In the first minutes of last night's game against Machala's Fuerza Amarilla, Condor had a golden opportunity for a goal when a striker broke free and was all alone against the goalie.
He missed, badly. The radio announcer said that Condor's forwards continued their erratic play.
He was wrong.
They haven't been erratic in any way. Condor's forwards have been consistent through two games this season.
In the club's opening two matches, the forwards have had at least ten breakaway, one-on-the-goalie chances and have not converted one of those.
Their inability to find the net continued in last night's 1-1 tie in Puerto Bolivar - a game that Condor should have won by a comfortable margin. Instead, a 95th-minute, game-tying goal set the tone for a glum bus ride back to Arenillas.
Condor had a few great opportunities in the first half but couldn't convert. In the 20th minute of the second half, it should have gotten easier for them when Fuerza Amarilla's goalie drew a red card (and automatic ejection) for tripping a Condor player in the 18-yard box.
Fuerza Amarilla only had one goalie in uniform and were forced to move a midfielder between the pipes. He allowed a goal on the ensuing penalty kick (nearly saved it, though) but was lights out for the rest of the game. He stoned a Condor striker on back-to-back chances from point-blank range.
Condor created more good chances on net but couldn't finish. At one point they caught the opposing goalie so far out of position and had such a wide open net and so much time to score that every one in the stadium assumed he was going to score.
He didn't. The Arenillas radio announcer said "It was more difficult to miss the net than to score a goal, but he managed to do just that."
Condor has scored two goals through two games now and didn't earn either of them, while blowing several great chances.
In soccer, the general logic is that in a game between two evenly matched teams, the road team would be content to salvage a tie. The idea being that if they can get a tie on the road, they should be able to win at home.
But you can't apply it to last night's game, especially with a game at division-leading Santa Rosa next weekend (Santa Rosa won at Santos FC yesterday afternoon).
Nuggets
• Last night's game was played in Puerto Bolivar, which is part of Machala. It is the the principle banana-exporting port. Other than that, Puerto Bolivar has a reputation for good seafood and not being a place to walk around after dark.
• I went with the sports writer for AREvista. He had a great time and was the official timekeeper on the radio broadcast. The radio guy liked working with him so much that he wants to include our writer in regular coverage for the team.
• We got to the stadium, and the team management realized that it didn't bring the medical kit (A perfect no pasa nada situation). But in soccer, the spray on stuff that the trainer puts on an uninjured player while he is rolling around the field, whining about an injury he didn't sustain is the most important piece of equipment. They also bought some athletic tape.
• The Condor-Fuerza Amarilla match was part of a doubleheader at the stadium. The second match featured the hometown Bolivar against Machala-based Audaz Octubrino. The fans for these two teams slowly filtered into the stadium throughout the second half.
Putting it lightly, these teams had much better fans than Fuerza Amarilla. The Puerto Bolivar fans had foam hats made, giant signs tied the fence, and a big base drum. It looked like Audaz Octubrino brought a full percussion section and a few trumpets. This made it seem quite rowdy toward the end of the game, even though these fans had no rooting interest in the earlier game. (Obviously I would have taken a picture of the bands and hats and signs, but I already told you about Puerto's reputation. Camera stayed at home.)
If one were to measure the quality of a team by the quality of its fans, which I think is a pretty good measurement, I wouldn't want to face Audaz Octubrino or Bolivar.
• I think the majority of percussion instruments in Latin America are almost exclusively used at soccer stadiums.
• I think I heard the Fuerza Amarilla fans once. And to be honest, they were quite lame. Their only cheer was a rah-rah-rah Fuerza Amarilla. Lame.
• Condor's defense has played relatively well in the first two games. Aside from a last-second goal on a missed assignment in the 95th minute last night, they hadn't allowed a goal. The goalie has played very well, and I can't remember the opposition having any one-on-the-goalie chances that have been so readily wasted by Condor.
• Last week, Condor had to play in hand-me-down uniforms. This week, they finally had new kits to wear. On the bus on the way to the stadium, the players opened the bag of uniforms and had a bit of a fashion show on the way to the stadium.
Then when we got to the stadium, the team's management wanted to take a picture of the team in their new gear. But he realized that he forgot the camera and asked me if I brought mine.
I said I didn't, and he asked why.
"We're in Puerto."
"Cierto."
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Tuesday, April 06, 2010
AREvista (fourth edition)
So the kids have published the fourth edition of the community newsletter. You can find it by clicking on the image of the cover or right here.
In the exporting process, the end of some of the stories might have been cut. If you have any ideas for how we could improve the newspaper, please leave them in the comments section.
In the exporting process, the end of some of the stories might have been cut. If you have any ideas for how we could improve the newspaper, please leave them in the comments section.
Saturday, April 03, 2010
Condor 1, Santos FC 0
I ran into the local soccer coach on the street last week, and he started complaining to me about how little support he gets from the club's leadership.
I thought this was a little weird, since I'm not used to coaches throwing their bosses under the bus without them being tossed out of said bus very shortly after. Then I heard him making the same comments on the local radio station and thought "man, I wish I covered someone this candid when I was working at the Daily."
He had scheduled many scrimmages to get his team ready for the six-game championship. Apparently, the buses never showed up twice and two other games were canceled one day before they were supposed to be played. They ended up having two tune-ups, and even I could tell that that wasn't nearly enough.
They were also supposed to get new jerseys this year. But they weren't ready in time, so they had to wear last year's.
So, out of form and wearing hand-me-downs, they took whatever they could get.
And about eight minutes into the game, they were handed a gift from Santos on a miscommunication between the goalie and the defender that left a wide-open chance that even I probably couldn't mess up. Miller Castro scored for Arenillas (Should one be wary of people with two last names?)
Despite having the early lead, it was clear that Condor could use some more practice time. The opposition dominated the first 35 minutes of the game, controlling the ball and having many quality scoring opportunities. Luckily for Condor, Santos couldn't finish anything.
In the second half, Condor started to gets itself together, so much so that the radio announcer said Condor "looked like a strong team." Despite losing both of its starting forwards (one to penalties and the other to injury), Condor was able to maintain pressure for the entire second half. But as is the case with second-string players in the lowest level of Ecuadorian football on a team that can't afford to pay for buses to exhibition games, they aren't very good at putting the ball in the net. And despite at least five breakaways, Condor couldn't put the biscuit in the basket.
It might not have been pretty, but when six games define your season, you'll take a win any way you can get it.
Nuggets
• At one point in the game, a player was frustrated at a no-call by the official. In anger, he picked up the ball and spiked it into the ground instead of passing it to the goalie for the goal kick.
Nothing happened to this player. A gesture that would be grounds for ejection or at least a penalty in any sport in the States went unnoticed.
• Santos doesn't have a home field to play on in El Guabo. Instead, they have to play their home games in Pasaje, half an hour away, because of an argument between the club president and the local soccer federation about field maintenance. The club issue showed no restraint bashing the soccer federation during a halftime interview.
• When a player actually gets injured and carried off the field, all of the kids in the stands flock to that part of the fence to gawk at the wounds.
It is very common in soccer for players to fake injuries. So they are typically carried off the field, lay there for a few seconds and then get up and continue playing as if nothing happened. But when they continue to lie down for more than ten seconds, then they might actually be hurt.
The kids knew this and waited a few seconds to see if he would get up. He didn't, at least not right away. And then the children swarmed.
• The radio announcer used a phrase "Hopefully the dessert doesn't weight him down too much." I haven't had the chance to ask to clarify this phrase, but I imagine it has something to do with the player being out of shape.
Espero que el postre no pese mucho.
• One of the radio guys was walking to do his postgame interview with the coach when he realized that his recorder battery was nearly dead. He took the battery out and asked a little kid who was following him around to get a big rock. He proceeded to pound the battery with the rock and put the batteries back in the recorder.
This can't be good for the environment, can it?
This can't be an acceptable way to extend battery life, can it?
• There is a notion around here that if you drink cold water when you are really hot that you will develop a sore throat or flu. So instead of swallowing the water, the soccer players just put some in their mouth and spit it back out.
• Journalistic neutrality doesn't exist here. In fact, I think the correspondent for one of the big papars in the area (not AREvista) was the most riled up of any of the fans in attendance. In reaction to one missed call (in his opinion), he stood up from his seat on the top row of the bleachers, stormed down the steps to the gate, and started shaking the fence while insulting the ref.
• Estoperoles - spikes or cleats
I thought this was a little weird, since I'm not used to coaches throwing their bosses under the bus without them being tossed out of said bus very shortly after. Then I heard him making the same comments on the local radio station and thought "man, I wish I covered someone this candid when I was working at the Daily."
He had scheduled many scrimmages to get his team ready for the six-game championship. Apparently, the buses never showed up twice and two other games were canceled one day before they were supposed to be played. They ended up having two tune-ups, and even I could tell that that wasn't nearly enough.
They were also supposed to get new jerseys this year. But they weren't ready in time, so they had to wear last year's.
So, out of form and wearing hand-me-downs, they took whatever they could get.
And about eight minutes into the game, they were handed a gift from Santos on a miscommunication between the goalie and the defender that left a wide-open chance that even I probably couldn't mess up. Miller Castro scored for Arenillas (Should one be wary of people with two last names?)
Despite having the early lead, it was clear that Condor could use some more practice time. The opposition dominated the first 35 minutes of the game, controlling the ball and having many quality scoring opportunities. Luckily for Condor, Santos couldn't finish anything.
In the second half, Condor started to gets itself together, so much so that the radio announcer said Condor "looked like a strong team." Despite losing both of its starting forwards (one to penalties and the other to injury), Condor was able to maintain pressure for the entire second half. But as is the case with second-string players in the lowest level of Ecuadorian football on a team that can't afford to pay for buses to exhibition games, they aren't very good at putting the ball in the net. And despite at least five breakaways, Condor couldn't put the biscuit in the basket.
It might not have been pretty, but when six games define your season, you'll take a win any way you can get it.
Nuggets
• At one point in the game, a player was frustrated at a no-call by the official. In anger, he picked up the ball and spiked it into the ground instead of passing it to the goalie for the goal kick.
Nothing happened to this player. A gesture that would be grounds for ejection or at least a penalty in any sport in the States went unnoticed.
• Santos doesn't have a home field to play on in El Guabo. Instead, they have to play their home games in Pasaje, half an hour away, because of an argument between the club president and the local soccer federation about field maintenance. The club issue showed no restraint bashing the soccer federation during a halftime interview.
• When a player actually gets injured and carried off the field, all of the kids in the stands flock to that part of the fence to gawk at the wounds.
It is very common in soccer for players to fake injuries. So they are typically carried off the field, lay there for a few seconds and then get up and continue playing as if nothing happened. But when they continue to lie down for more than ten seconds, then they might actually be hurt.
The kids knew this and waited a few seconds to see if he would get up. He didn't, at least not right away. And then the children swarmed.
• The radio announcer used a phrase "Hopefully the dessert doesn't weight him down too much." I haven't had the chance to ask to clarify this phrase, but I imagine it has something to do with the player being out of shape.
Espero que el postre no pese mucho.
• One of the radio guys was walking to do his postgame interview with the coach when he realized that his recorder battery was nearly dead. He took the battery out and asked a little kid who was following him around to get a big rock. He proceeded to pound the battery with the rock and put the batteries back in the recorder.
This can't be good for the environment, can it?
This can't be an acceptable way to extend battery life, can it?
• There is a notion around here that if you drink cold water when you are really hot that you will develop a sore throat or flu. So instead of swallowing the water, the soccer players just put some in their mouth and spit it back out.
• Journalistic neutrality doesn't exist here. In fact, I think the correspondent for one of the big papars in the area (not AREvista) was the most riled up of any of the fans in attendance. In reaction to one missed call (in his opinion), he stood up from his seat on the top row of the bleachers, stormed down the steps to the gate, and started shaking the fence while insulting the ref.
• Estoperoles - spikes or cleats
Saturday, March 27, 2010
A tale of repair (and cut-off jean shorts)
I love saunas.
I just don't like living in them. And sometimes during the hot season, it feels like that.
The only escape is a fan, something that will get the air moving and have a slight cooling effect. It was the first item I purchased when I arrived here last April and has served me well.
So when my fan broke down on Thursday afternoon, a repair was urgent.
Now, let me explain that my fan's demise was not immediate. It was a month-long process. It started a few weeks back when sparks started to shoot out of the fan when it was on its higher levels, but it worked perfectly on the low-velocity option. No pasa nada, right?
Well, the fan worked well for a a couple weeks on low velocity, and because I was content to have some air moving, maintenance wasn't urgent. But Thursday, it died.
My friend's brother is an electrician. I figured he would be able to give me some guidance on this quest.
And so began the road to recovery.
Well not quite. When I left my house to take the fan to my friend's, the fan was in one piece. By the time I got there, it had broken into several pieces. I wasn't worried. From what I have learned from reform programs, we break ourselves down before building ourselves back up again. Maybe it's the same for my fan and this was just part of the process.
So I arrived at my friend's temporary house with the blades in one hand and the base and cord in another (I say temporary because recent flooding has forced my friend to evacuate her house and live in a local preschool).
My friend's brother answers the door in a ripped polo short and uncomfortably revealing cut-off jean shorts. I can't actually tell if they were cut-off jean shorts made shorter of cut-off jeans made into cut-off jean shorts (Bio Dome, anyone?). He said that he'll take a look at it.
He took apart my fan on the floor, inspecting the various pieces and trying to explain it in technical Spanish. It kind of went over my head. From what I understood, it was a cheaply build Chinese fan, so it's not surprising that it broke. There must have been a short circuit some where because all of the wires looked like they were burnt. He spent forty minutes correcting this problem and putting the fan back together before realizing that there was a blown fuse.
He looked around the preschool for a fuse but said he didn't know where he put them during the move. I would have to find one and come back in the afternoon. Don't worry, he told me, there are plenty of electronics repair joints in town. You shouldn't have much an issue finding one.
So with the fuse in hand, I went to the store that he said would definitely have it. They said that they don't carry that product but the motorcycle shop down street carries them.
So I went there. They told me that they didn't carry them, but that the hardware store next door should have them.
They didn't. They told me that the audio system store down the street sells them.
They didn't. But the car electronics store around the corner is known to carry that gauge fuse.
They didn't, but they knew who does. There is a guy who lives three blocks away named Don Napoleon, his nickname is Maestro Piojo (Mr. Lice). I finally found his house and asked for Mr. Lice.
He does, they told me. (Finally, my quest had come to an end. It only took me five places but I have finally found what I'm looking for.) Unfortunately, he is in the hospital and won't be out until Monday. They don't know where he keeps.
By now, it was lunch time. I needed to regroup. At this point, I was without a lead or lunch.
After three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I was refreshed and read to continue. I returned to the first hardware store I went to. When I went there earlier, the son was working. Maybe the father would be back and might give me another lead.
The father was in and told me that he had a used fuse I could have, but that it still worked. He sent me to another hardware store on the other side of town that he was confident carried that kind of product.
They didn't. But they told me that a motorcycle repair place a block away would surely stock them.
They didn't. But the auto repair place a couple of blocks away is known to sell the product.
They didn't. But the electronics store three blocks away will definitely carry the fuse.
They didn't. But a place near the market will have it. No doubt.
They didn't. But he tried out the used fuse the other guy had given me and said that, while it's not recommended to use a used a fuse, it could maybe work.
Well, I didn't think there were any other electronic/motorcycle/car repair/obscurely nicknamed electronics repairmen left in town, so I headed by to the electrician with the used fuse.
I dropped it off. He called me an hour later and told me the fan was working. I went to his house and through his open roof I heard the magical humming of the spinning blades.
I brought it home. And as I am writing this, a gentle breeze is flowing through the house, really creating a calm, soothing environment. I'm pretty sure you can feel it through the computer screen.
I dedicated an entire day to getting my fan fixed. I visited twelve different stores in search of a new fuse. Luckily my schedule is flexible and I can take off of work whenever I want. I can't imagine how someone with a 9-5 job would get there fan fixed. Then again, how many people in town have 9-5 jobs?
I just don't like living in them. And sometimes during the hot season, it feels like that.
The only escape is a fan, something that will get the air moving and have a slight cooling effect. It was the first item I purchased when I arrived here last April and has served me well.
So when my fan broke down on Thursday afternoon, a repair was urgent.
Now, let me explain that my fan's demise was not immediate. It was a month-long process. It started a few weeks back when sparks started to shoot out of the fan when it was on its higher levels, but it worked perfectly on the low-velocity option. No pasa nada, right?
Well, the fan worked well for a a couple weeks on low velocity, and because I was content to have some air moving, maintenance wasn't urgent. But Thursday, it died.
My friend's brother is an electrician. I figured he would be able to give me some guidance on this quest.
And so began the road to recovery.
Well not quite. When I left my house to take the fan to my friend's, the fan was in one piece. By the time I got there, it had broken into several pieces. I wasn't worried. From what I have learned from reform programs, we break ourselves down before building ourselves back up again. Maybe it's the same for my fan and this was just part of the process.
So I arrived at my friend's temporary house with the blades in one hand and the base and cord in another (I say temporary because recent flooding has forced my friend to evacuate her house and live in a local preschool).
My friend's brother answers the door in a ripped polo short and uncomfortably revealing cut-off jean shorts. I can't actually tell if they were cut-off jean shorts made shorter of cut-off jeans made into cut-off jean shorts (Bio Dome, anyone?). He said that he'll take a look at it.
He took apart my fan on the floor, inspecting the various pieces and trying to explain it in technical Spanish. It kind of went over my head. From what I understood, it was a cheaply build Chinese fan, so it's not surprising that it broke. There must have been a short circuit some where because all of the wires looked like they were burnt. He spent forty minutes correcting this problem and putting the fan back together before realizing that there was a blown fuse.
He looked around the preschool for a fuse but said he didn't know where he put them during the move. I would have to find one and come back in the afternoon. Don't worry, he told me, there are plenty of electronics repair joints in town. You shouldn't have much an issue finding one.
So with the fuse in hand, I went to the store that he said would definitely have it. They said that they don't carry that product but the motorcycle shop down street carries them.
So I went there. They told me that they didn't carry them, but that the hardware store next door should have them.
They didn't. They told me that the audio system store down the street sells them.
They didn't. But the car electronics store around the corner is known to carry that gauge fuse.
They didn't, but they knew who does. There is a guy who lives three blocks away named Don Napoleon, his nickname is Maestro Piojo (Mr. Lice). I finally found his house and asked for Mr. Lice.
He does, they told me. (Finally, my quest had come to an end. It only took me five places but I have finally found what I'm looking for.) Unfortunately, he is in the hospital and won't be out until Monday. They don't know where he keeps.
By now, it was lunch time. I needed to regroup. At this point, I was without a lead or lunch.
After three peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, I was refreshed and read to continue. I returned to the first hardware store I went to. When I went there earlier, the son was working. Maybe the father would be back and might give me another lead.
The father was in and told me that he had a used fuse I could have, but that it still worked. He sent me to another hardware store on the other side of town that he was confident carried that kind of product.
They didn't. But they told me that a motorcycle repair place a block away would surely stock them.
They didn't. But the auto repair place a couple of blocks away is known to sell the product.
They didn't. But the electronics store three blocks away will definitely carry the fuse.
They didn't. But a place near the market will have it. No doubt.
They didn't. But he tried out the used fuse the other guy had given me and said that, while it's not recommended to use a used a fuse, it could maybe work.
Well, I didn't think there were any other electronic/motorcycle/car repair/obscurely nicknamed electronics repairmen left in town, so I headed by to the electrician with the used fuse.
I dropped it off. He called me an hour later and told me the fan was working. I went to his house and through his open roof I heard the magical humming of the spinning blades.
I brought it home. And as I am writing this, a gentle breeze is flowing through the house, really creating a calm, soothing environment. I'm pretty sure you can feel it through the computer screen.
I dedicated an entire day to getting my fan fixed. I visited twelve different stores in search of a new fuse. Luckily my schedule is flexible and I can take off of work whenever I want. I can't imagine how someone with a 9-5 job would get there fan fixed. Then again, how many people in town have 9-5 jobs?
Friday, March 19, 2010
Condor's Back
Last year, I became a fan of the local soccer team - Club Deportivo Condor. They're not quite the New York Yankees of Ecuadorian soccer. I think the Detroit Lions is a much better comparison.
In the month and a half that I followed the team, I didn't see them score a single goal. And according to everyone I talked to, that was the team's best season in recent memory.
Well, they're back.
The new season of Condor soccer officially begins next Saturday. And because I'll be accompanying the AREvista sports writers to most of the games this year, I figured I will post a few blogs about the team's progress, my observations of the crowd, critique of how they treat the media, etc.
Should be a good time.
Last year's team actually did pretty well. I just started following them at the wrong time.
At the beginning of the season, the 12 professional teams from the province are divided into the three groups of four. Within these groups of four, each team plays a home-and-home series against the other. The top two teams from each group advance to the hexagonal.
Last year, Condor advanced out of the group-of-four stage into the hexagonal for the first time since the local soccer media can remember. Then they played against five of the top teams in the province.
It was at this point that I started following the team last year. Because they other teams in the province were very good (and Condor wasn't quite at that level), they weren't very competitive in that league. They comfortably finished last.
The top two teams from the hexagonal would then advance into a nationwide tournament against other teams at that level. And the top two teams from that nationwide tournament qualify for the Series B professional league.
I wrote the previous paragraph so that you get a sense of how the system works. It is quite unrealistic to think Condor has any chance to reach that level in the foreseeable (or unforeseeable) future.
If you want to be optimistic about Condor's chances to advance the hexagonal again, it has the same four-team group as last year.
So I guess they have that going for them.
On the other hand, they showed up at their first practice with eight players on the roster. One would typically like to be able to field a full squad of 11. And in a perfect world, you would like to be able to have two lines to play scrimmage-like games in practice. Twenty five is the number the coach was looking for.
Apparently, he finalized his roster earlier this week. But at their first exhibition of the year, they didn't wear jerseys and some guy showed up, begging the coach to let him on the team (even though he hadn't shown up at any of the earlier practices or tryouts).
Condor also has a new coach this year. His predecessor left for more money, so his former assistant took over. As someone who knows very little about soccer, I have no idea how this will effect this will have, except that the fans will be complaining about a different coach this year than last.
The roster should have a lot of familiar names on it - if you knew the names last year, that is. It appears that they return a lot of player's from last year's hexagonal-qualifying team, but it will be difficult to gauge the team's progress until one sees how the other local teams size up.
I have really no idea what to expect out of this year's soccer season - except good times. It would be great for the everyone if the local team can play well. I think it would be great for the community's self-esteem.
In the month and a half that I followed the team, I didn't see them score a single goal. And according to everyone I talked to, that was the team's best season in recent memory.
Well, they're back.
The new season of Condor soccer officially begins next Saturday. And because I'll be accompanying the AREvista sports writers to most of the games this year, I figured I will post a few blogs about the team's progress, my observations of the crowd, critique of how they treat the media, etc.
Should be a good time.
Last year's team actually did pretty well. I just started following them at the wrong time.
At the beginning of the season, the 12 professional teams from the province are divided into the three groups of four. Within these groups of four, each team plays a home-and-home series against the other. The top two teams from each group advance to the hexagonal.
Last year, Condor advanced out of the group-of-four stage into the hexagonal for the first time since the local soccer media can remember. Then they played against five of the top teams in the province.
It was at this point that I started following the team last year. Because they other teams in the province were very good (and Condor wasn't quite at that level), they weren't very competitive in that league. They comfortably finished last.
The top two teams from the hexagonal would then advance into a nationwide tournament against other teams at that level. And the top two teams from that nationwide tournament qualify for the Series B professional league.
I wrote the previous paragraph so that you get a sense of how the system works. It is quite unrealistic to think Condor has any chance to reach that level in the foreseeable (or unforeseeable) future.
If you want to be optimistic about Condor's chances to advance the hexagonal again, it has the same four-team group as last year.
So I guess they have that going for them.
On the other hand, they showed up at their first practice with eight players on the roster. One would typically like to be able to field a full squad of 11. And in a perfect world, you would like to be able to have two lines to play scrimmage-like games in practice. Twenty five is the number the coach was looking for.
Apparently, he finalized his roster earlier this week. But at their first exhibition of the year, they didn't wear jerseys and some guy showed up, begging the coach to let him on the team (even though he hadn't shown up at any of the earlier practices or tryouts).
Condor also has a new coach this year. His predecessor left for more money, so his former assistant took over. As someone who knows very little about soccer, I have no idea how this will effect this will have, except that the fans will be complaining about a different coach this year than last.
The roster should have a lot of familiar names on it - if you knew the names last year, that is. It appears that they return a lot of player's from last year's hexagonal-qualifying team, but it will be difficult to gauge the team's progress until one sees how the other local teams size up.
I have really no idea what to expect out of this year's soccer season - except good times. It would be great for the everyone if the local team can play well. I think it would be great for the community's self-esteem.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Letting go (in stages)
This afternoon, I bid farewell to a dear friend.
We had known each other for about four months and really enjoyed one another's company. I always played host and regularly fed it. It was the longest relationship of this kind that I have ever had. But as with any relationship, there comes a time when one has to move on.
With a heavy heart, I did so. But I know that there is always a chance that it will come back.
I shaved my beard this afternoon.
It was difficult. It was the longest I had ever let me beard grow out. It was a great experience, but it was time.
Now, call me crazy, but after investing five months into growing this glory, I wasn't about to just chop it off without ceremony. That would be not give my furry friend the respect that he deserved.
So I scoured the Internets, searching for creative beard trimming designs and strategies that would allow me to shave it into several patterns before ultimately saying goodbye. I couldn't find exactly what I was looking for (Internet, you disappointed me. Or maybe I was just wasn't searching correctly?).
But I did find some outstanding suggestions along the way. I believe the photos can speak for themselves from here on out.
Joaquin Phoenix
A young, patchy Castro
General, Governor, Senator, and Legend Ambrose Burnsides
Martin Van Buren
(Don't worry. I took another flashing the Van Buren Boys' secret sign)
Simon Bolivar
Now, I know what you're thinking.
Actually, this trimming took less time than it normally takes me to shave my beard. A combination of a new razor and some help from a friend. Maybe I should do this every time?
I wasn't the only one sad to see the beard go. My mirror broke midway through the process. Either, it was so appalled at my Ambrose Burnsides attempt or it was opposed to any facial-hair cutting. I can't decide.
In the beginning of this post, I said that I regularly fed me facial hair. Food often got caught up in that jungle, typically mango (but not exclusively).
We had known each other for about four months and really enjoyed one another's company. I always played host and regularly fed it. It was the longest relationship of this kind that I have ever had. But as with any relationship, there comes a time when one has to move on.
With a heavy heart, I did so. But I know that there is always a chance that it will come back.
I shaved my beard this afternoon.
It was difficult. It was the longest I had ever let me beard grow out. It was a great experience, but it was time.
Now, call me crazy, but after investing five months into growing this glory, I wasn't about to just chop it off without ceremony. That would be not give my furry friend the respect that he deserved.
So I scoured the Internets, searching for creative beard trimming designs and strategies that would allow me to shave it into several patterns before ultimately saying goodbye. I couldn't find exactly what I was looking for (Internet, you disappointed me. Or maybe I was just wasn't searching correctly?).
But I did find some outstanding suggestions along the way. I believe the photos can speak for themselves from here on out.
Joaquin Phoenix
A young, patchy Castro
General, Governor, Senator, and Legend Ambrose Burnsides
Martin Van Buren
(Don't worry. I took another flashing the Van Buren Boys' secret sign)
Simon Bolivar
Now, I know what you're thinking.
Is this how a Peace Corps volunteer spends his weekend? Shouldn't he be, you know, helping out?
Actually, this trimming took less time than it normally takes me to shave my beard. A combination of a new razor and some help from a friend. Maybe I should do this every time?
I wasn't the only one sad to see the beard go. My mirror broke midway through the process. Either, it was so appalled at my Ambrose Burnsides attempt or it was opposed to any facial-hair cutting. I can't decide.
In the beginning of this post, I said that I regularly fed me facial hair. Food often got caught up in that jungle, typically mango (but not exclusively).
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Sometimes they confuse the "b" and "v"
In Spanish, the "b" and "v" sounds are very similar.
Sometimes the people here don't just confuse the letters in speech. They also mistake them in writing.
In the Spanish, "botar" means "to throw (typically into the street or some other public space that isn't a garbage can)." "Votar" means "to vote."
So this sign would mean "it's prohibited to vote for garbage." You would expect that there would be very little opposition to this message. But if you were to see what people do with any candy wrapper or plastic bottle after using it, you would think that using garbage cans is a minority position.
Sometimes the people here don't just confuse the letters in speech. They also mistake them in writing.
In the Spanish, "botar" means "to throw (typically into the street or some other public space that isn't a garbage can)." "Votar" means "to vote."
So this sign would mean "it's prohibited to vote for garbage." You would expect that there would be very little opposition to this message. But if you were to see what people do with any candy wrapper or plastic bottle after using it, you would think that using garbage cans is a minority position.
Monday, March 08, 2010
I guess it's a possible diagnosis
About a month ago, one of the kids on our newspaper staff said he would attend our newspaper day camp.
But the two-week camp came and went with no sign of the kid.
He is very motivated to work on the newspaper, and his mom has been very supportive of the project. So his absence was a bit weird.
Well, my friend ran into his mom the other day.
Now, the spirit of death isn't death. The main difference being that the spirit of death doesn't kill you. The main symptoms, from what I gather, are sadness, depression, not talking very much, and just generally being out of it. Apparently, Jefferson is suffering through bad case of this.
He hasn't been himself for over a month now. His family has taken him to doctors and specialists, but no one has been able to cure him. They are considering taking him to see a shaman to rid him of the evil spirit. When someone goes to a shaman around here, the typical treatment is the shaman spitting something in your face.
Even though that would be an expensive treatment, Jefferson needs to get better before the school year starts next month. And his mom says he is no condition to go to school.
Now I'm no doctor or shaman, so I don't know very much about the spirit of death. But from what I know of this kid, he was pretty shy to begin with. He was pretty quiet. Now, if you add the death of a family member to the situation and I'm thinking the kid might just be sad about the death.
Or he might have been overcome by the spirit of death and needs to go to a shaman.
But the two-week camp came and went with no sign of the kid.
He is very motivated to work on the newspaper, and his mom has been very supportive of the project. So his absence was a bit weird.
Well, my friend ran into his mom the other day.
Ian's friend: Where has Jefferson been?
Jefferson's mom: He has been sick for over a month now.
Ian's friend: Oh no. What's wrong?
Jefferson's mom: The spirit of death has hit him, and we can't get it out of him.
Ian's friend: What?
Jefferson's mom: Well, a couple of months ago, a family member died. Jefferson spent too much time around the dead body during the wake. So he has contracted the spirit of death.
Now, the spirit of death isn't death. The main difference being that the spirit of death doesn't kill you. The main symptoms, from what I gather, are sadness, depression, not talking very much, and just generally being out of it. Apparently, Jefferson is suffering through bad case of this.
He hasn't been himself for over a month now. His family has taken him to doctors and specialists, but no one has been able to cure him. They are considering taking him to see a shaman to rid him of the evil spirit. When someone goes to a shaman around here, the typical treatment is the shaman spitting something in your face.
Even though that would be an expensive treatment, Jefferson needs to get better before the school year starts next month. And his mom says he is no condition to go to school.
Now I'm no doctor or shaman, so I don't know very much about the spirit of death. But from what I know of this kid, he was pretty shy to begin with. He was pretty quiet. Now, if you add the death of a family member to the situation and I'm thinking the kid might just be sad about the death.
Or he might have been overcome by the spirit of death and needs to go to a shaman.
Friday, March 05, 2010
Rehydration
It was a scorcher Friday.
We are in the heart of the hot season, and it might have been the hottest day yet.
It was the last day of the day camp we organized, and we were treating the kids to a day at the pool at the army base. But we had to walk to the army base, which was on the other side of town.
(I know it's far, but think of how refreshing a cold pool is on a hot summer day)
When we got to the base, we bought two big, cold bags of water to give the kids (water comes in bags here, related blog post upcoming).
Who wouldn't have killed for a cold glass of water in this heat wave?
Our kids, that is.
I didn't even know what to say to that ... and still don't.
We are in the heart of the hot season, and it might have been the hottest day yet.
It was the last day of the day camp we organized, and we were treating the kids to a day at the pool at the army base. But we had to walk to the army base, which was on the other side of town.
(I know it's far, but think of how refreshing a cold pool is on a hot summer day)
When we got to the base, we bought two big, cold bags of water to give the kids (water comes in bags here, related blog post upcoming).
Who wouldn't have killed for a cold glass of water in this heat wave?
Our kids, that is.
Ian: Water?
Kid: No thanks.
Ian: Why? It's important to drink water on a hot day.
Kid: No thanks. It makes me sweat.
I didn't even know what to say to that ... and still don't.
Thursday, March 04, 2010
Hey, Sideburns
For fifty cents, you can get a cup of the freshest goat milk in town from this herd that roams the streets every day.
(Click on the image to get a better shot of these not-so-lonely goats)
Tuesday, March 02, 2010
Usage guide: No pasa nada
No pasa nada
It's just three words. Ten letters.
But around here it is a philosophy.
In English, it best translates to "don't worry about it" or "nothing's going to happen."
It is typically said to allay fears in obviously dangerous situations or when something is clearly wrong but someone doesn't want to put the time into fixing it.
The best way to explain its correct usage is to give you a few case studies in proper "no pasa nada" application.
The kids at the newspaper camp are going to do a ropes course at the local army base.
The kids' safety depends on the soldiers being attentive as they pass through the elevated course and at least six soldiers need to pay attention for things to go well. This rarely happened. The soldiers had to remind the soldiers to focus on the kids. With this, you also meet the second condition for proper "no pasa nada" usage, people not wanting to put the energy into correcting the situation.
But the soldiers were right. No pasó nada. (Nothing happened)
I was walking with the kids from our newspaper day camp.
Also, if the ants were crawling around my bag, it didn’t hurt anybody. These weren't the kind that bite.
Furthermore, the kids laughed, which means that they appreciated my attempts to integrate into society.
(This situation clearly reflects the need for me to clean out my backpack, as well.)
Saturday morning, I heard that there was an 8.8 magnitude earthquake off the Chilean coast. I didn't know whether or not we are at risk of a tsunami here because even though I don't live on the seashore, I am not that far away or that high above sea level. Nobody really knew what was going on.
We are ready to go visit the bees during the beekeeping conference. I check my mask and realize that it isn't completely sealed.
I went to go get this checked out with the trainers. They said that my mask was faulty and that I needed to get a new one.
(This one was sent in from a fellow Peace Corps volunteer)
The kids at the school in town are outside for recess. Some kids start climbing on the soccer net. The school director, seeing possible danger in this situation, wants to put a stop to it.
This was well-applied. Notice how there is obvious danger. The kids are climbing on the nets and could fall down and get seriously hurt. But to allay the fears of the school director, the kids just told him that nothing will happen. That was all the director had to hear, and the kids continued playing.
It's raining outside. I'm not home. I decide to walk home.
They were concerned, believing that I am walking into certain danger. I calm their fears and tell them that nothing will happen.
During last week's bull incident, I called my coworker, who was up the road, to tell her what was going on. Keep in mind there are 30 kids walking with me.
It is important to know the limits of the "no pasa nada" because if you apply "no pasa nada" to a situation in which "si pasa algo" (something happens), that hampers your "no pasa nada" permanent record (and less importantly people might actually get hurt). The most important thing in these situations is correct usage. Safety takes a backseat.
In most situations that have a high probability of ending in people getting gored, no pasa nada shouldn’t apply.
I am walking through the eco reserve with my coworker. There is a tower that the military once used as a guard post when the reserve was an exclusively military zone. There are no obvious safety measures in place and the tower doesn't look to sturdy.
Now the most important thing, as I mentioned, is proper usage. If you drop the phrase and something goes wrong, you're going to have to live with that guilt.
This blog post is meant to demonstrate proper application of "no pasa nada" into your life. It's not a black and white science. There is plenty of grey area.
It's just three words. Ten letters.
But around here it is a philosophy.
In English, it best translates to "don't worry about it" or "nothing's going to happen."
It is typically said to allay fears in obviously dangerous situations or when something is clearly wrong but someone doesn't want to put the time into fixing it.
The best way to explain its correct usage is to give you a few case studies in proper "no pasa nada" application.
The kids at the newspaper camp are going to do a ropes course at the local army base.
Kids: We are all going to fall, get hurt., and die.The army gave us 17 soldiers to manage the 35 kids on the obstacle course. There are no harnesses, all of the elements are at least two meters off the ground, and only four kids can be on the course at any time. So you meet the first condition for the presence of obvious danger.
Army soldiers: No pasa nada.
The kids' safety depends on the soldiers being attentive as they pass through the elevated course and at least six soldiers need to pay attention for things to go well. This rarely happened. The soldiers had to remind the soldiers to focus on the kids. With this, you also meet the second condition for proper "no pasa nada" usage, people not wanting to put the energy into correcting the situation.
But the soldiers were right. No pasó nada. (Nothing happened)
I was walking with the kids from our newspaper day camp.
Kids: Ian, there are ants crawling out of your backpack.This was correctly applied. First, having the ants crawl in and out of my backpack had no effect on the kids. So clearly, nothing would happen to the kids.
Ian: No pasa nada.
Kids: (Laughing)
Also, if the ants were crawling around my bag, it didn’t hurt anybody. These weren't the kind that bite.
Furthermore, the kids laughed, which means that they appreciated my attempts to integrate into society.
(This situation clearly reflects the need for me to clean out my backpack, as well.)
Saturday morning, I heard that there was an 8.8 magnitude earthquake off the Chilean coast. I didn't know whether or not we are at risk of a tsunami here because even though I don't live on the seashore, I am not that far away or that high above sea level. Nobody really knew what was going on.
Ian: There was a massive, massive earthquake off the Chilean coast. There might be tsunami waves that hit Ecuador.Incorrect usage. This was said in total seriousness. And well, after what happened in Asia a few years back and the strength of the Chilean earthquake, you can't just brush off tsunamis as no pasa nada. Luckily, the tsunami wave wasn't very bad after this quake.
Coworker: No pasa nada.
We are ready to go visit the bees during the beekeeping conference. I check my mask and realize that it isn't completely sealed.
Ian: Is this something I should be worried about?We’re used to ignoring obvious danger.
Other volunteer: No pasa nada. You'll be fine.
I went to go get this checked out with the trainers. They said that my mask was faulty and that I needed to get a new one.
(This one was sent in from a fellow Peace Corps volunteer)
The kids at the school in town are outside for recess. Some kids start climbing on the soccer net. The school director, seeing possible danger in this situation, wants to put a stop to it.
School director: Get down from there before someone gets hurt.And the kids continue climbing on the net.
Kids: (screaming back to the director) No pasa nada
This was well-applied. Notice how there is obvious danger. The kids are climbing on the nets and could fall down and get seriously hurt. But to allay the fears of the school director, the kids just told him that nothing will happen. That was all the director had to hear, and the kids continued playing.
It's raining outside. I'm not home. I decide to walk home.
Ecuadorian: Ian, don't walk home in the rain. You will get the flu.The common notion in Ecuador is that if you walk outside during the rain you will catch the flu. I don't believe this. So I walk anyway.
Ian: No pasa nada.
They were concerned, believing that I am walking into certain danger. I calm their fears and tell them that nothing will happen.
During last week's bull incident, I called my coworker, who was up the road, to tell her what was going on. Keep in mind there are 30 kids walking with me.
Ian: Look out there is an angry bull running down the street.Incorrect usage of no pasa nada.
Coworker: No pasa nada.
It is important to know the limits of the "no pasa nada" because if you apply "no pasa nada" to a situation in which "si pasa algo" (something happens), that hampers your "no pasa nada" permanent record (and less importantly people might actually get hurt). The most important thing in these situations is correct usage. Safety takes a backseat.
In most situations that have a high probability of ending in people getting gored, no pasa nada shouldn’t apply.
I am walking through the eco reserve with my coworker. There is a tower that the military once used as a guard post when the reserve was an exclusively military zone. There are no obvious safety measures in place and the tower doesn't look to sturdy.
Ian: Are you sure you want to go up there?Brushing off obvious danger. An acceptable application.
Coworker: No pasa nada.
Now the most important thing, as I mentioned, is proper usage. If you drop the phrase and something goes wrong, you're going to have to live with that guilt.
This blog post is meant to demonstrate proper application of "no pasa nada" into your life. It's not a black and white science. There is plenty of grey area.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Chocobananera
Bananera - the Spanish word for banana plantation.
My town is surrounded by them. The highway looks like it was just a strip of concrete laid in the middle of one of these. Machala, the provincial capital is known as the "Capital Bananera." On the road into Machala, there is a statue of a man carrying a racima (plant) of banana
Suffice it to say, the banana (and its cousin, the plantain) could be considered the corn to our Iowa. (Although I have never head the word "platnera" before to refer to a plantain plantation)
Just as equally ingrained in the local culture is the chocobanana - the frozen, chocolate-covered banana. Typically sold for ten cents, this is one of the most cost effective pick-me-ups. And for someone like me who prefers his chocolate mixed with some type of fruit, it is an ideal combination.
Now there, is a word for the chocolate-covered banana - chocobanana.
And there is a word for someone who works in a banana plantation - bananero.
But there is no word for the woman who sells the chocolate-covered bananas. I will change that.
I believe the proper term should be chocobananera.
I asked Google is this existed anywhere on the Internet. This is what it told me.
Slowly, I see this word making its way into the local idiolect. Most people with whom I have spoken with in the last couple weeks have heard me discuss this new word. But I'm still waiting for someone else to use the phrase without me prompting them.
This group of dedicated women (they are typically house moms who run a tienda out of their front room) do such a service to the community by providing this affordable goodness, that they deserve their own word.
Now we have one.
Please spread the word.
My town is surrounded by them. The highway looks like it was just a strip of concrete laid in the middle of one of these. Machala, the provincial capital is known as the "Capital Bananera." On the road into Machala, there is a statue of a man carrying a racima (plant) of banana
Suffice it to say, the banana (and its cousin, the plantain) could be considered the corn to our Iowa. (Although I have never head the word "platnera" before to refer to a plantain plantation)
Just as equally ingrained in the local culture is the chocobanana - the frozen, chocolate-covered banana. Typically sold for ten cents, this is one of the most cost effective pick-me-ups. And for someone like me who prefers his chocolate mixed with some type of fruit, it is an ideal combination.
Now there, is a word for the chocolate-covered banana - chocobanana.
And there is a word for someone who works in a banana plantation - bananero.
But there is no word for the woman who sells the chocolate-covered bananas. I will change that.
I believe the proper term should be chocobananera.
I asked Google is this existed anywhere on the Internet. This is what it told me.
Slowly, I see this word making its way into the local idiolect. Most people with whom I have spoken with in the last couple weeks have heard me discuss this new word. But I'm still waiting for someone else to use the phrase without me prompting them.
This group of dedicated women (they are typically house moms who run a tienda out of their front room) do such a service to the community by providing this affordable goodness, that they deserve their own word.
Now we have one.
Please spread the word.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Is this Pamplona?
Earlier this afternoon, I was walking through town with about thirty kids from the newspaper daycamp we have going on.
The camp had just ended for the day and I'm walking toward the center of town. There are about ten kids ahead of me, ten next to me, and the rest behind. We are about five minutes from the central park when I heard some shrieking from the group ahead of me.
I look up to see the kids scattering in all directions.
Then, I look a little further up the road and see a bull charging our way. He's probably about a block from the first group of kids and a block and a half away from my group - and getting closer.
At this point, the kids are climbing trees, trucks, and walls to get out of the way. Before heading for shelter, I survey the situation a little to make sure that my kids are all right (What I would do if they weren't, I have no idea. There's a raging bull on the street. Handling this type of situation wasn't in the training manual. But as the supervisor, I felt like surveying the scene was the right thing to do.) I saw that no one had been gored and all the kids had scampered off to safety.
At this point, I kind of stared the bull down for a second to get a better sense of the situation (also, when else will I be able to stare down a raging bull). At this point, I had my escape route planned out: scurrying behind the truck parked on the side of the road. If the bull chose to follow me there, I would then defecate in my pants. Fool proof, I believe
In the second that I looked up the street to see what was happening, I noticed that a soldier from the nearby base had put a lasso around the bull's neck and was trying to pull him in. But instead, the bull was doing the majority of the pulling in this battle - dragging the soldier down the road. Then a police car arrived and began honking its horn at the commotion.
I then got behind the truck and saw that a bunch of my kids had the same idea (Good, this bull can't gore all of us, can he?).
I stood at the back of the truck with a view of the road to check if/when the bull would pass. A few seconds later, the bull came running down the street, dragging the soldier with him.
Once it was a safe distance past us, I checked to make sure everyone was all right. They were.
Then, we continued on our way.
I have learned to expect the unexpected throughout my Peace Corps experience, but an angry bull running through town - I don't think anyone could've predicted that.
The camp had just ended for the day and I'm walking toward the center of town. There are about ten kids ahead of me, ten next to me, and the rest behind. We are about five minutes from the central park when I heard some shrieking from the group ahead of me.
I look up to see the kids scattering in all directions.
Then, I look a little further up the road and see a bull charging our way. He's probably about a block from the first group of kids and a block and a half away from my group - and getting closer.
At this point, the kids are climbing trees, trucks, and walls to get out of the way. Before heading for shelter, I survey the situation a little to make sure that my kids are all right (What I would do if they weren't, I have no idea. There's a raging bull on the street. Handling this type of situation wasn't in the training manual. But as the supervisor, I felt like surveying the scene was the right thing to do.) I saw that no one had been gored and all the kids had scampered off to safety.
At this point, I kind of stared the bull down for a second to get a better sense of the situation (also, when else will I be able to stare down a raging bull). At this point, I had my escape route planned out: scurrying behind the truck parked on the side of the road. If the bull chose to follow me there, I would then defecate in my pants. Fool proof, I believe
In the second that I looked up the street to see what was happening, I noticed that a soldier from the nearby base had put a lasso around the bull's neck and was trying to pull him in. But instead, the bull was doing the majority of the pulling in this battle - dragging the soldier down the road. Then a police car arrived and began honking its horn at the commotion.
I then got behind the truck and saw that a bunch of my kids had the same idea (Good, this bull can't gore all of us, can he?).
I stood at the back of the truck with a view of the road to check if/when the bull would pass. A few seconds later, the bull came running down the street, dragging the soldier with him.
Once it was a safe distance past us, I checked to make sure everyone was all right. They were.
Then, we continued on our way.
I have learned to expect the unexpected throughout my Peace Corps experience, but an angry bull running through town - I don't think anyone could've predicted that.
Monday, February 22, 2010
No curling and no Costas make Ian maintain sanity
The Winter Olympics are going on.
You wouldn't know that if you lived in Arenillas.
Last week, I tried to explain curling to my friend and he said, "Oh, I get it. It's like hockey."
I was impressed that he knew about hockey. Most people here have trouble fathoming the idea of snow. So to have sports that require snow is very difficult.
Suffice it to say, the Ecuadorian networks don't devote all of their primetime coverage (or any of it, for that matter) to the Olympics). That would take away from the telenovelas. And I'm pretty sure there might be a massive uprising if that happened.
So life goes on. I've realized that.
In the States, I would be glued to the TV, watching every moment of cross country skiing that I could, complaining about how CBC doesn't carry the games anymore, analyzing every slalom run, etc. In short, I'd be obsessed.
In Arenillas, nothing's different.
Last night, the US beat Canada in hockey. Momentous. I tried watching it streaming over the internet. I had some initial luck with a Spanish-language stream (listening to hockey in Spanish is hilarious - el arquero está parando en su cabeza), but once that one went my Russian and Finnish streams didn't pan out so well. Hockey is a difficult sport to watch when the picture isn't clear.
So I decided to read about it in the morning. If I were in the States, there's no way I would have done that for that for the ski jump portion of the nordic combined, let alone US hockey's biggest game since the 2002 gold medal game.
But being here, missing the Olympics doesn't bother me. I've missed a season of Tigers baseball and Michigan football. And look, the sun still rises.
And the fact that I'm missing the country's once-every-four-years obsession with curling, that's another story altogether.
You wouldn't know that if you lived in Arenillas.
Last week, I tried to explain curling to my friend and he said, "Oh, I get it. It's like hockey."
I was impressed that he knew about hockey. Most people here have trouble fathoming the idea of snow. So to have sports that require snow is very difficult.
Suffice it to say, the Ecuadorian networks don't devote all of their primetime coverage (or any of it, for that matter) to the Olympics). That would take away from the telenovelas. And I'm pretty sure there might be a massive uprising if that happened.
So life goes on. I've realized that.
In the States, I would be glued to the TV, watching every moment of cross country skiing that I could, complaining about how CBC doesn't carry the games anymore, analyzing every slalom run, etc. In short, I'd be obsessed.
In Arenillas, nothing's different.
Last night, the US beat Canada in hockey. Momentous. I tried watching it streaming over the internet. I had some initial luck with a Spanish-language stream (listening to hockey in Spanish is hilarious - el arquero está parando en su cabeza), but once that one went my Russian and Finnish streams didn't pan out so well. Hockey is a difficult sport to watch when the picture isn't clear.
So I decided to read about it in the morning. If I were in the States, there's no way I would have done that for that for the ski jump portion of the nordic combined, let alone US hockey's biggest game since the 2002 gold medal game.
But being here, missing the Olympics doesn't bother me. I've missed a season of Tigers baseball and Michigan football. And look, the sun still rises.
And the fact that I'm missing the country's once-every-four-years obsession with curling, that's another story altogether.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Can you please pass the cavity?
So I had shabbat dinner at my house last night.
It was outstanding - challah, mac and cheese, mashed sweet potatoes, steamed veggies, guacamole, aji (hot pepper sauce), and a mango-pineapple crisp.
It was probably one of the best meals I have cooked in my life (luckily, I made way too much food and will be able to enjoy that meal with several meals over the next couple of days).
With all of this delicious food, my guests needed a beverage to wash it down with. So they all chipped in and bought a big bottle of Coke.
Everybody poured their cup and started drinking except for one of my guests. This is where we pick up the action.
Guest: Do you have any sugar?
Ian: Yeah. Why?
Guest: I want to put some in my Coke.
After hearing this, I had no idea what to say. Stunned would be the proper way to describe my reaction as I got the sugar from my kitchen.
Keep in mind that Coke down here is made with real sugar.
I brought the sugar back, still completely baffled. Actually, it's a day later and I'm still trying to get over it.
She sweetened her Coke and continued with her meal.
Once I regained enough composure to inquire, I asked why she would put more sugar into her Coke. She explained that she did it to reduce the fizz. I did some Googling and learned that is a strategy some people use.
It was outstanding - challah, mac and cheese, mashed sweet potatoes, steamed veggies, guacamole, aji (hot pepper sauce), and a mango-pineapple crisp.
It was probably one of the best meals I have cooked in my life (luckily, I made way too much food and will be able to enjoy that meal with several meals over the next couple of days).
With all of this delicious food, my guests needed a beverage to wash it down with. So they all chipped in and bought a big bottle of Coke.
Everybody poured their cup and started drinking except for one of my guests. This is where we pick up the action.
Guest: Do you have any sugar?
Ian: Yeah. Why?
Guest: I want to put some in my Coke.
After hearing this, I had no idea what to say. Stunned would be the proper way to describe my reaction as I got the sugar from my kitchen.
Keep in mind that Coke down here is made with real sugar.
I brought the sugar back, still completely baffled. Actually, it's a day later and I'm still trying to get over it.
She sweetened her Coke and continued with her meal.
Once I regained enough composure to inquire, I asked why she would put more sugar into her Coke. She explained that she did it to reduce the fizz. I did some Googling and learned that is a strategy some people use.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
That's not a vegetable
So I spent this afternoon playing with the neighborhood kids. When we were finished playing, a mom invited me over for dinner.
Before she even starts cooking, I give my standard I'm a vegetarian explanation, that it's not that I hate the culture or the meat (I really like both), it's just that I can't eat the meat for a religious reason.
I was very clear to explain that I don't eat any kinds of meat, that includes chicken. She said that she understands. She says that she rarely eats meat, maybe once a month.
She said not to worry about it. She was making noodles and rice (carbo-loading is very common around here, a daily occurrence for most). But as I watch her throw the chicken in one of the pots, I remind her about me being vegetarian.
She reassures me that she understands.
Well, she serves the first plate to me. Chicken and rice.
Now, I know what you're thinking. Ian, you've lived in Ecuador long enough to expect this kind of thing.
At this point, I wasn't the least bit surprised.
Then, she gave a plate of rice and noodles to her rson, without chicken. She explained that he can't eat any meat.
Actually, I probably shouldn't be surprised. I have learned to expect the unexpected.
Before she even starts cooking, I give my standard I'm a vegetarian explanation, that it's not that I hate the culture or the meat (I really like both), it's just that I can't eat the meat for a religious reason.
I was very clear to explain that I don't eat any kinds of meat, that includes chicken. She said that she understands. She says that she rarely eats meat, maybe once a month.
She said not to worry about it. She was making noodles and rice (carbo-loading is very common around here, a daily occurrence for most). But as I watch her throw the chicken in one of the pots, I remind her about me being vegetarian.
She reassures me that she understands.
Well, she serves the first plate to me. Chicken and rice.
Now, I know what you're thinking. Ian, you've lived in Ecuador long enough to expect this kind of thing.
At this point, I wasn't the least bit surprised.
Then, she gave a plate of rice and noodles to her rson, without chicken. She explained that he can't eat any meat.
Actually, I probably shouldn't be surprised. I have learned to expect the unexpected.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Bess! Bees in the car ! Bees everywhere!
Aside from walking into a beehive on a playground when I was three, the bulk of my exposure to bees was Tommy Boy.
I thought their only utility was scaring bee-allergic policemen away from arresting you.
That was until last week, when I attended a nearly comprehensive, week-long beekeeping workshop in Riobamba (I wouldn't say completely comprehensive because using bees to avoid arrests wasn't covered). It was a great experience, and something that I look forward to exploring further.
The first thing the facilitators told us was the there wasn't a big demand for honey in Ecuador. I thought that was an odd way to start a conference about bees. Maybe they were already involved in the bee market and they didn't want anybody taking their market share. Or maybe they were telling the truth and there was really no market for honey in Ecuador.
So what were we doing there?
Well, it turns out that aside from honey production, bees produce several other products for human consumption and might be some of the best regulators of the environment. And they are some of the most fascinating creatures.
The first two days were spent in a classroom setting, covering the basics of safety, materials, management, problem-solving, and various health benefits. But for me, the most interesting session was about the pollination.
Somewhere around 90% of plants in the area need to be pollinated (well, there are plenty of pollinators, but bees are among the principal ones). They are integral in pollinating the native species and in maintaining the quality of the agricultural products as well. By pollinating the plants, they improve the quality of plants,o seed production, adaptability to the environment, and many other things. So even if one isn't producing honey, there are benefits to your crops or flowers to having the bees buzzing around.
The next day was spent in the field, visiting the hives to put in practice what we had been lectured on the day before. They recommended that we wear light colored clothing because bees associate dark clothes with the hives and feel as if you are invading their space. I don't really have any dark-colored long sleeves, so I turned my rain jacket inside out. Although I was making quite the fashion statement with my flipped rain coat, my friend made an even bolder one - pink rubber gloves.
He didn't plan on wearing them. He had bought them for his counterpart but when we were getting ready, it became clear the pink ones were too small for the counterpart. Luckily the bees weren't of the opinion that pink is the new black and left him unstung.
Overall, it was a relatively unpainful experience for the entire group. Just two people out of thirty were stung - even though the facilitators told us the bees were especially agitated.
After out practice, we learned about the various products that one can market. Bees produce a substance called propolisis that they put around their hive to prevent other animals from getting in. This substance can be used by humans to treat burns, increase fertility, might combat cancer, act as an antibiotic, ease bowel issues, cure some STDs, and protect your liver.
Another substance that the bees produce that can marketed is the royal jelly, what is used to feed queen bee larvae. It is believed to slow aging-related conditions (arthritis, baldness, decreased libido, heart disease, menopause, osteoporosis, high cholestorol, etc).
I felt that the conference gave me a great overview of beehive management. Now, I am excited to put it in practice and start some of that stuff at my site. I know of a few people near here who already have the hives going and will try to visit them very soon.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Las bestias
I showed up to a community meeting a few months ago and realized it would be a while before they would be ready to begin the meeting. I noticed that the kids outside were playing stickball. So my attention was obviously attracted to that.
It's not really stickball. It's more like piece-of-a-2-by-4 and a beaten up mini soccer ball.
I break the ice with a few questions, and I'm in the batters circle before I know it.
Hitting is not the strongest part of my stickball game. I don't know if I have registered a legitimate, round-first-base single in my last decade of playing softball. Combining that with a lack of great foot speed, and well you have an offensive liability.
So as the pitcher stares me down and gets his sign from the pitcher, my expectations are relatively low. The kids on the other look at me like I'm Babe Ruth, forget the fact that they have never heard of Babe Ruth before. Jaws are dropped. Eyes are wide open.
The first pitch I hit a grounder down what would be the third base line. The kids were very impressed, but I felt I could do better.
The next pitch was a bit low. I take a good cut at it but manage to hit a grounder down what would be the first base line.
The third pitch comes. I take a big swing and crush a fly ball to centerfield. The contact felt so good and pure. The ball sails over the street and into someone's yard. The kids start applauding, and I'm start asking the kids if we should go get the ball. They continued to applaud.
I was really surprised how little effort they were making at getting this ball back. It was as if they had already decided that this ball was gone. They would just have to wait for another day.
After this carried on for a few minutes, I ask why we can't get the ball. They say it's gone forever. Angry pigs live in the yard that I hit the ball into. Nobody goes in there and comes out unscathed. Plus, the pigs' owner isn't really nice. So that ball was gone.
I apologized profusely about losing their ball, and the kids said it didn't matter. That was the best hit they'd ever seen. I still felt horrible about it. I wondered if there was a way we could get that ball back.
I asked some people in my meeting. They confirmed that the pigs weren't supposed to be messed with, neither was their owner. Visions of the biggest pickle any of us had ever seen flashed through my head. But I realized that the ball was gone - plus it wasn't signed by The Babe. So it's much more replaceable.
And instead of just one beast that Henry Rodriguez had to outrun, this is an entire yard of angry pigs.
It's not really stickball. It's more like piece-of-a-2-by-4 and a beaten up mini soccer ball.
I break the ice with a few questions, and I'm in the batters circle before I know it.
Hitting is not the strongest part of my stickball game. I don't know if I have registered a legitimate, round-first-base single in my last decade of playing softball. Combining that with a lack of great foot speed, and well you have an offensive liability.
So as the pitcher stares me down and gets his sign from the pitcher, my expectations are relatively low. The kids on the other look at me like I'm Babe Ruth, forget the fact that they have never heard of Babe Ruth before. Jaws are dropped. Eyes are wide open.
The first pitch I hit a grounder down what would be the third base line. The kids were very impressed, but I felt I could do better.
The next pitch was a bit low. I take a good cut at it but manage to hit a grounder down what would be the first base line.
The third pitch comes. I take a big swing and crush a fly ball to centerfield. The contact felt so good and pure. The ball sails over the street and into someone's yard. The kids start applauding, and I'm start asking the kids if we should go get the ball. They continued to applaud.
I was really surprised how little effort they were making at getting this ball back. It was as if they had already decided that this ball was gone. They would just have to wait for another day.
After this carried on for a few minutes, I ask why we can't get the ball. They say it's gone forever. Angry pigs live in the yard that I hit the ball into. Nobody goes in there and comes out unscathed. Plus, the pigs' owner isn't really nice. So that ball was gone.
I apologized profusely about losing their ball, and the kids said it didn't matter. That was the best hit they'd ever seen. I still felt horrible about it. I wondered if there was a way we could get that ball back.
I asked some people in my meeting. They confirmed that the pigs weren't supposed to be messed with, neither was their owner. Visions of the biggest pickle any of us had ever seen flashed through my head. But I realized that the ball was gone - plus it wasn't signed by The Babe. So it's much more replaceable.
And instead of just one beast that Henry Rodriguez had to outrun, this is an entire yard of angry pigs.
Monday, February 08, 2010
Rain delay
Last week, I presented the idea of a community bank to a neighborhood association in town.
About 35 people said they were interested and planned on attending the next meeting.
I showed up at the meeting on time and waited a half hour.
No one showed.
It had been steadily raining all day. And even though most of the participants live within a block of where the meeting was going to held, not a single person came by.
After waiting for a half-hour, I went to the president of the community to see what was going on. He said everyone in the area was excited about the meeting, but that no one will leave their house in the rain.
The popular notion around these parts is that if you go out in the rain, even for the shortest amount of time, you will come down with the flu.
We rescheduled for the next Saturday. Hopefully, it doesn't rain.
About 35 people said they were interested and planned on attending the next meeting.
I showed up at the meeting on time and waited a half hour.
No one showed.
It had been steadily raining all day. And even though most of the participants live within a block of where the meeting was going to held, not a single person came by.
After waiting for a half-hour, I went to the president of the community to see what was going on. He said everyone in the area was excited about the meeting, but that no one will leave their house in the rain.
The popular notion around these parts is that if you go out in the rain, even for the shortest amount of time, you will come down with the flu.
We rescheduled for the next Saturday. Hopefully, it doesn't rain.
Saturday, February 06, 2010
The streets aren't safe
Be careful where you walk
Every time you leave your house, you have to be aware of your surroundings.
Keep an eye on every balcony. Carefully approach each corner.
Because lurking in the shadows is ...... a kid with a water balloon, ready to soak any unsuspecting passerby.
For the last few weeks, my town has been in a state of water war. As the country prepares for the Carnaval fiestas, the kids are gearing up for their favorite holiday tradition. Ecuadorian youth have been saving up their water balloon, silly string, water gun, and egg budgets for months.
The pre-Carnaval rush first caught my attention during the second week of January. I was selling newspaper ads with an eight-year old on our staff. We were leaving his house and walking toward the center, but as we left his front door he said we should go the other direction. This made no sense to me because center was not in that direction. But we walked a few houses down the street and he pulled a bag of water balloon from underneath a piece of heavy machinery. He's not allowed to keep them in the house, so he has to hide them.
Then, as we were walking through town, he pulled a balloon out of the bag and started filling it up on a spicket. He said that he would spend the next month throwing water balloons at girls. I told him that while we are selling ads out focus should be on the ads and that throwing the water balloons at girls could wait until afterwards. He actually contained himself really well until we were a block from his house. He had a balloon in his right hand and saw his neighbor walking down the street. He chose for the stealth approach and splashing it on her back (a preferred strategy in his neighborhood, but you don't see it to often in the center).
In the three weeks that have passed, the water war has only intensified. Kids have been gathering all the loose change they can find to buy necessary armaments.
In our newspaper meeting last week, the girls looked like they were afraid of one of our other staff members. I asked them what the problem was and they told me that he throws eggs at them. At first, I thought that was ridiculous but that was naiveté.
It turns out that our staff member is also a member of an egg-throwing club from one of the neighborhoods in town. They operate one month out of the year and create panic among all the 11-15 year old girls in town.
Yesterday afternoon, more than a week before Carnaval, I was walking through town and it felt like a scene from The Hurt Locker. There was an eerie silence, as if your assailant could be lurking behind any door. Then, you hear a high-pitched scream and realize that two boys on a balcony had dropped a bucket of water on two unsuspecting girls walking below.
As the holiday actually approaches, the kids will continue with the water war but will also mix in some flour with the water attacks to leave a lasting impression. I went to my store yesterday to by flour to make challah and the woman told me that I should stock up on my flour before Carnaval hits and I won´t be able to find it anywhere.
Every time you leave your house, you have to be aware of your surroundings.
Keep an eye on every balcony. Carefully approach each corner.
Because lurking in the shadows is ...... a kid with a water balloon, ready to soak any unsuspecting passerby.
For the last few weeks, my town has been in a state of water war. As the country prepares for the Carnaval fiestas, the kids are gearing up for their favorite holiday tradition. Ecuadorian youth have been saving up their water balloon, silly string, water gun, and egg budgets for months.
The pre-Carnaval rush first caught my attention during the second week of January. I was selling newspaper ads with an eight-year old on our staff. We were leaving his house and walking toward the center, but as we left his front door he said we should go the other direction. This made no sense to me because center was not in that direction. But we walked a few houses down the street and he pulled a bag of water balloon from underneath a piece of heavy machinery. He's not allowed to keep them in the house, so he has to hide them.
Then, as we were walking through town, he pulled a balloon out of the bag and started filling it up on a spicket. He said that he would spend the next month throwing water balloons at girls. I told him that while we are selling ads out focus should be on the ads and that throwing the water balloons at girls could wait until afterwards. He actually contained himself really well until we were a block from his house. He had a balloon in his right hand and saw his neighbor walking down the street. He chose for the stealth approach and splashing it on her back (a preferred strategy in his neighborhood, but you don't see it to often in the center).
In the three weeks that have passed, the water war has only intensified. Kids have been gathering all the loose change they can find to buy necessary armaments.
In our newspaper meeting last week, the girls looked like they were afraid of one of our other staff members. I asked them what the problem was and they told me that he throws eggs at them. At first, I thought that was ridiculous but that was naiveté.
It turns out that our staff member is also a member of an egg-throwing club from one of the neighborhoods in town. They operate one month out of the year and create panic among all the 11-15 year old girls in town.
Yesterday afternoon, more than a week before Carnaval, I was walking through town and it felt like a scene from The Hurt Locker. There was an eerie silence, as if your assailant could be lurking behind any door. Then, you hear a high-pitched scream and realize that two boys on a balcony had dropped a bucket of water on two unsuspecting girls walking below.
As the holiday actually approaches, the kids will continue with the water war but will also mix in some flour with the water attacks to leave a lasting impression. I went to my store yesterday to by flour to make challah and the woman told me that I should stock up on my flour before Carnaval hits and I won´t be able to find it anywhere.
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