I never knew I was such a cranky, or perhaps particular, morning person. Perhaps it’s because it’s been a long time since I shared my mornings with anyone, and have come to value the quiet time, the shift from blur to less blur. Back home, I would make my espresso and go to the deck outside, cold or no, sip it over a thirty-minute period of time, and think about what I was going to do. Or maybe just think about the sound of the stream out back, the variety of light coming through the trees.

But here, noise starts early: pounding of renovation, shouts of voices, barks of dogs, the movement of trucks through the streets. And while I have more or less adjusted to the change of sounds around me, I find myself in a minor skirmish with the maid, Lola. In general, Lola and I have an amiable relationship based on the fact that while she is sweet and I value the fact that she cooks and cleans for me, I am unused to the care, and might even prefer to take care of myself. And especially in the mornings, I would much rather prepare my breakfast myself. After all, I only eat bread with cheese and tomatoes, and drink coffee and orange juice.

A note on the coffee in Ecuador: Although one of Ecuador’s chief exports is coffee, it is extremely difficult, if not currently impossible, to locate whole beans, or even good ground coffee, to have a decent cup of coffee. Coming from the NW, I am a bit of a coffee snob. I admit that this is not the best way to go about life… depending on exports from poor countries that have been exploited by the IMF to sell coffee for under-living-wage prices… but I have always made up for it by striving to buy organic, and always buying coffee that has the Fair Trade seal of approval. So, my snobbery is somewhat okay by me. Here, it is a snobbery that will only get me in trouble, as the main type of coffee seems to be Nestlé’s instant coffee, which is rather quite undesirable. I have asked for “café pasado,” but have not been lucky enough to get Lola to agree to find me such a delicacy as real coffee passed through a form of filter.

So, really, the coffee preparation should be simple enough for me to do it myself. Pour the hot water, stir the crystals, and add a little cream. But no. And so begin the morning Leche Wars.

Instead of water, they use super-heated milk to pour the coffee crystals in. Moderately milk intolerant, I would prefer to just add a dash of milk. The other difficulty is that I give myself about 10-15 minutes to eat breakfast, and would like to instantly drink my coffee without burning my tongue. Thus, the advantage of adding cold milk.

Well, the first part of the wars started with me insisting that I do not drink coffee that is made only with milk. So, the transition that followed was Lola first preparing various quantities of hot milk in the microwave, and then preparing a half-cup of hot water in the microwave. Over the past three weeks, I have gotten the quantity of milk down from 100% to about 40%, and I am still aiming for about 20%. This I hope to accomplish by only using about 20%, which perhaps might allow Lola to eventually register the rest as “waste.”

The second part of the wars is the endeavor to get Lola to give me the milk cold. This is my main irritation, and although it entails less work on her part, it seems to be something she refuses to budge from. For now, two hot cups are presented to me, and I pour one into the other, spilling half of something because neither cup has a pour spout. And then I burn my tongue because I’m in a hurry and have to go quickly.

It seems so simple. Is it really a war? Why am I being so particular? There seem to be no really good solid answers to any of these questions. I recognize that I should give in, accept what I receive and call it good, but this gets back to the initial realization of my crankiness in the mornings. I can’t let it go. I sit and seethe and feel frustrated that my tongue is burned, that I’ve spilled milk that has made the unnecessary transition into its own cup and then into the microwave and then, five minutes later, in front of me. I start my mornings by grinding my teeth and wishing I could be by myself.

I’ve asked if I could prepare my own breakfast, but that met with shocked, and hurt looks. Of course not! It is Lola’s job, and apparently, it would be a breach of maidly etiquette for me to prepare one meal of the day by myself. Every so often, I cannot stand it, I get impatient, and then I get up, start pouring. Lola hovers under me, reaches for cups and grabs spoons to give to me. We smile and laugh at each other, full of “glee” at the ridiculousness of the moment. Underneath, I know we each think that the other is doing our own job, and making a crappy-ass stab at it, too.