As I mentioned in my previous fiesta-related post, every town/neighborhood has its annual fiestas. They typically coincide with the date of the town/neighborhoods was founded.
For example, the biggest fiestas in my city are November 11 because that is the day my city officially became a city.
Well, the previous fiestas I attended were in the campo. I had yet to attend a fiesta (I repeat fiesta over and over instead of writing parties because fiesta encompasses so much more). That is, until a couple of weeks ago.
Here is a bullet-riddled post of my observations from these fiestas (There has to be a better phrase than bullet-riddled, but I’m not sure that is a more hilarious one).
• Pageantry – If there is one thing that Ecuador and college football have in common, it would be pageantry. If there is another thing, it would be a love of beer. But back to the pageantry.
In the fiestas for this neighborhood, they held three beauty pageants: one to select the reina (queen); one to select the mini reina (mini queen); and one to select Señora Bonita (beauty pageant for the mothers).
And these pageants occupy the majority of the program. The program started at 9:30, and the entire program revolved around giving the beauty queen contestants time to change. If they needed time to change, they would simply throw in a musical act.
Keep in mind that the girls in the beauty pageant are about fifteen years old. So watching the men stare at the contestants when they do the bathing suit contest is, well, uncomfortable. Cultural difference, I guess.
• I’m a security guard at heart – The president of the community told me to get to the fiestas around 8:00 because they wanted to start on time. Thinking that he actually intended to start the fiestas at 8:00, I showed up at 8:00. Well, they didn’t get underway until 9:20.
To occupy myself in this awkward window, I started shmoozing it up with the community security guards who stood around the soccer field to maintain order. There was some great conversation about what they were doing, what I was doing, and what it takes to be a security guard at neighborhood fiestas (very little).
I was able to rely on my experience as an usher at Comerica Park to chat it up with these guys. Although I worked the 2006 World Series, you have no idea what a high-pressure situation is until you are an Ecuadorian security guard put in charge of guarding the beer cooler.
• Thanks, again – Every time a new person came on stage to present or speak or sing or dance or prance, they began by thanking the neighborhood. Then they gave out individual shout outs: thanking the mayor, the city councilmen, the former beauty queens, etc., for their attendance.
The first time I heard this I thought it was nice that they appreciated that these people would use their time to attend these fiestas. But after every single person on the program thanked the same eight people, it became a bit repetitive and, dare I say, disingenuous.
• “Thank you, Prima— I mean La Libertad” – Well, the woman who they brought in to sing a few songs in between beauty pageant sections came on stage and thanked the neighborhood for giving her this opportunity to perform.
The only problem was that she thanked the wrong neighborhood. She tried to correct herself, but everybody realized what happened.
• Does he also do bar mitzvahs? – One of the highlights of the evening was when the neighborhood brought in a singer from the neighboring town to sing a few love ballads (They love their love ballads down here).
So the guy steps on stage and takes the mike. Before continuing with his set, he gives out his phone number if anyone is interested in hiring him for future events, clarifying his cell provider. Keep in mind that no one has heard him sing, yet. So how would they know whether they would like to hire him for their special event if they’ve never heard him before?
Also, if I am going to pay someone for an evening of work, the difference of ten cents in cell phone charges between should be insignificant.
After his set, he gave out the information again.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Guest Bloggers: The Brothers Share Pictures
Guys changing a tire on our bus on the way to the Oriente.
Cuenca is famous for its Panama hats.
Ruby looks nice in the Panama bonnet, I mean Panama hat.
The Brothers Robinson discover the hilarious flora of dry tropical forests.
The people might not be that tall, but their banana leaves are.
Profesor Robinson.
Who is the guy on the far right?
Before Cajas hike. Does anybody understand that map?
Papaya Face Robinson
Machetero Verdadero. He even peels his fruit with a machete.
Pruning cacao trees. Ian is wearing a ridiculous hat.
Yanking yucca
Touring the jungle farm
Our amigo planting the coco plants we brought him
Ian loves dog testicles
From left to right: Pygmy green plums, pygmy red plums, pepino melon, granadilla, chirimoya, babaco
Cuenca fruit market or, as Ian likes to call it, heaven
We blue-screened the whole thing. The wonders of technology. No really, this is Cajas.
Guest Bloggers: The Brothers and the naked Indian
Where did we leave off ... ahh yes, saying adíos in Cuenca. We boarded a 12:30 bus to the Oriente (the jungle!). For the next five and half hours, we switchbacked across, bumped along, and basically hugged a mountain road until we reached the end of a valley. Whew! This included some beautiful scenery, from 1,000 m grass- and jungle-covered cliff faces mere inches from the road to a tunnel cut straight through the mountain (only wide enough for one vehicle at a time). At the bottom of the valley, we continued up between the two rivers for another hour and change until we reached another Peace Corps member's site.
We hopped off the bus in a little jungle village (just one store) and proceeded to meet (for us) or reunite (for Yoni) the PCV (Peace Corp Vounteer) there. After some quick introductions to the youth sitting outside the PCV's house, Yoni began his consultation work right away for the newspaper that the kids had recently started. From article ideas and layout to selling strategies and goals, the youth questioned the newspaperman. And the newspaperman replied with wisdom from his many years of experience. Afterward, we ate a quick dinner of quinoa, eggs, and papa chinos and passed out.
The next morning, we got a tour of the PCV's personal gardens. This included trying a new fruit, huevos de perro (dog balls). Delicious. Imagine a prickly-fuzzy, sweet, but citrus-flavored tomato the size of a golf ball. Apparently, only the PCV, us, and the shuar (local indigenous tribe) eat these.
Speaking of shuar, the PCV asked who went to the bathroom at 6:30. Ruby did. The PCV said that it was a good thing he didn't bump into his shuar neighbor, who showers naked in plain view of the kitchen with his chicha bowl at that hour. That would have been a little awkward, but a real welcome to the jungle.
Afterward, we took the coconut plants that we had been carrying since Friday to be planted at the PCV's host family. Since the PCV's arrival, the host family has basically converted its entire forty-plus acre papaya, cacao, and yucca plantation to organics ... natural fertilizer, companion planting, greenhouse, organic insect repellents, etc. We helped plant the coconuts and then went on a working and walking tour of the plantation.
(Side note: Ian has decided that whenever he is traveling in Ecuador, he is going to carry large plants with him. They make a great conversation starter. Oddly enough, no one asks you anything if you take a chicken or turkey on the bus.)
We learned how to prune branches for ease of harvesting, how to pop papayas off trees and catch — all with one hand, how the yucca grows and can easily be planted (just cut off a branch and stick it under the soil), how cacao beans are readied for market, and lots more. After some shmoozing and sugar cane-munching, we had a delicious, organic, and completely local (from that one farm) vegetarian lunch with the PCV's host family. The local specialty that highlighted the meal were muchillos, essentially a yucca latke filled with cheese and dipped in sugar cane syrup or salt. In Ecuadorian culture, it is disrespectful to turn down food, but his host mom just kept bringing more muchillos.
We needed a long walk after lunch to digest so we explored the rest of the village, including some of the 700 hectares of papaya and yucca plantations there. Along the road, we stopped at a large aquaculture operation that raises tilapia in the jungle. In fact, the owner of this now-large enterprise that also includes swimming pools and zoo, learned aquaculture from two PCVs in a neighboring village in the late 1980s.
We had a brief siesta so as to be ready for the evening's main event and possibly the most-hyped athletic event in town history: gringos v. the village in basketball. To give you a sense of the height differential, think of Space Jam with us being the Monstars. We Globetrotted our way through the game, just to keep it close. Everyone had a great time. At one point, it was nine on four. One of the highlights included Avery rejecting the PCV's host mom. Everyone just stopped and laughed. It should be noted that in Ecuador, basketball is more of a women's sport and volleyball, a men's sport.
After the game, the PCV made spaghetti with fresh marinara sauce from his garden. We followed that with a giant papaya for dessert (see photo to follow).
The next morning, we explored the neighboring village to get another perspective on jungle life and hopped on a bus to begin our fourteen-hour journey back to Yoni's town. We took a slightly different, but equally harrowing, route up the mountainside, mostly along a jungle- and cloud-covered, gravelly (sp?) one-and-a-half lane highway. By midnight, we were back in Yoni's town and exhausted.
We hopped off the bus in a little jungle village (just one store) and proceeded to meet (for us) or reunite (for Yoni) the PCV (Peace Corp Vounteer) there. After some quick introductions to the youth sitting outside the PCV's house, Yoni began his consultation work right away for the newspaper that the kids had recently started. From article ideas and layout to selling strategies and goals, the youth questioned the newspaperman. And the newspaperman replied with wisdom from his many years of experience. Afterward, we ate a quick dinner of quinoa, eggs, and papa chinos and passed out.
The next morning, we got a tour of the PCV's personal gardens. This included trying a new fruit, huevos de perro (dog balls). Delicious. Imagine a prickly-fuzzy, sweet, but citrus-flavored tomato the size of a golf ball. Apparently, only the PCV, us, and the shuar (local indigenous tribe) eat these.
Speaking of shuar, the PCV asked who went to the bathroom at 6:30. Ruby did. The PCV said that it was a good thing he didn't bump into his shuar neighbor, who showers naked in plain view of the kitchen with his chicha bowl at that hour. That would have been a little awkward, but a real welcome to the jungle.
Afterward, we took the coconut plants that we had been carrying since Friday to be planted at the PCV's host family. Since the PCV's arrival, the host family has basically converted its entire forty-plus acre papaya, cacao, and yucca plantation to organics ... natural fertilizer, companion planting, greenhouse, organic insect repellents, etc. We helped plant the coconuts and then went on a working and walking tour of the plantation.
(Side note: Ian has decided that whenever he is traveling in Ecuador, he is going to carry large plants with him. They make a great conversation starter. Oddly enough, no one asks you anything if you take a chicken or turkey on the bus.)
We learned how to prune branches for ease of harvesting, how to pop papayas off trees and catch — all with one hand, how the yucca grows and can easily be planted (just cut off a branch and stick it under the soil), how cacao beans are readied for market, and lots more. After some shmoozing and sugar cane-munching, we had a delicious, organic, and completely local (from that one farm) vegetarian lunch with the PCV's host family. The local specialty that highlighted the meal were muchillos, essentially a yucca latke filled with cheese and dipped in sugar cane syrup or salt. In Ecuadorian culture, it is disrespectful to turn down food, but his host mom just kept bringing more muchillos.
We needed a long walk after lunch to digest so we explored the rest of the village, including some of the 700 hectares of papaya and yucca plantations there. Along the road, we stopped at a large aquaculture operation that raises tilapia in the jungle. In fact, the owner of this now-large enterprise that also includes swimming pools and zoo, learned aquaculture from two PCVs in a neighboring village in the late 1980s.
We had a brief siesta so as to be ready for the evening's main event and possibly the most-hyped athletic event in town history: gringos v. the village in basketball. To give you a sense of the height differential, think of Space Jam with us being the Monstars. We Globetrotted our way through the game, just to keep it close. Everyone had a great time. At one point, it was nine on four. One of the highlights included Avery rejecting the PCV's host mom. Everyone just stopped and laughed. It should be noted that in Ecuador, basketball is more of a women's sport and volleyball, a men's sport.
After the game, the PCV made spaghetti with fresh marinara sauce from his garden. We followed that with a giant papaya for dessert (see photo to follow).
The next morning, we explored the neighboring village to get another perspective on jungle life and hopped on a bus to begin our fourteen-hour journey back to Yoni's town. We took a slightly different, but equally harrowing, route up the mountainside, mostly along a jungle- and cloud-covered, gravelly (sp?) one-and-a-half lane highway. By midnight, we were back in Yoni's town and exhausted.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Guest Bloggers: The Brothers Encuentra Cuenca
We planned on Ian´s Machala Reality Tour (mail box, DVD store, juice guy, veggie restaurant that serves chicken) to occupy us Friday afternoon. But the bus to Cuenca was boarding as soon as we arrived. Figuring that it would be nice to see the countryside, we bought a few mandarinas and jumped aboard.
Well, that was a good decision.
In the course of three hours, we passed through banana plantations, lush cloud forest, barren mountains, fertile valleys, and pine tree-covered mountains. And we went from sea level to 10,000 feet. Doing all of this while watching the WWE-produced (classic?) The Condemned, starring Steve Austin and company.
We rolled into Cuenca at dusk and quickly headed to our hostel. We dropped our stuff and ate dinner at a local vegetarian restaurant. Great deal and delicious food. This restaurant does not serve chicken.
The next morning, we woke up, picked up some bread for the road, and took a bus to Cajas National Park, which is half an hour outside of Cuenca on the road to Guayaquil. Like any national park, they charge an entrance fee. For Ecuadorians and residents (like Yoni), it costs $1.50 to access the park. For foreigners, it costs $10.00. We weren´t given any maps, and the signs on the first trail we tried led us back to the highway.
We decided to go against the grain and do the exact opposite of what the arrows suggested. Using this strategy, we enjoyed a pleasant, two-and-a-half hour jaunt through the mountainside. Near the end of the path, we came upon four alpaca (Ruby still wants them to be emu and refuses to accept the reality). We did a loop around the laguna near the end of the trail and called it a day for hiking in the wilderness. This was probably a good idea since none of us were acclimated to any altitude above 500 feet, and we were planning on spending the afternoon exploring the hilly (and more than a mile high) city of Cuenca.
We took a bus back to Cuenca and began our search for lunch. Ian wanted to expose his brothers to some comida tipica (typical food) for the region and was set on finding a locro de papas (a potato soup that is often served with cheese and avocado). But after a half hour of searching, our bellies were still empty.
Enter desperation. Enter mercado food court.
Basically, we walked up the aisle of the food stands at the market for something that we could eat. After doing one sivvuv, we found a place offering fried fish. Thinking that whatever diarrhea-causing bacteria that was in the fish would be killed in the frying, we thought that would be a safe option (probably not the best logic, but to give away the end of the story, our stool is still solid).
Afterward we explored the market´s fruit section and picked out a selection of fun-sounding, hilarious-looking, and mostly delicious fruits. We mozied around historic Cuenca for the next two hours. Cuenca is considered a United Nations World Heritage Site because the majority of its colonial center is still intact. We explored this colonial center, marvelled at the churches and other architectural gems, and strolled along the river. We washed our fruit at the hostel and purchase a knife, with which to cut said fruit.
Then, we proceeded to taste the fruits. We understand that photos would really improve this section of the blog post, but you will have to wait for those. We sampled the granadilla, miniature plums, cucumber melon (or pepino, but not to be confused with the regular cucumber that one would find in the vegetable section), chirimoya, and babaco. Overall, we were very pleased.
After a brief siesta and internetting, we began our search for dinner. Thinking we passed a vegetarian Indian restaurant during our stroll, we tried to retrace our steps in search of it. No dice. It was probably closed.
We found a place that offered the traditional soup that Ian wanted us to try. So we went there for the first part of dinner and ate the soup. Everybody liked it.
For the second course, we went to another vegetarian restaurant and enjoyed a two-course meal. Another agreeable experience, which was capped by ice cream. Then we went back to hostel to pass out after our exhausting day.
This morning, we woke up at 7:00 to get a good jump on the day. But we realized that nobody else in all of Cuenca woke up, except to go to church, so we decided to shower. This was Ian´s first hot shower in three months. To quote him, ´´I didn´t want to leave.´´
Then we picked up a variety of breads for breakfast and went to the bus station to pick up tickets for our bus later in the day. Success, and Ian even bought us some humitas (which are warm, corn deliciousness).
We returned to downtown, picked up some fruit, and learned about Panama hats (the industry that Cuenca is famous for, along with ceramic tiles). And that wrapped up our trip to Cuenca.
Everybody enjoyed their experience. Gotta catch a bus. TTYL.
Well, that was a good decision.
In the course of three hours, we passed through banana plantations, lush cloud forest, barren mountains, fertile valleys, and pine tree-covered mountains. And we went from sea level to 10,000 feet. Doing all of this while watching the WWE-produced (classic?) The Condemned, starring Steve Austin and company.
We rolled into Cuenca at dusk and quickly headed to our hostel. We dropped our stuff and ate dinner at a local vegetarian restaurant. Great deal and delicious food. This restaurant does not serve chicken.
The next morning, we woke up, picked up some bread for the road, and took a bus to Cajas National Park, which is half an hour outside of Cuenca on the road to Guayaquil. Like any national park, they charge an entrance fee. For Ecuadorians and residents (like Yoni), it costs $1.50 to access the park. For foreigners, it costs $10.00. We weren´t given any maps, and the signs on the first trail we tried led us back to the highway.
We decided to go against the grain and do the exact opposite of what the arrows suggested. Using this strategy, we enjoyed a pleasant, two-and-a-half hour jaunt through the mountainside. Near the end of the path, we came upon four alpaca (Ruby still wants them to be emu and refuses to accept the reality). We did a loop around the laguna near the end of the trail and called it a day for hiking in the wilderness. This was probably a good idea since none of us were acclimated to any altitude above 500 feet, and we were planning on spending the afternoon exploring the hilly (and more than a mile high) city of Cuenca.
We took a bus back to Cuenca and began our search for lunch. Ian wanted to expose his brothers to some comida tipica (typical food) for the region and was set on finding a locro de papas (a potato soup that is often served with cheese and avocado). But after a half hour of searching, our bellies were still empty.
Enter desperation. Enter mercado food court.
Basically, we walked up the aisle of the food stands at the market for something that we could eat. After doing one sivvuv, we found a place offering fried fish. Thinking that whatever diarrhea-causing bacteria that was in the fish would be killed in the frying, we thought that would be a safe option (probably not the best logic, but to give away the end of the story, our stool is still solid).
Afterward we explored the market´s fruit section and picked out a selection of fun-sounding, hilarious-looking, and mostly delicious fruits. We mozied around historic Cuenca for the next two hours. Cuenca is considered a United Nations World Heritage Site because the majority of its colonial center is still intact. We explored this colonial center, marvelled at the churches and other architectural gems, and strolled along the river. We washed our fruit at the hostel and purchase a knife, with which to cut said fruit.
Then, we proceeded to taste the fruits. We understand that photos would really improve this section of the blog post, but you will have to wait for those. We sampled the granadilla, miniature plums, cucumber melon (or pepino, but not to be confused with the regular cucumber that one would find in the vegetable section), chirimoya, and babaco. Overall, we were very pleased.
After a brief siesta and internetting, we began our search for dinner. Thinking we passed a vegetarian Indian restaurant during our stroll, we tried to retrace our steps in search of it. No dice. It was probably closed.
We found a place that offered the traditional soup that Ian wanted us to try. So we went there for the first part of dinner and ate the soup. Everybody liked it.
For the second course, we went to another vegetarian restaurant and enjoyed a two-course meal. Another agreeable experience, which was capped by ice cream. Then we went back to hostel to pass out after our exhausting day.
This morning, we woke up at 7:00 to get a good jump on the day. But we realized that nobody else in all of Cuenca woke up, except to go to church, so we decided to shower. This was Ian´s first hot shower in three months. To quote him, ´´I didn´t want to leave.´´
Then we picked up a variety of breads for breakfast and went to the bus station to pick up tickets for our bus later in the day. Success, and Ian even bought us some humitas (which are warm, corn deliciousness).
We returned to downtown, picked up some fruit, and learned about Panama hats (the industry that Cuenca is famous for, along with ceramic tiles). And that wrapped up our trip to Cuenca.
Everybody enjoyed their experience. Gotta catch a bus. TTYL.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
Guest Bloggers: The Brothers Get Settled
So we wake up and start moving around (well, actually, Ian and Ruby start to move, Avery catches as many Z's as he can before the day really begins) when someone knocks on the door.
"¿Quien es?" It's one of Ian's co-workers coming to pick us up for classes. Naturally, now is a perfect time for Ian's landlord to invite us over for some breakfast. At the mention of a breakfast invitation, Ian hops out of the shower, throws on some clothes and beats everyone to the table.
This is Ruby and Avery's first experience with "tomate de arbol" and it is delicious. Apparently, people only consume it in juice form because it is a bitter fruit, but that juice was fantastic...anyone know anything about the bottling and packaging business?
So after trying to explain to his landlord that he needs to go teach a class and is late, Ian and his coworker excuse themselves, leaving Ruby and Avery with this Ecuadorian family that speaks very little (if any) English. While we were able to understand most everything that was being said, it was still difficult for us to string together complex sentences, and after 10 minutes of trying, decided it would be best stick with the basics and go to class.
We helped Ian with his icebreakers and sorted out the seeds that the class brought in for planting in the new school garden. After class, we sat down for some fruit salads with the teacher at the school kiosk. Let's just say that American schools have a lot to learn in the art of school snacks.
From school, we proceeded to check out the nursery. Very cool seeing the garden for real; fortunately the iguana was nowhere to be found. We watered the plants and sprayed the garlic-hot pepper hand-burning mixture around the plants to protect them for the next few days, popped some mangoes off one of nursery's trees, and then bought some coconut trees from a neighboring nursery.
On the way back to Ian's pad, we stopped off for some Brazilian sandwiches (grilled cheese with banana slices and a little cinnamon), which Ian has introduced to some of the local juice vendors in town. After shmoozing with the locals, we packed up our stuff and headed off to Batanes for the weekly meeting of the community bank.
When we got on the bus (there is only one bus to Batanes, and it doesn't even go to Batanes itself), we noticed that the driver's face was all cut up. Apparently, he had been in an accident earlier that day, but was good to go. On the drive, we saw a gas station with a sign "Si, hay diesel." [Cultural Education Necessary: We were not sure if this meant: "yes, we have diesel" or "if there is diesel..." so instead we just laughed, took a picture, and carried on.] Also, while at the gas station, a woman on the bus passed a jerry can out the window with a few dollars to fill it up. Awesome!
So we arrived in Batanes and hung out with about 10 locals before the meeting began (which represents about 1/3 of the households), had our meeting, and then went off to someone's house to spend the night. Later in the evening, the two-year-old decided that his rain boots were bigger and better than Avery's hiking boots and wanted to show off. Then, because he was so clean from his shower, decided it was time to go to work. So while wearing his rain boots and pajamas, he grabbed his machete (yes, he has his own machete), and started walking up the road as if to go to work.
Shortly thereafter, we went to sleep. It was 8:30 PM and we (and the household) were exhausted.
The next morning, we woke up at 4:30, like regular Robinson men, to catch the 5:00 pick-up truck to the 6:00 bus. We made it back to town by 7:00 and went straight to school at 7:10.
Yoni helped another class start a garden. It was the day before vacation, and everybody was excited for the freedom they would experience come afternoon, so they marked the occasion by having Field Day. Each class competes in basketball and soccer against the other classes in the school, round-robin style. They were very excited, and we would have stayed to watch more, but we had an appointment to go for a hike at the eco reserve.
The bus dropped us off at the reserve entrance, which is three kilometers from the reserve´s ecological base. So before going on our three-kilometer hike in the reserve, we had to do a three-kilometer hike to get there (and also to get back to the highway). The reserve is a dry, tropical forest. Only one percent of the world´s dry tropical forests still remains, and this is part of that one percent.
It almost looked as if winter had descended on southern Ecuador because very few trees had any type of foliage. The trees in this ecosystem shed their leaves to survive the dry season. It was almost like walking through a forest in Michigan in the winter, except there were cacti, and we were wearing t-shirts and sweating in the humidity (Coach Blitzer was right). (We will try to post some pictures later)
Afterwards, we took the bus back to town and got ready for our trip up to the mountains.
"¿Quien es?" It's one of Ian's co-workers coming to pick us up for classes. Naturally, now is a perfect time for Ian's landlord to invite us over for some breakfast. At the mention of a breakfast invitation, Ian hops out of the shower, throws on some clothes and beats everyone to the table.
This is Ruby and Avery's first experience with "tomate de arbol" and it is delicious. Apparently, people only consume it in juice form because it is a bitter fruit, but that juice was fantastic...anyone know anything about the bottling and packaging business?
So after trying to explain to his landlord that he needs to go teach a class and is late, Ian and his coworker excuse themselves, leaving Ruby and Avery with this Ecuadorian family that speaks very little (if any) English. While we were able to understand most everything that was being said, it was still difficult for us to string together complex sentences, and after 10 minutes of trying, decided it would be best stick with the basics and go to class.
We helped Ian with his icebreakers and sorted out the seeds that the class brought in for planting in the new school garden. After class, we sat down for some fruit salads with the teacher at the school kiosk. Let's just say that American schools have a lot to learn in the art of school snacks.
From school, we proceeded to check out the nursery. Very cool seeing the garden for real; fortunately the iguana was nowhere to be found. We watered the plants and sprayed the garlic-hot pepper hand-burning mixture around the plants to protect them for the next few days, popped some mangoes off one of nursery's trees, and then bought some coconut trees from a neighboring nursery.
On the way back to Ian's pad, we stopped off for some Brazilian sandwiches (grilled cheese with banana slices and a little cinnamon), which Ian has introduced to some of the local juice vendors in town. After shmoozing with the locals, we packed up our stuff and headed off to Batanes for the weekly meeting of the community bank.
When we got on the bus (there is only one bus to Batanes, and it doesn't even go to Batanes itself), we noticed that the driver's face was all cut up. Apparently, he had been in an accident earlier that day, but was good to go. On the drive, we saw a gas station with a sign "Si, hay diesel." [Cultural Education Necessary: We were not sure if this meant: "yes, we have diesel" or "if there is diesel..." so instead we just laughed, took a picture, and carried on.] Also, while at the gas station, a woman on the bus passed a jerry can out the window with a few dollars to fill it up. Awesome!
So we arrived in Batanes and hung out with about 10 locals before the meeting began (which represents about 1/3 of the households), had our meeting, and then went off to someone's house to spend the night. Later in the evening, the two-year-old decided that his rain boots were bigger and better than Avery's hiking boots and wanted to show off. Then, because he was so clean from his shower, decided it was time to go to work. So while wearing his rain boots and pajamas, he grabbed his machete (yes, he has his own machete), and started walking up the road as if to go to work.
Shortly thereafter, we went to sleep. It was 8:30 PM and we (and the household) were exhausted.
The next morning, we woke up at 4:30, like regular Robinson men, to catch the 5:00 pick-up truck to the 6:00 bus. We made it back to town by 7:00 and went straight to school at 7:10.
Yoni helped another class start a garden. It was the day before vacation, and everybody was excited for the freedom they would experience come afternoon, so they marked the occasion by having Field Day. Each class competes in basketball and soccer against the other classes in the school, round-robin style. They were very excited, and we would have stayed to watch more, but we had an appointment to go for a hike at the eco reserve.
The bus dropped us off at the reserve entrance, which is three kilometers from the reserve´s ecological base. So before going on our three-kilometer hike in the reserve, we had to do a three-kilometer hike to get there (and also to get back to the highway). The reserve is a dry, tropical forest. Only one percent of the world´s dry tropical forests still remains, and this is part of that one percent.
It almost looked as if winter had descended on southern Ecuador because very few trees had any type of foliage. The trees in this ecosystem shed their leaves to survive the dry season. It was almost like walking through a forest in Michigan in the winter, except there were cacti, and we were wearing t-shirts and sweating in the humidity (Coach Blitzer was right). (We will try to post some pictures later)
Afterwards, we took the bus back to town and got ready for our trip up to the mountains.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Guest Bloggers: The Brothers Arrive
After a full day of travel, we touched down in Guayaquil at 10:55 PM, taxied to the gate, went through an initial customs inspection that included a full-body thermal scan for evidence of H1N1 (thankfully, Avery did not bring any from Canada), went through a subsequent customs investigation where Ruby was cited (in writing) for bringing one nectarine into the country, and then into the outstretched arms of Yoni.
Giddy up!
Yoni was only aware that Ruby was coming to visit him. Just as they were about to leave the terminal, Avery nearly pounced on Yoni from behind. What a great surprise. (Thanks to all of you for keeping it a secret.)
Three minutes later, we were on our way to the Central Bus Station in Guayaquil for a 12:35 AM bus back to Yoni's town. We learned that this was probably the safest bus station in the country, but anywhere outside of the station, not advisable after dark. We caught up with each other for about an hour—sharing some stories, gifts, mandelbread, bagels, and baklava—waiting for the bus to arrive.
We got on the 12:35 bus and by 4:10, were dropped off three blocks from Yoni's new apartment. Some of us slept on the bus, others had more trouble because the air conditioning was on so high. Earlier in the day, Yoni had shlepped half of his stuff to the apartment and it was all sitting in a clump in his room. The rest of the apartment was bare. "No hay nada," as he would recall a few times today. We made no fuss about sleeping arrangements since we were all exhausted.
This morning, Yoni went out to go pick up some fruit for breakfast, maqueños and maracuyas. They were más rico. We spent the first part of the morning meeting and hanging out with some of Yoni's coworkers at the office. A little after 10:00 AM, we accompanied him to school for a three-hour environmental education session with eighth grader girls. Yoni likes to begin each class with a rompe hielo (ice breaker) and this morning's questions were: what is your favorite ice cream? and what is one thing that your friends probably don't know about you?. We were able to put together an answer in Spanish without too much difficulty (though it had been a while since either of us had really practiced speaking this idioma). The class then divided into groups, per Yoni's instructions, and went out to the school yard to work on their garden. The class was preparing the grounds for germinating fruit seeds this Friday. Fruit seeds that will likely be brought to class on Friday include (in español): pera, naranja, manzana, limon, frejol, aguacate, uva, sandia, tomate, pimiento, maiz, hava, grosella, guayaba, culantro, chirimoya, mandarina, papaya, guava, badea, melon, yuca, durazno, lima, mango, granadilla, cereza, maracuya, ciruelo y camote.
The next class did the same thing. Afterward, we shared a little snack with the science teacher and Yoni's municipal counterpart. Later, we had a light lunch of pea soup, tuna, and rice. This was good energy for an afternoon of buying some apartment essentials (broom, garbage cans, wash basin, pillows, soap, etc) and moving the rest of Yoni's furniture, unpacking, assembling, and overall, just arranging everything. We finished most of this up by 5:30 and went to help out at the community garden. At first, only a few little kids were there to water the plant beds. Within an hour, about seven adults were watering the beds, transplanting radishes, and preparing new plant beds by breaking up the hard soil. We were really impressed by Yoni and the neighborhood's efforts in establishing this communal garden. The impressive sugar cane fence, rock-bordered walking paths, and saplings just breaking through the soil gave us a real sense of pride in what Yoni was doing (and trying to do) here in Ecuador.
Later, we bought a few items to cook up for dinner and had a nice meal back at Yoni's apartment.
It's awesome spending time with Yoni and just observing him interact with the community. Some highlights from today, in no particular order:
Lots more adventuring planned for the next eight days. We'll try to keep you posted.
Giddy up!
Yoni was only aware that Ruby was coming to visit him. Just as they were about to leave the terminal, Avery nearly pounced on Yoni from behind. What a great surprise. (Thanks to all of you for keeping it a secret.)
Three minutes later, we were on our way to the Central Bus Station in Guayaquil for a 12:35 AM bus back to Yoni's town. We learned that this was probably the safest bus station in the country, but anywhere outside of the station, not advisable after dark. We caught up with each other for about an hour—sharing some stories, gifts, mandelbread, bagels, and baklava—waiting for the bus to arrive.
We got on the 12:35 bus and by 4:10, were dropped off three blocks from Yoni's new apartment. Some of us slept on the bus, others had more trouble because the air conditioning was on so high. Earlier in the day, Yoni had shlepped half of his stuff to the apartment and it was all sitting in a clump in his room. The rest of the apartment was bare. "No hay nada," as he would recall a few times today. We made no fuss about sleeping arrangements since we were all exhausted.
This morning, Yoni went out to go pick up some fruit for breakfast, maqueños and maracuyas. They were más rico. We spent the first part of the morning meeting and hanging out with some of Yoni's coworkers at the office. A little after 10:00 AM, we accompanied him to school for a three-hour environmental education session with eighth grader girls. Yoni likes to begin each class with a rompe hielo (ice breaker) and this morning's questions were: what is your favorite ice cream? and what is one thing that your friends probably don't know about you?. We were able to put together an answer in Spanish without too much difficulty (though it had been a while since either of us had really practiced speaking this idioma). The class then divided into groups, per Yoni's instructions, and went out to the school yard to work on their garden. The class was preparing the grounds for germinating fruit seeds this Friday. Fruit seeds that will likely be brought to class on Friday include (in español): pera, naranja, manzana, limon, frejol, aguacate, uva, sandia, tomate, pimiento, maiz, hava, grosella, guayaba, culantro, chirimoya, mandarina, papaya, guava, badea, melon, yuca, durazno, lima, mango, granadilla, cereza, maracuya, ciruelo y camote.
The next class did the same thing. Afterward, we shared a little snack with the science teacher and Yoni's municipal counterpart. Later, we had a light lunch of pea soup, tuna, and rice. This was good energy for an afternoon of buying some apartment essentials (broom, garbage cans, wash basin, pillows, soap, etc) and moving the rest of Yoni's furniture, unpacking, assembling, and overall, just arranging everything. We finished most of this up by 5:30 and went to help out at the community garden. At first, only a few little kids were there to water the plant beds. Within an hour, about seven adults were watering the beds, transplanting radishes, and preparing new plant beds by breaking up the hard soil. We were really impressed by Yoni and the neighborhood's efforts in establishing this communal garden. The impressive sugar cane fence, rock-bordered walking paths, and saplings just breaking through the soil gave us a real sense of pride in what Yoni was doing (and trying to do) here in Ecuador.
Later, we bought a few items to cook up for dinner and had a nice meal back at Yoni's apartment.
It's awesome spending time with Yoni and just observing him interact with the community. Some highlights from today, in no particular order:
- Seeing the chispita
- Meeting Yoni's home-stay father
- Being introduced to everyone as when I went to the airport last night to pick up one brother, there were two
- Early morning cold shower (it was actually quite refreshing)
Lots more adventuring planned for the next eight days. We'll try to keep you posted.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Disco Disco
´´You Don’t Mess With the Zohan´´ is one of the most popular movies down here.
Most of the Israeli humor gets lost in translation. But I think I know why they like it so much.
Disco breaks.
For some reason, the Ecuadorians love dance breaks.
In everything they do, it’s all about dance breaks.
A couple of weeks ago, I went to the bar with some friends. We were there for an hour, and the music was at a reasonable level. Then the bartender gets on the PA and urges everyone to dance.
Fifteen minutes later, the music is reduced to its original level, the people return to their seats, and the conversation resumes.
Fifteen minutes later, the dance party is called to action for another fifteen-minute interval. And this patter repeated itself all night long until closing time.
But it’s not just in the bar experience.
Bingo night is also mixed up in the whole dance break paradigm.
Between ever game of bingo, there is a ten-minute dance break.
And if people aren’t actually dancing, they are talking about the next fiesta they are going to or asking you whether or not you dance.
At one point, my high-school students, out of nowhere, started demanding that I dance in front of the class. I politely decline.
I would almost say that life down here is one giant dance party, and they take breaks from dancing to do essential activities that allow them to continue dancing later on (eat, drink, work, bath, etc).
Most of the Israeli humor gets lost in translation. But I think I know why they like it so much.
Disco breaks.
For some reason, the Ecuadorians love dance breaks.
In everything they do, it’s all about dance breaks.
A couple of weeks ago, I went to the bar with some friends. We were there for an hour, and the music was at a reasonable level. Then the bartender gets on the PA and urges everyone to dance.
Fifteen minutes later, the music is reduced to its original level, the people return to their seats, and the conversation resumes.
Fifteen minutes later, the dance party is called to action for another fifteen-minute interval. And this patter repeated itself all night long until closing time.
But it’s not just in the bar experience.
Bingo night is also mixed up in the whole dance break paradigm.
Between ever game of bingo, there is a ten-minute dance break.
And if people aren’t actually dancing, they are talking about the next fiesta they are going to or asking you whether or not you dance.
At one point, my high-school students, out of nowhere, started demanding that I dance in front of the class. I politely decline.
I would almost say that life down here is one giant dance party, and they take breaks from dancing to do essential activities that allow them to continue dancing later on (eat, drink, work, bath, etc).
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Liberator
Now I know what Simon Bolivar felt like.
Bolivar is known as the Liberator in South America for leading the fight for independence throughout much of the continent.
I’m no expert on history, but I can only imagine him galloping triumphantly through the colonial towns of this continent, proclaiming them free from Spanish rule.
I felt a little bit like Bolivar last week.
You see, the soldier who live in the tree nursery do not normally have access to toilet paper. The general rule in there is for them to grab a leaf and take care of business.
Then, I read about a great seed-starting idea about how you can cut toilet paper rolls in half, start plants in the rolls, and then plant the rolls directly in the soil (the cardboard will biodegrade). So I upon sharing this idea with my coworker, we promptly went to the store and bought the soldiers eight rolls of toilet paper.
I triumphantly marched into the tree nursery with the toilet paper rolls hoisted over my head, proclaiming the end of wiping.
Freedom feels so good — and doesn’t carry the risk of rash if you use the wrong kind of leaf.
Bolivar is known as the Liberator in South America for leading the fight for independence throughout much of the continent.
I’m no expert on history, but I can only imagine him galloping triumphantly through the colonial towns of this continent, proclaiming them free from Spanish rule.
I felt a little bit like Bolivar last week.
You see, the soldier who live in the tree nursery do not normally have access to toilet paper. The general rule in there is for them to grab a leaf and take care of business.
Then, I read about a great seed-starting idea about how you can cut toilet paper rolls in half, start plants in the rolls, and then plant the rolls directly in the soil (the cardboard will biodegrade). So I upon sharing this idea with my coworker, we promptly went to the store and bought the soldiers eight rolls of toilet paper.
I triumphantly marched into the tree nursery with the toilet paper rolls hoisted over my head, proclaiming the end of wiping.
Freedom feels so good — and doesn’t carry the risk of rash if you use the wrong kind of leaf.
Friday, August 07, 2009
Should I turn this off?
What is cell phone etiquette?
So, I’m sitting in a farmer’s association meeting last week.
It wasn’t the most interesting meeting of all time. The secretary was reading through the thirty-nine clauses of the organizations constitution, but a necessary meeting nonetheless.
I’m sitting there, trying to pick up what he’s saying but he’s talking quite rapidly, plus I don’t know if they have ever heard of the term acoustics before.
Either way, about an hour into the meeting, I hear an operator’s voice say “The time is 11:43.”
So I turn around to see what’s going on. It turns out a guy sitting two rows back had to reset the time on his phone. And instead of asking his neighbor for the hour, he decided to call the “what time is it?” hotline — on speakerphone.
So as you can tell, people down here use and answer their cell phones in all situation.
In the high schools, the kids are calling and texting during class. Or they have the earphones in their ears and are listening to music. I gave them the John U. Bacon hammer to the ringing cell phone story and frightened them sufficiently — especially because I had a hammer in my backpack (for a community garden but I guess you could say that it served a few purposes).
So, this has taken some getting used to.
So, I’m sitting in a farmer’s association meeting last week.
It wasn’t the most interesting meeting of all time. The secretary was reading through the thirty-nine clauses of the organizations constitution, but a necessary meeting nonetheless.
I’m sitting there, trying to pick up what he’s saying but he’s talking quite rapidly, plus I don’t know if they have ever heard of the term acoustics before.
Either way, about an hour into the meeting, I hear an operator’s voice say “The time is 11:43.”
So I turn around to see what’s going on. It turns out a guy sitting two rows back had to reset the time on his phone. And instead of asking his neighbor for the hour, he decided to call the “what time is it?” hotline — on speakerphone.
So as you can tell, people down here use and answer their cell phones in all situation.
In the high schools, the kids are calling and texting during class. Or they have the earphones in their ears and are listening to music. I gave them the John U. Bacon hammer to the ringing cell phone story and frightened them sufficiently — especially because I had a hammer in my backpack (for a community garden but I guess you could say that it served a few purposes).
So, this has taken some getting used to.
Sunday, August 02, 2009
This was unexpected
Friday, I was in the middle of a class with my ninth-grade students about how our actions need to match the messages we preach.
There was a knock on the door. (It’s not much of a door. More of a gate.)
Two women were standing in the doorway, one of them was holding a baby.
Now, it’s not uncommon for people in the high schools here to interrupt a teacher in mid-sentence. But normally, it is the high school inspector or another student who needs to talk to one of the students.
I didn’t recognize these people, so I went over to ask them what they wanted. Here is how I think the dialogue translated:
Ian: Good afternoon. What do you want?
Woman in doorway: We want to collaborate.
Ian: Well, I’m kind of in the middle of teaching a class right now. We can talk about this later.
Woman in doorway: We have the permission of the inspector.
Ian: Well, I’m kind of in the middle of a lesson right now.
Woman in doorway: The inspector said we could enter.
Ian, wanting a clarification, told his students to wait a second and went to the director.
Ian: These women say they want to collaborate with me and then asked to walk into my class. What’s the deal?
Inspector: Let them in.
So, I let the women into my class. They give a brief shpiel (I was still coming back from my conversation with the inspector when this was happening, so I don’t really know the content.)
The next thing I notice, they are walking through the class begging my students for money.
Yes, that is right. Panhandling in the classroom.
Maybe I didn’t understand the verb correctly, or maybe the verb “colaborar” means something different than what I think it does.
But this was clearly an experience that I would never expect in an American high school and a clear example of cultural differences.
I wish the woman and child would have stayed and listened to my lesson for the day.
“What kind of world do you want to live in?” as the opening question, followed by “What are you doing to make this world a reality?”
That was followed by a discussion about how our ideals, values, goals, and messages should be followed by actions, because, all too often in society, they are not.
On the subject of what kind of world we want to live in, I will share with you some of the better responses.
Obviously, a lot of peoples aid they wanted to live in a safe, healthy world, without contamination, violence, or the risk of dying at any moment.
The better responses were the kid who wanted to live in an electronic world, along the lines of Wall-E, and the kid who wanted to party all the time, asking for the local disco to be open seven days a week.
I asked them how they were trying to make this a reality. The girl who wants to live in an electronic world said she was going to stay up to date on electronics news.
The party animal had no good answer. If he’s serious about this, he should stand outside the disco or in some central location in town and promote the idea of party all the time.
I told them that I wanted to live in a world with equal opportunity, where your situation at birth shouldn’t dictate your lot in life, and that people treat their fellow human beings like brothers.
I miss the panhandlers of Ann Arbor — beggars with a shtick.
There are no harmonica-playing guys here, no local equivalent of Shakey Jake (Templando Jacobo), they only tell you to have a blessed day if you give them money, and there is no “nickel to buy a sandwich guy” (even though a nickel could actually buy you a sandwich).
There was a knock on the door. (It’s not much of a door. More of a gate.)
Two women were standing in the doorway, one of them was holding a baby.
Now, it’s not uncommon for people in the high schools here to interrupt a teacher in mid-sentence. But normally, it is the high school inspector or another student who needs to talk to one of the students.
I didn’t recognize these people, so I went over to ask them what they wanted. Here is how I think the dialogue translated:
Ian: Good afternoon. What do you want?
Woman in doorway: We want to collaborate.
Ian: Well, I’m kind of in the middle of teaching a class right now. We can talk about this later.
Woman in doorway: We have the permission of the inspector.
Ian: Well, I’m kind of in the middle of a lesson right now.
Woman in doorway: The inspector said we could enter.
Ian, wanting a clarification, told his students to wait a second and went to the director.
Ian: These women say they want to collaborate with me and then asked to walk into my class. What’s the deal?
Inspector: Let them in.
So, I let the women into my class. They give a brief shpiel (I was still coming back from my conversation with the inspector when this was happening, so I don’t really know the content.)
The next thing I notice, they are walking through the class begging my students for money.
Yes, that is right. Panhandling in the classroom.
Maybe I didn’t understand the verb correctly, or maybe the verb “colaborar” means something different than what I think it does.
But this was clearly an experience that I would never expect in an American high school and a clear example of cultural differences.
I wish the woman and child would have stayed and listened to my lesson for the day.
“What kind of world do you want to live in?” as the opening question, followed by “What are you doing to make this world a reality?”
That was followed by a discussion about how our ideals, values, goals, and messages should be followed by actions, because, all too often in society, they are not.
On the subject of what kind of world we want to live in, I will share with you some of the better responses.
Obviously, a lot of peoples aid they wanted to live in a safe, healthy world, without contamination, violence, or the risk of dying at any moment.
The better responses were the kid who wanted to live in an electronic world, along the lines of Wall-E, and the kid who wanted to party all the time, asking for the local disco to be open seven days a week.
I asked them how they were trying to make this a reality. The girl who wants to live in an electronic world said she was going to stay up to date on electronics news.
The party animal had no good answer. If he’s serious about this, he should stand outside the disco or in some central location in town and promote the idea of party all the time.
I told them that I wanted to live in a world with equal opportunity, where your situation at birth shouldn’t dictate your lot in life, and that people treat their fellow human beings like brothers.
I miss the panhandlers of Ann Arbor — beggars with a shtick.
There are no harmonica-playing guys here, no local equivalent of Shakey Jake (Templando Jacobo), they only tell you to have a blessed day if you give them money, and there is no “nickel to buy a sandwich guy” (even though a nickel could actually buy you a sandwich).
Monday, July 27, 2009
Notebook
I should have been more specific
I told the staff at the tree nursery that we aren’t going to burn leaves there anymore because we can use them as compost or mulch. Plus, the burning of leaves contaminates the air and increases the chance of respiratory problems (which are very common around here).
So I came into the nursery the next day and saw that they were putting the leaves in a pile, but then I noticed another pile of plastic garbage that was not going to the garbage can.
I asked the employees why they hadn’t put the plastic in the garbage can. They told me that we had stopped burning leaves.
I have since clarified our policy, and we will no longer be burning garbage in the nursery.
People here try to take advantage of arbitrage opportunity
The Ecuadorian government subsidizes the price of gasoline here. It is pinned at $1.48/gallon of Extra grade (I’m not sure if this is leaded or unleaded. I don’t really know what extra refers to) and $2.10ish/gallon of Super grade (I’m pretty sure this means unleaded).
Because I live in a border province and the neighboring countries don’t have similar subsidies on petroleum products, there is a black market for these items.
Army soldiers man every gas station and natural gas delivery trucks to patrol this trafficking.
I’m mostly saying this so you get a sense for life down here. When I first saw the soldiers at the gas stations, I thought it was for security reasons — or something like that.
This policy of stationing army soldiers at the gas stations has affected my life in one ways. The army solider who works with us in the tree nursery said he would take me to the ecological reserve, which is run by the military, to present me to the authorities there. But he has been on gas duty the last two weeks and unable to take me.
Eventually, he’ll get a free weekend, and I’ll get the chance to see the reserve
When you’re baking like a toasted cheeser…
My city doesn’t have a public swimming pool.
But on weekends, the local army base’s pool is open to the public.
And depending on the guard on duty, you will pay between nothing and $1.50 to use the pool. Also, the pool complex includes a billiards table and weight room.
So for all those oven-like weekends down here, I know where I’ll go to cool off. Unfortunately, Wendy Peffercorn is not on duty.
Paper plates?
I went to the super market in Machala last week, in search of paper plates.
You see, all the local high schools here serve their lunches on Styrofoam plates, which then get thrown into the landfill — where they will stay forever.
So in search of alternatives to this, I went looking for paper plates that will biodegrade in this millennium. What I found at the very modern supermarket in Machala was an entire aisle of Styrofoam and plastic kitchen utensils and just one section of one shelf with cardboard plates.
I told the staff at the tree nursery that we aren’t going to burn leaves there anymore because we can use them as compost or mulch. Plus, the burning of leaves contaminates the air and increases the chance of respiratory problems (which are very common around here).
So I came into the nursery the next day and saw that they were putting the leaves in a pile, but then I noticed another pile of plastic garbage that was not going to the garbage can.
I asked the employees why they hadn’t put the plastic in the garbage can. They told me that we had stopped burning leaves.
I have since clarified our policy, and we will no longer be burning garbage in the nursery.
People here try to take advantage of arbitrage opportunity
The Ecuadorian government subsidizes the price of gasoline here. It is pinned at $1.48/gallon of Extra grade (I’m not sure if this is leaded or unleaded. I don’t really know what extra refers to) and $2.10ish/gallon of Super grade (I’m pretty sure this means unleaded).
Because I live in a border province and the neighboring countries don’t have similar subsidies on petroleum products, there is a black market for these items.
Army soldiers man every gas station and natural gas delivery trucks to patrol this trafficking.
I’m mostly saying this so you get a sense for life down here. When I first saw the soldiers at the gas stations, I thought it was for security reasons — or something like that.
This policy of stationing army soldiers at the gas stations has affected my life in one ways. The army solider who works with us in the tree nursery said he would take me to the ecological reserve, which is run by the military, to present me to the authorities there. But he has been on gas duty the last two weeks and unable to take me.
Eventually, he’ll get a free weekend, and I’ll get the chance to see the reserve
When you’re baking like a toasted cheeser…
My city doesn’t have a public swimming pool.
But on weekends, the local army base’s pool is open to the public.
And depending on the guard on duty, you will pay between nothing and $1.50 to use the pool. Also, the pool complex includes a billiards table and weight room.
So for all those oven-like weekends down here, I know where I’ll go to cool off. Unfortunately, Wendy Peffercorn is not on duty.
Paper plates?
I went to the super market in Machala last week, in search of paper plates.
You see, all the local high schools here serve their lunches on Styrofoam plates, which then get thrown into the landfill — where they will stay forever.
So in search of alternatives to this, I went looking for paper plates that will biodegrade in this millennium. What I found at the very modern supermarket in Machala was an entire aisle of Styrofoam and plastic kitchen utensils and just one section of one shelf with cardboard plates.
Saturday, July 25, 2009
Can´t Touch This
A tree nursery is kind of like a science lab. You don’t just go playing, willy-nilly, with what’s in the test tube.
But one of my friends learned that lesson the hard way...
Last week, we applied a different kind of organic fertilizer to my garden for the first time.
We had made a mixture of cow manure, brown sugar, yeast, weeds, milk, and water and let it ferment in a sealed container for seven weeks. It’s called biol.
With the anaerobic decomposition, this mixture becomes a very strong fertilizer at the end of two months. So strong, in fact, that it has to be diluted with 15 parts of water to one part of biol so you don’t burn your plants.
We opened the sealed containers for the first time last week, and it smelled horrible. Kind of a combination of fermented cow manure, mixed with spoiled milk. We only opened a small portion of the top of the tank, but it made the entire storage room stink for days.
So we started applying a few sample to see its effectiveness.
At about the same time that we were applying the biol to my garden, one of my friends came by to show the garden to some of her friends.
As is often the case, the mosquitoes were quite hungry. And they found my friend’s forearms the perfect place for a midafternoon snack.
So my friend, overwhelmed by the onslaught of mosquitoes, looked down at yellowish liquid we were applying to the plants. Thinking it was an organic remedy against ants and other pests, she decided to liberally apply some to her arms.
Well, as soon as I noticed what was going on, I asked her why she was applying fermented cow manure water to her arms. Then, she got a whiff of what she was putting on her arms and started freaking out.
We quickly went over to unstink her arms. She worked tirelessly at this for 15 minutes until most of the stank was gone.
On the positive side, she stopped worrying about the mosquitoes. So maybe she knew what she was doing all along.
But one of my friends learned that lesson the hard way...
Last week, we applied a different kind of organic fertilizer to my garden for the first time.
We had made a mixture of cow manure, brown sugar, yeast, weeds, milk, and water and let it ferment in a sealed container for seven weeks. It’s called biol.
With the anaerobic decomposition, this mixture becomes a very strong fertilizer at the end of two months. So strong, in fact, that it has to be diluted with 15 parts of water to one part of biol so you don’t burn your plants.
We opened the sealed containers for the first time last week, and it smelled horrible. Kind of a combination of fermented cow manure, mixed with spoiled milk. We only opened a small portion of the top of the tank, but it made the entire storage room stink for days.
So we started applying a few sample to see its effectiveness.
At about the same time that we were applying the biol to my garden, one of my friends came by to show the garden to some of her friends.
As is often the case, the mosquitoes were quite hungry. And they found my friend’s forearms the perfect place for a midafternoon snack.
So my friend, overwhelmed by the onslaught of mosquitoes, looked down at yellowish liquid we were applying to the plants. Thinking it was an organic remedy against ants and other pests, she decided to liberally apply some to her arms.
Well, as soon as I noticed what was going on, I asked her why she was applying fermented cow manure water to her arms. Then, she got a whiff of what she was putting on her arms and started freaking out.
We quickly went over to unstink her arms. She worked tirelessly at this for 15 minutes until most of the stank was gone.
On the positive side, she stopped worrying about the mosquitoes. So maybe she knew what she was doing all along.
Friday, July 24, 2009
I blame Bill Bryson for the lack of recent posts
You may have noticed that we at hearyoni have not been updating the blog as often as we should. There is a simple explanation for that.
It´s Bill Bryson´s fault.
I have recently been engrossed in ´´A Walk in the Woods´´ and have been unable to focus on anything else.
I have corrected the situation by finishing the book and highly recommend to all of my blog readers, or anybody for that matter.
It´s Bill Bryson´s fault.
I have recently been engrossed in ´´A Walk in the Woods´´ and have been unable to focus on anything else.
I have corrected the situation by finishing the book and highly recommend to all of my blog readers, or anybody for that matter.
Monday, July 20, 2009
Different Standards
I have two words for you: Anaconda 2.
Movie sequels often have trouble living up to the high standards of the original.
The first movie sets the bar so high that it is nearly impossible to achieve the same level of greatness.
Now, I have never seen Anaconda 2. Frankly, I didn’t even know that it existed until Thursday night. But according to my friend, that is his favorite and, in his opinion, the best movie ever.
Citizen Kane? No.
The Godfather? Not so much.
Gone with the Wind? You’re joking, right?
Casablanca? You mean the football stadium in Quito?
I haven’t had time to do my research yet. It could be that Anaconda 2 is one of those cult classics. In a couple of years, you’ll see it regularly featured among the midnight showings at the State Theater, replacing Lebowski or Rocky Horror. I promise to find out soon enough, though.
I asked him what he thought of the first Anaconda. He liked the first one, but in his opinion, the second one was just an all-around better film. He also liked that the film was shot in Ecuador. (I did a bit of imdb´ing and learned they are making a fourth Anaconda. I also learned that the working title of Snakes on a Plane was Anaconda 3)
Intrigued, I inquired a bit more about his favorite films.
His next one was Fast and the Furious 3.
It is very rare to find the sequel that even comes close to the greatness of first offering. You have the rare occasion where you can eclipse the first one, like with Anaconda. Normally, you just find the second edition rehashing lines and gimmicks from the first one and leave unimpressed. But for someone to think that the fourth offering in a series is the best, the producers have really outdone themselves.
In fact, I have had the privelege of watching this one. The only reason I knew it existed was that they played the entire trilogy on my bus ride from Huacachina, Peru, to Lima, Peru, last summer. As third segments in movie series go, I would say that it doesn´t quite live up to expectations of Major League 3.
The conversation continued, and we started talking about Tom Cruise movies. He said he really liked Mission Impossible. I told him that I remember going to see that one at the Birmingham 8 and that I thought it was really cool, but I still don’t understand what happened. He said he really liked it because of when Tom Cruise took his face off. He couldn´t explain the plot to me.
Then we talked about Tomb Raider and Resident Evil. I admitted to not having seen those movies before, but he said that I really should. I told him I would looked into it. Then the subject of the conversation changed to video games.
I guess that the takeaway from this conversation is how different the taste in movies is down here. On the surface, the culture seems very similar. I mean, we have, more or less, the same movie selection in the United States that they have down here. But what makes a movie a good movie is a little different.
Movie sequels often have trouble living up to the high standards of the original.
The first movie sets the bar so high that it is nearly impossible to achieve the same level of greatness.
Now, I have never seen Anaconda 2. Frankly, I didn’t even know that it existed until Thursday night. But according to my friend, that is his favorite and, in his opinion, the best movie ever.
Citizen Kane? No.
The Godfather? Not so much.
Gone with the Wind? You’re joking, right?
Casablanca? You mean the football stadium in Quito?
I haven’t had time to do my research yet. It could be that Anaconda 2 is one of those cult classics. In a couple of years, you’ll see it regularly featured among the midnight showings at the State Theater, replacing Lebowski or Rocky Horror. I promise to find out soon enough, though.
I asked him what he thought of the first Anaconda. He liked the first one, but in his opinion, the second one was just an all-around better film. He also liked that the film was shot in Ecuador. (I did a bit of imdb´ing and learned they are making a fourth Anaconda. I also learned that the working title of Snakes on a Plane was Anaconda 3)
Intrigued, I inquired a bit more about his favorite films.
His next one was Fast and the Furious 3.
It is very rare to find the sequel that even comes close to the greatness of first offering. You have the rare occasion where you can eclipse the first one, like with Anaconda. Normally, you just find the second edition rehashing lines and gimmicks from the first one and leave unimpressed. But for someone to think that the fourth offering in a series is the best, the producers have really outdone themselves.
In fact, I have had the privelege of watching this one. The only reason I knew it existed was that they played the entire trilogy on my bus ride from Huacachina, Peru, to Lima, Peru, last summer. As third segments in movie series go, I would say that it doesn´t quite live up to expectations of Major League 3.
The conversation continued, and we started talking about Tom Cruise movies. He said he really liked Mission Impossible. I told him that I remember going to see that one at the Birmingham 8 and that I thought it was really cool, but I still don’t understand what happened. He said he really liked it because of when Tom Cruise took his face off. He couldn´t explain the plot to me.
Then we talked about Tomb Raider and Resident Evil. I admitted to not having seen those movies before, but he said that I really should. I told him I would looked into it. Then the subject of the conversation changed to video games.
I guess that the takeaway from this conversation is how different the taste in movies is down here. On the surface, the culture seems very similar. I mean, we have, more or less, the same movie selection in the United States that they have down here. But what makes a movie a good movie is a little different.
Saturday, July 18, 2009
The other national pastime
In addition to soccer, I would consider volleyball Ecuador’s national past time.
Every town or neighborhood has a soccer pitch, but it also has a volleyball court.
I might even contend that the volleyball sensation is more intense, at least in my town.
Every day, after work, the men will go and gather around the volleyball court. Some will play, but most will just sit around and enjoy a beer and tiem with friends.
But unlike the traditional beach volleyball, Ecua-volley rules are a little bit different. It’s not exactly the one-touch rule you have in beach volley, I would descibe it as somewhere between beach volleyball and nuke ‘em. You aren’t allowed to carry the ball or throw it, but you are certainly allowed a little be more freedom than someone playing beach volleyball. They play with a little bit harder ball, and the teams are three people, instead of five.
Little by little, I am immersing myself in this culture. But because I’m not so big on betting, and it’s almost impossible to play a game of volleyball without betting, my opportunities to play have been few and far between. (It’s more that I don’t trust my volleyball abilities with my money and have a better use for it at the produce stand)
Well, last week on the way back from the fiestas in Batanes, we stopped off to play a friendly game of volleyball in another community.
I only spent forty minutes in this community, but I think I left quite the impression.
One of the key rules of volleyball is that, no matter what, you can’t cross the centerline. Even if your momentum carries you, it is automatically the other team’s point if you cross the centerline. My coworker explained it to me that your feet can’t cross the line.
Well, we got to playing. And the other team pummeled us for the first two games. My volleyball Spanish is still a little weak, and when they keep telling me to pay attention and I think I’m paying attention, but I’m not paying attention in the way they want me to pay attention. There is some subtlety to the language that I am still picking up.
So the third game is a hard-fought match. We’re going back and forth with points. Then we are tied at seven. I think this game is to 11 or 15. Nobody really explained to me. I just kept playing each point like it was my last. We are in the midst of a pretty intense rally, and I make what I think is an unbelievable recovery to keep the point alive. The ball is near the net and I am on the far side of the court. I realize that I am the only member of my team in any position to make a play on this ball. So I go balls to the walls and make the miraculous save to keep the point alive, and my entire body falls to the other side of the net, except my feet stay on my team’s side (And the court is made of sand, so there are clear marks where my feet went). As I am laying there, I see my teammate complete the kill and begin to celebrate the point.
All I hear, though, is laughing. Apparently, I had violated one of the sacred rules of volleyball. And obviously, everybody here knows that fact.
None of your body can cross the line. Not even your hands. There is actually a judge seated at the centerline to keep score, but also to decide whether someone has crossed the line or not.
In trying to make a parallel with American sports, I would compare my transgression to someone swinging at strike three and thinking they get four strikes.
Now I know. We ended up losing the game, but I think I won a lot of respect.
Is respect the word I’m looking for? OK, so maybe I won their laughter. But, at least I won something.
Four days later in the office, they were still laughing about what transpired.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Oxymoronic?
I met someone named Darwin who doesn’t believe in evolution.
On the wall of the house where I stayed for the weekend was this advertisement for a local store.
On the wall of the house where I stayed for the weekend was this advertisement for a local store.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Larry and Little Jerry
The fiesta is the pinnacle of an Ecuadorian town’s calendar.
It is the time of year that the pueblo looks forward to and reminisces about the most.
But fiesta here isn’t just a one-day deal. No, depending on the size of the town, the fiestas range from a few days to an entire month (apparently, Guayaquil, the largest city in Ecuador, has fiestas for the entire month of July).
Also, the term fiesta can mean a lot of things, depending on the specific activities each town or neighborhood has planned. But there are a few staples of most every fiesta.
Pilsener — the most popular beer in Ecuador. For the fiestas of Batanes that I attended last week, the town council bought 960 liters of beer. In fact, you couldn’t even buy bottled water at the tienda — it was Pilsener or Big Cola.
Baile – Dance. But Ecuadorian dancing is a bit different than the American version. First off, your not supposed to look at the person you are dancing with. You just have to maintain the appearance that you. Also, it seems to me that you can’t do anything that looks like you are dancing either. Stepping from side to side and moving your hands a bit counts. I would describe the dancing level here as closer to the Joe Cornell, pre-bar/bat mitzvah circuit dance classes than the Thriller video.
Bingo – Apparently, the fallback fundraiser for any charity in Ecuador is Bingo night. And this holds true for the towns as they try to raise money for their fiestas. Some towns mix the dance and Bingo by breaking into dance party for 15 minutes between each bingo game. Much like the disco breaks in Zohan.
Election of the reina (queen) – Pretty much every event, fiesta or not, has some sort of beauty pageant involved. It could really be anything, from kicking off the soccer season to a meeting of small banana growers to a small meeting of banana growers. Sometimes, there are photos in the newspaper of taxi company and the reina of said taxi company. I would love to see beauty pageants organized by New York City cabbies.
Mass – This is a very Catholic country, and every town has its patron saint. The town’s fiestas typically fall on the day in which you remember that saint. In Batanes, those saints are San Roque and Santa Marianita, for example.
Then, there are other activities that are common in fiestas, but not necessarily the staples.
It is not uncommon to have a bull-ring, parades through the town, cock fights, or a soccer tournament. But this all depends on the size of the town.
Now, a bit about my first foray into the fiesta frontier, which was Friday.
The weekend kicked off with what everybody in attendance thought was going to be a traditional Bingo night. Each family brings a prize for the prize box, and boards cost $1.00.
To ensure that the boards are certified, I think there is a stationary store in each town that is in charge of Bingo board certification. They print the Bingo boards, number them, and write the date and time that the boards are valid for. This will prevent Bingo fraud, which was a horrible problem in ‘80s.
Well, I bought my Bingo board and sat around with my host family for the weekend. I did my best pre-Bingo trash talk, saying that they could have all the luck in the world, but I am a very skillful Bingo player. I broke down my strategy and told them that I liked to call my Bingo board “the answer sheet.”
They moved the church pews out into the town square, and the entire town gathered for the big event. The Pilsener was flowing (the school kitchen doubled as the bar). Everybody was having a good time, even though my Bingo skillz didn’t quite live up to the pre-game hype. I wouldn’t quite say that I didn’t win, but that I merely ran out of time.
Whereas a sandwich maker might be a common prize if this were an American Bingo game, the ceviche maker was the most common prize. In fact, one six-year-old won two ceviche makers.
But if there was one problem with this bingo night, it would be that the MC didn’t really have a good vibe for the audience. From my perspective, in the church pews, the crowd really just wanted to play bingo. But the M.C. thought he was more of a DJ than an M.C. and insisted on playing extended sets of dance music between bingo games. The crowd was going restless, to say the least. Then, as the bingo game crept up on four and a half hours and the clock his midnight, I would describe the crowd as restful. To compound his lack of understanding of the crowd’s desire, he decided to play several games of ‘first to fill the entire board’ wins. Well, this requires that one draw close to eighty numbers (Standard Bingo rules in Ecuador call for 100 numbers, I seem to remember fewer numbers in the standard American version. Also, there was no Jerusalem Pizza in Batanes.)
Well, after the Bingo game, we all returned home to rest ahead of the fiesta’s big day (The Bingo is more of an opening ceremony)
Saturday morning, this started slowly.
They rechalked the lines of the soccer field, and vendors started showing up. I guess, because it’s the fiestas and there are a lot of people concentrated in a small space, that vendors figure it would be a good opportunity to sell their goods. Vendors came with bags full of everything. Someone was selling toys and agricultural equipment (if you have the sudden urge to a tank to apply your pesticides, this guy has it). Another woman had your entire wardrobe in her sack.
Behind one house in the town square, I heard a lot of clucking and wanted to know what the fuss was about. I walked down the steps and saw a ring, surrounded by a bunch of chickens tied to the fence — they were getting ready for the cockfight.
I’ve never seen a cock fight before and don’t really agree with the whole premise of having animals fighting each other (although I do think that the chicken has a much better chance of surviving this encounter with another chicken than that same chicken has at surviving his or her experience in the slaughterhouse).
Apparently, the first cockfight of the afternoon was free. Because after I watched the first match on the undercard, they started asking me to bet on this. Well, all moral issues aside, I have no idea how to predict who will win or how long the match will last. It’s not like the NCAA Tournament where, if you don’t know anything else, you at least know the team’s mascot. In cockfights, they’re all chickens. So I ducked out of there after one match, as much because of my moral issues with the sport as I have no desire to throw away money like that.
Apparently the two teams of chickens came from two different trainers in nearby villages. And judging by how one of them celebrated after his chicken took the first match, there is quite a rivalry between these two. I like to think that cockfighting chicken train like sumo wrestlers, coming from a dojo-like setting where they spend all their time preparing for the big moment and that it is as much of a religious and cultural activity than anything else. But judging by the trainers fanny pack and the way he was treating his ‘athletes’(?), this was all about the money.
(insert diatribe about how there was a time where cockfighting was about something bigger than money. That is was about respect and tradition and culture. Now, everybody is cutting corners, feeding their chickens steroids and other performance enhancers)
The one match that I did watch lasted for about 30 seconds. The two chicks jockeyed for position for a few seconds before one of them pounced on the other and poked the other’s eye out. (I have a picture of this cycloptic chick, but I don’t feel the need to share on this blog)
After the cockfight, the soccer tournament started. The municipality fielded a team for this competition, because it was the weekend and the striking employees didn’t have to be at the picket lines. And the municipality played its match as if it were standing at the picket lines, dropping it 8-2 to the hosts.
Because of the difficulty we had in getting to Batanes without a reliable means of transit (two hours on two buses (one of which only leaves once a day) and a half hour walk through three rivers), we decided to return with the municipal employees because they were going straight back, which only takes about an hour.
I was sad to leave before the dance, but I am sure that I will have plenty of opportunities to attend more dances during my stay here in Ecuador. Because there are only 140 residents in Batanes, I don’t think they attend a reina, but they did have a mass to remember their saints.
It is the time of year that the pueblo looks forward to and reminisces about the most.
But fiesta here isn’t just a one-day deal. No, depending on the size of the town, the fiestas range from a few days to an entire month (apparently, Guayaquil, the largest city in Ecuador, has fiestas for the entire month of July).
Also, the term fiesta can mean a lot of things, depending on the specific activities each town or neighborhood has planned. But there are a few staples of most every fiesta.
Pilsener — the most popular beer in Ecuador. For the fiestas of Batanes that I attended last week, the town council bought 960 liters of beer. In fact, you couldn’t even buy bottled water at the tienda — it was Pilsener or Big Cola.
Baile – Dance. But Ecuadorian dancing is a bit different than the American version. First off, your not supposed to look at the person you are dancing with. You just have to maintain the appearance that you. Also, it seems to me that you can’t do anything that looks like you are dancing either. Stepping from side to side and moving your hands a bit counts. I would describe the dancing level here as closer to the Joe Cornell, pre-bar/bat mitzvah circuit dance classes than the Thriller video.
Bingo – Apparently, the fallback fundraiser for any charity in Ecuador is Bingo night. And this holds true for the towns as they try to raise money for their fiestas. Some towns mix the dance and Bingo by breaking into dance party for 15 minutes between each bingo game. Much like the disco breaks in Zohan.
Election of the reina (queen) – Pretty much every event, fiesta or not, has some sort of beauty pageant involved. It could really be anything, from kicking off the soccer season to a meeting of small banana growers to a small meeting of banana growers. Sometimes, there are photos in the newspaper of taxi company and the reina of said taxi company. I would love to see beauty pageants organized by New York City cabbies.
Mass – This is a very Catholic country, and every town has its patron saint. The town’s fiestas typically fall on the day in which you remember that saint. In Batanes, those saints are San Roque and Santa Marianita, for example.
Then, there are other activities that are common in fiestas, but not necessarily the staples.
It is not uncommon to have a bull-ring, parades through the town, cock fights, or a soccer tournament. But this all depends on the size of the town.
Now, a bit about my first foray into the fiesta frontier, which was Friday.
The weekend kicked off with what everybody in attendance thought was going to be a traditional Bingo night. Each family brings a prize for the prize box, and boards cost $1.00.
To ensure that the boards are certified, I think there is a stationary store in each town that is in charge of Bingo board certification. They print the Bingo boards, number them, and write the date and time that the boards are valid for. This will prevent Bingo fraud, which was a horrible problem in ‘80s.
Well, I bought my Bingo board and sat around with my host family for the weekend. I did my best pre-Bingo trash talk, saying that they could have all the luck in the world, but I am a very skillful Bingo player. I broke down my strategy and told them that I liked to call my Bingo board “the answer sheet.”
They moved the church pews out into the town square, and the entire town gathered for the big event. The Pilsener was flowing (the school kitchen doubled as the bar). Everybody was having a good time, even though my Bingo skillz didn’t quite live up to the pre-game hype. I wouldn’t quite say that I didn’t win, but that I merely ran out of time.
Whereas a sandwich maker might be a common prize if this were an American Bingo game, the ceviche maker was the most common prize. In fact, one six-year-old won two ceviche makers.
But if there was one problem with this bingo night, it would be that the MC didn’t really have a good vibe for the audience. From my perspective, in the church pews, the crowd really just wanted to play bingo. But the M.C. thought he was more of a DJ than an M.C. and insisted on playing extended sets of dance music between bingo games. The crowd was going restless, to say the least. Then, as the bingo game crept up on four and a half hours and the clock his midnight, I would describe the crowd as restful. To compound his lack of understanding of the crowd’s desire, he decided to play several games of ‘first to fill the entire board’ wins. Well, this requires that one draw close to eighty numbers (Standard Bingo rules in Ecuador call for 100 numbers, I seem to remember fewer numbers in the standard American version. Also, there was no Jerusalem Pizza in Batanes.)
Well, after the Bingo game, we all returned home to rest ahead of the fiesta’s big day (The Bingo is more of an opening ceremony)
Saturday morning, this started slowly.
They rechalked the lines of the soccer field, and vendors started showing up. I guess, because it’s the fiestas and there are a lot of people concentrated in a small space, that vendors figure it would be a good opportunity to sell their goods. Vendors came with bags full of everything. Someone was selling toys and agricultural equipment (if you have the sudden urge to a tank to apply your pesticides, this guy has it). Another woman had your entire wardrobe in her sack.
Behind one house in the town square, I heard a lot of clucking and wanted to know what the fuss was about. I walked down the steps and saw a ring, surrounded by a bunch of chickens tied to the fence — they were getting ready for the cockfight.
I’ve never seen a cock fight before and don’t really agree with the whole premise of having animals fighting each other (although I do think that the chicken has a much better chance of surviving this encounter with another chicken than that same chicken has at surviving his or her experience in the slaughterhouse).
Apparently, the first cockfight of the afternoon was free. Because after I watched the first match on the undercard, they started asking me to bet on this. Well, all moral issues aside, I have no idea how to predict who will win or how long the match will last. It’s not like the NCAA Tournament where, if you don’t know anything else, you at least know the team’s mascot. In cockfights, they’re all chickens. So I ducked out of there after one match, as much because of my moral issues with the sport as I have no desire to throw away money like that.
Apparently the two teams of chickens came from two different trainers in nearby villages. And judging by how one of them celebrated after his chicken took the first match, there is quite a rivalry between these two. I like to think that cockfighting chicken train like sumo wrestlers, coming from a dojo-like setting where they spend all their time preparing for the big moment and that it is as much of a religious and cultural activity than anything else. But judging by the trainers fanny pack and the way he was treating his ‘athletes’(?), this was all about the money.
(insert diatribe about how there was a time where cockfighting was about something bigger than money. That is was about respect and tradition and culture. Now, everybody is cutting corners, feeding their chickens steroids and other performance enhancers)
The one match that I did watch lasted for about 30 seconds. The two chicks jockeyed for position for a few seconds before one of them pounced on the other and poked the other’s eye out. (I have a picture of this cycloptic chick, but I don’t feel the need to share on this blog)
After the cockfight, the soccer tournament started. The municipality fielded a team for this competition, because it was the weekend and the striking employees didn’t have to be at the picket lines. And the municipality played its match as if it were standing at the picket lines, dropping it 8-2 to the hosts.
Because of the difficulty we had in getting to Batanes without a reliable means of transit (two hours on two buses (one of which only leaves once a day) and a half hour walk through three rivers), we decided to return with the municipal employees because they were going straight back, which only takes about an hour.
I was sad to leave before the dance, but I am sure that I will have plenty of opportunities to attend more dances during my stay here in Ecuador. Because there are only 140 residents in Batanes, I don’t think they attend a reina, but they did have a mass to remember their saints.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Just the break I needed
A little over two months cooped up in my town of 14,000, I needed a break.
So I took that much-needed respite.
In a community of 140.
Thursday night, I attended the community bank meeting in Batanes. And as you learned from my previous post, the municipality’s fleet of vehicles is not reliable.
As is usual, the car was at its second home — the shop. (I joke around with my coworkers that its first home is the mechanic and that its second home is on the road.)
There is no bus that goes to Batanes — you have to ford a river three times to reach the community. Relying on public transit, you have to take a 90-minute bus from Santa Rosa to El Carmen and walk half an hour.
The bus route runs twice a day — 11:30 and 3:00. Bear in mind that these times are merely estimates. Anything within 40 minutes of them is still considered “on time.” And to go from El Carmen back to Santa Rosa, there is just one bus per day (sometime around noon but I heard 11:30, 12:00, and 12:30, so I figured I’d take the average and say it leaves at noon)
Well, without a means to get us back to town, we (My municipal coworker and I) had to spend the night. And since the annual fiesta in Batanes started Friday, we figured that we would aprovechar (to take advantage of) this opportunity and spend a couple of days in the campo (as opposed to the ciudad).
Instead of waking up to the sound of clucking roosters and the sight of a chicken coup out my window, I got to wake up to the sound of clucking roosters and bit of the Ecuadorian countryside out my window.
(By the way, having to worry about whether the chickens enter the bathroom when you are going is a hilarious thing to worry about.)
We arrived a little before 5:00 and helped them prepare for the fiesta. Their current project was putting up poles on which to put lights. There was using a rebar and concrete to put them in place and would wait until the lights and connecting wire arrived on Friday. (The lights and wire never arrived. We joked that they weren’t putting these poles up for this year’s party, but that they were already thinking about next year’s party and had a year to conseguir (get or acquire) the lights.)
At 6:00 was the community bank meeting. This was a momentous meeting for this group because it was their first opportunity to take out loans from the community bank. And well…. that is exactly what happened. This is kind of like the community bank equivalent of the first radishes I harvested from my vegetable patch.
Everybody was very excited about the first loan and combined with the excitement surrounding the town’s fiestas, I would describe the emotion in this sleepy town as ‘sleepless.’
Speaking of sleepy, when one is out in the campo and there isn’t much light or anything to do once the sun goes down, I got really tired really early. This is much like what happened during training, when I was in my training village outside Cayambe. So after the meeting, we hung out with our hosts for the weekend.
The next day, we played soccer with the students at the local school (The local school only has six students, and even though they are in different grades, they all have class in the same classroom. Their map still has the Union Sovietica) We also took a stroll up to the recently constructed water tank.
In the afternoon, there was a soccer match between the Batanes team and some of the neighboring communities. I got to help chalk the lines for match, which involved pacing off the distances between the goal and the corners and pouring crushed up chalk along the string we set down .
(The municipality was supposed to field a team for this match, but because of car difficulties and a strike that has kept most of the staff out of the office for the last week and a half prevented its participation {What happened was that the striking workers couldn’t leave the strike to play in the match, but if there had not been a strike, they would have been able to leave work to play in the match. For some reason, this logic doesn’t make too much sense to me}).
I almost played for the Batanes team, but after the other members of the team saw me play and then saw the 13-year-old nephew of my host mom play, they opted for the 13-year-old nephew. My soccer coach from my days in the BBSC jokes about how he might have the lowest winning percentage in soccer history. After watching me play, I think it’s more obvious that his teams lacked talent than technical know-how.
Well, I spent the rest of the afternoon noshing on banana and shmoozing with the family that so graciously hosted me for a few days.
The tranquilidad (tranquility) of the campo is incredible. Being able to wake up and look out the window at lush mountainside (even though most of it was deforested for cattle, there are still some trees left) and being able to breath the fresh air, instead of the respiratory-problem-inducing dust of the city was a great break. It gave me time to clear my head and almost finish a book.
But that tranquilidad ended after my conversations with the host family, because that night, the fiestas got under way.
And seeing as I am already two pages into this blog post, we will have to save the fiestas for my next dispatch.
So I took that much-needed respite.
In a community of 140.
Thursday night, I attended the community bank meeting in Batanes. And as you learned from my previous post, the municipality’s fleet of vehicles is not reliable.
As is usual, the car was at its second home — the shop. (I joke around with my coworkers that its first home is the mechanic and that its second home is on the road.)
There is no bus that goes to Batanes — you have to ford a river three times to reach the community. Relying on public transit, you have to take a 90-minute bus from Santa Rosa to El Carmen and walk half an hour.
The bus route runs twice a day — 11:30 and 3:00. Bear in mind that these times are merely estimates. Anything within 40 minutes of them is still considered “on time.” And to go from El Carmen back to Santa Rosa, there is just one bus per day (sometime around noon but I heard 11:30, 12:00, and 12:30, so I figured I’d take the average and say it leaves at noon)
Well, without a means to get us back to town, we (My municipal coworker and I) had to spend the night. And since the annual fiesta in Batanes started Friday, we figured that we would aprovechar (to take advantage of) this opportunity and spend a couple of days in the campo (as opposed to the ciudad).
Instead of waking up to the sound of clucking roosters and the sight of a chicken coup out my window, I got to wake up to the sound of clucking roosters and bit of the Ecuadorian countryside out my window.
(By the way, having to worry about whether the chickens enter the bathroom when you are going is a hilarious thing to worry about.)
We arrived a little before 5:00 and helped them prepare for the fiesta. Their current project was putting up poles on which to put lights. There was using a rebar and concrete to put them in place and would wait until the lights and connecting wire arrived on Friday. (The lights and wire never arrived. We joked that they weren’t putting these poles up for this year’s party, but that they were already thinking about next year’s party and had a year to conseguir (get or acquire) the lights.)
At 6:00 was the community bank meeting. This was a momentous meeting for this group because it was their first opportunity to take out loans from the community bank. And well…. that is exactly what happened. This is kind of like the community bank equivalent of the first radishes I harvested from my vegetable patch.
Everybody was very excited about the first loan and combined with the excitement surrounding the town’s fiestas, I would describe the emotion in this sleepy town as ‘sleepless.’
Speaking of sleepy, when one is out in the campo and there isn’t much light or anything to do once the sun goes down, I got really tired really early. This is much like what happened during training, when I was in my training village outside Cayambe. So after the meeting, we hung out with our hosts for the weekend.
The next day, we played soccer with the students at the local school (The local school only has six students, and even though they are in different grades, they all have class in the same classroom. Their map still has the Union Sovietica) We also took a stroll up to the recently constructed water tank.
In the afternoon, there was a soccer match between the Batanes team and some of the neighboring communities. I got to help chalk the lines for match, which involved pacing off the distances between the goal and the corners and pouring crushed up chalk along the string we set down .
(The municipality was supposed to field a team for this match, but because of car difficulties and a strike that has kept most of the staff out of the office for the last week and a half prevented its participation {What happened was that the striking workers couldn’t leave the strike to play in the match, but if there had not been a strike, they would have been able to leave work to play in the match. For some reason, this logic doesn’t make too much sense to me}).
I almost played for the Batanes team, but after the other members of the team saw me play and then saw the 13-year-old nephew of my host mom play, they opted for the 13-year-old nephew. My soccer coach from my days in the BBSC jokes about how he might have the lowest winning percentage in soccer history. After watching me play, I think it’s more obvious that his teams lacked talent than technical know-how.
Well, I spent the rest of the afternoon noshing on banana and shmoozing with the family that so graciously hosted me for a few days.
The tranquilidad (tranquility) of the campo is incredible. Being able to wake up and look out the window at lush mountainside (even though most of it was deforested for cattle, there are still some trees left) and being able to breath the fresh air, instead of the respiratory-problem-inducing dust of the city was a great break. It gave me time to clear my head and almost finish a book.
But that tranquilidad ended after my conversations with the host family, because that night, the fiestas got under way.
And seeing as I am already two pages into this blog post, we will have to save the fiestas for my next dispatch.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
First fruits
This week, I got to harvest the first fruits of my garden.
For gardeners wanting to see quick results, radish is the vegetable of choice. In the coastal region, radish can mature from seed to fruit in 22 days. So, there is no suprise that it was my first harvest, but it was the first time that I did harvest in a garden I started.
I ate them for dinner with bread, cheese, and tomato. There are probably other, and better, ways to eat the radish, but I didn´t have access to the interwebs at the time. I´ll be more creative next time.
For gardeners wanting to see quick results, radish is the vegetable of choice. In the coastal region, radish can mature from seed to fruit in 22 days. So, there is no suprise that it was my first harvest, but it was the first time that I did harvest in a garden I started.
I ate them for dinner with bread, cheese, and tomato. There are probably other, and better, ways to eat the radish, but I didn´t have access to the interwebs at the time. I´ll be more creative next time.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Fun 4th of July
Now, I didn´t get to admire fireworks, watch the Nathan´s Hot Dog contest or sit around a barbecue. But I did get the opportunity to contribute to one of Peace Corps` three goals - raising cultural awareness of the United States with people in other countries.
I went to help someone start a garden in their house, and during some of the downtime, I talked with his wife. Here is a transcript of the conversation (translated, of course).
Wife: Is the United States bigger than Ecuador?
Ian: Yes
Wife: Is it bigger than Peru?
Ian: Yes, it´s bigger than Brazil.
Wife: Is it close to the ocean?
Ian: It touches three oceans.
The Peace Corps has three goals - one of them involves technical assitance in sustainable development, while the other two speak to raising cultural awareness. And it is these two that often get overlooked, but judging by how I celebrated my country´s independence day, these two goals are just as important.
I went to help someone start a garden in their house, and during some of the downtime, I talked with his wife. Here is a transcript of the conversation (translated, of course).
Wife: Is the United States bigger than Ecuador?
Ian: Yes
Wife: Is it bigger than Peru?
Ian: Yes, it´s bigger than Brazil.
Wife: Is it close to the ocean?
Ian: It touches three oceans.
The Peace Corps has three goals - one of them involves technical assitance in sustainable development, while the other two speak to raising cultural awareness. And it is these two that often get overlooked, but judging by how I celebrated my country´s independence day, these two goals are just as important.
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Intro to Environmental Ed
For the last month, I have been teaching four days a week in one of the local high schools. I am working on starting an Ecological Club at the school, and to generate interest, I’ve been asked to teach during the elective hour.
(From my understanding, elective hour is generally spent playing soccer. So in essence, they are getting forty minutes with me instead of forty minutes of soccer.)
But because every class has three free hours per week, I have mas o menos replaced their free hour with an ecology hour.
(In the Ecuadorian high school system, the students remain in the same classroom all day long and the teachers rotate between rooms. The students don’t have unique schedules. They do everything with the same group of classmates. It’s like homeroom every hour)
And I’m cool with that because it gives me a chance to help develop the environmental conscience that is lacking in this community.
I know that this conscious is lacking because, of the ten times I gave my “introduction to the environment and the responsibility of the human beings in this environment,” the students merely talked about the preventative role that human beings have, such as not cutting down trees, not contaminating the rivers, not throwing garbage in the street, and not burning garbage.
While it was good that the students could repeat these messages, I only heard three or four ideas of what human beings can do to improve the situation of the environment and prevent its continued degradation. As in, of more than a hundred students I talked to, three of them knew the three “r’s (In Spanish, the three r’s are “reducir, reciclar y reutilizar”).
The ultimate message of my chat was that human beings have a responsibility to care for the environment and that we need to take an active role in that process because passivity will not change the world for the better.
So, hopefully, a few students got the message, and some of those are interested in starting this club.
My “introduction to the environment and the responsibility of the human beings in this environment” class was merely the first lesson in my environmental curriculum. We have also done activities about the competition for natural resources and how we need to share these natural resources with the rest of natural world, chats about why people shouldn’t burn their household garbage, a demonstration about how long garbage takes to decompose, and we started planting some fruit trees.
From every class that I teach, I try to wrap it up with some action or some way that the students can change their behavior to take this active role in conserving our environment.
(From my understanding, elective hour is generally spent playing soccer. So in essence, they are getting forty minutes with me instead of forty minutes of soccer.)
But because every class has three free hours per week, I have mas o menos replaced their free hour with an ecology hour.
(In the Ecuadorian high school system, the students remain in the same classroom all day long and the teachers rotate between rooms. The students don’t have unique schedules. They do everything with the same group of classmates. It’s like homeroom every hour)
And I’m cool with that because it gives me a chance to help develop the environmental conscience that is lacking in this community.
I know that this conscious is lacking because, of the ten times I gave my “introduction to the environment and the responsibility of the human beings in this environment,” the students merely talked about the preventative role that human beings have, such as not cutting down trees, not contaminating the rivers, not throwing garbage in the street, and not burning garbage.
While it was good that the students could repeat these messages, I only heard three or four ideas of what human beings can do to improve the situation of the environment and prevent its continued degradation. As in, of more than a hundred students I talked to, three of them knew the three “r’s (In Spanish, the three r’s are “reducir, reciclar y reutilizar”).
The ultimate message of my chat was that human beings have a responsibility to care for the environment and that we need to take an active role in that process because passivity will not change the world for the better.
So, hopefully, a few students got the message, and some of those are interested in starting this club.
My “introduction to the environment and the responsibility of the human beings in this environment” class was merely the first lesson in my environmental curriculum. We have also done activities about the competition for natural resources and how we need to share these natural resources with the rest of natural world, chats about why people shouldn’t burn their household garbage, a demonstration about how long garbage takes to decompose, and we started planting some fruit trees.
From every class that I teach, I try to wrap it up with some action or some way that the students can change their behavior to take this active role in conserving our environment.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
I love icebreakers
I contend that there is no better way to start a meeting or class that allowing those in attendance to share a little something about themselves that the rest of the group might not already know.
This is the strategy that was employed in the two student groups I became most involved in at the University of Michigan (Daily Sports and Shmooze), and I think that the environment created by the routine ice breakers was part of my attraction to these groups.
At the beginning of every meeting, we would go around the room at discuss our most painful sports memory or if there were to be a sandwich named after you, what would be on it.
So, since I started teaching environmental education four days a week in the local high school, I have obviously employed the strategy of beginning each class with an ice breaker. For me this is as important as anything that we will eventually cover in the class because it gives the students a chance to think freely, to think about something personal, to think about how themselves as an individual, and maybe develop a bit of self-worth or self-esteem.
And then after the student introduces himself or herself, I allow for a few moments of discussion about the previous response. From my talking to the students, they seem to enjoy these questions but from their responses, I realize how necessary doing these small activities really are.
In the first few classes, we went with some more generic questions of
• What are you most proud of?
I think that every student in the class was proud of their parents and siblings. When asked why, they didn’t really have a response.
I said that I was proud of the opportunity to represent the United States as a Peace Corps volunteer.
• If you could go to one place in the world, where would you go?
Because of the influence of soap operas in primetime television here, most students was to go to Rio de Janeiro or Buenos Aires or Colombia — because that is where the soap operas take place. I’m just waiting for the “Home Improvement” fan to say that he or she wants to go to suburban Detroit.
Those that didn’t say soap opera sets said Las Vegas, Madrid, or New York. I said that I wanted to go to Patagonia or Isle Royale.
• What is the happiest moment of your life?
For some reason, the kids mistook this question to mean “where is your favorite beach?” I think the root of the confusion came from when the first student in the class said their happiest moment is when they are at the beach. I asked “which beach?” and things spiraled down hill from there. Well, to answer the modified question, most like the beaches of Salinas (west of Guayaquil) or the beaches of Manabi province. Some like Jambeli, which is the closest beach to here.
Shabbat dinner tables don’t exist here. Otherwise, I imagine everybody else would have the same response as I did.
• Most difficult thing they have done…
For some reason, they were stumped on this one. So I guess, the answer would be trying to answer this icebreaker.
I told them that trying to teach environmental education to Ecuadorian high schools was near the top of my list.
• What is your favorite place?
For some reason, this was also understood as “what is your favorite beach?” So we had a lot of repeats.
That is because none of them have ever been Up North.
• What is your favorite activity?
In terms of favorite activity, you would think that these kids do nothing but play soccer – and occasionally volleyball and basketball.
I told them that I liked doing stuff outdoors and being active.
• Most ridiculous thing you have ever done…
I guess they don’t quite understand my far-reaching definition of the word ridiculous because most of them said that it was the time when they almost fell from a motorcycle or how they tripped in front of a large group of people or how they fell off a tree. One kid claimed to have killed a snake.
I told them that doing Gadna (basic, basic, basic training for the Israeli army) with my high school classmates was outstanding, especially because we all took it seriously.
• Person in history you most admire….
The most common response here was Albert Einstein. Christopher Columbus also received votes, along with Simon Bolivar. A few soap opera actreeses were mentioned.
I told them that Raoul Wallenberg. They have no idea who that it, so I explained a bit. I will have to do more explaining.
• If you could eat dinner with one person (currently alive and not in your family) with whom would you eat…
The most popular response to this one were Reggaton DJs, bachata bands, the Jonas Brothers, Avril Lavigne, Rafael Correa, and soap opera actresses who I don’t know.
I gave this question in two classes. I think that dinner with Khomeini or Ahmedinijad would be exciting. In the other, I went with Obama.
• If you could travel to one place in time, to when would you travel….
Almost everybody wanted to travel to the time of the dinosaurs, which proves there would be a market for Jurassic Park down here if they don’t employ Wayne Knight.
I thought the summer of 1969 would be a pretty awesome time, especially if I could extend my stay to the fall of ’69 and watch Bo-Woody I.
• If you would meet one person in the history of the world, who would it be…
For this question, the most popular responses were Einstein, Columbus, Madonna (which gave me a great chance to drop the “she’s from my state and attended my university” line), Jesus, and Michael Jordan.
I thought about this one for a long time and developed a fun list, in no particular order. William Shakespeare, Socrates, Shaq, Yoni Netanyahu, Raoul Wallenberg, Muhammad, Job, Newton, Abraham Lincoln, David Ben Gurion
• Favorite fruit…
The most popular ones were the pear, apple, grape, mango, and granadilla (a mild version of the passion fruit).
Well, it is at this point that I typically break into a monologue about how much I love fruit and how blessed the people here are to have such diversity of fruit, even though they don’t have pomegranate, blueberries, or honey crisp apples.
So these are some examples of icebreakers that I have been using with my kids to get to know them a bit, but just as importantly so that their classmates get to know them a little better, as well.
I’d love to get to know my blog readers a little better as well. So If you want to answer some of these icebreakers or present ideas for other icebreaker questions, giddy up.
This is the strategy that was employed in the two student groups I became most involved in at the University of Michigan (Daily Sports and Shmooze), and I think that the environment created by the routine ice breakers was part of my attraction to these groups.
At the beginning of every meeting, we would go around the room at discuss our most painful sports memory or if there were to be a sandwich named after you, what would be on it.
So, since I started teaching environmental education four days a week in the local high school, I have obviously employed the strategy of beginning each class with an ice breaker. For me this is as important as anything that we will eventually cover in the class because it gives the students a chance to think freely, to think about something personal, to think about how themselves as an individual, and maybe develop a bit of self-worth or self-esteem.
And then after the student introduces himself or herself, I allow for a few moments of discussion about the previous response. From my talking to the students, they seem to enjoy these questions but from their responses, I realize how necessary doing these small activities really are.
In the first few classes, we went with some more generic questions of
• What are you most proud of?
I think that every student in the class was proud of their parents and siblings. When asked why, they didn’t really have a response.
I said that I was proud of the opportunity to represent the United States as a Peace Corps volunteer.
• If you could go to one place in the world, where would you go?
Because of the influence of soap operas in primetime television here, most students was to go to Rio de Janeiro or Buenos Aires or Colombia — because that is where the soap operas take place. I’m just waiting for the “Home Improvement” fan to say that he or she wants to go to suburban Detroit.
Those that didn’t say soap opera sets said Las Vegas, Madrid, or New York. I said that I wanted to go to Patagonia or Isle Royale.
• What is the happiest moment of your life?
For some reason, the kids mistook this question to mean “where is your favorite beach?” I think the root of the confusion came from when the first student in the class said their happiest moment is when they are at the beach. I asked “which beach?” and things spiraled down hill from there. Well, to answer the modified question, most like the beaches of Salinas (west of Guayaquil) or the beaches of Manabi province. Some like Jambeli, which is the closest beach to here.
Shabbat dinner tables don’t exist here. Otherwise, I imagine everybody else would have the same response as I did.
• Most difficult thing they have done…
For some reason, they were stumped on this one. So I guess, the answer would be trying to answer this icebreaker.
I told them that trying to teach environmental education to Ecuadorian high schools was near the top of my list.
• What is your favorite place?
For some reason, this was also understood as “what is your favorite beach?” So we had a lot of repeats.
That is because none of them have ever been Up North.
• What is your favorite activity?
In terms of favorite activity, you would think that these kids do nothing but play soccer – and occasionally volleyball and basketball.
I told them that I liked doing stuff outdoors and being active.
• Most ridiculous thing you have ever done…
I guess they don’t quite understand my far-reaching definition of the word ridiculous because most of them said that it was the time when they almost fell from a motorcycle or how they tripped in front of a large group of people or how they fell off a tree. One kid claimed to have killed a snake.
I told them that doing Gadna (basic, basic, basic training for the Israeli army) with my high school classmates was outstanding, especially because we all took it seriously.
• Person in history you most admire….
The most common response here was Albert Einstein. Christopher Columbus also received votes, along with Simon Bolivar. A few soap opera actreeses were mentioned.
I told them that Raoul Wallenberg. They have no idea who that it, so I explained a bit. I will have to do more explaining.
• If you could eat dinner with one person (currently alive and not in your family) with whom would you eat…
The most popular response to this one were Reggaton DJs, bachata bands, the Jonas Brothers, Avril Lavigne, Rafael Correa, and soap opera actresses who I don’t know.
I gave this question in two classes. I think that dinner with Khomeini or Ahmedinijad would be exciting. In the other, I went with Obama.
• If you could travel to one place in time, to when would you travel….
Almost everybody wanted to travel to the time of the dinosaurs, which proves there would be a market for Jurassic Park down here if they don’t employ Wayne Knight.
I thought the summer of 1969 would be a pretty awesome time, especially if I could extend my stay to the fall of ’69 and watch Bo-Woody I.
• If you would meet one person in the history of the world, who would it be…
For this question, the most popular responses were Einstein, Columbus, Madonna (which gave me a great chance to drop the “she’s from my state and attended my university” line), Jesus, and Michael Jordan.
I thought about this one for a long time and developed a fun list, in no particular order. William Shakespeare, Socrates, Shaq, Yoni Netanyahu, Raoul Wallenberg, Muhammad, Job, Newton, Abraham Lincoln, David Ben Gurion
• Favorite fruit…
The most popular ones were the pear, apple, grape, mango, and granadilla (a mild version of the passion fruit).
Well, it is at this point that I typically break into a monologue about how much I love fruit and how blessed the people here are to have such diversity of fruit, even though they don’t have pomegranate, blueberries, or honey crisp apples.
So these are some examples of icebreakers that I have been using with my kids to get to know them a bit, but just as importantly so that their classmates get to know them a little better, as well.
I’d love to get to know my blog readers a little better as well. So If you want to answer some of these icebreakers or present ideas for other icebreaker questions, giddy up.
Friday, July 03, 2009
Checking the specs on the enlign
It has been brought to my attention that this blog has been more of a chronicle of the predators in my garden than a detailed account of my experience as a Peace Corps volunteer and the things that I am doing.
While the garden is part of what I am doing, I am involved in several other projects.
One of them, for example, is the community bank I am starting in a community of 30 families about an hour away from where I live. There is no bus route to this town, so we have to rely on the municipality's resources for mobilization.
(Peace Corps has adapted a model for a community bank that is based off the idea of microfinance and microcredit that Mohammed Yunis developed)
To describe the municipality's fleet of vehicles as past their prime would be an accurate statement. The gem of the corps is "The New Chispita," which translates to "the new spark" ("the new" being English and not requiring translation). I don't really know what year the Chispita was made or what brand it is. I contend that it is a brand in and of itself and that it might have been one of the things that was created between the sixth and seventh day of creation (Pirke Avot simply omitted the Chispita).
Some would say that the Chispita defies science. I would contend that science defies the Chispita.
Well, either way, it's a good time. Last night, as we are returning from the community bank meeting and heading up a hill on the highway, the Chispita gives out. It simply couldn't do it.
So we pulled over to the side of the road to inspect the problem. And here is a photo of me checking the specs on the enlign for the rotary gerter. That line, from my favorite film, is the depth and breadth of my car knowledge.
To make a long, and fun, story short, we finally made it back home at 10:45, when we should have gotten back around 8:00. After the car didn't make it up the first time, we decided to give it another go. After that didn't work, we relied on gravity to take us down to the town at the bottom of the hill, where we called for help (no cell reception) and left the car for the night.
The night involved us eating some horrendous bread for dinner, me being freaked out by a barking dog, and three games of Casino (Ecuadorian rules are slightly different than what Grandma and Papa taught me, but the spirit of competition here is just as intense).
While the garden is part of what I am doing, I am involved in several other projects.
One of them, for example, is the community bank I am starting in a community of 30 families about an hour away from where I live. There is no bus route to this town, so we have to rely on the municipality's resources for mobilization.
(Peace Corps has adapted a model for a community bank that is based off the idea of microfinance and microcredit that Mohammed Yunis developed)
To describe the municipality's fleet of vehicles as past their prime would be an accurate statement. The gem of the corps is "The New Chispita," which translates to "the new spark" ("the new" being English and not requiring translation). I don't really know what year the Chispita was made or what brand it is. I contend that it is a brand in and of itself and that it might have been one of the things that was created between the sixth and seventh day of creation (Pirke Avot simply omitted the Chispita).
Some would say that the Chispita defies science. I would contend that science defies the Chispita.
Well, either way, it's a good time. Last night, as we are returning from the community bank meeting and heading up a hill on the highway, the Chispita gives out. It simply couldn't do it.
So we pulled over to the side of the road to inspect the problem. And here is a photo of me checking the specs on the enlign for the rotary gerter. That line, from my favorite film, is the depth and breadth of my car knowledge.
To make a long, and fun, story short, we finally made it back home at 10:45, when we should have gotten back around 8:00. After the car didn't make it up the first time, we decided to give it another go. After that didn't work, we relied on gravity to take us down to the town at the bottom of the hill, where we called for help (no cell reception) and left the car for the night.
The night involved us eating some horrendous bread for dinner, me being freaked out by a barking dog, and three games of Casino (Ecuadorian rules are slightly different than what Grandma and Papa taught me, but the spirit of competition here is just as intense).
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
This week in nursery ridiculousness
I would describe my vegetable patch as battle-tested.
It has survived the drunken escapades of teenagers and their pregnancy tests.
It has overcome the cravings of our hungry iguana friend.
It is still dealing with the never-satisfied appetite of neighborhood chickens.
But the nursery was not prepared for what happened this weekend.
At midnight on Saturday night (so I guess that´s Sunday morning), one of the employees in the nursery who lives next door heard noises in the direction of the nursery. She thought it was her nephew, but when she realized that it was not the sound of her relative enjoying a night out with friends, she became a bit worried. Someone was in the nursery with cruel intentions (not the movie but intentions that are cruel).
She looked out the window and saw someone running out of the nursery with two bunches of plantain slung over his shoulder. They were stealing out plantains, but there was nothing she could do.
Four hours later, there was more noise in the nursery. A local delinquint had gotten in a fight with a soldier. For some reason, the action had carried over to the nursery. And the police were called.
There were four police officers maneuvering through the nursery pursuing this criminal, but he evaded them and escaped.
But the police pursuit was not for naught because they discovered another drunk guy wandering aimlessly around the nursery and arrested him.
Now, I know what you are all thinking. What happened in my vegetable patch?
I arrived Monday morning to discover that one of my watermelon plants had disappeared. I don´t know if the theif ran off with this when he took the plantain, if the drunkard had stumbled over it (and cleaned it up), if the police had accidently trampled it when they were chasing the criminal, or if something else (possibly a chicken) was the culprit.
It has survived the drunken escapades of teenagers and their pregnancy tests.
It has overcome the cravings of our hungry iguana friend.
It is still dealing with the never-satisfied appetite of neighborhood chickens.
But the nursery was not prepared for what happened this weekend.
At midnight on Saturday night (so I guess that´s Sunday morning), one of the employees in the nursery who lives next door heard noises in the direction of the nursery. She thought it was her nephew, but when she realized that it was not the sound of her relative enjoying a night out with friends, she became a bit worried. Someone was in the nursery with cruel intentions (not the movie but intentions that are cruel).
She looked out the window and saw someone running out of the nursery with two bunches of plantain slung over his shoulder. They were stealing out plantains, but there was nothing she could do.
Four hours later, there was more noise in the nursery. A local delinquint had gotten in a fight with a soldier. For some reason, the action had carried over to the nursery. And the police were called.
There were four police officers maneuvering through the nursery pursuing this criminal, but he evaded them and escaped.
But the police pursuit was not for naught because they discovered another drunk guy wandering aimlessly around the nursery and arrested him.
Now, I know what you are all thinking. What happened in my vegetable patch?
I arrived Monday morning to discover that one of my watermelon plants had disappeared. I don´t know if the theif ran off with this when he took the plantain, if the drunkard had stumbled over it (and cleaned it up), if the police had accidently trampled it when they were chasing the criminal, or if something else (possibly a chicken) was the culprit.
Saturday, June 27, 2009
They are fetching me soup
My region in Ecuador is famous for its goat meat. Here is a photo of me training some goats to fetch me some soup. It´ll be a long process because the goats´ current reaction when I approach is to run away.
But by the time I am done training, the soup is cool enough to enjoy during lunch. I will start doing two-a-day training sessions with the goats. Part of this might involve teaching them to throw sandals, as well. I might also include a few practices on fetching soap, to avoid confusion about what they are supposed to get.
If you don´t understand this post, watch ¨You Don´t Mess With the Zohan.¨
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Slow news day or outstanding coverage?
So I opened up the newspaper this morning and saw this gem of an article. keep in mind that this newspaper tries to give comprehensive coverage of the province of El Oro.
Judging by the details of this story, I would definitely describe their coverage as ¨comprehensive.¨ There was also a picture of the injured man, with his bandaged leg in the hospital.
At the Daily, with a campus of 36,000 students, we didn´t cover every CCRB injury.
A 52 year old farmer, who in his free time plays football, seriously injured his health after a surprising fall with the ball.
The accident happened at four o’clock yesterday,when he was doing some extraordinary dribbling in the box, and when he was at the point of making a goal, he fell to the ground.
Until they realized that the injury was serious, the fans were mocking him, but when they saw him fall to the ground and the seriousness of the injury, they stopped.
He tried to avoid the fall and protect his face with his right arm, but that didn´t work. He had to be carried off the field in an ambulence to the local hospital and was transferred to another hospital at 7:00.
Judging by the details of this story, I would definitely describe their coverage as ¨comprehensive.¨ There was also a picture of the injured man, with his bandaged leg in the hospital.
At the Daily, with a campus of 36,000 students, we didn´t cover every CCRB injury.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Lost in translation (from Spanish to Spanish)
A few weeks ago, I told my friend who works in the Internet café that I was going to make guacamole. They were excited about it but had never tried it before.
I told them that it is a very popular Mexican dip that is served with tortilla chips or lathered on the inside of a burrito. They didn’t know what a burrito was, either.
So there was only one thing that I could do - expand their cultural awareness.
Two days later, everything was ready for the burritos. I bought some avocados, beans, tomatoes, onions, cilantro, and limes and heated up some rice.
I went over to the internet café to let them know that the food would be ready soon. I walked the three minutes back to my house and started constructing the burritos. I realized that I forgot the cheese and opened the fridge to put the cheese on the first burrito.
As I open the door to the fridge, one of the shelves on the door broke off. The wine and liquor bottles stored on that shelf crashed to the floor and shattered.
The burrito enjoyment would be delayed a little bit. I had to clean up the mess. So I got the mop and cleaned up my mess. As soon as I was about done cleaning up my mess, the power went out.
Oh, well. Nothing was going to stop me from sharing the possibilities of avocado with my community. The rice cooker was still warm, so I put the tortillas on top of the rice cooker to heat them and up and used the flashlight on my cell phone to guide me as I filled and wrapped the burritos.
Everything was ready. I have four rolls ready to go, and I carried them over to the Internet café.
Throughout this whole process, I was motivated by the fact that my friend was going to enjoy burritos for the first time. No electricity, no shelf in the fridge. No problem. I am going to share a bit of my culture (my culture being popular campus food).
I finally arrive to the internet café, and my friend takes a bite of the first burrito. After the first bit, my friend pauses for a second and asks, “Is there avocado in this?”
I say, “Yes, that this the base for the guacamole.”
“I’m allergic to avocado.”
Yes, I did tell my friend that I was going to buy avocado but I don’t think the connection was made between my purchase of avocado and the preparation of guacamole.
So, I go back home and make a couple guacamole-less burritos for the people at the Internet café to enjoy.
I return home. The power comes back. And I finish cleaning up the kitchen floor (When I was done, it has the same scent as the floor at 829 Packard). Then I ate my four burritos and put the leftover guacamole in the fridge (to serve with breakfast, I realize that it doesn’t have a shelf life of longer than 12 hours).
As I fit the guacamole back in the puzzle that is our refrigerator, the bowl falls on the floor and I have another mess to clean up.
In ther aftermath of this story, I shared this experience with some of my local friends here, and they had trouble appreciating the humor in this experience. When I relayed this sequence of events to some of my Peace Corps friends, they thought it was one of the funniest things they had ever heard.
Lost in translation, I guess.
I told them that it is a very popular Mexican dip that is served with tortilla chips or lathered on the inside of a burrito. They didn’t know what a burrito was, either.
So there was only one thing that I could do - expand their cultural awareness.
Two days later, everything was ready for the burritos. I bought some avocados, beans, tomatoes, onions, cilantro, and limes and heated up some rice.
I went over to the internet café to let them know that the food would be ready soon. I walked the three minutes back to my house and started constructing the burritos. I realized that I forgot the cheese and opened the fridge to put the cheese on the first burrito.
As I open the door to the fridge, one of the shelves on the door broke off. The wine and liquor bottles stored on that shelf crashed to the floor and shattered.
The burrito enjoyment would be delayed a little bit. I had to clean up the mess. So I got the mop and cleaned up my mess. As soon as I was about done cleaning up my mess, the power went out.
Oh, well. Nothing was going to stop me from sharing the possibilities of avocado with my community. The rice cooker was still warm, so I put the tortillas on top of the rice cooker to heat them and up and used the flashlight on my cell phone to guide me as I filled and wrapped the burritos.
Everything was ready. I have four rolls ready to go, and I carried them over to the Internet café.
Throughout this whole process, I was motivated by the fact that my friend was going to enjoy burritos for the first time. No electricity, no shelf in the fridge. No problem. I am going to share a bit of my culture (my culture being popular campus food).
I finally arrive to the internet café, and my friend takes a bite of the first burrito. After the first bit, my friend pauses for a second and asks, “Is there avocado in this?”
I say, “Yes, that this the base for the guacamole.”
“I’m allergic to avocado.”
Yes, I did tell my friend that I was going to buy avocado but I don’t think the connection was made between my purchase of avocado and the preparation of guacamole.
So, I go back home and make a couple guacamole-less burritos for the people at the Internet café to enjoy.
I return home. The power comes back. And I finish cleaning up the kitchen floor (When I was done, it has the same scent as the floor at 829 Packard). Then I ate my four burritos and put the leftover guacamole in the fridge (to serve with breakfast, I realize that it doesn’t have a shelf life of longer than 12 hours).
As I fit the guacamole back in the puzzle that is our refrigerator, the bowl falls on the floor and I have another mess to clean up.
In ther aftermath of this story, I shared this experience with some of my local friends here, and they had trouble appreciating the humor in this experience. When I relayed this sequence of events to some of my Peace Corps friends, they thought it was one of the funniest things they had ever heard.
Lost in translation, I guess.
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