude!). Since I arrived at night (and thereby not able to see much), I awoke to a gorgeous view outside my hotel room: buildings in the foreground, lush rolling hills crowded with houses of different shapes and color, and breathtaking mountains in the background.

Could this be heaven? Maybe not, but Quito is highly regarded as one of the nicest cities in South America, and with good reason.

It was only once I arrived that I came to realize just how much there was to see and do in this beautiful place. From the expansive rainforest and well-conserved national parks, to calming hot-springs and some of the highest volcanic mountains in the world, Ecuador represents a nature-lovers’ paradise. And for those that are more interested in art history and architecture, Quito is the place to admire some of the most brilliantly-built, churches, cathedrals and other landmarks built by the Conquistadors in the 16th century.

Although the setting for this WISPA tournament was undeniably spectacular and the hotel was first-class, I was still skeptical about the conditions of the club and the organization level for the staging of this first-ever event. I needn’t have worried. The club that we played at, called “Rancho San Francisco” was akin to one of the most elite country clubs in America. Fully equipped with a restaurant, pools, spas, lounges, equestrian courses, and squash courts, the club was everything we could have imagined, and more. Although the Ranch was a first-time host for this WISPA event, one could not tell from the numbers of spectators that filled the stands.

Every night, the seats were full of excited, squash-loving fans who had come to watch the flair and intensity that is at the heart of South American squash. Both players and spectators fed off one another too; a great shot would be hit, the crowd would erupt with applause, the player would pump his/her fist with an emphatic “VAMOS!” which elicited even greater cheers from the fans. This was high-drama sport at its finest, and the electric mood that surrounded the courts was unlike anything I had ever experienced before. Even off the court, spectators showed their enthusiasm and admiration by continually asking for pictures and autographs. Swarms of kids milled around the club, hoping to get their posters signed by all the competitors. And following the finals matches, there was such a media frenzy that the finalists momentarily experienced what it would feel like to be a tennis player, instead of squash!

On the first night of the event, the organizers hosted a welcome function for the players, at which time we were able to meet all the people involved in running the tournament. Other than one or two coordinators, most of the key organizers spoke very little English, thus placing me in an ideal position to begin my experiment in communicating in Spanish (well, Spanish and a whole lot of hand signals!)

It did not take long before I started to feel completely overwhelmed. Something as simple as trying to arrange a ride to the hotel, or explaining to a waiter the specifics of an order could turn into an exasperating ordeal. To make things worse, many South Americans falsely assumed that I was a local, which always prompted them to approach me in Spanish, even if they knew English! (thus adding to the overwhelmed effect).

In the end, I was bailed out in several ways. One, most of the players in the tournament spoke very good English, which was handy in and around the courts when my efforts at making myself understood were failing horribly. Two, for some reason, I was able to find several people (including the president of squash in Ecuador) who spoke fluent French, which allowed me to speak in a language that- however rusty- was much easier for me to communicate my thoughts in. Speaking French to these various people was a rewarding experience because not only was I able to express myself freely and have more meaningful conversations, but I felt better knowing that we were both making equal efforts to make ourselves understood. For the rest of the time when I could not speak English or French however, more than not I failed miserably to communicate with the locals, and was very fortunate to have people around me translating and/or speaking English.

The greatest lesson I learned from this trip is how essential communication is to our everyday existence, and how much we take it for granted, particularly when it comes to conveying our emotions. In my case, the most disheartening aspect was not being able to communicate my feelings of gratitude to those who had worked tirelessly to put on such an amazing event. How does one express to the organizers how beautiful the surroundings are, how well the tournament is being run or how much their efforts are appreciated?

The Ecuadorian people were somehow able to wordlessly convey an incredible degree of warmth and hospitality in dealing with the players, and yet somehow I did not seem to know how to reciprocate my gratitude. My dictionary could not produce the right words to accurately sum up what I was feeling, and hand signals such as the thumbs-up proved to be an even lamer attempt at making a connection.

And then, out of nowhere, the opportunity arose. I was sitting in the club, getting ready for my semi-final match, when the head organizer motioned me over to him. Unaware of what he wanted, I went over and he led me outside to the pool-side area, where one had a breathtaking view of the Ecuadorian hill-side. Dusk was settling in and the whole area was quiet now. He pointed to the sky, and there in the distance, for the first time this week was a perfectly clear view of the Cotopaxi volcano (the highest active volcano in the world).

For a few moments, the two of us just stood there in silence, staring in awe at the beautiful apparition that had emerged miraculously onto this flawless landscape. In that brief instant of peace and serenity, I turned to him and said quietly “gracias”. He squeezed my shoulder and smiled. For once, we understood each other perfectly.