A whale of a time

It's humpback whale season in Ecuador.

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

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

Well, trust me. Ecuador does have whales.

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



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

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




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

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

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

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



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



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

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

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

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



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

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

Drunk cattle?

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

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

The similarity is not by coincidence.

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

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



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

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

Reforestar: Lost without translation

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

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

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

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

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

The Spanish word for forest is "bosque."

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

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

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

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

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

A little bit about the Virgen del Cisne

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

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

A little bit about the history of the fiestas.

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

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

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

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

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

Live la vaca loca

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

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



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

It's starting to make sense

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ian's weekly home appliance update

My fridge should just start its own blog.

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

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

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

He said he didn't think so.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apparently, it will be ready on Thursday.

The back of the bus

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

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

Sometimes, these occur simultaneously.

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

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

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

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

Everyone in the area let out a collective moan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The guarantee fairy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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



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

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

Resume booster?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

I just remembered what the professor had been telling us:

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

And because of that, I'm now certified.

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

Fridge fixed

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

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

Luckily, my refrigerator guy knows how to fix this problem. He looked around my kitchen and saw the gas tank I use for my stove. He asked if I would let him use the tank. I had no idea why but, sure, as long as it's in the name of fixing my fridge.



He runs out to his car to get some tool, chief among them was a blow torch. He hooked up the torch to my gas tank and started welding (soldar).



He got about fifteen minutes into fixing my fridge when he reconnected my gas tank to my stove and started packing up his stuff.

Ian: Is my fridge fixed? That was fast.
Repair man: Not yet. It's getting late. I'll come back tomorrow.

Keep in mind that he showed up at 4:00 in the afternoon when he said he would be at my house at 9:00.

The next day, he showed up on time and worked throughout the morning. When I came back to my house for lunch, he was still there but the fridge was starting to cool down.

He came back later in the afternoon to make sure everything was still working. Success.

---

Of any week for my fridge to stop working, this was probably one of the worst ones. On Friday, I had made mass quantities of food for shabbat dinner, assuming the the majority could be stored away in my fridge and heated up in my over for meals throughout the week. I figured that I could eat three meals of leftovers per day until Wednesday, at least.

That was the plan until Saturday morning when I went into the fridge to finish the previous night's dessert crisp and discovered it was room temperature. Thankfully, my neighbor's let me store my food in their fridge for the week.

Unfortunately, the schools were on vacation, and my neighbor's took advantage of the time off to travel a little bit with their kids, as opposed to their "home all day" schedule when there are classes.

I adjusted to this uncertainty by always having some food on hand to make an easy meal, just in case they weren't home. Obviously, it wasn't as easy as reheating leftovers.

Losing the waiting game

My fridge broke, again. This time, it wasn't my fault.

The wires that connect my house with my kitchen were in rough condition and finally bit the dust. The electrician came by and repaired the power issue. But another one remained.

My refrigerator did not take well to the comings and goings of electricity and decided to shut down.

The fridge made this decision at some point on Friday night, and I realized Saturday morning. I stored all my refrigerated foods at my neighbor's house and set out in search of the repairman.

One man in town has a reputation for being the only capable technician in town. He fixed up my fridge last time it stopped being cold, and I trust his work.

After three days of trying to find him, I finally caught up with him on Monday at lunch. He told me that he'd stop by later in the afternoon. He came into my house without any tools. He scoped around for 15 minutes, whistling a song the entire time. He said he had identified the problem and that he would come back on Wednesday morning at 9:00 a.m. to fix the problem.

I was waiting for him at 9:00 a.m. He never showed. I gave him the hora ecuatoriana. Still no sign.

In the States, you give a cable guy a three-hour time window to come by your house. Translating that into Ecuadorian time, that means he might show up in the next week. Luckily, I had something that cable and utilities companies would never give you - the man's home address.

So I decided to track him down and see why he didn't show up. I was talking to a fellow volunteer, Laurel, and she said that if I followed a repair guy to his house "in the US that might get you a restraining order."

Here, it's what I like to call accountability and the only way to get stuff done.

I posted a note on my door to the technician and headed to his house. An elderly woman answered the door.

Ian: I'm looking for the refrigerator repair guy.
Elderly woman: He's not home.
Ian: He told me he would be at my house at 9:00, but he hasn't showed up yet.
Elderly woman: (Laughing) He's so unreliable.
Ian: Does he have a phone number?
Elderly woman: We can't trust him with a phone. He loses everything.
Ian: Do you think he'll show up this morning?
Elderly woman: He might. Wait at your house all morning.
Ian: If he doesn't show up this morning, I'll come back here during lunch.

I went back home. I had so much to do around the house (e.g. laundry, clean the kitchen), but I couldn't do any of it because I wouldn't be within earshot of the door. I split time between a few episodes of Seinfeld, a few chapters of my book, and reheating some food that I had stored in my neighbor's fridge.

As soon as standard lunchtime struck, I was at his front door. He told me that he had forgotten and that he'd be at my house at 4:00 p.m.

He was there at 4:05, only seven hours late.

"Good" music

When the newspaper kids come to my house to learn how to use Photoshop and InDesign, they also if I have music on my computer. I open up iTunes, and they tell me that I don't have any "good" music.

Now, the newspaper kids and I have different understandings of what makes music good. My preferred music probably wouldn't be well-received at a discotec, whereas that's pretty much all the youth want.

After the "you don't have any good music" bit played out a few times, I asked them to make me a list of music that they would like to listen to when they are at my house so I could get what they want. I now have over 150 bachata songs, 175 reggaeton songs, 74 baladas de amor, and a good variety of other genres they enjoy (cumbia, vallenato, salsa, pop, etc).

By now, pretty much every kid who uses the computer is satisfied with the music selection. My iTunes collection is constantly changing. If the kids want to listen to a song, I want to make them happy so they continue learning how to use the programs.

Two days ago one of the kids came by with a few suggestions on how I could improve my iTunes library.

One of the songs he suggested was "El Dengue" by DJ Loko.

I had never heard of this song before, but having overcome El Dengue, I wanted to know what DJ Loko felt dengue sounded like.



The song does a nice job of expressing the ups and downs of the dengue. Its intermittent use of horns to show the intense headaches followed a brief lull to express how the disease hits use in waves.

If I were to critique the song, I would say that it doesn't really do an accurate job of representing the "everything tastes like chalk" aspect of the sickness or the "I feel as if I was just run over by a tractor" side of things.

While I don't know how that would be done musically, I know that DJ Loko's production is not it. But then again, if you were to accurately portray that in music, I don't think anybody would want to listen.

The dangers of working with cactuses

I spent this morning chopping off branches of cactus plants for a living fence we are building.

A word of caution when working with cacti: Always be aware of the spikes on the cactus, but don't forget about other risks. I learned that one the hard way.

The idea of a living fence is to make a barrier out of plants that people or animals wouldn't want to cross. We are making one of these in town and decided to make it out of cactus.

• It is a local species, so it would not be out of place in the botanical garden.
• Cactus has prickly things that hurt when you touch them.
• They are adapted to the dry season. You can plant them in the dry season, and they will you flourish.
• They are remarkably easy to reproduce.

The easiest way to propagate cactus is by chopping off a chunk of an existing cactus plant and planting that chunk in the ground. Unbelievably simple. Although I'm not sure if it works with all cactus species, it does with the local variety.



The first step was finding someone who had enough cactus on their property that wouldn't mind letting the us prune their plants for seedlings. One of my coworkers said that his neighbor, who lives on some hilly property near the river, has cactus coming out of his ears.

I went down there this morning with my machete to check it out. It didn't help that it rained last night, making the slope heading down toward the river. But I was wearing my work clothes and gardening gloves, so I didn't really care if I fell going down the hill, which happened repeatedly.

I spent a couple of hours chopping down cactus branches and putting them into a pile. It was a lot of fun. The cacti are on the side of a hill, and I had to crawl around the ground to get in better cactus-chopping position. I didn't get pricked because I have cat-like speed and reflexes and was wearing gloves.

Most of the cactus pieces that I took were ones that were lying on the ground and had already fallen off the plants. Well, little did I realize, cactus pieces weren't the only think lying around down there...

Apparently, my cactus seed search had bothered some hornets/wasps. They felt as if I had invaded their territory, which I probably did, and decided to go after my left elbow.

I couldn't really move very quickly because I was crawling underneath a bunch of cactus plants, and any miscalculated movement meant more stinging pain. I maintained my composure as much as I could and rolled to safety. I think I sustained about six stings on my elbow/upper arm (no cool swelling pictures because it didn't really swell up).

I regrouped and finished collecting cactus and lugging it up the hill. And my arm was sore for the rest of the afternoon and had a bit of a burning sensation, as if I had spent the entire day working with hot peppers, but nothing too serious.

But I just want this to be a warning that just because you have mitigated the effects of the cactus spikes that doesn't mean you eliminated all the risks.

Multipurpose rock

I wash my laundry on a concrete slab behind my house.

It has a faucet, drain, and flat surface where I can scrub my clothes.

All along I had been calling this a laundry rock.

I was wrong.

Last week, I was finishing my breakfast one morning when I heard a bird chirping. How pleasant, I thought. The birds had come to feast on the bread crumbs my landlord's wife leaves out every morning.

I heard the chirping again and noticed that it wasn't coming from my landlord's window. It was coming from my laundry rock.

I went to check what was going on. My neighbors were crowding around the laundry rock, holding a chicken in their hands.

Then, suddenly, no more chirping. Just blood dripping down the surface I wash my clothes on.

I had to run out the door, so I couldn't watch the clean-up effort or ask my neighbors any questions at the time. (And it's probably better that way)

This allowed me to reflect about what I had just witnessed and how I was going to handle my laundry situation going forward.

The whole chicken being killed thing isn't a big deal to me. The fact that they decided to perform the act where I wash my dirty underwear and socks made me think.

First off, who would kill a chicken where somebody puts their filthy clothes? Then I thought about some of the sanitary conditions of the local butcher shop and realized that my neighbor's set up was probably cleaner.

Then I considered whether this act would have any effect on how I do laundry for the remainder of my service. I don't think it will.

Any effort that I put into doing laundry is more about effort than results. I'm not exactly sure how much cleaner or less smelly my clothes are getting, but what matters is that I'm trying (and listening to some good podcasts). So a little diluted chicken blood on the drain? No pasa nada. Also, both of my neighbors have since done laundry on the same rock.

I asked a few other volunteers about what they would do in such a situation. And, unsurprisingly, my case is not unique. A couple of my friends recalled having their laundry rocks being used for dinner killing. Plus, I figure I encounter enough hazards that I really don't need to worry about traces of chicken blood on a surface that is exposed to quite a bit of soap and soapy water.

So I'm just going to move forward here and treat it as a learning experience - mostly opening my eyes to the possibilities of what I can do with that multipurpose rock.

Does anyone know a shokhet?

Is that a good idea?

Like any kids, my neighbors love playing.

Any time they are not in school, it seems, is spent playing outside of my door. That's how it should be. But their activity of choice is always changing.

When I first moved in to my apartment, their favorite game was a modified version of soccer (Bonus points for knocking over Ian's plants). The only losers in this game were my plants, which didn't survive the first two weeks.

Then they got into a game called seven lives (kind of a mixture between pickle and dodgeball).

Then, as tryouts for the citywide team approached, the older kids started practicing basketball on the narrow strip of concrete in front of my house.

After basketball tryouts, spinning tops became all the rage. Until last week...

I was walking back to my house when I noticed the kids playing on the street. I said hi to them like I always do and noticed that they were playing with a rope.

This was weird, I thought, I had never seen them playing with a rope before.

They had thrown this rope over the power line that leads to my house and started tugging on the two ends. (Acceptable to use "no pasa nada" here)

They were pulling very tight on the line, and I'm pretty sure they were pulling dangerously hard. I told them to stop because they might hurt themselves (and I might lose power). They dropped the rope as I walked away.

It was unclear if they picked them up again once I left.

How I coped with the U.S. losing

The U.S. World Cup run has been a lot of fun.

Their games weren't that pretty, but they were among the most exciting of the World Cup. Whether it be the gift goal against England, the comeback and blown calls against Slovenia or the drama against Algeria, the American team's performance has been conversation-worthy to say the least.

Although Ecuador did not qualify for the World Cup, the entire country is still living and dying with each game. More than everything, they like to talk about whatever games or teams they find the most interesting.

So even though the U.S. didn't play as well as some of the other teams, they were a frequent topic of conversation because of how their games played out. Whereas Holland might have played as well as any team in the tournament so far, their games haven't been quite as riveting as U.S.-Slovenia.

With today's loss to Ghana, the U.S. is done in South Africa. Like any American soccer fan, I was a little dejected this afternoon, despite being proud of how they represented the red, white, and blue.

But that dejection didn't last very long.

Immediately after the U.S. game ended, I headed over to the soccer stadium for Condor's match against Rio Amarillo. I know that I haven't blogged much about Condor lately. That's because nothing has really changed.

The team has lost every game for the last two months. They are far and away the worst team in the league, and attending their games has begun to remind me of when I covered Michigan's women's basketball team for the Daily. Condor hasn't been competitive for over a month - three 4-1 losses.

But I continue to go to the games to support the local team and help the AREvista sports writer. Today's game felt like it was going to be more of the same.

Condor played uninspired for the first 20 minutes against the best team in the league. It gave up a weak goal and looked completely disenchanted.

Slowly, the tide began to turn. Suddenly, Condor began connecting on some long passes and found itself in open space.

In the second half, Cesar Cordoba broke free down the right sideline and fired a shot from 20 yards out that flew over the goalie's right shoulder and into the top left portion of the net.

GOLAZO!

Some called it Condor's nicest goal of the season. The game was tied up. The few fans who showed up came alive. And even though the opposition kept making changes to find a way to find the net, it couldn't get anything going.

Condor couldn't break the tie, either. So the teams ended the match knotted up, 1-1. This was the first time the team had not lost in over two months. The team had no chance of advancing to the next stage. They were fighting for honor as much as they were fighting for the win.

And after watching the Americans come up short against Ghana, it felt good to see Condor lay it all on the line and salvage their first points in the league.

Not that bottle

Home-brewed alcohol is very common in Ecuador. On the coast, it is typically made of sugar cane and sold in a variety of glass bottles on the side of the road.

Now, because these are not operations in which appearance matters, the brewers will just put their moonshine in whatever glass or plastic bottle they can find. Then they move their table out to the street and open up shop.

So you'll find all classes of bottles - Gatorade, water, whiskey, pop, etc.

One of my coworkers said she accidentally left a bottle lying around the house. It was in a Gatorade bottle.

Well, her four-year old found the bottle and thought it was Gatorade. And well....

Luckily, she noticed this mix-up before anything went terribly wrong.

(Speechless)

I'm sitting in my apartment the other day when I overhear the following exchange.

Landlord: Are you pregnant or just really fat?
Prospective tenant: I'm just really fat.

Amazingly, the conversation continued afterward. There was no yelling, no violence, no questioning how someone could be so rude. They continued talking as if he had asked her what she ate for lunch.

I have spent the last day trying to imagine what would happen if that question were asked in the United States. I couldn't even fathom a response because I couldn't really imagine the possibility of it even happening.

I shall use it in gezunterheyt

So I bought a machete the other day.

I think we have a bright future together, as long as I follow the instructions that come on the handle.

Do no use the blade of the machete for leverage or as a hammer.
Do not use the machete as a tool to cleave.
Use the machete with movement away, moving away from you and others.
Do not use the machete when you are on an unstable surface.
Do not use the machete near cables or electrical equipment.

If anyone else in Arenillas knew that I was talking about a machete purchase like it was a big deal, they would laugh in my face. But coming from a culture where the machete is so underappreciated and underutilized, I think this is an acceptable reaction.

The only question is why it took me so long to bite the bullet. I'm starting a compost pile up. Chopping up into small pieces is one of the most important things to do with any compost pile. Also, I want to be able to chop it up whenever I want. (You never know when the craving [antojarse] to "machetear" [to use a machete] comes. And whenever it does arise, you definitely want to quench [aplacar] it.)

I purchased the Bellota 191, 24-inch machete. Insert Tim Taylor grunting. (Does Binford manufacture machetes?)

It's not like I had much choice in the matter. I walked into the hardware store and said I needed a machete. I was pointed to a wall full of Bellota 191. Since machete technology doesn't change very rapidly, I don't think it really matters.