Blueberries in Ecuador?

The blueberry is one of my favorite fruits.

During blueberry season in the States, I binge - which is very good for my immune system but also causes a lot of stains on my clothes.

Last October, I learned that blueberries do grow in Ecuador, but that blueberry season only lasts two days. This makes for some very concentrated binging.



On November 2nd, Ecuadorians commemorate Dia de Los Difuntos (Dia de los Muertos or Day of the Day). It is a holiday in which families go to the cemetery to spend time with the loved ones they have lost.

One of the traditions associated with this holiday is a special beverage called colada morada. It is a brew made of naranilla (little orange cousin), blackberry, blueberry, flour, cinnamon, cloves, lemongrass, arayan, and a variety of other locally available fruits and spices. It is served either hot or cold and often eaten with gingerbread men.

Because blueberries are one of the main ingredients in this beverage, one can find blueberry at the market in the days leading up to the holiday. There is nothing the rest of the year.

On Friday, I bought two bags of blueberries and another one this afternoon. I put them all in my freezer (still working) with plans to make muffins and other baked goodness with them.

Although blueberries do grow wildly in Arenillas, they are very rare. I knew of one person with a blueberry plant in her house and my other friend claims to know of a couple others. According to the woman at the market, the blueberries that she buys come from Ambato in the mountains, which is where most of the berries in Ecuador come from.

Don Maximo and my fridge

Refrigerators are supposed to create cold.

At the end of July, my refrigerator decided to stop producing a low-temperature environment and decided to produce noise, room temperature gas, and plenty of blog material.

While everybody likes blog material, that's not exactly what I look for in a refrigerator. So I sent it off to my refrigerator repairman, who told me that he would fix it within a week.

My fridge finally returned to my kitchen this week.

My repairman has a reputation for being the best in town. That says a lot more about his competition than his competency (or reliability or professionalism).

---

Don Diego is the name of a hallucinogenic plant native to this part of South America. It is also my repairman's name.

Is that just coincidence?

Yes. (But that doesn't mean it's not funny)

---

This was my third occasion when I needed Don Diego's technical skills. The first time he fixed my fridge in four days, and it worked for three months. The next time, he spent a couple of afternoons working on my fridge, and it worked for a couple of afternoons.

This time, he told me that he wanted to patch up a hole that was causing the gas to leak out.

Each time my fridge breaks I have this conversation with Don Diego.

Ian: Can you fix my fridge?
Don Diego: Yes.
Ian: Tell me the truth. Because if you can't fix my fridge, I'll go buy one that works.
Don Diego: No, I can fix it. Don't worry. I'll get it done.

---

One of my friend's is Don Diego's nephew. After spending a few years at the university, he moved back to Arenillas and was in the market for a fridge. He asked his uncle if he knew of anybody with an extra fridge.

His uncle told him not to worry because there was one in his shop for a long time because the owners never came back to pick it up.

My friend plugged it in and realized that the fridge was still broken. The reason the owners had never picked it up is because the repairman had never fixed it. My friend brought it back to his uncle, and only a few months later did he have a functioning fridge in his apartment.

---

When Don Diego told me that the fridge would be ready in a week, I knew that it would take longer. I've lived in Ecuador long enough to expect that. (If you can't find this stuff hilarious, you would probably go insane.)

When it wasn't ready the first week, he explained that he identified the gas leak and would order a new part from the factory to patch it up. He said he would get it to me by Friday, at the latest (or maximo el viernes)

When that week passed, he said that there were so many holes in the back panel that he had to replace the panel. Maximo el viernes.

I came back the next week. He said he was so busy with other projects that he didn't have time. Maximo el viernes.

After patching the hole, he realized that the machine needed a new filter. He didn't have the right piece and would have to go to Machala to pick it up. Maximo el viernes.

He went off to go visit his daughter at university and stayed there four days longer than he planned. Maximo el viernes.

Before leaving, he plugged to fridge in to see if it would stay cold throughout his trip. It didn't. He would have to spend more time filling the holes. Maximo el viernes.

He plugged it in again and realized there were still more holes. Maximo el viernes.

After filling all the holes, he noticed that another aluminum piece needed to be replaced. He couldn't get the piece locally. Maximo el viernes.

He went to visit his daughter again. Maximo el viernes.

He discovered more holes upon his return. Maximo el viernes.

Before you know it, three months passed, and I still didn't have a fridge.

Last week, started the same as any other. I went to Don Diego's house on Monday morning to check in on the fridge and hear whatever excuse he had that week. He told me that he was going to plug in the fridge. If it ran well for a few days, he would get it back to my house.

I came back to his house on Wednesday. He said it was working well. He just wanted to make sure that it would keep working and told me to come back on Thursday.

No one was home on Thursday.

On Friday, his wife told me that the fridge was still working well. She said that her husband would be home around 5:00 and that she would tell him to send the fridge back to my house as soon as he got home. At 6:00 there was still no fridge in my kitchen. I went back to their home. His wife told me that he wasn't back from work yet.

Early Saturday afternoon I was back at their door. He told me he would run one last test on the machine and that he would bring it by my house Sunday.

I went to his house Sunday morning, and he told me he would bring it by later in the day. I said that if it isn't at my house by 6:00, I would ring be ringing his doorbell at 6:00.

I rang his doorbell at 6:00 and woke him up from his siesta. He told me that he had to get ready for mass because he sings in the church choir but that he would bring it by my house afterward.

At 8:45, he finally pulled up to my house with the fridge in tow. We plugged it in and heard some gentle humming and felt some cool air in the freezer.

And finally, after three months, the my fridge was back in my kitchen.

The real question is whether or not he actually fixed it. Hopefully, that's not the subject of another blog post.

---

Now a few thoughts on the whole "repair" process:

• Do I actually believe that he looked at my fridge that many times as many times as he claims to have? No.

• As I told some of my Ecuadorian friends about my refrigerator saga they began referring to Don Diego as Don Maximo Viernes.

• One would think that after three months of disappointment, I would be mad a my repairman. I'm not. Maybe this a case of integration (or assimilation) but I'm still friends with Don Diego.

• Stay tuned for another post that talks about life without a fridge.

Shield vs. broomstick

About a month ago, I wrote about how important Flag Day is in Ecuador.



For all of its pageantry, Dia de la bandera only celebrated the flag's three color bands. It did not celebrate the shield. I wondered whether there was a day to honor the shield.

It turns out that there is.

The Ecuadorian Congress approved the national shield on the flag on October 31, 1900 in the government of Eloy Alfaro. The shield image was originally designed by Jose Joaquin Olmedo, a former Ecuadorian president, in 1845. It contains symbolic images of Ecuadorian national heritage and the zodiac signs from March, April, May, and June.

Little did that congress know what kind of global phenomenon Halloween would become. Although Halloween is an American holiday, Ecuadorians have taken to the idea of dressing up in costumes and going to parties.

The government and school system, however, have not embraced it quite as enthusiastically. At the beginning of October, I began reading official pronouncements in the newspapers that schools and high schools will observe Day of the Shield. They will hold civic moments to commemorate the day and will be prohibited from having Halloween parades or parties.

I understand where the government is coming from on this one. Furthermore, there is enough attention given to Halloween in society here that the educational system doesn't need to promote it as much as it should preserve the national cultural heritage.

This school ban on Halloween won't stop the discos from having their big Halloween parties. Or will they be National Shield parties?

My only question is: How many people will show up dressed as the shield?

Hazy memory

I was talking to a high school teacher last week about the weather. Talking about the weather in Arenillas isn't the most exciting subject, but it is something to talk about. It was a misty morning and a little chilly (By local standards, that is. I was still wearing a t-shirt.)

He had been watching the TV and saw something about flooding in the United States. (It's unclear when he was watching the news or what part of the United States was flooded.)

Professor: It floods all the time in the United States
Ian: No, only when it rains really hard, and the water doesn't drain well.
Professor: It never floods here.
Ian: Really?
Professor: Almost never.
Ian: Weren't there lots of floods last year?
Professor: Yes, they were really bad.
Ian: I think a lot of people had to leave their homes and live in schools for a few months.
Professor: I know. It happens like that almost every year.

Fedipedi

Saturday and Sunday mornings are very quiet in Arenillas.

The residents don´t really leave their homes. Some go to church while others make their weekly visit to the market. Besides that everything is relatively tranquilo.

People aren't that interested in doing projects or having meetings or work days on Saturday and Sunday mornings. They just want to take it easy.

This means I have some free time on your hands.

Starting in June, I began using these early mornings for exercise, going for some long runs in and around Arenillas. At first, these runs weren't really building toward any specific goal, except finding a productive use for the 6:30-8:30 time slot.

I looked at a running calendar and saw that the Guayaquil marathon was at the beginning of October. I figured that four months would be enough time to get ready.

Running the marathon had a few motives behind it.

• For a Peace Corps volunteer, it it necessary to lead by example. Many times, community members will complain that a project or a task takes too much time or energy to complete so they won't do it. If there aren't people willing to push themselves or try something different, then very little will change.

Part of my motivation for training was to show the members of my community what one can accomplish if he or she pushes themselves and plans ahead.

• Recreational exercise isn't really taken seriously here. Although there is a small walking/running group that goes out a few times a week and an aerobics class that meets at night in the coliseum, exercise for the sake of better health isn't normal.

• This is my first marathon, and I couldn't imagine a better training story (rabid dogs, speeding semi-trucks, and venomous snakes). The other volunteer in Arenillas participated in the half marathon. She would go for training runs with me during the week. (It's really easy to get out of bed at 6:15 when you know someone will knock at 6:30, ready to run.)

---

The marathon was last week. It was a great experience.

The run was supposed to be October 3rd but the September 30th police strike pushed it back a week. (Don't you just hate when civil unrest ruins your running plans? It sucks.) The new date, October 10th, was the day after Guayaquil's independence day. The city was a circus, not to mention that actual circus that was in town near the bus station.

I imagine that the date change affected the turnout. There were about 700 participants between the three races (10k, half marathon, marathon).




The race began at 5:00 a.m. (Actually, it was supposed to begin at 5:00 but it ended up starting at 5:20 because we are in Ecuador and "on time" has a different meaning). It's normally a bad idea to be milling about Guayaquil at that hour because the city has a reputation for being quite dangerous. But because Guayaquil also has a reputation for being quite warm when the sun is out, organizers opted for the early start so there was less running in the beating heat. It was quite funny in the first few kilometers because parties were still raging from the night before. You could still hear the booming bass from the discos and ran by the circles of drunk men on the sidewalks still passing small glasses of Pilsener.

If I were planning a marathon, I would strategically locate bathrooms along the route. I understand that most runners' systems should be regulated, and therefore the need for a toilet along the route probably wouldn't arise. But sometimes race-day nerves might aggravate it. There are very few establishments open in Guayaquil at 6:15 to let someone freshen up. For that reason, I will be eternally grateful to the restaurant owner who opened his door and took a chance on me. After my pit stop, I was a new man. No one passed me for the rest of the race (27 kilometers).

After I finished the first half, the sun came up. The heat was pretty bad and hovered around 90 degrees from 7:00 a.m. onwards. Luckily, the race organizers anticipated this and placed water stops at every kilometer. I would grab two cups at each stand, take a gulp from each, and dump the remaining contents on my back. It was quite refreshing and probably the best shower I had taken in days.

(One reason I prefer the metric system: if they put water stops at every kilometer, then there are 42 water stops along the route. If they put water stops at every mile, there are only 26 water stops.)

Because there weren't too many participants, the race organizers did not close off the roads to traffic. Instead, there was a police officer stationed at every intersection. Whenever a runner would approach, the officer would stop traffic and allow the runner to pass. This worked out quite well, and it offered the pedestrian some power that he or she rarely enjoys in this society. I only had two issues with this system. Once, three-fourths of the way through the race, I approached an intersection and noticed that the cop had decided to sneak off duty and get himself some breakfast (large plate of rice with a small piece of chicken), therefore leaving his post unattended. I waited for the car to pass and continued on my way. At another intersection, at mile 23, I don't think the cops saw me coming because I though the five lanes of traffic were stopped so I could pass. It turns out they weren't moving because of a red light. As soon as it turned green, I skedaddled across the remaining lanes.

Over the final kilometers, I felt great. I didn't run into any walls or cramps (I hate running into cramps). I just kept on going and finished in 4:32.20. My goal going into the marathon was to finish it. I did my training without a stop watch and had no specific time goals. Overall it was a great success.

The night before the race, the organizing committee offered a free, all-you-can-eat buffet dinner to all the participants. It was at an upscale restaurant and was the second-best meal I have eaten in Ecuador. There were hundreds of different dishes. Anything you could really imagine. The event had been advertised as a "pasta party" so that everyone could carbo-load before the big race. Ironically, about two percent of the dishes at the buffet included pasta, and just one of them was vegetarian. I wasn't too disappointed. I found other filling options.

My advice to anybody in Ecuador at the beginning of October: participate in the Guayaquil Marathon. Race fee includes an awesome buffet, a nice t-shirt, and some great stories. You can sign up for the 10 k, half marathon, or marathon and still get the buffet ticket.

The Mango Solstice

One of the most common conversations I have with Ecuadorians is about seasons.

Because Ecuador is located on the Equator, it only has two seasons. People want to know what it's like to live in a climate that has four seasons.

I tell them that it's pretty great, but nothing compared to the two seasons they get in Ecuador.

Of course we get fall colors and spring blossoms in the States, but, the way I see it, one of Ecuador's seasons far surpasses any that the United States can offer.

Why is that?

Well, for me, the two seasons in Ecuador are Mango Season and NotMango Season. Mango Season refers to the time of year where you can reach into a tree down the street from your house for a big, juicy mango. There is really nothing like it.

Last week, I celebrated the Mango Solstice: the first Ecuadorian mango of the season. It was delicious.

There is always a great variety of locally produced fruits here: oranges, bananas, zapotes, and papayas (and those are just the kinds of fruit trees I can see from my front door). But in my mind, the mango reigns supreme.

The flavor, the juiciness, the experience, and the residue it leaves in your beard/mustache is just something very special.

For the next four or five months, I will be in mango heaven. I shall try to maintain a count for how many mangoes I consume this season. I'm already at five. (I know I've said this before, but I mean it for real this time)

A five-day break?

The last week of September looked as if it would be normal for local municipal workers.

Work Thursday and Friday followed by the weekend and returning to the office on Monday.

It should have been a normal week. Although Arenillas was in the middle of fiestas, there were no planned days off because the biggest days of the celebration fell on Saturday and Sunday.

Instead of a normal week, they put in a half day's work over the five-day period. Let me explain.

Thursday morning was the police strike. Everyone left the office and took the afternoon off.

Friday morning, everyone showed up a little late unsure of what would happen the day after the police strike. After lunch, the city hall was closed because of municipal worker soccer matches between the city council, the municipal workers union, the contracted municipal employees, and the drivers union.

Saturday and Sunday were a weekend.

Monday was a hangover day so that everyone could recover from his or her fiesta rowdiness. All city offices were closed.

That is how one transforms a two-day weekend into a four-and-a-half-day weekend. If you want to take into the account the civil unrest on Thursday and not count that as part of the weekend, you have an unplanned three-and-a-half-day weekend and that half day of work started late and ended early to prepare for the soccer matches.

I sure hope I don't have to go through that again

Before I continue with the blog post, I'll just let you know that everything in my town stayed relatively calm throughout the protests last Thursday. Although most of the activity was concentrated in the major cities, the entire country was on edge. Tensions have eased, and normalcy has returned.

Last Thursday was supposed to be a normal Thursday. I had a full day of work planned. When I left for work in the morning, I was focused on collecting seeds for the tree nursery. When I got home for lunch, I wondered about the stability of society. And just as quickly as my thoughts escalated, I went to bed Thursday night and woke up to a town that showed little evidence of the national crisis it had faced the day before.

No pasa nada, right?

Not quite.

---

One of my main projects right now is reforesting the local watershed with 250,000 plants. I like to stress the importance of planting native species to protect the area's biodiversity. Since almost all primary forest has been converted to agricultural use, the largest remaining forest in the area is the local ecological reserve, which is run by the Ecuadorian military.

Now is the season when most species in the area go to flower and give off seeds. I have been trying to coordinate seed collection with the ecological reserve for several months. Like any effort to deal with a large bureaucracy, even trying to do a small amount of work requires a large amount of time and paperwork and frustration.

In the course of this process, they had relocated the ecological base and changed commanding officers. But after months of trying, we had finally arranged to go the reserve on Thursday morning.

We were going to meet at the municipality at 9:00 a.m. and go to the reserve from there. When I arrived, I glanced at the news on the TV and saw some demonstrations but didn't really pay close attention. There are always demonstrations of one sort or another, so I didn't really look to see what was going on.

The army arrived at 9:30 a.m., and we set off for the reserve.

The trail that we used for seed collection is deep in the forest. There is limited cell reception. The entire horizon is covered by dense brush. You feel completely separated from civilization.

As we continued along the trail, they received radio transmissions updating them about the escalating situation. I wasn't in earshot of the radio. All I could pick up was their reaction to each update.

With each message the strike's severity became more clear.

We continued with our seed collection because they didn't have orders to do otherwise. But on the ride back to town, there was an air of doubt and uncertainty about what would happen next.

They were talking about the looting and bank robberies that were occurring because the police were not enforcing the law. Some wondered what this meant for the government's stability.

We got back around 1:30, dropped off the seeds at the tree nursery, and bid each other farewell. We said that we would do another seed collection run in a month or so, but given the country's current situation it seemed silly to be planning so far ahead.

I went home for lunch. On my way home, I called another volunteer to find out what was going on. At this point in the day, the police strikes were the big news.

I went home to learn more and parked myself on my neighbor's couch in front of his TV. As the afternoon wore on, there wasn't much new news coming out. A group of people marched through town cheering support of the government, and some of my neighbors played a war drum all day (I think they were practicing for the high school marching band, but the drum definitely made it seem that much more suspenseful).

I watched the news all afternoon and night until I went to bed. At that point, the president was still in the hospital.

When I woke up at 5:30, the first thing I did was check the news. I read about the daring police raid that freed the president and about his address to the country upon his liberation. It was still dark out at this time.

I didn't know how my town would respond to the situation. Would everyone stay inside and reflect on what had happened the last day? Would they go about their lives as normal? Would they just take the day off?

Life just went on.

At about 6:00, the morning milk man passed by. A few minutes later, the boiled corn and humitas saleswoman came through. Then, it was the fresh fish guy.

Aside from the fact that the schools were out and the military was patrolling the streets instead of the cops, life was normal. I went into the municipal office later in the day, and everybody had recovered.

All the talk was about that night's beauty pageant and the weekend's fiestas. Nobody was dwelling on the police strike.