Lo Rotzim Shikun, Rotzim Ma'abarah

More photos from the road

2012-02-01T21:47:00.002-05:00

As I looked through my pictures from a recent trip, I realize that a photo montage post is in order. I took these pictures on a recent trip to the province of Esmeraldas to develop sites for new Peace Corps volunteers. Esmeraldas is located in the northwest corner of the country and is home to much of the Afro-Ecuadorian community.

It is awesome.

Fish and coconut are two of the biggest industries in Esmeraldas. They have managed to combine these two into one fine plate: encocado fish. They even make the white rice look good.

In this family's house, there is only one place to get cell reception. You will notice that they have made a pocket out of tape on the window and placed their phones in it.

This "For Sale" sign has four misspellings and should have one more word than it currently does. Only one of the words is spelled correctly.

The province is famous for its beaches. We were working the whole time and didn't get any time to enjoy the beach, but I did get to snap this pic of the view from Mompiche.

They were selling mangoes by the bucket on the side of the road for one dollar per bucket.

So we bought three buckets, which amounted to at least 60 mangoes.

"What men have on their mind." - Freud. We saw this sign at the restaurant we were eating at. It says something about a culture when they have a picture like this on the wall at a family restaurant.

Check out this guy just laid out on top of some bamboo on the back of this truck.

Fun with murals

2012-01-31T21:34:00.002-05:00

I was on the road a couple of weeks ago and came across some fun murals.

The World Map is one of the more common Peace Corps projects. It is an opportunity for Host Country Nationals to get a sense of where their country is in relation with the rest of the world. In this community, the Hulk has already taken over Australia and is threatening Madagascar and Africa.

X-ray vision Jesus

Quito's Jewish pork restaurant

2012-01-30T21:12:00.006-05:00

Fritada is deep-fried pork.

Los judios means "Jews."

I don't know how this place got its name or what the owners know about halaja (Note the Spanish spelling).

This would obviously require some follow-up reporting, but I have never gotten off the bus in the neighborhood. Ironically, it is on my way to synagogue.

Submerged in el milagro de la naturaleza

2012-01-29T19:49:00.003-05:00

In most countries in Latin America, you have two categories of water: "agua con gas" and "agua sin gas." The products are relatively uniform. Agua sin gas is purified drinking water. Agua con gas is water with bubbles.

In Ecuador, however, there is a different class of bubbly water: Guitig.

What makes this product so special is that it comes out of the earth in its effervescent state. It doesn't undergo any process to make it fizzier. The company that sells this product bottles the water that comes out of its spring just south of Quito where it has been sold since 1906.

The naturally occurring state of this glorious beverage leads to its marketing slogan "A miracle of nature." Now I don't know much about the science behind springs and the kind of water that comes out of them. What I do know is that nothing quenches my thirst on a scorching hot day like an ice cold Guitig.

For two years, I enjoyed the goodness that is Guitig, thinking that life could not get much better than the sensation of this miracle hitting my tongue. Then someone told me that you could visit the Guitig spring and swim in a pool of it.

As soon as I heard this, I resolved to visit this promised land of carbonated beverage.

Today, I baptized myself in this miracle.

It was a religious experience. It tingled all over my body, especially my face. It was a little uncomfortable when my eyeballs started having that same sensation, but I wanted the full experience.

The pool itself didn't have the same level of fizz that a freshly opened bottle does, but I figured that swimming in a pool of Guitig was the equivalent of drinking from a Guitig bottle a half hour after you open it. It loses some of the fizz, but you can still recognize that unforgettable texture.

For the first time, the rest of my body got to enjoy something that only my mouth and throat get to to.

It wasn't a really warm day, and the Guitig water was rather chilly. So after doing a lap and fully immersing myself a few times I headed to the lukewarm pool next door to heat up a bit.

If anyone ever tells you that Guitig is like any other "agua con gas," you can point them to this website that explains that health benefits of Guitig.

First off, it contains so many minerals that normal sparkling water doesn't. It contains calcium, magnesium, sulfates, sodium and nitrates.

According to a study on Guitig's website, people who drink mineral water have fewer incidents of osteoporosis. The water's natural salt content means its better for rehydration than normal bottled water. The naturally occurring CO2 in Guitig prevents cystitis by killing bacteria in your bladder.

In addition to the benefits of consuming Guitig, it also has many beauty-related uses. If you want your make-up to look more natural, mix in a little bit of cold Guitig with your make-up. Let it dry before applying it. Also, you can rub Guitig over your body after a day at the beach so that you have a more vibrant and lasting tan. It is also apparently helpful for many kinds of skin conditions and irritations.

I can't believe it has taken me this long to fully profile Guitig in blog form. In addition to the chocobanana, it was one of the primary ways I recovered from the heat while living on the coast.

Harvesting Papaya

2012-01-05T08:29:00.002-05:00

In this video, Cesareo shows the proper form for harvesting papaya.

Step 1: Find a papaya that is ready for harvest
Step 2: Find a big stick
Step 3: Using big stick, gently lift upward on bottom point on the papaya.
Step 4: Let papaya fall against the tree. This will cause it to separate from the tree.
Step 5: Catch papaya in free hand.
Step 6: Repeat until quota is filled.

Cesareo says his wife is much better at harvesting papaya than he is.

How to make ayampacos

2012-01-03T20:03:00.003-05:00

Ayampacos are a traditional dish in the jungle province of Morona Santiago (In other jungle provinces, they go by the name "maito"). (If you watch the video on full screen, the words won't get cut off)

Every time I visit my friends in jungle, they make ayampacos. I've never been able to eat them because the chicken isn't kosher. Instead, I've eaten a massive plate of rice and vegetables. While that is good, I have heard that it doesn't hold a candle to the ayampacos.

I needed to try these. So when my friends in the jungle invited to spend Christmas with them, I brought a kosher chicken from Quito so I could finally try them. They were delicious.

I had seen so many volunteers in my time enjoy these ayampacos, but none of them learned how to make them. I decided to make this video so that others can enjoy in this goodness.

A strong "dios les pague" to Cesareo and Inez for hosting me for Christmas weekend and letting me make this video.

Contrasting Styles

2011-12-28T08:11:00.001-05:00

On one 15-minute bus ride last week, four different vendors got on the bus.

I like to divide these characters into two categories.

You have someone who comes on with a product and sells without explaining why they need you to buy the product. These ones typically sell fruit or biscuits.

The other class of vendors are the ones that get on the bus, get everyone's attention, and explain that this is how they try to make an honest living. These guys normally sell candy, DVDs, inspirational cards, or — most likely — fear that if you don't give them money they will turn to a life of petty crime.

On my bus ride last week, I had four of the latter variety.

The first guy got on the bus, was a little disheveled, and looked like he might not have been sober. He gave a shpiel about how he is just trying to make an honest living to get bread for his family. Then he walked up and down the aisle, giving out inspirational cards to all the passengers. After giving them us a moment to look at the cards, he walks up and the aisle again, asking people for their collaboration. Other passengers on the bus got a pictures of Jesus with some religious message. I got a picture of an adorable kitten. A bunch of other people on the bus paid 25 cents for their piece of paper. I don't normally support the vendors to begin with and didn't really see any utility in a pocket-sized picture of a kitten.

After this vendor completed his rounds and got off the bus, another one took over. This one was a loud guy with an obvious coastal accent. Instead of selling any specific product, he went with a sob story about how he was mugged and didn't have any money. He also said that at some point in the past he was shot four times in the stomach. He lifted up his shirt to "show" but then covered his stomach up before anyone could notice whether or not he was lying. He went up and down the aisle collecting contributions before getting off the bus.

Another vendor immediately got on. This one was talking about how by selling Christmas CDs to put bread on his family's table. He repeated the same routine as the previous two, except that most people had exhausted their loose change at this point and didn't have much to contribute.

Another guy got on the bus selling little candies, but I had to get off before he finished his routine.

Neither of these vendors were particularly extraordinary. The volume of vendors in such a short ride — it was only a mile and half make excrutiatingly long by Quito's rush hour traffic — and the contrast in sales pitches (cute kitten followed by bullet wounds) made this a blog-worthy experience.

Caption Contest

2011-12-26T17:58:00.004-05:00

Insert your caption in the comments. You can also put your prize suggestions in the comments, as well.

Every bike ride is an adventure

2011-12-12T20:36:00.005-05:00

As mentioned in previous posts, the city of Quito shuts down one of its main streets every Sunday morning, opening it to bikers, skaters, and walkers. The Ciclopaseo, as it is known, stretches the entire length of the city, nearly 20 miles long.

My parents like bike riding, so I figured they'd enjoy this innovative initiative. Last week, I rented a bike from a place right near my house. I showed up, paid for the two hours I planned on riding, dropped off my ID, and was on my way. The bike worked great. It was surprisingly hassle-free.

I don't know why I would have expected it to be so smooth two weeks in a row.

We showed up at the same booth where I rented bikes last week. They told us that you can't rent bikes there. The place to rent bikes is a mile and a half down the road. I tried to explain what happened last week, but my arguing this was futile.

My dad and I decided to jog to the other bike rental place while my mom waited for Sarah. (The city of Quito is situated about 2,800 meters above sea level, and my parents are not adjusted to the altitude. But I was very impressed with how my parents handled the thin air.) After a few walking breaks, we showed up to the other bike rental place.

Obviously, the employees were busy putting up a giant inflatable balloon and made us wait for 15 minutes before the could attend to us, at which point they told us there were no bikes to rent this week. I told them that they should do a much better job of customer service and communicating between their employees. Once again, it was pointless trying to explain this to them. At this point, my mom and Sarah showed up.

There was another place to rent bikes where we started our adventure that didn't open until 9:00. By then, it was open. Sarah and I ran to that bike store, rented the bikes, and met up with my parents. We were just about ready to go, right? Well, not quite.

I'm a bit taller than your average Ecuadorian, so I had to raise the seat. I borrowed a wrench and got the seat up. But when I tried to screw the bolt back on, it wouldn't tighten. The grooves on the screw had been stripped. We went to another bike store and bought a quick release screw so that whoever had to use this bike after me would have an easy time lowering the seat. (It cost about a dollar) My dad had little trouble adjusting his seat.

Finally, we were off. For the next hour, we had a lovely ride through the historic center of Quito.

Every time I ride my bike, I am amazed at this wall of laundry. I would really like to learn more about their system. I assume they use pullies, but I'd really like to know the details.

In honor of the festivals of Quito, they municipality hosted a "best facade in Quito" contest. I don't think this one won, but I thought it was pretty nice.

My parents normally ride a tandem bike and were quite impressed by this one.

As we headed back to my apartment, the back wheel on my dad's bike popped. We took it to a "mechanic" to check it out. After a ten-minute wait, we realized that the same tube had been patched at least eight times. We found the hole in the tube and realized there was no point in trying to patch this one up. Since there aren't too many bike shops in the colonial center of Quito, my dad decided to call it a day. We started thinking of ways to try and get the bike back to the bike shop.

The solution we arrived at was that my mom, dad, and Sarah would send my dad and bike in a taxi to the bike shop. I would ride ahead and meet him there.

So they walked down to pick up a cab and put the bike in the trunk, which meant it wouldn't close very well. The driver didn't have any rope to secure the bike with, so he took his shoelaces out of his shoes and tie the bike down.

Somehow, it worked. My dad and the bike showed up at the shop a few minutes after me. We dropped off the bike and didn't even have to pay for them to fix the tube. We figured they would just put another patch on it. It's probably something they do every week.

My mom and Sarah rolled in a few minutes later, which ended this week's bike ride. As my parents like to say "every bike ride is an adventure."

I can't wait to see what happens next week.

Has my dad met his match?

2011-12-07T20:36:00.004-05:00

If you know my dad, you know how he can give a great, impromptu heart-felt speech to put the proper perspective on any occasion.

If you know Cesareo, you know how he can give a great, impromptu heart-felt speech to put the proper perspective on any occasion.

On Friday night, these two giants of on-the-spot oration squared off in what could only be described as an epic duel. Consider it Freestyle Friday at the Shabbat dinner table.

As soon as I finished recited motzi (the blessing over the bread), Ceseareo asked for the floor and delivered this speech about special it is to spend Shabbat with me and my family and how it is something new for him. It brought the house down. If you have ever seen the AND1 Mix Tape tour, this would be the equivalent of the crossover that causes the crowd to rush the floor and end the game.

Not to pass up the opportunity, my dad asked for the floor and talked about how great it is to spend Shabbat dinner with me and my friends. The crowd had already rush the court on the previous speech, so I guess they would have just stayed there and celebrated for a while after this one, relishing the special moment that these two giants of off-the-cuff inspirational commentaries just put in perspective.

Since we didn't have an actual floor to rush, we just decided to continue eating the massive quantities of food we prepared.

They went back and forth once more during the meal, but my food coma was too advanced at that point for me to get up and film anything.

A big thanks to my roommates did a great job of translating and making sure that everyone understood.

Shabbat dinner with my parents

2011-12-06T11:51:00.002-05:00

Friday night we had a very special Shabbat dinner in Quito.

As many of you know, Shabbat dinner is my favorite time of the week. The work week is over, and you can gather with friends and family to enjoy great food and conversation, which is exactly what happened last Friday.

This is the speech I give every Friday night when there is a new guest at the Shabbat dinner table to explain the significance of the occasion. This week's guest was Mike's host dad from the jungle, Cesareo. I was really happy to be able to share a Shabbat dinner with Cesareo.

A rough translation of this speech is that Friday night is dinner has been very special for me my entire life. I have continued this tradition in Ecuador. Welcome. I'm going to say some blessings in Hebrew over the candles, wine, and bread. Then, we'll eat.

After dinner, there is typically a folk concert in the living room.

Stay tuned for videos of dueling speeches between my dad and Cesaero.

Parents in Quito

2011-12-04T16:54:00.005-05:00

I haven't posted a blog in a while, and my parents got worried. So they decided they needed to come down and check things out themselves.

They got here on Thursday and have been checking out different aspects of my life in Quito.

On Friday morning, there was a work day in the garden at the Peace Corps office. My parents were happy to lend a helping hand (or four). Here my mom is hauling some dead zucchini plants to the worm composting bins.

After harvesting all the zucchini plants, we decided to plant new crops. My dad put compost in each hole so the young plants would get enough nutrients.

We went to the Pre-Colombian Art Museum in the historic center of Quito (highly recommended if you get a chance) and noticed that the Block M might have its roots in ancient Ecuadorian culture. (Maize is also an indigenous plant to the region. Coincidence?)

My parent's visit also coincides with the fiestas of Quito, where people celebrate the anniversary of the city's founding. One popular way to mark this occasion is to rent the Ecuadorian version of a party bus, or a chiva. To make a chiva, put a flatbed on a pre-1960 bus, paint it with bright colors, get rid of the windows, add some wooden benches, connect some massive speakers, and buy some booze.

Every Sunday morning, they shut down one of the main avenues in Quito to motorized traffic for bikers, rollerbladers, and runners. My parents have lots of experience with tandem bicycles, but they have not seen one like this before. My mom often worries that she is not pulling her weight on the back of the tandem, but I guarantee she does more than this woman.

Tailgate

2011-09-11T20:38:00.006-04:00

There were so many exciting parts in last night's Michigan-Notre Dame game, but I think I know what was the most exciting part.

It wasn't Denard's pass to Roundtree with two seconds left when Hoke decided to go for the win instead of chancing it with a field goal.

It wasn't Notre Dame's drive with less then a minute left in the game to get back up on top.

It wasn't the night game atmosphere at The Big House.

In fact, the most exciting part of the night happened before the game even started and didn't even occur in the Northern Hemisphere.

It was the first piece of grilled, kosher salami that I ate on a piece of pita with hummus before kickoff.

To mark the first night game in Michigan Stadium history and share a bit of what I love about college football season with my Peace Corps friends, I decided to host a little Robinson family-style tailgate at my apartment.

The excitement continued until halftime when I polished off the salami plate. Maybe that last piece was a bit more lukewarm than the first one, but it was delicious nonetheless. (The food definitely made up for Michigan's piss poor performance in the first 30 minutes.

We streamed the game through a Sling Box and used a projector to make my living room wall the big screen. It wasn't quite like being at the corner of Stadium and Main, but there is no replacement for that.

One thing that they didn't have at Michigan Stadium was this display of chocolate-covered fruit.

The broccoli and cauliflower have non-dairy, dark chocolate.

Not all of my friends are Michigan fans, and some were even rooting for Notre Dame. That didn't really matter to me. (I'm not just writing this because Michigan ended up winning the game)

After enjoying that grilled salami before the game started, the night was already a victory. While it's great if your team wins, the most important part of Michigan football for me is to enjoy the games and tailgates with friends and family.

The only barber I trust in Ecuador

2011-08-21T20:51:00.001-04:00

Like a family

2011-08-15T22:25:00.001-04:00

I went to my first Aucas game yesterday. The game ended in a 2-2 tie. Aucas kept its hopes of advancing to the next level in the classification alive, but that wasn't the real story for me.

I have never gone to a stadium before and felt like the entire crowd was one big family.

This was unexpected.

My friends and I bought tickets in the $5 general admission section and took some seats in the bleachers on the south end of the field. I sat next to an older gentleman and his family.

I don't really remember starting a conversation with him or even saying hi. We just kept following the rhythm of the games together. We would cheer when the team got close to scoring and then berate the forward when he failed to convert what seemed like an obvious goal. When the ref would blow an obvious foul, we would be standing up questioning his judgment.

Slowly, we started to exchange a few more words. About 20 minutes into the game, he poured me some water from a bottle he was sharing with is wife and daughter. Then I called Aucas's first goal off of a free kick, and my neighbor was really impressed.

Then came halftime. I was all ready to head back to my friends' seats to see what they thought of the first half when my neighbor and his family start giving me a full plate of corn and fava beans they had brought to the game. Then even offered some pork, but I kindly declined.

It turns out that my neighbor has been an Aucas fan his entire life, goes to every game, and sits in the same seat. He even makes it out to the road games to cheer on his team. He goes to the games with his wife and daughter and knows most of the people sitting around him.

I told him that I was a Peace Corps Volunteer, and he started into a story about a volunteer he knew in Quito about a decade ago. We sat there chatting throughout the halftime, and I kept thinking to myself "Did I really just get a lunch from the people sitting next to me at the soccer stadium?" At the end of halftime, he gave me some fruit juice to wash down the lunch with and get ready for the second half of action.

We kept up the conversation through the ups and downs of the second half. (Aucas really should have won the game. They hit the post twice and had many more near goals. But in soccer, the only statistic that matters is on the scoreboard.) At the end of the game, I thanked him profusely for the hospitality, and we parted way. I didn't get his name, but I know exactly where to find him at any Aucas home game.

The amazing thing is that I feel like this could have happened anywhere in the stadium. Aucas's stadium is also known as La Caldera (The Cauldron). It is a place where people from anywhere in Quito can come together, putting aside their differences, and get behind their beloved Aucas.

Maybe I'm romanticizing this a bit too much. Maybe I just had great luck and sat next to a really hospitable gentleman and his family.

But it seemed like everyone in the stadium knew each other. Just walking down the street or around the stadium, it looked like a disproportionate amount of people knew each other. Maybe this what happens when the same group of 5,000 people goes to the games over the period of 30 years.

S.D. Aucas hit the peak of its popularity in the 70s.

Since then, the club hasn't had too much celebrate. In the meantime, every other team in Quito has at least qualified for continental tournaments and challenged for the national championships.

As a result, Aucas has struggled to attract new fans. So the same people have been going to the games since then. They are almost all over the age of 50.

Most of them are wearing the same shirt and hat they wore to games in the 80s, and they probably all sit in the same seats.

As I mentioned in yesterday's blog, I don't know if I can make Aucas "my team," but it is nice to know that I can go to a game and feel part of a family.

The Idle of Quito

2011-08-14T17:46:00.006-04:00

When it comes to professional football and soccer, I am always attracted to the most pitiful, pathetic teams. Whether it be the Lions of Detroit or Condor from Arenillas, I can't escape them.

This must be why I felt an immediate attraction to the S.D. Aucas in Quito.

Aucas has been one of the most popular teams in Quito for decades but has never won the national championship. It's main rival, Liga de Quito, has won the national championship 10 times and several continental titles.

Aucas is currently in the lowest possible divisions, the equivalent of the league Club Deportivo Condor plays in. (The way soccer works is if you are the worst team in the league, you get relegated to a lower league). It has been out of the top division for five years and out of the second division for two.

The club's glory days were from 1945-1951 when it won six provincial championships. People still talk about these teams — much like people still talk about the Lions' glory days from the 50s. Its popularity from the 50s-70s earned it the nickname Idolo de Quito (Idol of Quito). But since the 70s, Aucas's poor management and mediocrity (at best) have allowed other teams in Quito to thrive.

The team was founded by the Shell oil company in 1945, and the then-president of Shell wanted to name the team "Shell." The soccer federation didn't let him, so he chose the name Auca, which means indigenous warriors (They still adopted the red and yellow color scheme of Shell). The team's logo features a depiction of an auca. The team has since experienced many management changes over the years and is now referred to as the Ex-petroleros (former oilmen).

Will I become an Aucas fan? I don't think it will become "my team," but that doesn't mean I can't feel sympathy for their story and hope that they return to prominence in Ecuadorian soccer.

I went to the Aucas game yesterday and will post about it tomorrow (I know people these days don't like to read too much text in one sitting).

Godfather

2011-08-09T23:54:00.006-04:00

While I was home in May, one of my good friend's from Arenillas gave birth to a daughter.

Since returning to Quito, I had been trying to make the time to go visit my friend and meet the baby. I finally found the time a couple of weekends ago and returned to my beloved town for a couple of days.

Sarah and I headed to the border town of Huaqillas on Sunday morning to see Rosa and the baby. (Sarah still lives in the area and has already spent some time with the baby. She actually had the honor of being the first person to cut the baby's nails and is looking forward to giving the baby her first hair cut.)

We arrived at Rosa's in-laws' house, where she is currently living, and sat down in the living room to catch up. It had been more than three months since I last saw Rosa, so there was a lot to talk about. I wanted to hear all about the baby, while she wanted to hear about my vacation back home and life in Quito.

I took my turn holding the baby until she started to cry, at which point I delegated holding responsibilities to Sarah, who calmed the baby down in a matter of seconds.

After a few minutes of sitting around, everybody in the house started organizing for some activity. They prepared a bowl, a blanket, and a cup of water. I had no idea what was going on.

Then I realized that they were preparing for a baptism - surprise!!

Sarah had mentioned that Rosa asked if we could be godparents of water Andrea Victoria. But there was absolutely no indication that any kind of ceremony would happen on this visit. Because of some logistical issues, it wasn't even certain that I would have a chance to see Rosa on this visit.

This was an informal baptism, done in the comforts of the living room instead of the church. The godparents of water are seen as more of a role model for the child's moral upbringing, instead of providing for the child when the family needs it. Oftentimes in Ecuador, the godparents are seen as responsible for the child's religious upbringing. But Rosa knows that I'm Jewish, so I foresee no added responsibility.

Representing good values is something I could try to do.

Here is a video that someone from Rosa's in-laws' family took. Below you will find a play-by-play to explain what is happening in the video.

This ceremony does not require a priest to be present. You really just need someone who has done the ceremony before, so they called over some neighbors who have several children (and, therefore, some experience).

The ceremony began by reciting Ave Maria (Hail Mary) and Padre Nuestro (Our Father). Apparently you are not supposed to say "Amen" after reciting this blessing. And if someone does say "Amen," you have to repeat the blessing again. This explains why the blessing is repeated a few times.

Afterwards, the one of the godparents pours the water on the baby's head while the other crosses the baby in the name of the Holy Trinity. The crossing was Sarah's department. I was in charge of water pouring (notice how the baby didn't cry). Then the godparents blow out the candle.

Once everything is complete, the godparents take pictures with the baby and everyone present. The original video clip went on for three more minutes, but the last three minutes were just pictures. So I figured I could include some of the still shots instead.

Just a side note: I must be the only person in history to perform the function of godfather while wearing a "Callahan Auto Parts" t-shirt. It's not that I thought it was an appropriate t-shirt for the occasion. I was completely unaware that the ceremony was going to take place. If I had known, I would have at least worn something with a collar.

Because the Andrea was born prematurely and had some health issues, her parents took their time in giving her a name. So in the meantime, Sarah and some other people in town gave her the nickname Ugita. Rosa works for the UGA (Unidad de Gestion Ambiental), so she was the little member/mascot of the UGA.

Godparents, real parents, and Andrea

Godparents and Andrea

The straight shave

2011-07-26T20:51:00.005-04:00

If you have been following this blog over the last few years, you will know that I am fascinated by facial hair. As I was shaving last night, I realized I hadn't blogged about another facial hair-related occasion that happened a few months ago. Excuse the delay, but I feel this is something that belongs on this blog.

When I was home in May, I was growing a pretty healthy beard, but I was ready for a fresh start. I was talking to my friend on the phone, and I mentioned that I was thinking about shaving my beard (what do you talk about with your friends?). He said he was also at that stage with his facial hair.

So I asked him if he wanted to go to get a straight razor shave.

This was the most common form of shaving before the development of the disposable razor in the 1950s, and I feel it was an integral part of barber shop culture that I missed out. Apparently there is only one barber in the Detroit area that offers this service - The Lincoln Barber. Luckily, this is also where my friend went to get his haircut throughout his youth, so he already had a good rapport with the barbor, Jeff.

Before he even started removing my facial hair, Jeff gave it a nice, long look. Then he said in his Russian accent "You grow a nice beard." Not too many people have complimented me on my beard growth, but I don't know if you can get a high beard-related compliment than from a barber. It's like Joan Nathan complimenting your kugel.

This man has seen thousands of beards in his life. Do you think he says that to all of his customers? Maybe. But I want to think he actually thought I had good growth.

So then he applied the lather and covered my face in a hot towel to open the pores. Then he went to work, giving me the best shave I had ever had. For the next couple of days, I would rub my face to feel how soft it was.

I also spent the next few days saying "You have nice beard" in my generic Eastern European accent.

If you would like to learn more about the straight razor shave, the YouTube will provide a nice little video.

On nicknames

2011-07-23T18:00:00.003-04:00

In Ecuador, nicknames typically describe your appearance.

If you are skinny, you will forever be called Flaco.
If you are chubby, you will forever be called Gordo.
If you are light-skinned, you will always be Suco.
If you have cat-like eyes, you will be called Gato.
If you have squinty eyes, you will be Chino.
If you are dark-skinned, you will be Negro

When your nickname doesn´t describe your physical appearance, it could describe one of your family members.

If you have a hot sister, other guys will probably be called cuñado (brother-in-law).
If you have a hot daughter, other guys will probably be called suegro (father-in-law).

Because I'm not privy to these kinds of conversations with Ecuadorian females, I don't now if they work both ways. I'm not sure if women call girls with hot brother cuñada (sister-in-law) or mothers with an attractive son (suegra).

I would venture to say that they don't, but I'll try and do some research to confirm this hunch.

Otherwise, your nickname could be some shortened version of your first or last name. Or in rare occasions, your friends could actually call you by your name. But this is quite rare.

Another state of exception

2011-07-18T23:08:00.003-04:00

Last time Ecuador declared a state of exception, the police went on strike and might have held the president prisoner. It was a pretty unnerving time.

Ecuador declared another state of exception this week. The reason: tainted moonshine.

In the last few days, more than 20 people have died and more than a 100 hundred hospitalized after consuming bad alcohol.

From what I have read of America's alcohol consumption and production before prohibition, Ecuador seems very similar. There are several locally produced forms of hard liquor that go unregulated by the government. It is very common in the countryside where extremely potent beverages can be purchased for next to nothing.

These are often made by fermenting sugar cane in an "artisan" manner. I don't really know what they mean by "artisan." I assume they just throw the sugar juice in a vat for a few weeks and forget about it.

Apparently, someone must have messed up in making puro, as it is often referred to here. And instead of producing ethyl alcohol, they made and distributed methyl alcohol.

Ethyl alcohol is the alcohol used in alcoholic drinks. Methyl alcohol is used in the production of formaldehyde and antifreeze. Consuming as little as 10 ml of methyl alcohol can lead to blindness.

So the government has suspended all liquor sales for the next three days, and the army is authorized to stop any sale or production of these beverages.

Hopefully this sad situation resolves itself in the next few days, and the government can identify the source of the tainted booze and clean up the operation of these moonshine businesses.

As was the case when the beer company nearly shut down its operations, I'd be worried if this prohibition on booze sales continues much longer.

The dog ate my home work

2011-07-15T17:17:00.002-04:00

I normally spend my Thursday nights baking challah for Friday night dinner.

Some of my coworkers asked me to teach them how to make the challah. So instead of baking bread in my apartment last night, I figured I could use the kitchen at work for the cooking class and take home the final product of the lesson (The Spanish phrase getting many things done with one action would be "de una").

The activity got off to a great start. It was my coworker's first time every making bread, and she was really excited when we were mixing the ingredients.

We left the dough in a pot with a glass top out in the sun for the first rise. The dough must have tripled in size. It was pretty outstanding.

Then we braided the loaves and set them out to rise again. But we decided to let them rise on the counter in the kitchen instead of out in the sun.

When I went back into the kitchen 40 minutes later to turn the oven on, the loaves weren't there.

I looked around the kitchen for evidence. Maybe someone had moved them. They had been having some issues with pests in the kitchen. I checked in all the cabinets and in the oven. Nothing.

On the ground outside the kitchen, I saw some pieces of crumpled up tin foil that might have been used for the bread.

What kind of animal would be able to climb up on the counter and grab the tin foil?

The only animals at the Peace Corps Training Center are a pair of dogs. One of them is so pregnant she can hardly move. The other has at least four bad legs, a bad hip, has a huge head, can't stop slobbering, and can barely walk up steps. He usually needs someone to give him a boost to get up the steps.

I didn't think that either of these dogs could scale the three-foot counter to reach the foil.

I walked around outside and saw the floppy dog taking down the last bit of dough.

At least someone enjoyed my challah this week.

Quito and its running culture

2011-07-14T21:03:00.004-04:00

When I was living in Arenillas, I would jog in the mornings.

It was a great way for me to be active and kill the time between when I woke up at 6:00 a.m. to the scent of my neighbors burning plastic and 8:00 a.m. when city hall opened.

A small group of people would also walk/run in the morning along a stretch of highway on the outskirts on town, but for the most part, the other Peace Corps Volunteer in Arenillas and I were the only people in town who recreationally ran more than five kilometers.

I'm pretty sure most people thought we were nuts.

So when I moved up to Quito at the beginning of June, I didn't expect to find a thriving running culture. I was wrong.

Five days after I got up here, nearly 20,000 people participated in the Ultimas Noticias 15 km run.

The streets were packed with runners and lined with spectators along the entire route. It was really refreshing to see people so interested in fitness.

This isn't a once-a-year thing. People run in Quito all year. There are tons of people who run in the park near our apartment every morning. On Sundays, they close off one of the main north-south roads to motorized traffic and only open it to bikers and runners.

I'm not exactly sure where this comes from. Ecuador's only Olympic medalist is speed walker Jefferson Perez (and you do see a several speed walkers in the park), but I don't think he inspired a running revolution. The Ultimas Noticias run has been happening for over 50 years now, and Perez won his medal just over a decade ago.

Last week, I participated in the Quito half marathon. This was only the event's fifth year, so it doesn't quite have the following of the Ultimas Noticias run or the Mitad del Mundo Medio Maraton (which is held in November and apparently attracts over 10,000 runners) but it was still a good experience.

My roommate and I have been training for this race for the last few months. It was the longest run she had ever participated it, and I was excited to run this distance at altitude.

You can see my excitement in that picture, which was taken a little over halfway through the race.

I was really pleased with my time and am looking forward to participating in other upcoming runs. For the next couple of weeks though, I'm going to let my legs recover and take it easy.

Cómo se hace jala

2011-07-12T20:56:00.002-04:00

During the time I lived in Arenillas, I baked challah every Friday night for shabbat dinner. My friends in Arenillas really liked the bread and have wanted to learn how to make it. So I put a little how-to video on the YouTube.

The city's largest furniture store

2011-06-19T20:26:00.004-04:00

If you are in the market to furnish a home or apartment in Quito, you could go to one of the city's many lavish malls, which are full of brand-name stores helping you outfit your house at brand-name prices.

But if you are interested in doing that at a fraction of the cost, you should go to the 24 de Mayo Market — up the hill from the city's colonial center. If you don't have an arm or a leg to spare, this place is for you.

It might lack the mall scent that invites you to continue perusing until you find the item you are looking for. The 24 de Mayo market smells more like urine - an odor that really makes you think "I'm paying way too much for this."

But that is the price you pay for not paying too much.

Working your way through the market is a game of cat and mouse.

You walk up to one of the stores. The woman asks you what you are interested in, and you tell her. Then she gives you a price.

You mull it over, scratch your beard for a few seconds, and let the silence linger in the air. Then you respond with a counter offer, which the woman promptly rejects being way too low.

So you begin to walk away. At this point, the woman will give a counter offer that isn't what you are willing to pay but is headed in the right direction. So you stick around. At this point, you could repeat your original counter offer if you believe it to be a fair price or you could begin to compromise.

The back and forth continues until you decide upon a price, unless of course you are interested in buying a few items. In this case you leave the original bargain hanging at a price that you are pretty comfortable paying and mention that you might be in the market for another item.

The dance begins again and continues until you are satisfied.

Bargaining is not something that comes naturally to Ecuadorians - or at least that I have witnessed.

I'm not exactly sure why.

Maybe there is a whole social status attached to buying products, the sense that if you don't pay a lot for something then it's not very good. My roommate thinks that they lack the business savvy that says you won't pay more for something than you have to.

This reminds me of one of my favorite stories I have heard from my Peace Corps friends: The Story of the $76 Papaya.

There was a fair at my friend's site and a competition to see which farmer could grow the biggest papaya. Someone from my friend's community won with a gorgeous, organic papaya that weighed 14 pounds (Apparently, that is not a great weight for a championship papaya, but some of the heavy hitters didn't enter the competition for whatever reason.).

So the guy wins the competition and takes home the $75 prize. Then his wife turns around and sells the papaya for $1, which was well below the going market rate for a papaya of that size.

Either way, the lack of business savvy was something that initially surprised me when I got to Ecuador, but I have gotten used to it.

If you are interested in negotiating at the 24 de Mayo Market, a little practice in the art of negotiation can take you a long way.

We pretty much outfitted our entire apartment at this market (beds, mattresses, tables, chairs, couches, etc) and saved several hundred dollars in the process.

The first time we purchased stuff for the apartment at this market, we bought three beds, three mattresses, three small tables, a dinner table, five chairs, and two benches.

One would think that transporting these items from the market to our apartment on the other side of town might be difficult. But the pick-up truck drivers near the market are experts in packing things into and onto the bed of the truck.

With one long piece of rope, he was able to fit all of those purchases into the truck. When it looked like his architectural masterpiece might be a bit unstable, we asked him if he wanted to put something in the cab of the truck for transport. He says, "no, there is always space."

We made it back to the apartment with four people in the cab and all that stuff in the bed.

So when someone suggests that there isn't space to hole anything else, you just tell them that there is always more space.

A Water Museum?

2011-06-16T21:09:00.000-04:00

This weekend, I visited Quito's Yaku Water Museum with my roommate and her sister.

Why would Quito, of all places, have a water museum?

More than 75 percent of the Earth is covered in water. Ninety-seven percent of that water is saltwater. Two percent of the water is locked up in ice caps. That means that one percent of all water on Earth is usable by humans. A miniscule amount of that one percent is found in the area around Quito.

So what's the deal with the water museum?

In the next few years, the Andes could be the site of a water crisis. Quito relies on the surrounding snow-capped volcanoes for water. But as these snow-capped volcanoes become less and less snow-capped as a result of climate change, there could be severe water shortages.

Quito decided that it needed to protect and conserve its watershed. Part of this process was an education campaign that explained the water cycle, the importance of conserving water, and how to do so.

This is where the museum comes in. Located on a western slope of the valley overlooking the Old Town, the city built the interactive Yaku Water Museum the educates residents about water. It's not a typical tourist destination.

The museum receives student groups during the week and is open to the general public on weekends (by the way: the last Saturday of every month is free). The museum is geared toward children.

It starts by explaining the process by which water arrives at our homes: starting on the mountains and streams before being collected in reservoirs and undergoing a purification at the water treatment facility before delivery to individual users.

As I mentioned before, it is a very interactive museum. The exhibit talked about the ways in which we use water. Here I am showing the rest of the tour group the proper way to wash clothes on a rock.

Then, visitors talk with the interactive guides about how they can conserve water.

The second half of the museum tour is full of experiments that the kids can do to learn about the various properties of water. There is even a room where you can play with bubbles.

After completing the tour, visitors can enjoy the views overlooking the valley Quito is in.

More than grocery shopping

2011-06-14T22:05:00.000-04:00

Sunday morning, I was walking from my apartment to the local market to buy my produce for the week. I had gone for a long run earlier in the morning and hadn't showered or changed my clothes yet. I went to the market in a soccer jersey, running shorts, and sandals. My roommate also went to the market in her running clothes.

On the way to the market, we bumped into a friend.

Friend: Where are you going?
Ian: To the market.
Friend: Dressed like that? You look like you should be exercising, not going to the market.

Apparently, you don't just go to the market in Quito wearing whatever clothes you have on. This is because you aren't just going to the market to buy groceries. You are going to the market to be seen.

And if someone saw you in running shorts and soccer jersey at the market, that will not bode well for your reputation.

Luckily, I'm not that interested in people in town thinking "Man, that guy has really nice clothes. He must also have a lot of money that we want to rob." I'd rather people be thinking "Man, that guy's soccer jersey only cost him $3 and those shorts only cost him $2. I'll just let him do his shopping in peace."

Life in the city

2011-06-12T22:23:00.002-04:00

I returned to Ecuador about two weeks ago after spending a month and a half at home. I had a great time at home, celebrating holidays and special occasions with my family and spending time with friends. As nice as it was to be home for such a long time, I was ready to get back to work.

I have been adjusting to my new job in Ecuador.

To give you a brief update of my timeline: In February, I left my site in the south of the country to assist in training the new group of volunteers. I lived about a forty minutes outside of Quito at the Peace Corps Training Center. In the middle of April, I started my vacation and returned at the end of May.

I am now living in the capital city of Quito, working as a Peace Corps Volunteer Leader out of the PC Office. I live with two other PCVLs in the north side of Quito. I will be here until next May. Then, who knows?

In the meantime, I will be providing support to the volunteers in the field and helping out in the office. I will also be spending part of my time working with an NGO (I will tell you more about this when I know more about this).

I look forward to the opportunities this gig will provide. Not only is there potential for professional development, but there will also be plenty of blog content. The combination of adventures in the big city, life with my roommates, the possibility of getting out in the field, and the unexpected ridiculousness of Ecuadorian society will make this a great year for the blog.

Behind the wheel

2011-05-06T10:29:00.000-04:00

Hey, donkey. Off the road!

In Ecuador, you hit the animals with a stick to get them out of your way. When you are driving 45 mph down Orchard Lake Rd., you just hope there aren't any livestock in the way. I guess I could try the horn.

You think that's bitter...

2011-05-05T10:01:00.000-04:00

If you have only dealt with store-bought horseradish, you don't understand the bitterness of slavery.

My family has traditionally purchased jarred horseradish for our seder plate. This year, we decided to change it up a bit. We decided to grind the horseradish ourselves. (Actually, at one point we thought of using our own horseradish root, but the root disappeared in the garden over the winter.)

You might be familiar with the sinus-clearing sensation that fills your nasal passages upon consuming a Hillel sandwich. When you grind your own horseradish, the entire room smells of horseradish.

That is why ski or swim goggles are recommended, but the only ways to ensure full protection would be a Hazmat suit or purchasing a jar from the market.

The home office?

2011-05-04T09:57:00.000-04:00

Are these billable hours?

Se llame nieve

2011-05-03T10:31:00.000-04:00

I arrived back in Michigan on April 15th — nearly a month after winter officially ended.

It snowed on April 17th.

I am about to throw this snowball at my younger brother.

Most people were unhappy about this late-season snow. I, on the other hand, was pleasantly surprised with this turn of events. I hadn't seen snow since February 2009. (Although there are glacier-topped volcanoes in Ecuador, it does not really snow below the summit. So very few Ecuadorians have ever seen snow.)

Guest blog: Mom's first dispatch

2011-05-02T10:44:00.001-04:00

So they tell me the smile is very apparent, I didn’t have to go bring home the herd like Billy Crystal in “City Slickers.” All I had to do was have Ian return home for a visit after 27 months in Ecuador.

I am pretty happy to sit in the adjoining office (AKA the other sofa) and watch TV shows and movies with him. So far we have watched the first season of “Friday Night Lights.” Ian has caught up on “The Office,” “The Simpsons,” “Parks and Recreation,” and “South Park.” He has also been introduced to “Glee,” “Modern Family,” and “Breaking In.” Maybe he will blog about these new TV shows he has seen.

Since Ian has been home, I have able to treat him to fruit that is not readily or monetarily available to him in the Peace Corps. He has been happy replacing his beloved mango with raspberries, blueberries, strawberries, and the occasional container of pomegranate seeds.

Another special time we are sharing is going to the grocery store and sometimes even to a Costco or Sam’s Club. These are a little overwhelming for him, both in price and selection. He purchased a set of measuring cups, a pizza cutter at the Salvation Army store in Ann Arbor for his new apartment.

I am looking forward to going to garden stores with Ian and also for Ian to get to work in my garden. This will involve getting out of the office. Stay tuned.

Ya mismo is now

2011-05-01T14:47:00.002-04:00

I am currently visiting the United States on home leave. I have been here for two weeks already and will be here for another month before heading back to Ecuador to complete the third year of my Peace Corps service.

As I have been sharing some of my experiences from South America on this blog, I figured that you, the loyal blog reader, might be interested in reading about how I have been adjusting to life in the States.

If you were looking for signs of how I have changed over my two years in the Peace Corps, pre-Peace Corps Ian probably wouldn't have delayed two weeks before uploading my first dispatch.

In Ecuador, there is a saying "ya mismo." I have been using it to explain when I will start blogging again.

The conversation would go something like this:

Blog reader: Ian, when are you going to blog again?
Ian: Ya mismo.
Blog reader: I don't speak Spanish. What does that mean?

There is no good translation directly to English. The best way to explain it would be to say that it will probably happen eventually, maybe. It might be in ten minutes. It might be ten days. It might be ten months. But at some point in the history of time, it should come to pass.

Well, for you, blog reader, ya mismo has arrived.

Much like how this blog has not covered everything I have done in Ecuador, the home-leave blog won't be exhaustive. What you will get out of these blogs are some highlights from my visit home and cultural differences that I encounter in my time back home.

In Ecuador, drinking tap water isn't recommended — unless, of course, you are willing to spend the next 24 hours on the toilet.

In the United States, you can drink the tap water. And not only that, but when you go to a restaurant, you can get as much iced tap water as you would like and not have to worry about potential digestive issues. (And it's free.)

My travels back to the United States included a five-hour layover at the Miami airport. What does someone do for five hours in the Miami airport?

Drink large quantities of tap water.

I kept refilling my plastic cup with ice and water from the drinking fountain until it was time for my flight.

Have you noticed that there aren't that many pay phones in the United States any more?

You probably wouldn't think about this because you probably have a phone in your pocket/purse.

I never really thought about this either, but when I arrived in the Miami airport and wanted to tell my parents that my first plane had arrived, I had no way of contacting them. With no pay phones, I had to find other solutions.

So I went up to some nice-looking people who were waiting at my gate and asked them if I could borrow their phone for a second. (A perfect no seas malita moment)

They were glad to help. And my mom really appreciated it.

I walked out of baggage claim at Detroit Metro airport, and my family was just pulling up. I didn't jump into the car like one jumps onto or off of a moving bus in Ecuador, mostly because everybody wanted to hug me.

We started driving home from the airport, and the first thing I noticed was how smooth the road was. People always joke about how bad the roads are in Michigan. But after spending more than two years in Ecuador, I couldn't help but notice how nice of a ride it was.

Something else that really caught my attention was how traffic flowed. Driving down Telegraph Rd. from the airport toward home, we barely stopped at any of the traffic lights. This is probably because Quito, where I have been living the last two months, has a reputation for horrible traffic. Also, we cruised at 47 MPH, which is the secret to smooth-sailing on Telegraph.

We are working on trying to get my mom to contribute some guest blogs about what it's like to have me home. If you know her e-mail address, tell her that you'd appreciate this.

Speech notes

2011-04-24T19:24:00.002-04:00

Yesterday morning, I gave a speech at my synagogue in West Bloomfield about my two years of service in Peace Corps Ecuador. For those of you who could not make it or would like to relive the experience, I have pasted the notes I used during the speech below.

I hope to continue to update my blog about my visit back home. I have been home for a week and have plenty of blog-worthy material to post. The issue has been finding time (I guess I could have eliminated this afternoon's siesta to blog a bit, but it was very necessary.)

Depending on weather: "It's a good thing that rain stopped. Because if this were Ecuador, people don't leave there house during the rain. No one would have showed. No minyan."

Shabbat shalom con todos y todas presente, Les agredezco por la oportunidd de compartir mis experiencias con ustedes.

So you think this would work better in English? Luckily I also printed up an English edition as back up.

Thank rabbi for giving me the opportunity to address the congregation this morning. It feels good to be back home, even though it might be a different house.

This week we have been talking about the Jewish people's 40-year journey from slavery to freedom. It was an epic journey with its ups and downs, with its wonders and difficulties. But at the end of the trek through the desert, we emerged as a different nation, one ready to face the challenges associated with independence. And these experiences built the character traits that continue to maintain us as a people.

We are all on journeys - as individuals, as a community, as a nation.

I would like to talk to you this morning a bit about the journey I have been on the last two and half years in Peace Corps Ecuador.

When I joined the Peace Corps in February 2009, I knew that it would be an experience unlike anything I had ever done. It seemed like an incredible opportunity to give back and put in practice the ideals of tikun olam
Opportunity for personal growth, greater perspective, learn another language

For those of you who might be very familiar with Peace Corps...
Agency started by John F. Kennedy in 1961 to promote world peace, sending Americans to countries in the developing world to provide technical and engage in a cultural exchange. It currently operates in 77 countries.

Natural resource conservation volunteer placed in a small coastal city of 17,000 in southern Ecuador, very close to the border with Peru
It is an agricultural town, whose primary crop is banana
The area is known as the world banana capital
Celebrate the fruit every year with the world banana festival
I worked with the local municipality in the office of environmental management
Tree nursery, gardening, environmental education, community bank, and recycling program. I also worked extensively with youth groups.

I have just now finished my two years and decided to extend my stay for another year and serve as Volunteer Leader. Instead of living in a small town, I will be based in the capital, Quito, working out of the Peace Corps office there.

As a Peace Corps volunteer, one is not there to impose solutions to the community's problems. Instead, one is supposed to work together with community members to identify those solutions.

If the process isn't participatory and the community doesn't take ownership over the project, it will not be sustainable. I saw countless examples of this in Ecuador, where people go in with great intentions but don't go about it the right way, and the initiative stalls out.

The idea is that volunteers empower the community to begin address some of its problems.

One initiative that I worked on is a community bank project, based on microfinance models made popular by Mohamed Yunus or C.K.Prahalad
• My counterpart agency was installing a running water project in an isolated community, about an hour and half from my house
• I had to take two buses and walk thirty-minute walk across three rivers to get there. The bus only ran twice a day. And in the rainy season, you could barely get there.
• It is a village of two families but thirty households

One day during a meeting of the water council, I talked to the members about what they thought were some needs of the community. As a small community, it was difficult for them to ask for a lot of resources from the government. So any initiative they wanted to undertake had to come from their limited resources.

They mentioned that a nearby community had started a kind of community bank, and the idea really interested them. I explained to them how the bank works. We started with two informational meetings to explain how it functions. The third week we elected the administrative committee that would be in charge of running meetings. The members write the constitution that will govern their bank. Because it is their institution, they have to decide up the by-laws

People are concerned for the security of their belongings in Ecuador, even in a village with two families. The community bank box has three different sets of keys and locks. The box itself is kept in the house of a fourth person so members can trust the safety of their deposits.

At the fourth meeting the members made their first deposits to the bank. After four weeks of deposits, they can start loaning out the money. These microloans, worth no more than $100 dollars have to be paid back within a month plus a small interest rate of 5% to 10%. The principal and the interest get returned to the box to be loaned out to the other members.

At the end of the bank's fiscal year, they divide up the contents of the box among the membership. That way the members would enjoy the benefits of savings in addition to the access to credit that they received throughout the year.

The bank is now on its third year and has 70 members.

While starting this bank was a beneficial experience for the community, I also found it quite rewarding and humorous.

Because of the bus schedule, I was forced to spend the night there every time I went for a meeting. One week I brought a frisbee to play with kids. Most people don't know what a frisbee is. They really enjoyed playing with the disc, but not in the traditional sense of "playing frisbee." One of the three-year olds in the village took his machete (yes, three year olds have their own machetes) and chopped a few holes in the frisbee, making it much less aerodynamic.

One week a self-proclaimed archeologist randomly showed up in our office. No one really knew what he was doing in town, but he charmed everyone with his stories of hidden treasure and convinced my office that on the way to the community bank meeting one night, we should stop at some guy's house and search for gold. We drive up to this shack, the archaeologist pulls out two copper rods that he used like a Ouija. He asks the rods a question and, depending on the way the rods move, he decides where to search. They spent a few hours digging and didn't find an tangible gold, but I found plenty of comic gold.

On the rare occasion that the municipality would give me a ride up to the bank meeting, more often than not, the thirty-year old jalopy would stall out on the road and we'd have to call another car from town to come pick us up. One time the car stalled only if we turned on the headlights. So we used my headlamp and cell phone flashlight to guide us home.

In addition to the bank, I worked with my counterpart agency on solving some of my town's numerous waste management issues. Local governments in Ecuador want to have smooth-running waste management collection operations that separate between organics and inorganics and also separate out recyclable materials so that they don't have to put as much in the limited space available in landfills.

The problem is that changing this culture is a long process. In Ecuador, the first instinct when someone has a piece of garbage is to throw it on the ground or out the window of the bus. Once, it came back through my window and hit me in the face. The first instinct when they have a lot of garbage is to make a pile and light it on fire. My neighbors liked to add gasoline to their daily 6:00 a.m. garbage fire. I assume that was for a bigger flame.

Because the city budget was a mess and trying to allocate a lot of funds for a big-time waste-management project was impossible, I worked with my counterparts to identify small-scale solutions to the problem. They thought that we had the resources to implement a municipal recycling program. We would locate recycling bins throughout the city, and residents would deposit their recyclables there — instead of burning them or throwing them in a field outside of town. We created posters and pamphlets to promote the project and recorded ads for the local radio station.

The bins were supposed to have been installed last October. But there were some unforeseen delays.

For example, the bins were painted with a kind of paint that would rust in the rain, so we had to get them all repainted. But it took a month to find someone who would paint the bins. Then the municipality delayed its payment and thought its own people could paint the bins. They were wrong.

Then, the local fiestas happened. The municipality went back to its initial contractor but continued to delay its payment. Then Christmas happened. Then they finally freed up some money to pay the contract, and the bins were finally painted at the end of January. Except that those bins were only painted one color — no one put letters indicating what could be deposited in which bins.

Last month, they finally put the bins around town. The radio ads have hit the airwaves. They were supposed to start the street-level promotional activity tomorrow, but then realized it was Easter Sunday and will probably start that work next week.

While all of these delays were happening, I was working with local schools, teaching students and teachers about the benefits of recycling. Working with my counterpart and another Peace Corps Volunteer, we developed a curriculum for teaching students about recycling. We hosted a recycling contest in two local schools, which my parents helped with when they visited, and gave a workshop to teachers and school staff about how the recycling program functions so that they can teach the students how it works. We had also planned to give similar instructional sessions to local government workers and student governments at the high schools.

I also worked extensively with local youth. I helped them start a community magazine. Working with thirty high school students and another Peace Corps Volunteer, we produced a magazine that talked about some of the positive community projects happening in Arenillas. The youth made seven editions in the first year and are now starting a television show.

At first, many were skeptical about whether or not the high schoolers could pull it off. It was that doubt that motivated our students. One of our journalist's dads told her, before we made the first edition, "Are you kidding me? Kids can't start newspapers."
They proved him wrong.

In addition to the technical exchange, Peace Corps emphasizes the cultural exchange between volunteers and Ecuadorians. Ecuador is more than 90% Catholic. Most Ecuadorians have never met a Jew before.

When I first moved there and was living with a host family, my host dad's first response when I told him I was Jewish was "oh, yeah. Like the raid on Entebbe? Very cool."

One of my favorite ways to share Jewish culture is through food. Every Friday night I would cook shabbat dinner for my friends and coworkers. It is my favorite time of the week in the States, and I wanted it to be that way in Ecuador, too. I would make challah, kugel, knishes, babka, matzah ball soup, pita, hummus, tabouli, mandel brodt, and shakshuka. (sorry to be talking about this stuff in the heart of Passover),

My friends liked the food so much they came back every week. Some of them even asked for the recipes. One day I went to my friend's house and her three-year old son was eating dinner. He had on his plate rice, chicken, and something else. I asked him, "Pierrro, what are you eating?" (but in Spanish, of course)

"Se llama kugel" (It's called kugel)

Not all experiences with Jewish cultural foods worked out so well. During shavuot my first year I baked a cheesecake to share with my coworkers. I offered it to a number of my friends to try, and they enjoyed it. The garbagemen, though, spit it out in my face. Cheesecake must be an acquired taste

While being a sole practitioner has is downsides, there some aspects that aren't that bad.

For example, my yom kippur services were about nine hours shorter than usual. Feel free to join me next year, but only up to eight people are allowed. If that happens, we'd probably have to start another non-minyan.

Last Passover, I had a very special guest. Adam Baruch was travelling through South America and visited me. He ate shabbat dinner at my house, helped me clean jametz, and we went to seders with the Jewish community in Quito - a 12-hour bus ride from my site.

The Quito Jewish community has 400 members, three rabbis, two synagogues, and two shokhets that don't recognize each other's hashkakhah. With my job being based in Quito next year, I look forward to become more active in - if only for kiddush luncheon.

Now I don't want to hold you up much longer before your kiddush luncheon - or today's modified kiddush. If you have any questions, you can find me by the dried fruit.

Shabbat shalom and jag sameaj - two j's. Think about it.

You failed, and the whole town knows it

2011-01-20T20:30:00.005-05:00

D+!!!!! Oh my God .... I passed! I passed!!!!! Oh, man!! I got a D+! I'm gonna graduate!!!!

(Hug random Asian kid)

I wish we'd known each other. This is a little awkward.

Similar scenes to this one from the beginning of Tommy Boy happened all over the Ecuadorian coast this week*.

*Except instead of hugging a random Asian kid they might have hugged a random squinty-eyed Ecuadorian whose nickname will forever be Chino.

Schools in the coast run on a different calendar than those in the sierra and oriente. The highlands and jungle school year is very similar to the United States (September through June), while the coastal school year run from April through January. I believe that the different schedules exist to offset for climate* and the harvest schedule**.

* Not even the teachers would show up for work in the rain.
** Youth had to help their families on the farm.

Whereas Marquette University put a list of all the students and their grades on the wall, schools here only posted a list of students who failed and will be held back a year. There is no number system to hide a student's identity. The school puts up the kids full name. If you failed, everyone knows about it.

If a student fails one subject, he or she has to repeat the entire academic year in the same grade. It doesn't matter if a student does well in every other subject, he or she will have to repeat the entire year.

Students are given the opportunity to retake an exam if they fail it the first time around.

As you know, I will take any opportunity to cite Tommy Boy that I can. I was really looking for a way to put "D+ isn't a grade they like to give out, I'll tell you that much" into the post but was only able to find space for it here, at the end, below the divider line.

And that's how you build a fence...

2011-01-18T20:56:00.005-05:00

Last time we left off with my cactus fence, I had been attacked by some hornets, and the fence was non-existent.

Well, we have since decided to switch directions, in terms of cactus.

The previous species of cactus that we had used for the fence grew straight up. We are now using a kind of cactus that grows out horizontally. This should be much more effective as a fence.

As you can see from the picture, no sane or sober person would think of crossing that fence of cactus. Luckily, this species of cactus is just as easy to propagate as the other one. All you have to do is stick a piece of the cactus in the ground and, voila, you got yourself another cactus plant.

The owner of this fence was nice enough to let us use the cacti he had pruned off of his fence as starter seed for our own. So Saturday morning we rented a pick-up truck and filled the bed with cactus.

Then we planted the cactus along the border of the forest we are hoping to protect.

The cactus should grow at a rate of about one meter per year, according to the other fence's owner's niece. So as long as the youth from the local high school take care of the cactus plants and don't decide to light them on fire (like some youth already decided to do) we should be describing the botanical gardens as some sort of impenetrable fortress in a few years.

PERUsing

2011-01-13T14:18:00.008-05:00

I have returned from an adventure in the land of Peruvian flute bands.

Disappointingly, and ironically, I didn't see any of those musical groups.

But despite its lack of flute bands on every corner, I greatly enjoyed my ten-day journey from Lima back to Arenillas. (For a more detailed account of my travels, continue reading below the slideshow)

The following map illustrates my itinerary from Lima back to Arenillas (keep in mind that the my house is not drawn to scale).

(This was not my first time traveling in Peru. In between my senior years of college, I backpacked from Quito to Rio de Janeiro. During that trip, I spent nearly a month in Peru and had the opportunity to see some of the more traditional tourist destinations.)

Lima

This was my second time in Lima. I was using Lima as more of a launching pad in this trip than anything else. Lima doesn't offer too much in terms of tourism, and I had covered the main sights in my first visit. I arrived in time for New Year's Eve and was able to bring in the new year with fellow travelers at our hostel in the Miraflores neighborhood of Lima.

We ventured out to a seaside park and shopping center (with plenty of bars and night life). At 2:00 a.m., the place was still full of people of all ages bringing in the new year. There were families with little children, senior citizens, and young people. It was pretty fascinating to see.

The next day, it felt like the entire city was recovering from a hangover (because it was). The streets were dead until noon. I had to change some money to buy a bus ticket for the following day and had a lot of trouble finding a money changer at 11:00 a.m. in a city that is normally teaming with people who will readily change dollars to soles.

I spent the afternoon watching college football at a sports bar. After the game, I randomly bumped into a fellow Peace Corps volunteer from Ecuador, who I had no idea was going to be in Lima. She was heading off to Cuzco and Machu Picchu the next day, so we went out for dinner that night.

On Sunday January 2nd, I played the role of tour guide, leading a group of Swedish students on a little stroll through downtown Lima (Bite-sized Three Musketeers included). Lima is such an old city and has so many different building styles because fires and earthquakes have leveled portions of the cities in different eras. So it is not unusual to see old buildings from different generations next to each other.

Chiclayo

That night, I headed northward along the coast to the city of Chiclayo. The area is rich in archaeological ruins and museums. It is also reputed to have one of the largest street markets in all of Latin America (The market even has a witchcraft section).

I was interested in visiting the dry tropical forest reserve of Bosque de Pomac because the ecological reserve near my site is dry tropical forest. I wanted to see how they have developed the tourism at this reserve to get some idea on how it might happen in Arenillas. I learned that the big attracting in the reserve are some pre-Incan pyramids that were used as burial sites for the kings. (They have yet to discover such important archaeological ruins in the reserve in Arenillas, so I guess the tourism will just have to wait.) I thought the forest was really interesting. There were some trees in the forest that were more than 500 years old.

In the afternoon, I wandered through the giant street market. I love street markets. I especially enjoy hunting for one specific product in a maze of tents selling anything you can imagine. Luckily, I arrived at the Chiclayo street market with a certain product in mind.

When I was backpacking through South America on my previous trip to Peru, I had purchased a soccer jersey for the club from Cuzco. I had seen the club play in person during an alternative spring break trip to Buenos Aires. Unfortunately, I had lost my jersey on the beach in Rio de Janeiro.

So I set about finding a replacement jersey at the market in Chiclayo. It didn't take nearly as long as many of my other ventures through street markets (e.g. sesame seeds, nutmeg, white carrot, Wrestlemania III), but it was exciting, nonetheless.

Chachapoyas

In 2007, Chachapoyas was barely on the tourism map. The only way to access the principal attraction — The Kuelap Fortress — was to trek for several days across the valleys to reach it. For someone with plenty of time on his or her hands, that was a great adventure. But it was also the only attraction in the area.

Now, the area boasts one of the world's tallest waterfalls. I know what you are thinking. How does that happen? Can a waterfall just appear overnight? I'm not an expert in waterfall creation, so I couldn't tell you the answer.

In 2006, a German guy measured the height of Gocta Falls at 773 meters, which makes it the third highest waterfall in the world. Apparently, the locals had known about the falls all along, but they thought it was haunted, so they didn't bother to tell anyone about it.

Now you can take day trips to the Kuelap fortress and the Gocta Falls, which is exactly what I did. I spent another day hiking to a nearby artisan village.

Mancora

The north coast of Peru has a reputation for being a top surf destination. Apparently it boasts one of the world's longest left-hand breaks. As a non-surfer, I don't really appreciate that fact, but you might. One result of these waves is that surfing and beach towns dot the coastal highway. The biggest of them is Mancora.

I'm not much of a beach guy myself. I prefer to be moving around. But I had a couple of days before my vacation ended, and Mancora is on the road back to Ecuador. So I figured I would stop there. The town has a big party scene. Luckily, I was staying at a hostel on the outskirts of town and met some similarly laid-back, not-so-into-the-party-scene backpackers. So I passed a couple of lazy days in Mancora before taking the bus back to Arenillas.

It took about four hours to travel from Mancora to Arenillas, and I was really excited to make the trip because I like the idea of traveling with a final destination in mind (as opposed to looping back to where I started from). Plus, I often go to the border town of Huaquillas, which 20 minutes from my house, to get t-shirts made or to buy soccer jerseys (there will be an upcoming post about all the jerseys I have bought) but I had never gone through the full border crossing. All of the travel books say that it is a horrible border crossing. I went through it without any problems and got back to my house safe and sound.

(In total, I was on vacation for nearly three weeks. I spent the first week and a half in Panama with my family. We saw some impressive sites and did had some great adventures. But more than anything it was really special to be able to share the experience with everybody. I hope to put some photos up from that part of the trip, but I have had some photo-sharing difficulties.)

Es la estación

2010-12-20T21:27:00.003-05:00

I guess " ´tis the season" sounds better in English than Spanish.

My neighbors just finished their third consecutive night of caroling, each night is progressively more rocking than the previous.

Tonight's most popular song was "Navidad." The lyrics, to the tune of Jingle Bells, are as follows "Navidad. Navidad. Navidad. Navidad."

Catchy, eh.

This afternoon we had the office gift exchange. On Dec. 1, we held an office-wide meeting to set the parameters for the exchance.

It would take place on Monday, Dec. 20 at noon. Everyone was informed. We all drew names out of a hat. Price limit was $5.

I drew our office's secretary. I had had several conversations with her about how she wanted to read more books, except that she didn't have any. I went to a book store last week and bought Charlie and the Chocoloate Facotry, Old Man and the Sea, and The Alchemist.

I showed up at the office today at 12:15 ready for the exchange, knowing that it wouldn't start on time.

Ian: What time are we going to do the exchange?
Co-worker: Noon.
Ian: It's already 12:15.
Co-worker: I know. We all have to go buy our presents first.

They all proceed to leave the office and go to the gift store down the street for presents before meeting back at a restaurant for an office Christmas party.

The Christmas decorations that you see at the top of this post were made by my co-workers. They spent an entire week decorating the office for Christmas.

Dating

2010-12-18T19:43:00.004-05:00

According to a horribly unscientific Google search, there are five streets in the United States named after the 4th of July.

On the other extreme, every city in Ecuador with labeled streets has several streets that mark watershed dates in their heritage.

In Arenillas alone, there are at least two main streets and four neighborhoods commemorating important days in the calendar year (Streets: May 24, November 11; Neighborhoods: October 9, December 25, May 24, and November 11).

November 11 celebrates the anniversary of the county's independence. May 24 is the anniversary of the Battle of Pichincha. October 9 marks Guayaquil's independence. December 25 is Christmas.

This is common throughout the country and Latin America, and definitely something that we missed out on in the U.S. (I know that in Israel there is November רחוב כט, but I don't recall that every city has streets named after famous dates)

Every city in Michigan, for example, could have January 26 St. to remember that on January 26, 1837, Michigan achieved its statehood. A main thoroughfare in Detroit would be named July 24 because the city was founded on July 24, 1701.

It would be a great way for people to remember a bit of local history, as well. I guarantee that every person in Arenillas could tell you that Arenillas was founded on November 11, 1955. Do you know on which date your city was founded?

But this trend of naming things after important dates extends beyond streets and neighborhoods. One of my volunteer friends adopted a cat a few days ago and named it 14 de Diciembre (December 14).

I haven't seen this trend expand into the naming of children yet, but how could you forget someone's birthday if it was his or her first name?

Apocalypse now?

2010-12-17T09:19:00.002-05:00

A guy got on the CIFA bus last week and claimed that the apocalypse was upon us.

I understand that this is completely normal on public transportation all over the world, but this was the first time I came across "end of the world is upon us" guy on the CIFA.

As soon as the bus pulled out of my town heading toward Machala, he told the bus driver to cue some doomsday music on the bus stereo system. This was the first time I had seen someone hijack a bus speaker system for his shpiel.

With the mood set by a bouncy bus ride, Armageddon music, and the stench of urine, he began throwing out some quotes from the bible describing what will happen at the end of days.

He described chaos and torrential rains at the beginning of the end. He asked everybody on the bus if they have noticed that it was raining harder lately. Because we are experiencing the first hard rains of the winter season, everyone agreed that it was starting to rain.

Then the speaker said that from this destruction will come unity. He described how Belgium signed a peace treaty and merged with three countries in 1998. (I did some research on Belgian history. Either this guy is wrong or the Internet is wrong.)

Unfortunately, I had to get off the bus at this point and couldn't stay for the end of his talk and how, if you donated to him, one could mitigate the effects of the end of the world. I really to stay on to see how it would end, but I would have missed my stop and been forced to backtrack through some shady areas.

Bus vendors

2010-12-16T20:45:00.003-05:00

"Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for interrupting your ride. I give you all the respect that you deserve..."

And so starts every bus shpiel in Ecuador.

From there, there is no telling what direction the vendor will go.

• You have the guys carrying a briefcase selling the health benefits of noni, claiming that it will cure cancer, gastritis, kidney problems, and chronic liver issues.

• Other guys will claim that this is the only way for them to make an honest living. They have decided to offer you the opportunity to buy some candy - at 300 percent the listed price. Sometimes they play up the "otherwise I would rob this bus" angle, while others say this is how they pay for their education.

• A guy goes on about the importance of learning languages before giving everyone the chance to buy an English-Spanish dictionary.

• I like the guy who passes through the bus giving out a pack of four DVDs or CDs to each passenger, allowing them the chance to look over the discs and different tracks, before he goes back to make the sale or recollect the unwanted discs. When he is handing out the discs, he takes a few seconds with each passenger to make you think that he is choosing those four discs especially for you.

Then there are the performers.

• My favorite musician is an old "guitar player"/"singer
/"songwriter" who rides the CIFA between Arenillas and Huaquillas. Now, I call him a "guitar player" instead of a guitar player because his guitar only has one string. I call him a "singer" instead of a singer because he is more of a whiner or bellower, not too much rhythm in his voice. He is a "songwriter" because most of his lyrics are just repeating the name of the city we are heading to.

If he ever made it onto YouTube, he would be a legend.

• A clown comedy troupe sometimes rides the local bus, making crude jokes and screaming in a really high-pitched voice.

• A one-man band also frequents the bus line from Santa Rosa to Machala. He is not that bad.

The amazing thing is that every single one of these guys cleans up every time they board a bus. There is some cultural phenomenon here where people will buy anything that is offered to them.

(Cleaning up in the sense that they make a lot of sales. Nobody cleans the buses here. Many buses have signs that tell passengers to throw garbage out the windows.)

Bananera: From plant to box

2010-12-12T16:23:00.004-05:00

Have you ever wanted to know how bananas get from the farm to your breakfast table?

This will be the first part in what I hope will be a series of posts that will explain the process.

Not recommended

2010-12-11T19:34:00.008-05:00

If you are looking for an IV or a vaccine in Arenillas, you could call this number (but you probably shouldn't).

A situation brewing

2010-12-08T20:58:00.002-05:00

The main beer company in Ecuador has halted production of the two local beers - Pilsener and Club - after a court closed the factory

A judge ordered the company to make $90.6 million in back payments to former employees. Failure to make these payments meant an order to shut down production.

This has the makings of a major situation.

Ecuadorians love their Pilsener.

It is THE Ecuadorian beverage. When you ask for a beer here, it is Pilsener.

If you offer an Ecuadorian another brand of beer, they will tell you that it doesn't taste like beer because it isn't Pilsener. I have spoken to Ecuadorians who have spent time in the States and despite the variety of beers available in the U.S., they say nothing compares to a Pilsener.

I don't know what will happen if this situation is not resolved quickly. According to news reports, the brewery has three days reserve supply of beer.

After that, they're out.

I don't know how this situation will play out, but it will definitely be interesting to follow.

Don't fight with the garbagemen

2010-12-07T17:40:00.007-05:00

My counterpart agency is in charge of garbage collection in town.

They have two rarely functioning vehicles to pick up trash from the county's 30,000 residents. Sometimes another municipal department will lend some dump trucks to help out, but they are only slightly more reliable than the garbage truck..

Given these scant resources and the amount of garbage the residents produce, angry residents come into the office every day to complain about how the garbage truck has not come back for two or three weeks.

These problems typically get resolved with my co-workers agreeing that garbage collection in a problem and saying how little there is that they can control. The car's out of service, they'll say (and it typically is). Then they'll place a call to the garbage collection coordinator who resolves the issue within a couple of days.

Last week, a man came into the office complaining that the garbagemen won't pick up his garbage - even though the truck continues to pass by his house.

Reason for the lack of service: spite.

A few weeks ago, some of the garbage workers looked at the man's wife the wrong way. The man didn't appreciate it too much and confronted the garbage workers about it.

They haven't picked up his garbage since.

After he complained to my office, they called the garbage coordinator to tell his employees that spite is not an acceptable reason to cut someone's service.

When gracias just won't cut it

2010-12-05T18:06:00.006-05:00

Gracias is the standard Spanish phrase to express gratitude. For something a little stronger, you can say muchas gracias.

Sometimes that might not be enough. Or you use it so often that it loses meaning. Plus, muchas gracias can carry a sexual message (you don't really want that in your exchange with the vendors at the market.

Luckily Ecuador has a stronger phrase if you really want to thank someone, you can say Dios le pague.

It literally means "May God repay you."

You are so thankful for what the other person has done that you believe that person deserves some form of extra reward.

I wouldn't consider myself an expert on proper DLP usage yet. That would require several years of rice and chicken for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. DLP is normally said when someone goes above and beyond what they are expected of doing. Also, hearing DLP makes me feel better than muchas gracias. So just saying it might make someone's day.

The good thing about this phrase is that using the phrase in the wrong situation can make for great humor. I personally enjoy dropping DLP after buying goods at the market because of the irony (I just paid them for the goods, and I'm hoping they get rewarded for their tremendous customer service.)

One of my favorite aspects of DLP is the types of "you're welcome" replies that it can bring. My personal favorite response to DLP is ojala, which means I sure hope so in this context.

If you receive a text message from me that says DLP, that's just my shorthand way of expressing immense gratitude.

(I wish I had posted this last Thursday.)

Coastal Chanukah Celebration w/o Cholent

2010-12-03T14:03:00.003-05:00

Last night, we had a bit of a januca party in Arenillas. For those that weren't able to attend, here is what you missed.

Three varieties of latkes: potato, yucca, and green plantain.

Verdict: all three are delicious.

Donuts with a chocolate-banana filling.

This is everything else that was on the table. Click on the image to get a detailed map.

Arenillas Racquetball Club

2010-11-30T07:31:00.005-05:00

As the wet season approaches, the morning rains have been stronger and more sustained. And with the rains come puddles, which bring standing water and optimal conditions for mosquito breeding.

One strategy to combat the mosquitoes from getting to me this year is the electronic, mosquito-killing racket I bought a couple of weeks ago.

Not only has this allowed me to marginally reduce my risk of dengue and malaria, but it has also given me the chance to keep my racquetball skills fresh, even though there isn't a court in a few hundred kilometers.

I walk through my house a couple of times per day, swatting at mosquitoes and other flying insects with all kinds of strokes. I go with whichever approach gives me the best chance at the kill: the forehand, the backhand, the volley, the slam, the cut, the slice, and so on.

When the bugs hit the racket, there is an awesome zapping sound.

A really, really awesome zapping sound.

The bugs don't bounce off the back wall as well as I would like, so I guess that part of my game will get a bit rusty.

While this might not be the most effective way to reduce my risk for mosquito-borne illness, it is by far the most interactive and entertaining. (Telling my neighbor to do something about the exposed well in his backyard would probably be better. This takes nothing away from how entertaining it is to talk to my neighbor, but the mosquito racket is in a category of its own.)

A volunteer friend of mine recently purchased a racket of his own. He called me last week, and in the background of the conversation there were constant zapping noises.

I bought the racket in Huaquillas, the border town between Ecuador and Peru where one can find everything they could imagine - such as mosquito-zapping rackets.

Huaquillas's primary distributor of these fine products is no one-trick pony. He has figured out the key to reducing risk is diversification. The same guy who sells these rackets also manages a public bathroom. There is a big sign outside of his store that says "bathrooms for rent." He has to step aside from his toilet paper-ripping duties to sell the rackets. He also copies keys.

I couldn't think of a better januca present that a mosquito zapping racket, which comes in a variety of colors, as well.

Officially Censada

2010-11-29T21:58:00.001-05:00

How many doors do you think sport a "censada" sticker and a mezuzah?

Census Day

2010-11-28T20:25:00.002-05:00

In the United States, the Census takes several months to complete. It involves the hiring over 650,000 temporary enumerators and costs billions of dollars.

In Ecuador, the Census is essentially taken in a day. For that day, the entire country is at a stand-still as volunteer census takers, mostly high school juniors and seniors, go door-to-door collecting statistics.

That day was today.

From 7:00 a.m. until 5:00 p.m., it was illegal to be out of your house.

Soldiers and police officers were patrolling the streets to make sure that nobody was milling about. Domestic air travel was shut down, but international flights arrived and departed on schedule (except that you had to be at the airport before 7:00 a.m. because there were no taxis to take you). As part of keeping order during the Census, consumption of alcohol has been prohibited since Friday at midnight.

It was pretty eerie to look out my door at 7:00 this morning to see nothing but a few soldiers doing their patrols. Luckily, I didn't have to wait long until the census taker arrived at my door. The volunteer came by at 7:30.

Apparently, everybody in the country must participate in the census, whether or not they are citizens. So I answered the questions like everybody else.

One of the questions asked about my principal method of waste removal. I either recycle or compost almost all of my waste. Neither of those was an option. So I selected "other", but the census taker had trouble comprehending my response.

Another one of the questions asked about where I was born. It is clear that the census takers were not trained to survey people born outside of Ecuador. Although one of the responses to the question read "other country," my census taker was insistent that we should not fill in that blank because that is not what she was taught. I insisted. Then after conferring with her supervisor, she got permission to say that I was born outside of Ecuador.

It was also hard for the surveyor to understand that I work more than 60 hours a week, but that I am volunteer and am not making a salary.

After the forty-minute interview, she put a "counted" sticker on my door frame and moved on to my neighbors.

That left me with more than nine hours before I could leave my house. I tried to make them as productive as possible.

I started off by listening to a podcast before reading a hundred pages of my book. I went back for another podcast before lunching on leftovers from Friday night's dinner. Then I picked up my book again but only advanced another thirty pages before I got restless.

This is when I decided to "clean." I started with the floor. But as I picked up dirty clothes to clear it, I realized that I had a large pile of laundry to do. Considering it was a sunny day and I still had four hours to kill before the lockdown was over, I resolved to do all my laundry. By the time that, I only had a half hour left.

At 5:00, there was a collective exodus after everyone was cooped up all day in their homes.

Although I'm not quite sure what I would have done with my Sunday if it had not been Census Day, I was quite pleased with how productive I was. Maybe I should treat every Sunday as Census Day?

Ian vs. Kitten: The Solution

2010-11-26T12:47:00.004-05:00

The cat is gone, and peace and quiet has returned to my house.

After the epic struggle between a cat who wanted nothing more than to be able to roam freely in the crawlspace above my apartment and some residents who wanted nothing more than to sleep at night without constant meowing, tranquility has triumphed.

This was no easy fight. The kitten relied on its size, quickness, and survival instincts. Last year, I saw a kitten kill a poisonous snake. These animals are much tougher than they look.

I needed a can of tuna, a block of cheese, a broom, two wooden planks, one pet-removal specialist, my neighbor's nephew, and a plastic bag.

When I left for work Thursday morning, I had set out food in two locations to try to lure the cat down from its perch in the crawlspace. I would have spent all morning trying to get the cat down, but I had some meetings that would have been hard to change.

By the time I got home for lunch, my neighbors reported that the problem was solved.

After I left in the morning, they had called in a "specialist." I use quotation marks because my refrigerator repairman was also described as a "specialist."

I wonder what qualifications this guy had as an "animal-removal specialist." This is a do-it-yourself culture. Everybody has tales about how they woke up in the middle of the night and found a poisonous snake crawling around the floor, so they just grabbed their machete and killed the snake. So for someone to be described as an "animal-removal specialist," he must have killed hundreds of snakes. (It was never explained to me who this "specialist" was. For all I know, it was the same "handyman" who tried for six months to fix my toilet and eventually gave up)

He might be competent at this whole animal-catching business, though. According to my neighbors, it only took him about an hour and a half. He could use some help at the disposal aspect of his job.

Once he captured the kitten, he set it free in the street outside my house. Displaying tremendous resiliency and determination, the cat turned around and climbed back up into the crawlspace.

Back at square one.

All of this struggle apparently tired the cat out because after returning to the crawlspace, he decided to take a little siesta. My neighbor's called in their nephew and his small hands to grab the sleeping the cat and take him away.

I was a little sad to have missed all the action, but I'm mostly just happy that the cat is gone.

Ian vs. Kitten: Day Two

2010-11-25T07:29:00.003-05:00

At first, I found the meowing cat in my ceiling to be annoying.

I couldn't stand the fact that the cat would purr every six seconds.

But like a lot of other things in Ecuador, it's something I've gotten used to - kind of like the trucks that roar outside my apartment all night long or the reggaeton blasting from motorcycles (the drivers carry boomboxes). You kind of just get immune to it to the point that you don't even realize that it's there.

Because the cat ate some tuna last night, it doesn't appear to be as hungry as your typical cat in the ceiling.

Working with my neighbors, we now have divided our efforts to offer the cat to possible escapes.

One is the plank of wood with tuna that was up last night. My neighbors have placed another plank of wood in their apartment with some cheese on it. (It is the same plank of wood that I use to secure the door to my refrigerator.)

I sure hope that an animal on the ground does not follow the bait and find himself trapped in the ceiling with a cat. On the plus side, that would give our feline friend someone to play with.

My landlord has also called in the assistance of a handyman to fix some things around the house and enlist his efforts in Cat Snatch. I doubt that he will be of much use. This is the same handyman, who misdiagnosed a problem in my bathroom for six months. It turns out I just needed a little piece of string, the same piece of string that the handyman discarded his first day on the job.

I know I shouldn't get too far ahead of myself but I have started thinking about what I will do once I get the cat down from the ceiling.

Here's an idea:

Ian vs. Kitten: Day One

2010-11-24T21:24:00.009-05:00

It started at 6:15 this morning.

As the fresh fish and humita vendors walked by my house with their familiar sales pitches, another sound caught my ear.

It was soft, high-pitched, feline, and coming from my roof. Unlike the vendors, who continued along their daily routes, the sound on the roof persisted.

Somehow, a cat had found its way on top of my house. I didn't really worry about it at the time. I figured that as long as the cat could find its way onto my roof, it could just as easily find its way down from my roof.

This wasn't the first time a cat has found its way into my house. One time, a kitten climbed through my kitchen window and sought refuge behind my fridge for the better part of a Saturday before I took care of the situation. Another time, while I was making macaroni and cheese, I spilled some of the hot milk-cheese mixture onto the floor. When I looked down to see the mess I was making, a cat was there, licking the sauce off the floor. (He was probably the happiest street cat in the world at the time.)

But I wasn't quite certain whether or not this was someone's pet cat who had found its way onto my roof because some new neighbors moved in next door. Throwing their pet cat out to the street would be a horrible first impression. So I figured I would just let the cat be and hope the problem would resolve itself.

I came back to my apartment for lunch, and, unfortunately, the problem had not solved itself. I asked the people who were moving in whether it was their cat, and they told it wasn´t. But I wanted to get the all-clear from my landlord before asserting myself.

The all-clear didn't come until 5:30.

By that time, the cat found the crawlspace between my ceiling and the roof and managed to forget how he got into said crawlspace.

Realizing that this situation probably wasn't going to change all night unless I did something about, I decided that it was time to get the cat down.

At this time, one of my new neighbors walked by. I asked him to help me out because if the cat didn't come down, I wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight. He told me "Don't trouble yourself. The cat will come down by itself." If he could have come down by himself, he probably would have done so at some point in the last 11 hours.

This part of the night turns into the part from The Sandlot where they try a variety of strategies for getting the baseball out of The Beast's domain.

The space between my ceiling and the roof is big enough for a cat to move around in and for a person to jam a pole into, but not much else.

I don't think that cat had eaten all day. I figured the best way to get him out of their would be to lure him out with the possibility of food. I put some tuna-smelling juice on the end of my broomstick. Then, as the cat was sniffing and licking the broomstick, I would just knock the cat onto the floor.

Except that I don't have cat-like speed and reflexes. When the cat realized what I was doing, it scurried back into the roof. I did hit him on the head a few times, if that counts for anything.

Instead of just offering the cat the scent of food, I decided to give it a little food and then knock it to the floor when it was distracted and eating. I tried this once, but couldn't get a good enough push on the cat. So I just ended up giving it dinner. Then a second time, I was on the phone with a friend about the situation, when the cat took some more tuna out of the can. My lack of Denard-esque speed and reflexes showed as the cat eluded me once more.

Now, it was time to pull out all the stops. I pulled out every large piece of wood in my house and set out and elaborate ramp system, with food incentives along the way, the get the cat down.

After waiting for half an hour without any movement in one part of the courtyard, I decided to move the ramp to another section of the courtyard to see what happens.

Well, so far, the kitten has the upper hand. The ramp has been up for two hours, with little pieces of tuna along the way, but all I can hear is meowing.

I'll update you tomorrow with any developments.

The search for nutmeg

2010-11-20T20:12:00.002-05:00

With Thanksgiving approaching, I decided to get in the spirit by cooking some traditional holiday food for some of my Ecuadorian friends.

Recipes for this season typically include what my mom called "Thanksgiving spices," like nutmeg and allspice. These spices aren't very common in Ecuador, bu they do exist here.

Last week, I was in Machala, the closest city to me where one could buy these "exotic" spices. I knew that I could find them at the large supermarket on the outskirts of town, but that was out of my way.

Instead, I tried the subpar grocery store in the center of town on the chance they might sell nutmeg and allspice (they didn't) before venturing into the outdoor market, which is several blocks of produce, poultry, clothes, bootleg movies, and just about anything else you could imagine buying.

After asking around for someone who sells nuez moscada, I was directed a woman who sells medicinal plants. I asked for nutmeg, and she pulled out a jar from under the counter.

Young woman: Is this what you are looking for?
(She points to little white nuts in the jar)
Ian: I'm not sure. (I have never bought nutment, but when I have seen it in markets, the jar is clearly labeled "nutmeg" and the nutmeg crushed up)
Young woman: Hold on. Let me ask my mom. (To older woman) Is this nutmeg?
Older woman: Yes. I think so.
Ian: How much does it cost?
Older woman: One dollar per nut.
Ian: So expensive?
Older woman: Yeah.
Ian: And you're sure this is nutmeg?
Older woman: Yes, positive. I think.
Ian: What does one do with nutmeg?
Older woman: People crush it up and put it on food.
Ian: Well, let me think about it for a minute. In the meantime, do you also sell allspice?
Older woman: No, allspice is something that people put on their food. I don't sell things that people put on food.
Ian: Oh.

After asking around, I couldn't find allspice. So I decided to pass on the nutmeg, as well.

Searching Ecuadorian market for obscure products is something that I really enjoy doing. You normally have to ask ten people where you can buy a certain product and will probably end up walking in circles several times before finally coming across what you are looking for or realizing that nobody has any clue what you are talking about. So the fact that I came up empty-handed in my search for allspice and nutmeg really didn't matter.

Luckily, I got an awesome package in the mail from my mom with all the necessary holiday fixings. And everybody loved the pumpkin pie at shabbat dinner this week, even though it didn't have nutmeg or allspice (I used cinnamon and cloves, instead). (Thanks, Mom.)

Traveshamockery

2010-11-17T20:10:00.004-05:00

Beauty pageants, or reina competitions, are a big deal in Ecuador.

They are mentioned all over the newspapers - to the extent that I have begun calculating the reina ratio. Much like the Vikings tried to get Randy Moss the ball on 40 percent of the plays, it appears as if newspaper editors in Ecuador try to put reina pictures or references on 40 percent of the pages.

In the week leading up to a city's beauty pageant, the contestants will visit the local newspaper offices to do interviews so that the newspaper can run a full profile of each candidate with all the information one would care to know and not know.

Almost every organization elects a beauty queen. The drivers union, the artisans, the agriculture center, the high schools, the elementary schools, the preschools (I kid you not), neighborhoods, recreation sports teams, seniors groups, the firefighters, etc. Almost every group, of any kind, elects a reina. (We have been asked whether or not AREvista will have a reina competition. AREvista feels that having a reina competition would distract the group from producing the newspaper.)

Most of the pageant contestants are between the ages of 15-22. To participate in the competitions, they typically have to buy a really expensive dress and shoes. Sometimes a local organizations acts as a sponsor for pageant-related costs, but sometimes families have to spend hundreds of dollars to finance their daughter's candidacy.

The reina competitions in the larger cities are broadcast nationally, and the winners become celebrities.

To celebrate its 55th birthday, Arenillas elected its beauty queen last week.

Normally, I don't pay any attention to the reina competitions, but one of my friends was in the running. Also, as someone who graduated from high school and is currently working on two college degrees, I thought that she would be a good role model for the Arenillas youth. So I attended the event to support her.

Unfortunately, my friend finished in second, even though she was the only contestant to answer her question and everybody I spoke to thought that she was, by far, the best candidate.

As this guy would say, "This whole thing is a travesty and a sham and a mockery."

Despite the disappointing outcome, the reina competition had its share of ridiculousness.

• The pageant was supposed to start at 8:00, didn't get going until 9:45, and finished at 3:00 a.m. It was by far my latest night out in Ecuador.

• At the beginning of beauty pageants, they always emphasize that there will be a "qualified jury" deciding the results. I guess there has been such a long history of biased or questionable judging that they have to put everybody's mind at ease with a disclaimer.

They talk about how it will be a fair process, that none of the judges have preconceived notions about who will win, and that the judges understand their role.

So one would imagine that when the judges spend 90 minutes conferring about the winners, they would actually do their job. Not so much this time.

The judges were supposed to order the contestants one through five because, like summer camp, there are no losers in reina competitions. They each win a different position.

The MC opened the envelop with the help of the municipal lawyer (kind of like the guy who oversees the ping pong balls in the NBA lottery) and realized that the judges did not choose fourth and fifth place.

After conferring for a few minutes, the MC, lawyer, and city councilman who was supposed to award the prize decided to flip a coin. Neither of the girls was too thrilled with the idea.

• During the wardrobe changes, different musical groups come on to entertain the crowd. One of the acts was a woman singing karaoke. It was horrible. She wasn't much of a singer or a dancer.

When she asked the crowd if she should sing another song, there was a resounding "no." Unfortunately, she didn't take their advice.

• When the candidates are parading around the stage, the MC reads a brief profile about each one. A questions on the sheet was "favorite color." One of the girls said her favorite color was blue, red, green, and gold.

• There was a seven-year old girl sitting next to me who was just miserable. All she wanted to do was go home and sleep. Unfortunately, her parents didn't arrange for a sitter.

• The President of Ecuador said that beauty pageants should no longer include the swimsuit competition. If they had included a swimsuit portion in the contest, this thing easily would have gone until 4:30.

• One of the most important things for any reina competitor is to have a strong cheering section. They handed out noisemakers and whistles as if it were purim. I embraced (This drew some laughs from my neighbors). Once I got home, I used a hammer to reshape my frying pan. I also have a pretty outstanding t-shirt from the event that I will be proud to wear back home.

A new take on the tandem

2010-11-11T14:02:00.003-05:00

Or is this the original tandem?

Thursday is the new Monday

2010-11-04T18:45:00.004-04:00

Last month, I talked about how the local municipality turned what was supposed to be a two-day weekend into, for all intents and purposes, a four-and-a-half-day weekend.

Today was the first day of work since last Friday. The main difference this time around is that it was a state-supported vacation. Let's check out how they made this dream a reality.

Saturday: Normal weekend
Sunday: Normal weekend
Monday: Nationally recognized day off to promote tourism
Tuesday: Day of the Dead
Wednesday: Independence Day of Cuenca

When Thursday becomes Monday, that is a great week. But for some people that wasn't enough time off. The local high school will essentially not hold classes all week.

Between today's teacher's expo and tomorrow's high school expo, this is pretty much a week of vacation for the students. And after holding classes Monday and Tuesday next week, there will no be classes until the following Monday because of the student parade, Arenillas' independence day, and the hangover day.

Fridge update

2010-11-04T18:36:00.003-04:00

As you can tell by the picture, my fridge is still in my kitchen. Although not exactly providing an Arctic chill, the fridge is definitely cold and the freezer noticeably colder.

The only slight issue is that the door does not stay closed. There is a problem with the seal, and it stays permanently ajar. So my landlord jammed a wooden pole between the door and the wall. I have suggested some less obtrusive solutions. They should take fewer than four months to install.

(I sure hope I didn't jinx anything with this post.)

(But if there is anything to jinx, I'd like to do it now so that I have a properly functioning fridge for the rest of my service instead of partially functioning fridge that completely craps out a week before my service ends (forcing me to split the cost of a new fridge with my landlord)

Blueberries in Ecuador?

2010-10-31T21:06:00.003-04:00

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

2010-10-27T14:37:00.001-04:00

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

2010-10-25T20:42:00.000-04:00

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

2010-10-23T20:10:00.006-04:00

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

2010-10-17T14:56:00.005-04:00

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

2010-10-12T21:04:00.003-04:00

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?

2010-10-11T09:14:00.001-04:00

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

2010-10-09T05:55:00.000-04:00

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.

A disturbing story from the newspaper

2010-09-30T07:55:00.002-04:00

While reading the newspaper a few weeks ago, I came across a very troubling story. If you would like the Spanish version, you can find it here. If your Spanish isn't strong enough, don't worry. I paraphrase it below.

Headline: They took him from downtown to leave him in a landfill

German, a 72-year old homeless man, was living on the streets of downtown Machala. He had been living this way for many years. One day, a few weeks back, a municipal employee put German in a city car and told German "I'm taking you to a better place." He actually just drove him to middle of some banana fields on the outskirts of town and left him in a pile of garbage.

German pleaded with the workers and asked them how he would get back to the city. They just drove away.

Not knowing what to do next, he stayed in that spot for several hours. Eventually a police car stopped. He asked them to take back to the city but they refused. Instead, they just dropped him at the outskirts of another outlying neighborhood.

The municipal worker who initially "relocated" German to the banana fields said he didn't want the homeless person "affecting the decoration or revitalization of the city." The city worker continued "we don't have the intention to do harm to nobody. ... Machala doesn't have indigents that are from Machala. They are always from other places." He said that he planned on dropping the homeless man in El Guabo or Huaquillas or some other town so that he wouldn't hurt the image of Machala.

Once he was discovered on the outskirts of town, German was taken in by social services. He was given a shower and a hot meal at a city councilman's house before heading off to a hospital and then on to a senior citizen's facility.

The city worker who decided to leave the man in the banana fields was suspended for one month without pay, and his actions were condemned by the municipality. I heard one report that said he carried out the act because he had not been paid for several months.

¡Happy Flag Day!

2010-09-26T19:46:00.003-04:00

On this day in 1860, the color scheme for the Ecuadorian flag was officially adopted. To this day, September 26th is an important one in the national calendar.

Every school holds a formal ceremony called Juramento a La Bandera ("Swearing to the flag"). During the ceremony, the students in the oldest grade swear allegiance to the flag. Various speakers explain the significance of each color band. Take note that the yellow band on the flag is twice as wide as the other ones.

Yellow represents the country's natural wealth. Blue represents the ocean (and the sky). Red represents the blood and sacrifices made in the country's fight for freedom.

In the weeks leading up to the ceremony, the students practice marching so that they can get the steps down in time for the big day. And the job of holding the flag is a coveted one. The responsibility is given to the student with the highest grades (a kind of valedictorian, if you will).

Now, to finish the narrative of the Ecuadorian flag. If you look at the official flag, it doesn't just contain the three color bands. It also has a seal in the middle. This was added in the year 1900. To my knowledge, there is no holiday to commemorate the adoption of the seal on the flag.

If the Ecuadorian flag reminds you of the Colombian or Venezuelan flags, that is because they are based on the same design. After Simon Bolivar led the revolutions in South America, the three countries all belonged to the Gran Colombia. As an homage to the revolutionaries who inspired the struggle for independence, the countries adopted designs similar to the flag of Gran Colombia. The differences between the three are that the Ecuadorian flag has the seal of arms, the Venezuelan flag has stars, and the Colombian flag just has the tricolor bands.

Gusanito

2010-09-22T17:53:00.008-04:00

We are entering the heart of fiesta season in Arenillas. The neighborhood celebrations are behind us as the entire city unites for its two main parties. This week, the fiestas partronales will kick off. They last for about ten days. Then everybody will spend the next three weeks gearing up for the fiestas de cantonizacion (celebrating the city's birthday), which start at the beginning of November.

The shift to municipal fiestas means a few things:

• Official work gets put on the back burner as the party-planning committee takes over
• Class gets replaced by marching band practice
• Beauty pageant pictures in the newspaper every week
• The arrival of the gusanito

Run by a group of Ecuadorian carnies, the gusanito (literally means "worm") is an amusement ride that appears at fiestas throughout the country. The worm squirms and swerves through the streets, offering the thrill of riding a reggaeton-blasting, light-flashing multipede around town.

It arrives a few days before the party gets going and sets up near the epicenter of fiesta activity. Then it skips town the day after the festivities come to a close. I have actually seen the full gusanito driving down the main coastal highway on its way to another town's fiestas. The image of the carny family, with all of its belongings stored in the various cars of the gusanito on its way to another gig is quite entertaining.

Just as entertaining as it is to see the entire gusanito family rolling down the Ecuadorian equivalent of I-75 is seeing the head car of the gusanito running errands in town. This morning, I caught the gusanito's head at the market.

Although I have yet to experience the thrill of the gusanito first-hand, it on my list of things to do before my service ends. Its location on the to-do list is right between drinking fresh goat milk and midnight fishing in the mangrove.

As we head to the heart of fiesta season, I should get plenty of chances to cross it off my to-do list.

For $4.35 today at the market ....

2010-09-20T22:19:00.003-04:00

Four pounds of sweet potato
Four pounds of yucca
Two pounds of tomato
Two pounds of red onion
Two cucumbers
Four lemons
Two cloves of garlic

How much would that run me in the States?

It's hard to get a good knish in Arenillas

2010-09-12T22:45:00.001-04:00

Unless you make it yourself.

Last week, I made my first foray into the world of flaky dumplings. I, and my stomach, would call knish night quite successful. I think we'll do it again soon.

Trapped

2010-09-10T21:45:00.001-04:00

When I arrived at the all girls elementary school a couple of days ago for an AREvista meeting, there was quite a bit of commotion.

In contrast to the boys elementary school down the street, things at the girls school are much more disciplined. But when I walked in, the girls were out of their classroom.

That's because they couldn't get in their classroom.

Before the school day began, some of the early-arriving students were horsing around. In the course of their playing, they slammed the door to their classroom shut. The janitor came by with the key to open the door, but the key broke, trapping for girls in the room.

Apparently, there is only one copy of the key. And there is no other way out of the room, as the windows are surrounded by steel bars.

The four students were locked in the room for two and half hours until the locksmith came by.

Immediately upon being let out, they all ran to the bathroom.

Where is Hank Hill?

2010-09-06T21:54:00.003-04:00

To refill my kitchen gas tank only costs $1.60. But that only takes into account the monetary value the Ecuadorian government places on its heavily subsidized gas.

That $1.60 doesn't take into account headaches, frustration, cold meals, and lost time involved in navigating this bureaucratic nightmare.

My gas tank ran out three weeks ago. I finally got a refill a couple of days ago.

(To go directly to my struggles in replacing the gas tank, skip the next two paragraphs)

Gas tanks are a very heavily regulated industry in Ecuador for a variety of reasons. Although Ecuador is an OPEC nation, it doesn't have sufficient refining capacity to serve the needs of its citizens. So, most of the cooking gas tank gas is imported. Apparently there is some kind of issue with the shipments now because there are gas shortages throughout the country.

The other problem is much more local. Ecuador subsidizes the gas tank prices. Peru doesn't subsidize (or doesn't subsidize as much). This creates an arbitrage opportunity for people who live near the border. The government has tried to crack down on this by placing the military in charge of gas distribution and making sure that each gas purchase is officially registered so that no one is stockpiling.

When my gas tank ran out, I went to the local gas distributor to change the tanks, but they were closed. I tried this the next day, but it was the same story.

In the meantime, one of my neighbors let me borrow his gas tank.

On my third attempt, they told me that they were out of gas, but that I should come back the next day with my gas tank and a copy of my ID.

I did that, except they were already out of gas by the time I arrived.

So on my fifth attempt, the stars finally appeared to have aligned. I had my ID. They had gas tanks. When it was my turn in line, they asked me for something that would certify me as a resident of Arenillas. I showed them my ID. They said it wasn't good enough. I had to go to the local government office and get a signed document, attesting to my residence.

I go to the office, but they tell me that they can't do anything for me until the president of my neighborhood certifies me as a resident.

The president of my neighborhood is a doctor who practices in another city. He doesn't get back to Arenillas until 7:00 p.m., which is about when I get to his house.

Ian: Necesito un certificado que dice que vivo en esta ciudadela para que pueda conseguir un tanque de gas.
Presidente: Mejor que consigas algunas peladas.

(or for the direct translation)

Ian: I need to get a certificate that says I live here so I can get a gas tank.
Prez: Better that you get yourself a couple of broads.

He says that he'd like to help but he needs the secretary of the neighborhood to prepare the document.

I head to her house. She works in another city and doesn't get home until 10:30, which is well past my bed time. I leave my papers at her house and pick them up in the morning.

I pick up the papers and notice that the secretary had forgotten to sign them. I get the president's signature that night and leave the document at the secretary's house to pick it up the next day and take it over to the government office.

Unfortunately, the government's representative was out of the office. I would have to wait over the weekend. Monday morning, I swung by the government office, picked up the paper I need, and headed to the gas distributor. Much to my surprise, they had gas.

I paid the $1.60 and changed my tank. Now was that so hard?

Hey, prehistoric forest

2010-09-05T21:36:00.007-04:00

Yesterday, I took a trip up to the Puyango Petrified Forest. It contains one of the largest collections of petrified wood in the world and is just a couple of hours from my site.

Obviously, I had to go check it out at some point. But knowing that it's been there for millions years and probably wasn't going to change too much in my two years here, I was in no particular rush to get out there.

But it was definitely worth the visit.

The wood in the forest is between 60 million to 120 million years old. Petrified wood is fossilized wood. As the tour guide tried to explain to me: The lava flow from volcanic activity at the time (There's no active volcanoes in the vicinity. Don't worry, mom.) covered the forests. The lava buried the trees, and all the organic matter in the trees was converted into petrified wood. At one point in its history, the area was also covered by ocean because there are shellfish fossils.

The largest piece in the forest is this fifteen meter trunk that has naturally broken into several pieces.

It should be mentioned that the forest has only been a protected area for about twenty years now. Before it was declared a protected area, there was quite a bit of pillaging that occurred. Many residents in the area, and some in my site, have pieces of the petrified wood in their homes.

In addition to the petrified wood, the park also contains some pristine dry tropical forest and some of its rare tree species. The most majestic of those rare species is the Pretino. These trees are babies compared to the petrified ones. They're only 120-150 years old.

It is related to the previously fawned-over ceibo (part of the bombacacae family). Whereas the ceibo flower is white, the pretino gives off a pink/red flower. This should be happening in the next month. I will try to snap a picture of that.

Each ring signals about ten years of growth.

Richard, do I have a mark on my trunk?

That's not a tandem

2010-09-01T21:33:00.004-04:00

It is clear that my neighbors do not understand what a tandem bicycle is.

From what I can gather, a tandem bicycle is one bike in which there are two seats and both riders pedal.

When my neighbors decide to go for a tandem bike ride down the street, they opt to tie two bikes together with a rope so that the lead bike is pulling and the back bike is just going along for the ride.

The guy on the back bike doesn't pedal at all. (I actually think his bike was broken, which was the impetus for this activity). The lead bike must provide enough momentum for the back bike to maintain its balance.

As you can imagine, the lead bike struggled to provide enough momentum to power both bikes. It ended in a crash every time.

I think of it as a combination of a tow truck and water skiing, except that instead of falling into water my neighbors are crashing onto the street.

I just hope these kids never get a hold of any copies of Jackass because they really don't need any ideas. These are the same kids that thought it was a good idea to see how hard they could tug on the power lines.

A whale of a time

2010-08-30T21:09:00.005-04:00

It's humpback whale season in Ecuador.

You are probably thinking one of two things after reading that line.

1. I already knew that.
2. I had no idea Ecuador had whales.

Well, trust me. Ecuador does have whales.

They follow the Pacific Ocean currents up the South American coast in search of warm water. Then they hang out off the Ecuadorian coast for a few months to mate before following the currents across the Pacific Ocean toward Asia.

The whales congregate near the town of Puerto Lopez, which is about eight hours up the coast from my site. Whale season is from June to September, and I decided to take a brief mental health break to go check out these mammals.

The pictures that I have here don't really do a good job of showing the sheer awesomeness of the whales, but they are what my camera would capture.

The whale-watching tour also included snorkeling and a bird-watching hike at Isla de la Plata. Before heading out on the boat, they gave us a piece of Palo Santo wood to chew on.

Apparently, the tourist stomach and the ocean waves don't get along. The locals claim that chewing Palo Santo wood will help one's stomach get over the rough water.

I don't know if it is true or not. But I chewed it anyway.

There might be some scientific proof to this, but I contend that the tourist is so preoccupied with the horrible taste and aftertaste of wood that they forget about their stomach issues.

As I mentioned above, part of the tour included a bit of snorkeling, which was very cool. Tons of fish. Tons of colors. Tons of fun.

There was one slight issue with my snorkeling equipment, though. Once I got into the water, I noticed that the breathing tube was letting a lot of water into my mouth. It wasn't entering from above. Apparently, the seal on the bottom of the tube wasn't completely sealed off.

I'm no expert on the whole snorkeling thing but I know that the tube is very important. So I swam back to the boat and explained this to the captain, who obviously doesn't quite understand the concept of customer service.

Ian: The tube is letting in too much water.
Captain: You are going to have to deal with it.

It would have been quite funny if he told me "no pasa nada," but he didn't. I figured it out, although it was not nearly as comfortable as I would have liked.

The other part of the tour included bird-watching on Isla de la Plata. The bird species on the island are similar to what you would see on the Galapagos Islands. There were two species of boobies (red-footed and blue-footed) along with frigates.

On the road to Puerto Lopez, you drive through one of the best-named cities in Ecuador: Jipijapa (pronounced Hippy Hoppa). Compared to its name, the town is a letdown. The area is probably most famous for its straw, which is used to make Panama Hats.

Drunk cattle?

2010-08-24T20:34:00.003-04:00

Before I begin with the post, I will give you a very brief Spanish lesson. In Spanish, the word for drunk is borracho.

One of the more common shrubs in the dry tropical forest is borrachera.

The similarity is not by coincidence.

If eaten by livestock, the borrachera can cause a lack coordination, weakness, or apathy. (I guess it depends if the cow is a active drunk or a lazy drunk. Luckily, it doesn't say anything about the angry drunk cow. That could be bad.)

Unfortunately, I couldn't find a good YouTube, but people here like to laugh whenever someone mentions borrachera.

Supposedly, it doesn't have the same effects on humans, although it does have some medicinal uses. According to a book I found about the medicinal properties of local plants, one can use the borrachera to reduce fevers associated with respiratory and urinary infections. It can also apparently help combat ulcers, diabetes, and gonorrhea. If you have a toothache, the plant's fiber can reduce the pain.

The plant grows wild around here, displaying its pretty flower most of the year. In wet years, the flower is much bigger and the plant can be more than 10 meters long. In dry years, the plant and flower are much smaller.

Reforestar: Lost without translation

2010-08-21T19:48:00.004-04:00

The Spanish verb "reforestar" means "to reforest" in English.

To you, the Hearyoni reader who probably has a good grasp of the English language, this makes sense. Reforesting means "replant with trees; cover again with forest."

There used to be forest. For one reason or another, that forest isn't there anymore. So you are planting trees to restore the area to its forested state.

My problem with the Spanish word is that its intuitive meaning for an English speaker is lost on someone who doesn't understand English. "Forest" is not a word in Spanish.

When someone says they are "reforestando," they are typically just planting one or two species of trees that they plan on harvesting for timber in ten years. While it is important that they do plant trees, I wouldn't describe their activities as reforestation (especially because it is with the intent to deforest the land at some point). These are tree plantations, not forests.

The Spanish word for forest is "bosque."

When you ask someone here what a "bosque" is they will describe a forest - with a diversity of trees and animals. They don't think of single-specie tree plantations.

In my work at the tree nursery, I frequently find myself talking to clients about what they are planting. Most of the time, they come in and say they want to "reforestar." I ask them which species of trees they would like to plant. Most of the time it's teak - a tree that is not native to this part of the world that is only planting to harvest the wood.

The nursery also offers a variety of native tree species, and I ask the customers if they would like any of those. They say that they take too long to be worth anything.

If the Spanish word for "reforestation" related to the Spanish word "bosque" the perception of what it means to reforest might be a little different.

(I'm currently reading a book about the history of the Oxford English Dictionary, so the meaning of words is on my mind.)

A little bit about the Virgen del Cisne

2010-08-18T18:08:00.000-04:00

In my previous post, I said that we are in the middle of the fiestas of the Virgen del Cisne. It has come to my attention that you, the hearyoni reader, might not be quite familiar with these festivities.

The main celebration and pilgrimage associated with these fiestas occurs in the province of Loja (east of El Oro). But because there is a large population of immigrants from Loja in El Oro, the fiestas are also commemorated here.

A little bit about the history of the fiestas.

El Cisne is a small town in the province of Loja founded in 1550. Later in the 16th century, the residents of El Cisne traveled to Quito to ask a sculptor for an image of the Virgin of Guadalupe to place in their sanctuary. With the statue in tow, the residents of El Cisne returned home. (FYI: We're not talking about the Virgin of Guadalupe from Mexico. This is the Virgin of Guadalupe from Caceres, Spain)

In 1594, a terrible drought hit the region. The authorities in Quito said that the residents should abandon the village and relocate. They took the statue with them. On their journey to their new village. From the moment they arrived in their new hamlet, it was beset by violent storms that uprooted trees, knocked over homes, and ruined their harvests.

The residents took this as a punishment from the Virgin for having removed her from El Cisne. They disobeyed the government's orders and returned to their hometown. In the end, the government decreed that the the town should always be populated.

It is very popular for people to make a pilgrimage on foot to El Cisne at this time of year. Some travel hundreds of kilometers, on foot through the Andes, to reach El Cisne. Others travel in bus.

For people who don't make the pilgrimage, they mark the occasion with several masses (I believe there is a mass for nine consecutive nights), a vaca loca, the burning of the castillo, bailes, and other traditional fiesta activities.

Live la vaca loca

2010-08-17T21:34:00.002-04:00

They were celebrating the fiestas of the Virgen del Cisne last week in Arenillas last week.

Among other things, this meant that there would be the vaca loca. Now, I could use this space to explain the vaca loca. Or I could let the following YouTube video explain it.

It is kind of a "you can't have one without the other." Whenever they have a vaca loca, it is accompanied by the burning of the castillo.

It's starting to make sense

2010-08-16T13:14:00.011-04:00

In recent blog posts, I have remarked about how culturally acceptable it is for people to go to the bathroom anywhere.

It might be out the window of the bus. It might be in the middle of a group of people waiting to get onto the bus. It might be on the wall that says "Don't pee on this wall."

For many months now, I have wondered where this freedom to go where you please comes from. I finally answered that question this weekend.

I took a day trip up to Zaruma, a colonial gold-mining town about two hours into the mountains from my site. It might be a relatively short journey, but it almost feels like a different country. The architecture is different (There is a distinct architectural style). The scenery is different (Mountains). The climate it different (Not hot). The pace of life is different (Not "in your face").

Given how different Zaruma is from my site, I was surprised by a statue in the central park.

That is a statue of a child going to the bathroom in the middle of the park. Even in a town as different as Zaruma, they glorify public urination (At least they make an art of it).

I asked some people around town why there is a statue of a kid peeing in the park. Apparently, it has been there for over a hundred years. They told me that it was brought over by some Europeans.

I did some further research on similar statues and discovered that there is a very famous statue in Brussels, Belgium. I imagine that the statue in Zaruma tractes its inspiration to that one.

I wonder how the presence of such a statue in the central park of a town such has Zaruma has affected the acceptability of public urination in Ecuador. If the statue was, in fact, donated by a European country or organization over a hundred years ago, people here might have thought that a statue of a person urinating in the central park accurately reflects cultural norms in that country.

If they associated cultured Europe with public urination, they might think that using the toilet or going out of site is the practice of bumpkins.

I only propose this hypothesis based upon my experiences in Ecuador. What people know of the United States they take from portrayals in popular culture. I have been asked if there is actually countryside in the United States (many think it all looks like New York). I have been asked if the United States is all night clubs and discos. I am still asked if I knew Michael Jackson.

Based on these experiences, I might be inclined to conclude that the statue has something to do with the propensity to pee in public.

Ian's weekly home appliance update

2010-08-09T20:20:00.004-04:00

My fridge should just start its own blog.

It is breaking faster than I can blog about (granted, I am blogging relatively slowly).

We last left off the saga of my fridge a few of weeks ago. After the repairman brought his blow torch into my kitchen and borrowed my gas tank, she was up and running again.

I was happy. I asked the repairman if he thought my fridge would break anytime soon.

He said he didn't think so.

Have I previously mentioned on this blog how Ecuadorians don't like to say "no" and are very indirect?

Well, if I haven't, I will do so now.

They don't really like to say "no" to you and are very indirect. When he told me that my fridge would not break very soon, I took that to mean that my fridge should work well for the rest of my service.

I guess we had different understandings of what the word "soon" means.

So when I came knocking on his door July 31st, he didn't look surpised to see me. I explained the problem, which was quite similar to the problem it was experiencing two weeks earlier.

He said he would come by the next day or so to check it out. Obviously, it took him about three days. He checked it out and confirmed what I had suspected.

It was broken with a similar problem. I asked him if it was worth continuing to go through this same hassle, if it was actually possible to have this thing fixed and functioning for the rest of my service.

He said that it should be possible and that he would take it to his repair shop. Except that he couldn't do it very soon because he was going to visit his daughter who is in university.

So I waited five days for him to come back. I asked him if he could come by my house, and he told me he'd be by Monday morning at 8:00 a.m. By 9:00 a.m., I was beginning to doubt that he would show up.

I headed over to his house and caught him as he was leaving. Apparently, he had to go file complaints with the electrical company and the water company and had decided to delay visiting my house until the afternoon.

I told him that wasn't going to work because I wasn't going to be home for the rest of the day, which was a true story. By now, I think he understood that I would like my refrigerator repaired. We moved the fridge from my house to his.

Apparently, it will be ready on Thursday.

The back of the bus

2010-08-07T21:25:00.003-04:00

The ride from Machala to my site take a bit more than an hour, and one should never be surprised by anything that happens on the bus. (No rules!!!!!)

The bus employee might decides to arbitrarily change the fare. Clowns might hop on the bus to do a comic routine. A one-toothed man might strum his one-string guitar. Another guy might be hawking the medicinal benefits of noni.

Sometimes, these occur simultaneously.

I would say that you should expect the unexpected, but I don't know if it's possible to expect something unexpected to happen because if you had expected it to happen than it wouldn't be unexpected.

Last week, on the ride back to my site from Machala, I was sitting in the back of the bus with another volunteer. About ten minutes into the hour-long ride, I hear some commotion across the aisle.

A six-year old and his mom are sitting there. He was whining a little bit and squirming around. By now, this commotion had drawn the attention of everybody else sitting nearby.

The mom lifts her child so he is standing on the window seat and props open the window. And he starts peeing.

Everyone in the area let out a collective moan.

I was equally disgusted by the fact that this kid's mom thought it was fine for her son to piss out the window. What I thought was interesting was that everybody else found that weird.

Based on my experiences, it is acceptable for children in Ecuador to pee toward the public. Instead of walking a few more meters to get to a bathroom or just cozying up to a wall, some Ecuadorian parents encourage their children to pee into the street. At least, this child was aiming away from the aisle of the bus.

The kid didn't even have to hold it in, at this time. He had another, just as convenient, option for going to the bathroom - actually going to the bathroom. He was sitting across the aisle from the bathroom door. His mom could have just as easily moved her child across the aisle and into the bathroom.

But then again, common logic doesn't always apply on the bus.

The bus keeps on rolling down the road. Another half hour passes, and that same child starts making a scene again. He doesn't have the "I have to go to the bathroom" face. He is showing more of a "I'm about to blow chunks" face.

Then came the dry heaves. Obviously, his mom told him not to vomit in her direction. She urged him to aim into my lap. Luckily, the heaves stayed dry until they got off the bus.

While all of this is happening, a couple sitting in the last row, one row behind the mother and son, seem completely oblivious to everything. As the child is pissing out the window or on the verge of vomitting, the two lovebirds in the back seat are too obsessed with each other to notice. They were making out for pretty much the entire bus ride.

And I'm sitting directly two feet away from all of this.

The only reaction I could think of is "asi es la vida" and go back to trying to read my book.

The guarantee fairy

2010-08-02T15:51:00.001-04:00

I lived on my own for about eight months before I got a blender. I didn't really think I was missing much.

One of the nearby volunteers left, and he left behind a blender. Who would turn down a free blender?

I inherited the appliance and quickly realized what I had been missing. It has really made pasta sauce and shakshuka-making much quicker. I have started making hummus on a regular basis. Although I like to eat my fruits whole, I have learned to appreciate fresh juice on occasion.

Well, Friday afternoon, I overestimated the power of my inherited blender while trying to make a batch of hummus. The motor stopped functioning.

The next day, I took it into the local electrician, who told me that it would cost more to fix the blender than to buy a new one.

I was already planning on going to Huaquillas Saturday afternoon anyway, so I just added "new blender" to my shopping list. (Huaquillas is the town on the border between Ecaudor and Peru. You can pretty much find anything there, including one of the finest statues in Ecuador.)

Blenders come in a few varieties - nice and economical. The nice blender will run you about 50 bucks and is a decent blender. You can find an economical one for about 15. I was looking for something on the nicer end of economical (something would last me for eight months).

When you are searching for something in this price range, you must be wary of vendors trying to convince you that their cheap, bad blender is just a cheap blender. And I don't have to tell you that the type of people you find working at Latin American border town electronic stores are not the most honest salesmen in the world.

After checking into a few different stores, I found a shop tucked away on the main street. The salesman was wearing a button-down shirt with the top three buttons undone. He was finishing up a lunch of soup, chicken, and a few pieces of tomato while watching a soccer game on one of the TVs he was also selling. He was also sweating profusely.

He had a few different models of blender on top of his display case. You had the top-of-the-line model, the end-of-the-line model (which looked a lot like my blender that had broke), and a third style that looked a little bit better.

The brand name was Forever, which I really enjoyed (I couldn't find any Ericksons). After engaging in a bit of bargaining, I was able to get a twenty percent discount. Then I explained to the salesman why I was in the market for a new blender.

Salesman: If this blender breaks, you can bring it to me.
Ian: What will you do if I bring it to you?
Salesman: I will get it fixed at no charge (I thought he was going to tell me "laugh in your face")
Ian: So, you guarantee that this blender will not break on me.
Salesman: If it breaks, you bring it back here with the receipt.

It was at this moment that I thought of Tommy Callahan.

Tommy: Let's think about this for a sec, Ted. Why would somebody put a guarantee on a box? Hmmm, very interesting.
Customer: Go on, I'm listening.
Tommy: Here's the way I see it, Ted. Guy puts a fancy guarantee on a box 'cause he wants you to feel all warm and toasty inside.
Customer: Yeah, makes a man feel good.
Tommy: 'Course it does. Why shouldn't it? Ya figure you put that little box under your pillow at night, the Guarantee Fairy might come by and leave a quarter, am I right, Ted?
[chuckles until he sees that Ted is not laughing]
Customer: [impatiently] What's your point?
Tommy: The point is, how do you know the fairy isn't a crazy glue sniffer? "Building model airplanes" says the little fairy; well, we're not buying it. He sneaks into your house once, that's all it takes. The next thing you know, there's money missing off the dresser, and your daughter's knocked up. I seen it a hundred times.
Customer: But why do they put a guarantee on the box?
Tommy: Because they know all they sold ya was a guaranteed piece of shit. That's all it is, isn't it? Hey, if you want me to take a dump in a box and mark it guaranteed, I will. I got spare time. But for now, for your customer's sake, for your daughter's sake, ya might wanna think about buying a quality product from me.
Customer: [pause] Okay, I'll buy from you.
Tommy: Well, that's...
Tommy, Richard Hayden: ...What?

For some reason, I thought that this blender, whether or not it breaks, was definitely a step up from the one that had recently crapped out on me. I also have a guarantee from this vendor, which could mean one of two things.

1) It's a quality product and lasts me for the rest of my service.
2) At some point in the next eight months, the blender breaks and I take it back to the vendor who will either help me fix it or laugh in my face.

The first one is definitely preferable, but the second one will obviously provide quality blog material.

When the salesman was pitching the blender, he emphasized how one can use this smaller attachment to make mustard and mayonnaise.

I saw the utility in this attachment for other sauces, but who makes mustard or mayonnaise?

I have been making homemade tahini for the hummus and definitely see the potential in the smaller attachment for that.

Resume booster?

2010-07-31T20:05:00.004-04:00

If you have any questions about puppet management and creation, you can ask me.

I am now certified in the subject — after last week's ten-hour course.

This month is month of the arts in Ecuador. This means that there are a bunch of programs going on throughout the country to promote the arts - in a variety of forms.

So a troupe came through town last week promoting, promoting puppets made out of recycled materials. I thought this sounded interesting. Plus, I'll take any opportunity to receive further certification (This will go on my resume between handwashing and beekeeping).

The training was free and open to the public, so you got a variety of age groups. There was some younger kids, a few high schoolers, some school teachers, and a couple of Peace Corps Volunteers.

The entire week build up to each partificpant performing on the final day of the workshop.

After the first day was spent getting to know a bit about puppets, we devoted the second day to collecting reusable materials that we would use to make our puppets. On the third day, the instructors divided us into groups of three. We each chose a fable to perform on the last day. My group chose "The Lion and the Rat."

I wasn't very familiar with this story, so I had to do some independent research on the subject. To make a short story shorter: A rat wakes up a sleeping lion in the jungle. The lion is angry and threatens to eat the rat. The rat pleas for forgiveness, saying that one day he will help the lion out. A few days later, the lion is trapped by hunters, and the rat helps the lion out of the predicament.

It was my job to make the rat. We spent the next few days making our pieces. My rat was made out of a can of garbanzo beans, the top of a 20 oz. bottle, an eight of clubs playing card, two pieces of paper, broom bristles, and some carpet. I named him Fausto, because I thought he looks like a Fausto.

(If you buy ten sticks of hot glue gun glue, they give you a ridiculous hat.)

Friday was the big day. And I was kind of nervous because I hadn't performed since I appeared as the Chinese immigrant in "Anything Goes" in tenth grade. But it all turned out well.

I just remembered what the professor had been telling us:

• Remember that your character has to walk onto the stage. He just can't appear out of nowhere.
• Only the birds and insects can fly, everybody else has to walk along the top of the curtain.
• Don't take your eyes off you puppet. If you take your eyes off your puppet, you lose focus.
• Many of the items that we think are garbage can be used to make rats. (This is true because if you leave food scraps lying around the house.....)

And because of that, I'm now certified.

(You wonder why there haven't been blogs lately? I've been too busy playing with puppets.)

Fridge fixed

2010-07-18T21:31:00.004-04:00

When I left off, the refrigerator repair had finally shown up at my house - just seven hours late.

He said that it wasn't my fault that my fridge broke. It was because, in Ecuador, electicity can very unreliable and often comes and goes as it pleases. These surges of energy are not very good for refrigerators.

Luckily, my refrigerator guy knows how to fix this problem. He looked around my kitchen and saw the gas tank I use for my stove. He asked if I would let him use the tank. I had no idea why but, sure, as long as it's in the name of fixing my fridge.

He runs out to his car to get some tool, chief among them was a blow torch. He hooked up the torch to my gas tank and started welding (soldar).

He got about fifteen minutes into fixing my fridge when he reconnected my gas tank to my stove and started packing up his stuff.

Ian: Is my fridge fixed? That was fast.
Repair man: Not yet. It's getting late. I'll come back tomorrow.

Keep in mind that he showed up at 4:00 in the afternoon when he said he would be at my house at 9:00.

The next day, he showed up on time and worked throughout the morning. When I came back to my house for lunch, he was still there but the fridge was starting to cool down.

He came back later in the afternoon to make sure everything was still working. Success.

Of any week for my fridge to stop working, this was probably one of the worst ones. On Friday, I had made mass quantities of food for shabbat dinner, assuming the the majority could be stored away in my fridge and heated up in my over for meals throughout the week. I figured that I could eat three meals of leftovers per day until Wednesday, at least.

That was the plan until Saturday morning when I went into the fridge to finish the previous night's dessert crisp and discovered it was room temperature. Thankfully, my neighbor's let me store my food in their fridge for the week.

Unfortunately, the schools were on vacation, and my neighbor's took advantage of the time off to travel a little bit with their kids, as opposed to their "home all day" schedule when there are classes.

I adjusted to this uncertainty by always having some food on hand to make an easy meal, just in case they weren't home. Obviously, it wasn't as easy as reheating leftovers.

Losing the waiting game

2010-07-14T21:17:00.001-04:00

My fridge broke, again. This time, it wasn't my fault.

The wires that connect my house with my kitchen were in rough condition and finally bit the dust. The electrician came by and repaired the power issue. But another one remained.

My refrigerator did not take well to the comings and goings of electricity and decided to shut down.

The fridge made this decision at some point on Friday night, and I realized Saturday morning. I stored all my refrigerated foods at my neighbor's house and set out in search of the repairman.

One man in town has a reputation for being the only capable technician in town. He fixed up my fridge last time it stopped being cold, and I trust his work.

After three days of trying to find him, I finally caught up with him on Monday at lunch. He told me that he'd stop by later in the afternoon. He came into my house without any tools. He scoped around for 15 minutes, whistling a song the entire time. He said he had identified the problem and that he would come back on Wednesday morning at 9:00 a.m. to fix the problem.

I was waiting for him at 9:00 a.m. He never showed. I gave him the hora ecuatoriana. Still no sign.

In the States, you give a cable guy a three-hour time window to come by your house. Translating that into Ecuadorian time, that means he might show up in the next week. Luckily, I had something that cable and utilities companies would never give you - the man's home address.

So I decided to track him down and see why he didn't show up. I was talking to a fellow volunteer, Laurel, and she said that if I followed a repair guy to his house "in the US that might get you a restraining order."

Here, it's what I like to call accountability and the only way to get stuff done.

I posted a note on my door to the technician and headed to his house. An elderly woman answered the door.

Ian: I'm looking for the refrigerator repair guy.
Elderly woman: He's not home.
Ian: He told me he would be at my house at 9:00, but he hasn't showed up yet.
Elderly woman: (Laughing) He's so unreliable.
Ian: Does he have a phone number?
Elderly woman: We can't trust him with a phone. He loses everything.
Ian: Do you think he'll show up this morning?
Elderly woman: He might. Wait at your house all morning.
Ian: If he doesn't show up this morning, I'll come back here during lunch.

I went back home. I had so much to do around the house (e.g. laundry, clean the kitchen), but I couldn't do any of it because I wouldn't be within earshot of the door. I split time between a few episodes of Seinfeld, a few chapters of my book, and reheating some food that I had stored in my neighbor's fridge.

As soon as standard lunchtime struck, I was at his front door. He told me that he had forgotten and that he'd be at my house at 4:00 p.m.

He was there at 4:05, only seven hours late.

"Good" music

2010-07-12T18:29:00.003-04:00

When the newspaper kids come to my house to learn how to use Photoshop and InDesign, they also if I have music on my computer. I open up iTunes, and they tell me that I don't have any "good" music.

Now, the newspaper kids and I have different understandings of what makes music good. My preferred music probably wouldn't be well-received at a discotec, whereas that's pretty much all the youth want.

After the "you don't have any good music" bit played out a few times, I asked them to make me a list of music that they would like to listen to when they are at my house so I could get what they want. I now have over 150 bachata songs, 175 reggaeton songs, 74 baladas de amor, and a good variety of other genres they enjoy (cumbia, vallenato, salsa, pop, etc).

By now, pretty much every kid who uses the computer is satisfied with the music selection. My iTunes collection is constantly changing. If the kids want to listen to a song, I want to make them happy so they continue learning how to use the programs.

Two days ago one of the kids came by with a few suggestions on how I could improve my iTunes library.

One of the songs he suggested was "El Dengue" by DJ Loko.

I had never heard of this song before, but having overcome El Dengue, I wanted to know what DJ Loko felt dengue sounded like.

The song does a nice job of expressing the ups and downs of the dengue. Its intermittent use of horns to show the intense headaches followed a brief lull to express how the disease hits use in waves.

If I were to critique the song, I would say that it doesn't really do an accurate job of representing the "everything tastes like chalk" aspect of the sickness or the "I feel as if I was just run over by a tractor" side of things.

While I don't know how that would be done musically, I know that DJ Loko's production is not it. But then again, if you were to accurately portray that in music, I don't think anybody would want to listen.

The dangers of working with cactuses

2010-07-08T21:43:00.004-04:00

I spent this morning chopping off branches of cactus plants for a living fence we are building.

A word of caution when working with cacti: Always be aware of the spikes on the cactus, but don't forget about other risks. I learned that one the hard way.

The idea of a living fence is to make a barrier out of plants that people or animals wouldn't want to cross. We are making one of these in town and decided to make it out of cactus.

• It is a local species, so it would not be out of place in the botanical garden.
• Cactus has prickly things that hurt when you touch them.
• They are adapted to the dry season. You can plant them in the dry season, and they will you flourish.
• They are remarkably easy to reproduce.

The easiest way to propagate cactus is by chopping off a chunk of an existing cactus plant and planting that chunk in the ground. Unbelievably simple. Although I'm not sure if it works with all cactus species, it does with the local variety.

The first step was finding someone who had enough cactus on their property that wouldn't mind letting the us prune their plants for seedlings. One of my coworkers said that his neighbor, who lives on some hilly property near the river, has cactus coming out of his ears.

I went down there this morning with my machete to check it out. It didn't help that it rained last night, making the slope heading down toward the river. But I was wearing my work clothes and gardening gloves, so I didn't really care if I fell going down the hill, which happened repeatedly.

I spent a couple of hours chopping down cactus branches and putting them into a pile. It was a lot of fun. The cacti are on the side of a hill, and I had to crawl around the ground to get in better cactus-chopping position. I didn't get pricked because I have cat-like speed and reflexes and was wearing gloves.

Most of the cactus pieces that I took were ones that were lying on the ground and had already fallen off the plants. Well, little did I realize, cactus pieces weren't the only think lying around down there...

Apparently, my cactus seed search had bothered some hornets/wasps. They felt as if I had invaded their territory, which I probably did, and decided to go after my left elbow.

I couldn't really move very quickly because I was crawling underneath a bunch of cactus plants, and any miscalculated movement meant more stinging pain. I maintained my composure as much as I could and rolled to safety. I think I sustained about six stings on my elbow/upper arm (no cool swelling pictures because it didn't really swell up).

I regrouped and finished collecting cactus and lugging it up the hill. And my arm was sore for the rest of the afternoon and had a bit of a burning sensation, as if I had spent the entire day working with hot peppers, but nothing too serious.

But I just want this to be a warning that just because you have mitigated the effects of the cactus spikes that doesn't mean you eliminated all the risks.

Multipurpose rock

2010-07-04T20:13:00.005-04:00

I wash my laundry on a concrete slab behind my house.

It has a faucet, drain, and flat surface where I can scrub my clothes.

All along I had been calling this a laundry rock.

I was wrong.

Last week, I was finishing my breakfast one morning when I heard a bird chirping. How pleasant, I thought. The birds had come to feast on the bread crumbs my landlord's wife leaves out every morning.

I heard the chirping again and noticed that it wasn't coming from my landlord's window. It was coming from my laundry rock.

I went to check what was going on. My neighbors were crowding around the laundry rock, holding a chicken in their hands.

Then, suddenly, no more chirping. Just blood dripping down the surface I wash my clothes on.

I had to run out the door, so I couldn't watch the clean-up effort or ask my neighbors any questions at the time. (And it's probably better that way)

This allowed me to reflect about what I had just witnessed and how I was going to handle my laundry situation going forward.

The whole chicken being killed thing isn't a big deal to me. The fact that they decided to perform the act where I wash my dirty underwear and socks made me think.

First off, who would kill a chicken where somebody puts their filthy clothes? Then I thought about some of the sanitary conditions of the local butcher shop and realized that my neighbor's set up was probably cleaner.

Then I considered whether this act would have any effect on how I do laundry for the remainder of my service. I don't think it will.

Any effort that I put into doing laundry is more about effort than results. I'm not exactly sure how much cleaner or less smelly my clothes are getting, but what matters is that I'm trying (and listening to some good podcasts). So a little diluted chicken blood on the drain? No pasa nada. Also, both of my neighbors have since done laundry on the same rock.

I asked a few other volunteers about what they would do in such a situation. And, unsurprisingly, my case is not unique. A couple of my friends recalled having their laundry rocks being used for dinner killing. Plus, I figure I encounter enough hazards that I really don't need to worry about traces of chicken blood on a surface that is exposed to quite a bit of soap and soapy water.

So I'm just going to move forward here and treat it as a learning experience - mostly opening my eyes to the possibilities of what I can do with that multipurpose rock.

Does anyone know a shokhet?

Is that a good idea?

2010-06-28T21:22:00.005-04:00

Like any kids, my neighbors love playing.

Any time they are not in school, it seems, is spent playing outside of my door. That's how it should be. But their activity of choice is always changing.

When I first moved in to my apartment, their favorite game was a modified version of soccer (Bonus points for knocking over Ian's plants). The only losers in this game were my plants, which didn't survive the first two weeks.

Then they got into a game called seven lives (kind of a mixture between pickle and dodgeball).

Then, as tryouts for the citywide team approached, the older kids started practicing basketball on the narrow strip of concrete in front of my house.

After basketball tryouts, spinning tops became all the rage. Until last week...

I was walking back to my house when I noticed the kids playing on the street. I said hi to them like I always do and noticed that they were playing with a rope.

This was weird, I thought, I had never seen them playing with a rope before.

They had thrown this rope over the power line that leads to my house and started tugging on the two ends. (Acceptable to use "no pasa nada" here)

They were pulling very tight on the line, and I'm pretty sure they were pulling dangerously hard. I told them to stop because they might hurt themselves (and I might lose power). They dropped the rope as I walked away.

It was unclear if they picked them up again once I left.

How I coped with the U.S. losing

2010-06-26T21:53:00.003-04:00

The U.S. World Cup run has been a lot of fun.

Their games weren't that pretty, but they were among the most exciting of the World Cup. Whether it be the gift goal against England, the comeback and blown calls against Slovenia or the drama against Algeria, the American team's performance has been conversation-worthy to say the least.

Although Ecuador did not qualify for the World Cup, the entire country is still living and dying with each game. More than everything, they like to talk about whatever games or teams they find the most interesting.

So even though the U.S. didn't play as well as some of the other teams, they were a frequent topic of conversation because of how their games played out. Whereas Holland might have played as well as any team in the tournament so far, their games haven't been quite as riveting as U.S.-Slovenia.

With today's loss to Ghana, the U.S. is done in South Africa. Like any American soccer fan, I was a little dejected this afternoon, despite being proud of how they represented the red, white, and blue.

But that dejection didn't last very long.

Immediately after the U.S. game ended, I headed over to the soccer stadium for Condor's match against Rio Amarillo. I know that I haven't blogged much about Condor lately. That's because nothing has really changed.

The team has lost every game for the last two months. They are far and away the worst team in the league, and attending their games has begun to remind me of when I covered Michigan's women's basketball team for the Daily. Condor hasn't been competitive for over a month - three 4-1 losses.

But I continue to go to the games to support the local team and help the AREvista sports writer. Today's game felt like it was going to be more of the same.

Condor played uninspired for the first 20 minutes against the best team in the league. It gave up a weak goal and looked completely disenchanted.

Slowly, the tide began to turn. Suddenly, Condor began connecting on some long passes and found itself in open space.

In the second half, Cesar Cordoba broke free down the right sideline and fired a shot from 20 yards out that flew over the goalie's right shoulder and into the top left portion of the net.

GOLAZO!

Some called it Condor's nicest goal of the season. The game was tied up. The few fans who showed up came alive. And even though the opposition kept making changes to find a way to find the net, it couldn't get anything going.

Condor couldn't break the tie, either. So the teams ended the match knotted up, 1-1. This was the first time the team had not lost in over two months. The team had no chance of advancing to the next stage. They were fighting for honor as much as they were fighting for the win.

And after watching the Americans come up short against Ghana, it felt good to see Condor lay it all on the line and salvage their first points in the league.

Not that bottle

2010-06-24T21:16:00.003-04:00

Home-brewed alcohol is very common in Ecuador. On the coast, it is typically made of sugar cane and sold in a variety of glass bottles on the side of the road.

Now, because these are not operations in which appearance matters, the brewers will just put their moonshine in whatever glass or plastic bottle they can find. Then they move their table out to the street and open up shop.

So you'll find all classes of bottles - Gatorade, water, whiskey, pop, etc.

One of my coworkers said she accidentally left a bottle lying around the house. It was in a Gatorade bottle.

Well, her four-year old found the bottle and thought it was Gatorade. And well....

Luckily, she noticed this mix-up before anything went terribly wrong.

(Speechless)

2010-06-22T21:17:00.002-04:00

I'm sitting in my apartment the other day when I overhear the following exchange.

Landlord: Are you pregnant or just really fat?
Prospective tenant: I'm just really fat.

Amazingly, the conversation continued afterward. There was no yelling, no violence, no questioning how someone could be so rude. They continued talking as if he had asked her what she ate for lunch.

I have spent the last day trying to imagine what would happen if that question were asked in the United States. I couldn't even fathom a response because I couldn't really imagine the possibility of it even happening.

I shall use it in gezunterheyt

2010-06-21T20:30:00.000-04:00

So I bought a machete the other day.

I think we have a bright future together, as long as I follow the instructions that come on the handle.

Do no use the blade of the machete for leverage or as a hammer.
Do not use the machete as a tool to cleave.
Use the machete with movement away, moving away from you and others.
Do not use the machete when you are on an unstable surface.
Do not use the machete near cables or electrical equipment.

If anyone else in Arenillas knew that I was talking about a machete purchase like it was a big deal, they would laugh in my face. But coming from a culture where the machete is so underappreciated and underutilized, I think this is an acceptable reaction.

The only question is why it took me so long to bite the bullet. I'm starting a compost pile up. Chopping up into small pieces is one of the most important things to do with any compost pile. Also, I want to be able to chop it up whenever I want. (You never know when the craving [antojarse] to "machetear" [to use a machete] comes. And whenever it does arise, you definitely want to quench [aplacar] it.)

I purchased the Bellota 191, 24-inch machete. Insert Tim Taylor grunting. (Does Binford manufacture machetes?)

It's not like I had much choice in the matter. I walked into the hardware store and said I needed a machete. I was pointed to a wall full of Bellota 191. Since machete technology doesn't change very rapidly, I don't think it really matters.

Film review: Captain Pantoja and the Special Services

2010-06-19T20:52:00.000-04:00

I have logged hundreds of hours on South American buses.

I have lived in Ecuador for over a year now. Before Peace Corps, I bused from Quito to Rio de Janeiro.

On these long bus rides, the bus company will normally show a movie - and put the volume up very high so there is no chance of doing anything else but pay attention. In all of this time spent on buses, I have seen a variety of films. There has been plenty of Van Damme, Stallone, Cage, WWE-sponsored action films, Anaconda, bad comedies, and 2012.

But on my way back from my midservice conference last week, I saw something that I had never seen on a South American bus before — a movie that was originally made in Spanish.

We were about half an hour out of Quito when the ayudante (bus attendant) turned on the TV. I couldn't believe it at first. I sent text messages to a bunch of volunteers.

This would have been enough to get a passing reference on the blog, but then the movie continued.

For the next couple of hours, I would have the pleasure of watching Pantaleón y las visitadoras. It was among most ridiculous films I have ever seen.

The Peruvian-made movie is about a very competent Peruvian army officer whose given the task of devising a task to satisfy the soldiers stationed deep in the jungle. He forms a corps of prostitutes who travel by boat and visit the various remote outposts. The officer is very organized and professional, and his organization reflects this. The group operates very smoothly, and he is rewarded for his work.

On the home front, he has a loving family, and a pregnant wife. He hides the nature of his "mission" from his wife. Things run awry when the soldier falls in love with one of the women in the corps, and the jungle radio station starts talking about how the Peruvian army is supporting such an operation.

It appears that Pantaleon has to make a decision between his wife and his lover. Will Pantaleon stay with his wife or stay with amante?t a

The ending is just as ridiculous as the plot line.

According to imdb, this is supposed to be a comedy. I didn't find it that funny. Maybe I didn't pick up on satire or sarcasm. Maybe I was so blown away by a movie that was a originally made in Spanish that I couldn't think straight. Based on my experiences this last year, I thought it was a decent social critique.

World Cup fever

2010-06-18T13:10:00.000-04:00

My neighbors burn their garbage.

The fumes of these bonfires waft into my kitchen.

I know it's bad. I have told them as much - repeatedly.

But there is some communication and cultural gap that I'm having trouble bridging. It might have something to do with the unreliability of the municipal garbage truck (something I can attest to because I work in that office. It could have to do with some pyromaniacal tendencies (something I can't relate to because I was afraid of fire until the age of 20).

Either way, the trash keeps on burning.

Last night, they had a raging garbage fire going - probably one of the biggest since I moved it. Everything was normal until I saw my little neighbor (probably about seven) come outside kicking a plastic water bottle.

He is kicking the bottle around the backyard until he stops in front of the garbage fire. He sets up like he is taking a free kick and boots the bottle into the flames. Then he celebrates as if he just scored a World Cup goal as he watches the bottle melt in the fire, breathing in the sweet smell of victory and toxic fumes.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLL!

Stool Sample

2010-06-16T20:26:00.002-04:00

Last week, I had my midservice conference.

Aside from catching up with all the other volunteers from my program and seeing them all for the first time since the swearing-in ceremony, there was one primary topic of conversation.

Part of the midservice conference involves a midservice medical exam. Part of said medical exam involves giving a stool sample.

They use the stool sample to check whether a volunteer has parasites, amoebas, and/or other interesting digestive situations. In order to give an adequate sample, one must place a turd in small, blue canister. The canister is about half full with a preservative solution and also contains a small shovel.

Several of the other volunteers have had some digestive issues throughout their first year of service and have some experience collective their poop for examination. Others, like me, were doing it for the first time.

Upon asking around, I heard quite a few different strategies that were adopted by my fellow volunteers.

Now, I understand the some people might not want to read all the how-to details involved in giving a testable sample. I have prepared a guide based on conversations with other volunteers. If this is something you are interested in reading, you can send me an email (ian.jacob.robinson@gmail.com).

But just so you know, my test came back clean.

No parasites. Giddy up!

A full day's work

2010-06-12T21:49:00.004-04:00

I had a long day today.

I rolled out of bed at 6:15 and headed over to my friend's house to prepare for the day's labor.

I sat down on his couch, turned on the TV, and clocked into my "office" for the day. Today, I turned in a March Madness-esque day of worshiping soccer. I watched five games, on three completely different levels of competition.

The day started early at my friend's house with Greece-South Korea. At first, I was alone on the couch but twenty minutes into the game, his nine year-old son woke up and joined me.

I didn't really have a rooting interest in the game, but we decided to pull for Korea because my friend thought the country's name was very close to that of the President of Ecuador (Korea vs. Correa). That, and it would have made for a tough start to the day pulling for a team that played as poorly as Greece.

With the first game out of the way, our next course was Argentina vs. Nigeria. From what I have heard, in the Ecuador's absence from the World Cup, everybody has decided to cheer for every other Latin American country.

So there is an obvious attraction to Argentina. Plus, there is Lionel Messi - the Argentine star and one of the best players in the world. But the biggest intrigue about Argentina, and the reason most were interested in watching is the coach - Diego Maradona.

Maradona is considered one of the greatest soccer players ever. He received the undying affection of every Spanish-speaking soccer fan in South America by carrying Argentina to the 1986 World Cup championship. Since his playing days though, he has done everything possible to ruin that reputation (Cocaine addiction, alcoholism, obesity, financial troubles). He really likes media attention.

He's not my kind of player.

I asked my my little buddy if he wanted Argentina or Nigeria. He said he wanted to wait until the teams came out of the tunnel and could choose which color he liked the most. He preferred the white/light blue uniforms of Argentina more than the greens of Nigeria. And since Argentina was the first country I ever visited in South America, I have no trouble rooting for them on occasion. And even though Argentina showed some cracks, it won 1-0. (Plus, I always like to see the African teams do well, especially on African soil. Except Algeria against the US, of course.)

Then I had a lunch break before the day's biggest game - US-England. I got together with a few other volunteers and some Ecuadorian friends at a local restaurant that has a relatively large screen.

When else will I have the opportunity to drape myself in an American flag and not be horribly awkward?

We were all happy enough with the game's outcome, though my heart could have gone without so many defensive lapses. Thank you, Tim Howard.

Then I headed over to the stadium for Condor's game. I had missed one Condor game, and it felt like an entirely different team. In the game that I missed, Condor lost 4-1 on the road, meaning that it had lost the first four games of the tournament. It was the only team in the league without a single result. I guess the fans finally caught on that this team was not very good.

In the last game I attended, I would say nearly a thousand people showed up. This afternoon barely saw a hundred people at the stadium. And Condor came out with the same enthusiasm.

The game briefly became interesting when Condor tied it up in the second half but almost immediately allowed the tiebreaker. The team has cut a few players because they just don't have the budget anymore and had to cut their newly hired coach as well.

Then, I went home for a bit and caught the final part of my quintuple header: Emelec-Barcelona. These are the two teams from Guayaquil, and it is called a "classico" because the rivalry is so intense. Emelec won, 2-1.

And that capped my day.

Now, I have to get some sleep before I repeat the same schedule tomorrow.

Fotos de mis padres

2010-06-06T17:14:00.005-04:00

I know you really don't want to read text. You would probably rather be looking at pictures of my parent's visit. So I'll stop typing and let you look.

Together in Cuenca.

Shabbat in Cuenca.

Cheering on Club Condor. Even their presence couldn't get them in the victory column.

My parents embracing bag culture.

The best ten cents you can spend.

The mosquito net fell down in the middle of the night, but it was still on top of them so the mosquitoes never got in.

Helping take the recyclables out of the elementary school.

Mom getting out of out "taxi".

Cotopaxi is the world's highest active volcano.