All of our problems are solved

World banana capital.

Just imagine the millions of things you can do with the banana.

Banana shirts, banana salsa, banana leaf plates, banana salad, banana gumbo, banana soup.

Hell, you could open a store called the Banana Republic.

Whether or not a store already has that name, there are a lot of things you could do with the banana.

One of the myriad possibilities of things that someone could do with bananas that hasn't already been done here is [insert drumroll] banana bread.

Now, I’m not saying that banana bread will revolutionize that bakery industry in southern Ecuador. All I’m saying is that it gives the people another option of what they could do with the banana.

And any revolution starts with one person.

My coworker’s mom runs a bakery out of her house, and I told her that she could offer this as another project. We could make some free samples at the market and give them out to the people so that they realize how delicious it is, and then they will come back for more.

Am I a bit ahead of myself? Maybe.

Last week, I shared my mom’s banana bread recipe with my friend’s mom, and we started mixing.









One restriction of computer technology is that you can’t taste the food that is on your monitor.

It was delicious.

Machetes and Frisbees don´t mix

So you might read the title of this blog post and think “who the hell would think of using a machete while playing with a Frisbee?”

Then you have to realize that a lot of things that occur in this country don’t really mix very well, but they happen anyway.

I let my friend borrow one of my Frisbee discs a couple of months back and told him that he could have it as long as he kept playing with it. I have checked in on him every week since then, and he and his brother are still fascinated by the Frisbee — even if they still can’t get the whole wrist-flicking thing down.

I came by this week to check on the disc.

Ian: Are you still playing with my Frisbee?

Ian’s friend: I can’t play with it anymore.

Ian: Why?

Ian’s friend: My brother chopped it up with a machete.



Ian: Why?

Ian’s friend: He really likes the machete.

Ian: Is this the first time he has machete-ed something like this?

Ian’s friend: No, he really, really likes the machete.

Bear in mind that my friend’s brother is three and has his own machete.

His own machete.

Last time I stayed in that community, I was shmoozing with some of the residents at 9:00 p.m. when I saw the three-year-old run own of the house with his yellow workboots, looking for his machete.

He really, really, really likes his machete.

Now, I was afraid of knives until the age of ten and didn’t get over my fear of the vaunted machete until …. well, there’s still a shtickel of trepidation every time I see someone wielding one of them.

Three-year-olds with their own, regulation-sized machete with unregulated access to the tool is just another cultural difference I have to get over and take into account when I’m letting people borrow my Frisbee.

My new obsession

Compost is my new obsession.

Every time I see organic material on the garbage that isn’t going to be composted, I think about the lost opportunity. This is mostly because of a book recently read called “Let it Rot.”

It is a home composting guide from the 1970s that explains, in plain English, what compost is and how to make it as effectively as possible. More or less, it has become a new philosophy.

Have I caught myself picking up fruit and vegetable peels on the side of the road? Maybe.

Have I been seen lugging huge bags of vegetable skins from the central market to compost piles throughout town? I can neither confirm nor deny said accusations, but I will say that there are very few Jewfro-sporting compostniks in this town.

Do I spend time at the slaughterhouse for the manure and blood meal? I will not answer that question.

For me, the book has changed the way I think about compost. Instead of thinking about it for the end product, I have started to think about the process. And in reality, all you are doing when you make compost is providing the optimal environment for the microorganisms and macroorganisms that break down the food.

So you have to start thinking about what these organisms need to thrive. (This is more or less a summary of the book — or any conversation I have had in the last three weeks)

1. Oxygen — the organisms need to breath. So you need to expose them to oxygen. There is a notion around these parts that the only way to make compose is to dig a hole in the ground, cover the sides with cement, pour organic waste in the hole, and then cover it up.

The material will decompose, but it will stink and take a long time. You got to put the compost above ground so that it can breath (Otherwise, you get anaerobic decomposition, which smells like death)

2. Water — When staring your compost pile, you want to make sure that the entire pile is nice and moist. From then on, you just want to make sure it has the moisture content of a sponge — not wet, not dry.

3. Nutrients — The organism need nutrients. And this is where the organic material comes in. You can just throw your vegetable peels on the pile, and they will decompose, but there are things you can do to improve the organisms’ access to this food.

The solution is to chop your organic matter into smaller pieces, so it is easier for the organisms to access them. Think about a cube. If you have a cube, there are only six sides that the organisms can use to access the organic material. If you cut it in half, there are 12 sides. If you cut those in half again, that makes 24 sides. And so on.

And with this in mind, I gave a workshop to the emloyees in the tree nursery about how we are going to improve the compost-making process in the nursery. We mad this fun little cartoon about the happy microorganism.

Film Review: Anaconda 4

My friend told me that Anaconda 4 was his favorite movie.

Having never had the opportunity to watch this masterpiece, I immediately put that on top of my to-watch list.

Last week, I had a meeting in a rural community at 5:00 p.m. and offer of a free ride to said community at 11:00 a.m.

(This free ride also included lunch and a ride back to my house, whereas the alternative included two buses, a thirty-minute walk, spending the night, and doing the same two-bus, 30-minute walk routine in the morning. So I obviously accepted.)

We finished lunch a little after 1:00 p.m. and I had a few hours to kill until my meeting. Somehow the conversation shifted to movies. Somehow it shifted to him showing me his movie collection. When the Anaconda collection appeared to pique my interested, he asked me if I wanted to watch.

Ian’s friend: Which one do you want to watch?

Ian: Whichever one is your favorite.

Ian’s friend: Then we’ll watch Anaconda 4

Keep in mind that I’m pretty certain that an officially named film Anaconda 4 has not been produced yet, which means that someone made a movie about a snake, slapped the name Anaconda 4 on it, and started selling it in bootleg movie stores throughout Latin America.

So we started watching.

The film is set in East Tennessee in 1986. The main character’s father dies of a snake bite during the opening credits. Instead of avoiding snakes for the rest of his life, the main character develops a fascination with the species. He goes to the local rare snake store (I haven’t spent too much time in rural eastern Tennessee, but from what I have heard, I have heard nothing about rare snake stores in that region). Well, the main character steals a really rabid, deadly snake from the store. He accidentally knocks it out of its cage, and it starts killing everybody in town.

From this summary, you might think that this is just your generic snake film. But I could just as easily treat this film as a love story, with a snake subplot.

A guy from eastern Tennessee falls in love with a park ranger. Their relationship goes through a roller coaster as a snake wreaks havoc on the town and their families. And at the end, the main character might or might not have to make the ultimate sacrifice for the sake of love.

Well, you see, it works as a love story too. Now, let’s go with the environmental plot.

Some snake store in eastern Tennessee imports a rare, poisonous snake from the Latin American jungle. The species is not native to the area and no natural predators. Plus it likes eating people. Well, outside of its natural habitat of the jungle, where it feasts on non-human things, the snake realizes that there is an abundance of humans in eastern Tennessee (maybe compared to the jungle I would describe the population density of eastern Tennessee as abundant. Maybe.). The rest of the move just shows the effect of an invasive species outside of its natural habitat. This could just as easily have been a film about the ash borer, but I think more people are interested in snake stories that ash borer films (even for the fourth edition of a snake series that got old after the first sequel, I would say there is more demand than for an ash borer flick)

Now, you see, this really isn’t your simple snake thriller. This is much more than that. And I think that is why my friend likes it so much. Well, at least that is what I thought, until the film ended.

Ian: What is that huge blood stain on the floor next to the table?

Ian’s friend: Oh, that. That was the chicken that died there last week.

Ian: How did he die?

Ian’s friend: A poisonous snake killed him.

(Now, keep in mind that this blood stain is on the floor between the two beds in this house)

I then realized why they like this film so much. It is close to an accurate depiction of their lives. They live in a rural community with the ever-present risk of snake attacks. They can relate. It might be difficult for them to get behind the inspirational story of Forrest Gump or the brilliance of the Godfather.

But Anaconda 4, they understand exactly what the characters are going through.

Shabbos

I had six friends over for dinner on Friday night.

I made a kugel and a challah. One of my friends brought a beet-and-carrot salad. Then we teamed up to make quinoa sir fry.

It was a cultural experience for every one.

First, no one else had ever had kugel before.

Only one of them had challah (and obviously, it was not my mom’s recipe, so they haven’t really had challah before).

And two Ecuadorians at the table had only had quinoa in creamy soup form.

The work-week was over. And this was an opportunity to spend quality time with friends. There are no other worries. There is nowhere else to be. Just the good food, friends, and conversation.

And it was exactly what I needed.

Technically, as a Peace Corps Volunteer, we do not get weekends off. So to have a Friday night dinner where I don’t worry about anything (except whether I put enough sugar in the kugel) is perfect

The Shabbat dinner prep here is a bit different than what I am used to.

Now, because I needed to cook two behemoth challahs and two kugels and don’t have an oven in my house don’t have an oven in my house. I ended up going to the local bakery and using their oven. But I don’t think their temperature gauge was too accurate because the challah was a little overdone, and the kugel a bit dry.



The good thing was that they ate all of the kugel and most of the challah and said it was delicious. This just left me thinking “you just wait until next time.”

Then, there was the question of where to put everybody. I only have one small table and two chairs in my house. I went to the ceviche restaurant across the street and borrowed two big tables and seven chairs.

Then there was the question of how we would eat. I only have four plates, spoons, knives, cups, and forks (I didn’t have any forks until Thursday when I big the bullet and bought them). And this includes serving utensils. So I borrowed that as well.

It all came together. We lit the candles (My friend didn’t know any better and blew them out), did Kiddush, and enjoyed the challah.

Just a great Shabbat dinner. I can’t wait until the next one.

Maybe I should open a petting zoo

In the continuing saga of animals I find in my house, I found another creature last night.

I walked into my kitchen to brush my teeth (better water pressure and I don´t bump my head on the light bulb) when I saw something on the wall. It kind of camoflauged, but I could tell that it wasn´t part of the wall (it being three dimensional and having a shadow were the giveaways).



Well, I scared him away with a sponge.

This whole run-in with the lizard makes me wonder whether it would have been a better idea to keep the cat around to scare the lizards away. After lying in bed for three hours pondering this question last night, I decided that it was better to get rid of the cat because who knows what other kinds of animals the cat would scare away.

The Banana Stand

If you looked in my freezer, you might think me last name is Bluth.

Or you might think that I live near the world banana capital.

The latter.

To make the chocobanana, peel bananas and freeze overnight. Liquify margarine and mix with melted chocolate. Apply chocolate. Put back in freezer. Enjoy.

Certified

That is a photo of Ian and a certificate he received Friday afternoon.

For what, you ask?

I am now certified to teach hand washing. After passing an intense sixteen-hour course about the subject, I am now prepared to teach and be a responsible example for others.

Now, I know, you might be asking: Can he be serious?

Hey, could I make this up? Let alone forge a mayor’s signature. Or the idea that someone could dedicate sixteen academic hours to hand washing.

My office is involved in programs about access to clean water and avoiding contamination to protect the watershed and the health of the citizens. Not only do they work with small communities to implement water programs, but they also run educational programs to teach the residents about proper use of the new system and other things they can do to avoid future infections.

Hand washing is one of those subjects.

Here is the route of contamination, as I learned on Friday.

Fecal matter --> Hand --> Mouth

So the question is, how and where can we stop this?

Well, if we wash the hand before it takes the arrow to the mouth, then we can prevente contamination. And why is this important: Because diarrhea is one of the leading killers of youth under the age of five, not to mention how many other health risks it poses (dehydration, malnutrition, etc).

Think about it like this, if someone contracts a horrible parasite or infection from touching something contaminatd, then they have to go to the doctor, then the pharmacy. This all costs Money. But if you teach someone how to wash their hands, they not only avoid the infection, but also the associated costs. Much easier and cheaper just to wash the hand (according to a study, nearly 100% of homes in southern Ecuador have some form of soap).

Are you still laughing about the fact that I spent sixteen hours learning about hand washing? Well, I would, too. Plus, imagine the conversation value of this conference (Somewhere between being a hide-and-go-seek legend and lassoing a cow).

Now this workshop was more geared toward giving people in the social work and public health field the tools they need to teach these ideas in the community. But that doesn’t mean that the people attending the conference won’t learn a few things as well.

I missed the first part of the conference because I had a meeting at the eco reserve. So I asked my coworker what she learned. She said that the session about proper hand washing technique was the most beneficial.

They emphasized the importante of washing between the fingers, because you have to realize that the diarrhea-causing bacteria can also stay in there and avoid being cleaned by the soap.

Not only did I get the workbook that teaches me how to impart this knowledge on other people, but they also gave us eighteen flashcards with hand washing-related picotes: there are five different cartoonish images of poop, a image of happy bacteria because someone is only using water to wash their hands, an image of dead bacteria because someone is using soap and water to wash their hands, a picture of someone cutting soap, and several of sparkling clean hands. If you want to see these, all you have to do is look on the wall of my house.




That`s not challah, my friend. That is doody.

But before I get ahead of myself with all of this, let me break down the six-step program.

The first step is to teach the people that when they are clean, they feel fresh and smooth (or so fresh and so clean.) The purpose of this session was to get at the motivation for being clean.

When you wash, you feel agile, pretty, awake, happy, interesting, relaxed, healthy, free of bacteria, and confident in yourself). To be dirty, on the other hand, makes you feel stinky, horrible, vagabond-like, sweaty, oily, and possible smelling of fish or feces (I’m just taking this from the manual).

This lasted forty-five minutes. Then there was a brief break, followed by a session titled: “To be clean is to be healthy.” The goal of this session was to explain the connection between cleanliness and well-being.

It is commonly known around here that microbacteria, parasites, and bacteria cause stomach problems. This session was more to reinforce this important idea. It then connected the dirty hand as the primary agent in moving the contaminated material into the human system, once again emphasizing the importance of keeping them clean.

Then, there was lunch. I’m not going to judge, but a very small percentage of the audience went to the bathroom to wash their hands. Puzzling.

But I can excuse them this time, because even though they had been taught the motivation for washing hands, they hadn’t quite had the technical sessions that would explain the proper technique.

After lunch, we had the “Use soap and safe water with good pressure” session.

The main takeaways from the session

• Use soap
• Use safe water
• Use safe water with good pressure

It was during this session that they emphasized the importance of scrubbing between fingers and cutting the soap into several pieces so that you can keep some in various locations throughout the house.

Session four of six was about where to store the soap in the house. This required the group to draw house maps. Afterwards, we had to identify the risk zones where we are most prone to contract bacteria. These spots include the bathroom, the kitchen, and the space where the children play. Then we had to create a plan of how to reduce the risk in these areas. Simple solution: soap near the sinks.

The fifth session was about how to cut the chain of contamination that I mentioned earlier. This involved us creating skits to show the doody makes it from poop to mouth. My group’s presentation was about how the kids were playing outside and came into contact with the fecal material of their dog. Bobi, and then didn’t wash their hands when coming home, and then ate chicken and rice and, unknowingly, Bobi’s doody.

Session six was more specifics about the health effects of the contamination: diarrhea, giardia (and its associated Golden Rainbow), trichuris. They also remindedus that all poop can contaminate. Even though the little kids might not have diseases in their system, their crap can still contaminate.

Six in-depth sessions about the ins and outs of hand washing.

Any question. You can ask me.

I’m certified.

An Orange with a Beard

That is quite the mandarina.

Not much of a cat person

Friday night, I went to sleep — peace and calm reigned supreme in my house. There was no noise, nothing to disturb my slumber. And it went this way until about 4:30, when I heard some purring. Well, I tried to ignore it, and instead of getting up and finding out where it was coming from, I decided to toss and turn for the next two and half hours until I got out of bed and made breakfast. I did some figuring and thought that it was my neighbor’s cat who might have gotten locked out or something like that.

Then I started making eggs for breakfast. I went for the peanut butter— the special ingredient in my peanut butter, banana, and chocolate chip omellete, I noticed a tiny little feline on the ground in front of my shelves. This is not normal, I thought.

So after doing a double take and realizing that this wasn’t some half-awake delusion, I thought about my options. Well, if it found its way into my closed kitchen during the middle of the night, there had to be a way for it to get out.

I don’t really like the cats too much. So keeping it was out of the question (And unlike, say, a goat, cat manure isn’t that great for compost). So I put it out on the street (I don’t think we have a humane society down here, and she wasn’t wearing a



Even though there was no chance I kept it, I obviously started thinking of names I would my pet cat. Pet names here are generally unimpressive. There are normally either niño, niña, princesa, or a TV character. American pet names are probably not much more interesting, but compared to some of the names I have come across down here (In one family they have two daughters named Karla, except that one spells it with a “C” and the other with a “K”). I think Khatuli would have been a good name for my cat, if I would have kept it and not put it out on the street.

But because I’m not much of a cat person, I’m not very good at coming up with cat names.

What can I do next?

In my previous blog post, I shared one of the greatest moments of my life — my first lassoing.

Now, a few days later and still relishing in the glory of that momento, i am puzzled by the question of how do I continue from such a grand moment. So where do I go from here? Can anything possibly top what I accomplished when roping that bovine.

Well, I guess I Could do it blind-folded. Or I could lasso in the open range, catching a cow who has fled from the herd Or I could get two at once. Or I could do it with my legs instead of my arms. Or I could do all of these things naked.

Well, I haven’t the opportunity to go back to the farm yet, so you just wait for the photo that will go in the next Team Alex calendar.

In the meantime, I got to thinking about what the hell approaches about the shear outstandingness of pretending to be a cowboy. And then I looked up and saw this hilarious tree, standing in front of me and decided that I will start by showing you a picture of this tree.





You might remember this species of tree, the ceibo, from when the Brothers Robinson ventured into the nature reserve. Well, two weeks later and that tree is in full bloom. Normally, the ceibo looks like it came straight out of a Dr. Seuss book or Tim Burton. When in bloom, it looks like one of those trees, except with cotton balls on the end.



And then I looked just to the right of what I was looping at and I saw a porotillo, another tree that is native to this region, that is also in bloom. RIght now, it has this bright red flowers that almost look like they aren’t real — oh, they real and they’re spectacular (Thanks, Jackie).

I then looked just to the side of the one I was looping at and saw a hualtaco. It is another tree native to the region that is known for being some of the most durable lumber you can find. And for that reason, it is difficult to find any of these hualtaco trees anywhere. It looks like a relative of the ceibo tree. Slightly less hilarious, but obviously with better lumber because there are many more ceibos left standing than hualtacos.


And then I turns to the side of what I was looking at, and I was looking at the same ceibo that I started with. So i had made a full circle, just by admiring that trememdous foliage of this season.

You will also get the Guuyacan, which is another tree known for his good lumber. But right now, it has these awesome yellow leaves that look as if they are disconnected from the tree and simply floating in mid-air.



This is what the dry tropical forest looks like at this time of year. Other than these brightly flowering tree and the equally stunnign orchids, the majority of the forest has dropped their leaves to cope with the dry season — waiting for the wet season, which starts in December, when the entire forest will turn green.

Hello, Mr. Cow

This morning, I had my first experience lasso-ing a cow. It went a little something like this.

Mitch Robbins: You know what just occurred to me? Roping is stupid. This is a cow, not a gazelle, watch. Get off the horse, huh? Ok. And then you walk up to the cow. Look at how good this is working. Then you say "Hi. I'm Bob Vila with 'This Old Herd.' We're going to rope you today." Then you take Mr. Loop and put it around the head of Mr. Cow.

[dismounts and walks up to the cow and puts the loop of lasso around its head]

Mitch Robbins: Now what's wrong with that?

[Curly whistles and cattle takes off running, dragging Mitch helplessly behind it]

Curly: That!

Mitch Robbins: I'M ON VACATIOOOOOOOOOON!

¿Que es eso?

It´s a simple question, really.

``What is that?´´

Last night, while waiting for the community meetin to begin, a little girl walked up to me asked me, ``¿Que es eso?´´

I had no idea what she was referring to. So, I asked her.

¿Que?

She points to my hair.

``It´s my hair.´´

She started laughing.

Obviously, her first experience with the Jewfro.

Anyway, her reaction moved from laughter to fear and finally to intrigue. From the giggles to running away from it to touching it to see if it was indeed authentic hair.

I know my hair is getting large. It has been nearly six months since I last visited a barber. He was Russian, spoke limited English, operated out of his unfurnished basement, and gave me the shortest haircut I can remember. I made a promise to some of my Peace Corps colleagues that I wouldn´t cut my hair until we all came back together for a conference.

I have kept to my promise, and I think the only way to describe my hair is bien grande. I have added the caveat that if the people in my community or in my office are offended by my Jewfro that I will cut it. So far, no one has complained.

In fact, as I found out last night, I can use my big hair to expand the cultural awareness.

Easy there

I sat down to lunch with my host dad last Thursday, and I could tel that something wasn’t right. So I asked him what was wrong.

“Bad hangover.”

“Oh.”

Keep in mind that it is 2:00 p.m. on a Thursday, and that he 65 years old.

When you make an asunto...

Cuando haces asuntos, haces un as de un y tos.

Well, that doesn’t really translate very well.

"When you make an assumption, you make as ass out of u and me" is what I was trying to say.

I was playing ga-ga with the neighborhood kids when one of their older sisters come up and asked me to help her with her English homework. I don’t really like doing this because I feel that I can be more productive and help in more sustainable ways. But I have started my English for Trees program (Ingles para Arborles) in which people promise to plant three trees for every hour of English that I teach. That way, at least the trees will be here when I leave. Now back to my interrupted game of ga-ga.

The girl says that she has English homework due tomorrow. I tell her that I will help her out but that I won’t give her the answers. We discuss what this will entail for a few minutes. I’m holding strong on my “you have to try and translate the words before I help you out because I’m not going to do your homework for you” ground. She is more of the “Do my homework for me so that I don’t have to” camp.

Then she starts complaining about how I’m not helping her. I respond by telling her that I feel I’m helping her more because, instead of just giving her the answers, I’m making her learn the information. Not seeing it this way, she continues to argue. Then the arguing turns into whining, which I don’t need to put up with. She says that she agreed to translate the five pages of English dialogue to Spanish for her group homework because she simply assumed that the North American who lives in her neighborhood, yours truly, would do the work for her.

Bad assumption.

Mas Fiestas

As I mentioned in my previous fiesta-related post, every town/neighborhood has its annual fiestas. They typically coincide with the date of the town/neighborhoods was founded.

For example, the biggest fiestas in my city are November 11 because that is the day my city officially became a city.

Well, the previous fiestas I attended were in the campo. I had yet to attend a fiesta (I repeat fiesta over and over instead of writing parties because fiesta encompasses so much more). That is, until a couple of weeks ago.

Here is a bullet-riddled post of my observations from these fiestas (There has to be a better phrase than bullet-riddled, but I’m not sure that is a more hilarious one).

• Pageantry – If there is one thing that Ecuador and college football have in common, it would be pageantry. If there is another thing, it would be a love of beer. But back to the pageantry.

In the fiestas for this neighborhood, they held three beauty pageants: one to select the reina (queen); one to select the mini reina (mini queen); and one to select Señora Bonita (beauty pageant for the mothers).

And these pageants occupy the majority of the program. The program started at 9:30, and the entire program revolved around giving the beauty queen contestants time to change. If they needed time to change, they would simply throw in a musical act.

Keep in mind that the girls in the beauty pageant are about fifteen years old. So watching the men stare at the contestants when they do the bathing suit contest is, well, uncomfortable. Cultural difference, I guess.

• I’m a security guard at heart – The president of the community told me to get to the fiestas around 8:00 because they wanted to start on time. Thinking that he actually intended to start the fiestas at 8:00, I showed up at 8:00. Well, they didn’t get underway until 9:20.

To occupy myself in this awkward window, I started shmoozing it up with the community security guards who stood around the soccer field to maintain order. There was some great conversation about what they were doing, what I was doing, and what it takes to be a security guard at neighborhood fiestas (very little).

I was able to rely on my experience as an usher at Comerica Park to chat it up with these guys. Although I worked the 2006 World Series, you have no idea what a high-pressure situation is until you are an Ecuadorian security guard put in charge of guarding the beer cooler.

• Thanks, again – Every time a new person came on stage to present or speak or sing or dance or prance, they began by thanking the neighborhood. Then they gave out individual shout outs: thanking the mayor, the city councilmen, the former beauty queens, etc., for their attendance.

The first time I heard this I thought it was nice that they appreciated that these people would use their time to attend these fiestas. But after every single person on the program thanked the same eight people, it became a bit repetitive and, dare I say, disingenuous.

• “Thank you, Prima— I mean La Libertad” – Well, the woman who they brought in to sing a few songs in between beauty pageant sections came on stage and thanked the neighborhood for giving her this opportunity to perform.

The only problem was that she thanked the wrong neighborhood. She tried to correct herself, but everybody realized what happened.

• Does he also do bar mitzvahs? – One of the highlights of the evening was when the neighborhood brought in a singer from the neighboring town to sing a few love ballads (They love their love ballads down here).

So the guy steps on stage and takes the mike. Before continuing with his set, he gives out his phone number if anyone is interested in hiring him for future events, clarifying his cell provider. Keep in mind that no one has heard him sing, yet. So how would they know whether they would like to hire him for their special event if they’ve never heard him before?

Also, if I am going to pay someone for an evening of work, the difference of ten cents in cell phone charges between should be insignificant.

After his set, he gave out the information again.

Guest Bloggers: The Brothers Share Pictures

Guys changing a tire on our bus on the way to the Oriente.


Cuenca is famous for its Panama hats.


Ruby looks nice in the Panama bonnet, I mean Panama hat.


The Brothers Robinson discover the hilarious flora of dry tropical forests.


The people might not be that tall, but their banana leaves are.


Profesor Robinson.


Who is the guy on the far right?


Before Cajas hike. Does anybody understand that map?


Papaya Face Robinson


Machetero Verdadero. He even peels his fruit with a machete.


Pruning cacao trees. Ian is wearing a ridiculous hat.


Yanking yucca


Touring the jungle farm


Our amigo planting the coco plants we brought him


Ian loves dog testicles


From left to right: Pygmy green plums, pygmy red plums, pepino melon, granadilla, chirimoya, babaco


Cuenca fruit market or, as Ian likes to call it, heaven


We blue-screened the whole thing. The wonders of technology. No really, this is Cajas.

Guest Bloggers: The Brothers and the naked Indian

Where did we leave off ... ahh yes, saying adíos in Cuenca. We boarded a 12:30 bus to the Oriente (the jungle!). For the next five and half hours, we switchbacked across, bumped along, and basically hugged a mountain road until we reached the end of a valley. Whew! This included some beautiful scenery, from 1,000 m grass- and jungle-covered cliff faces mere inches from the road to a tunnel cut straight through the mountain (only wide enough for one vehicle at a time). At the bottom of the valley, we continued up between the two rivers for another hour and change until we reached another Peace Corps member's site.

We hopped off the bus in a little jungle village (just one store) and proceeded to meet (for us) or reunite (for Yoni) the PCV (Peace Corp Vounteer) there. After some quick introductions to the youth sitting outside the PCV's house, Yoni began his consultation work right away for the newspaper that the kids had recently started. From article ideas and layout to selling strategies and goals, the youth questioned the newspaperman. And the newspaperman replied with wisdom from his many years of experience. Afterward, we ate a quick dinner of quinoa, eggs, and papa chinos and passed out.

The next morning, we got a tour of the PCV's personal gardens. This included trying a new fruit, huevos de perro (dog balls). Delicious. Imagine a prickly-fuzzy, sweet, but citrus-flavored tomato the size of a golf ball. Apparently, only the PCV, us, and the shuar (local indigenous tribe) eat these.

Speaking of shuar, the PCV asked who went to the bathroom at 6:30. Ruby did. The PCV said that it was a good thing he didn't bump into his shuar neighbor, who showers naked in plain view of the kitchen with his chicha bowl at that hour. That would have been a little awkward, but a real welcome to the jungle.

Afterward, we took the coconut plants that we had been carrying since Friday to be planted at the PCV's host family. Since the PCV's arrival, the host family has basically converted its entire forty-plus acre papaya, cacao, and yucca plantation to organics ... natural fertilizer, companion planting, greenhouse, organic insect repellents, etc. We helped plant the coconuts and then went on a working and walking tour of the plantation.

(Side note: Ian has decided that whenever he is traveling in Ecuador, he is going to carry large plants with him. They make a great conversation starter. Oddly enough, no one asks you anything if you take a chicken or turkey on the bus.)

We learned how to prune branches for ease of harvesting, how to pop papayas off trees and catch — all with one hand, how the yucca grows and can easily be planted (just cut off a branch and stick it under the soil), how cacao beans are readied for market, and lots more. After some shmoozing and sugar cane-munching, we had a delicious, organic, and completely local (from that one farm) vegetarian lunch with the PCV's host family. The local specialty that highlighted the meal were muchillos, essentially a yucca latke filled with cheese and dipped in sugar cane syrup or salt. In Ecuadorian culture, it is disrespectful to turn down food, but his host mom just kept bringing more muchillos.

We needed a long walk after lunch to digest so we explored the rest of the village, including some of the 700 hectares of papaya and yucca plantations there. Along the road, we stopped at a large aquaculture operation that raises tilapia in the jungle. In fact, the owner of this now-large enterprise that also includes swimming pools and zoo, learned aquaculture from two PCVs in a neighboring village in the late 1980s.

We had a brief siesta so as to be ready for the evening's main event and possibly the most-hyped athletic event in town history: gringos v. the village in basketball. To give you a sense of the height differential, think of Space Jam with us being the Monstars. We Globetrotted our way through the game, just to keep it close. Everyone had a great time. At one point, it was nine on four. One of the highlights included Avery rejecting the PCV's host mom. Everyone just stopped and laughed. It should be noted that in Ecuador, basketball is more of a women's sport and volleyball, a men's sport.

After the game, the PCV made spaghetti with fresh marinara sauce from his garden. We followed that with a giant papaya for dessert (see photo to follow).

The next morning, we explored the neighboring village to get another perspective on jungle life and hopped on a bus to begin our fourteen-hour journey back to Yoni's town. We took a slightly different, but equally harrowing, route up the mountainside, mostly along a jungle- and cloud-covered, gravelly (sp?) one-and-a-half lane highway. By midnight, we were back in Yoni's town and exhausted.

Guest Bloggers: The Brothers Encuentra Cuenca

We planned on Ian´s Machala Reality Tour (mail box, DVD store, juice guy, veggie restaurant that serves chicken) to occupy us Friday afternoon. But the bus to Cuenca was boarding as soon as we arrived. Figuring that it would be nice to see the countryside, we bought a few mandarinas and jumped aboard.

Well, that was a good decision.

In the course of three hours, we passed through banana plantations, lush cloud forest, barren mountains, fertile valleys, and pine tree-covered mountains. And we went from sea level to 10,000 feet. Doing all of this while watching the WWE-produced (classic?) The Condemned, starring Steve Austin and company.

We rolled into Cuenca at dusk and quickly headed to our hostel. We dropped our stuff and ate dinner at a local vegetarian restaurant. Great deal and delicious food. This restaurant does not serve chicken.

The next morning, we woke up, picked up some bread for the road, and took a bus to Cajas National Park, which is half an hour outside of Cuenca on the road to Guayaquil. Like any national park, they charge an entrance fee. For Ecuadorians and residents (like Yoni), it costs $1.50 to access the park. For foreigners, it costs $10.00. We weren´t given any maps, and the signs on the first trail we tried led us back to the highway.

We decided to go against the grain and do the exact opposite of what the arrows suggested. Using this strategy, we enjoyed a pleasant, two-and-a-half hour jaunt through the mountainside. Near the end of the path, we came upon four alpaca (Ruby still wants them to be emu and refuses to accept the reality). We did a loop around the laguna near the end of the trail and called it a day for hiking in the wilderness. This was probably a good idea since none of us were acclimated to any altitude above 500 feet, and we were planning on spending the afternoon exploring the hilly (and more than a mile high) city of Cuenca.

We took a bus back to Cuenca and began our search for lunch. Ian wanted to expose his brothers to some comida tipica (typical food) for the region and was set on finding a locro de papas (a potato soup that is often served with cheese and avocado). But after a half hour of searching, our bellies were still empty.

Enter desperation. Enter mercado food court.

Basically, we walked up the aisle of the food stands at the market for something that we could eat. After doing one sivvuv, we found a place offering fried fish. Thinking that whatever diarrhea-causing bacteria that was in the fish would be killed in the frying, we thought that would be a safe option (probably not the best logic, but to give away the end of the story, our stool is still solid).

Afterward we explored the market´s fruit section and picked out a selection of fun-sounding, hilarious-looking, and mostly delicious fruits. We mozied around historic Cuenca for the next two hours. Cuenca is considered a United Nations World Heritage Site because the majority of its colonial center is still intact. We explored this colonial center, marvelled at the churches and other architectural gems, and strolled along the river. We washed our fruit at the hostel and purchase a knife, with which to cut said fruit.

Then, we proceeded to taste the fruits. We understand that photos would really improve this section of the blog post, but you will have to wait for those. We sampled the granadilla, miniature plums, cucumber melon (or pepino, but not to be confused with the regular cucumber that one would find in the vegetable section), chirimoya, and babaco. Overall, we were very pleased.

After a brief siesta and internetting, we began our search for dinner. Thinking we passed a vegetarian Indian restaurant during our stroll, we tried to retrace our steps in search of it. No dice. It was probably closed.

We found a place that offered the traditional soup that Ian wanted us to try. So we went there for the first part of dinner and ate the soup. Everybody liked it.

For the second course, we went to another vegetarian restaurant and enjoyed a two-course meal. Another agreeable experience, which was capped by ice cream. Then we went back to hostel to pass out after our exhausting day.

This morning, we woke up at 7:00 to get a good jump on the day. But we realized that nobody else in all of Cuenca woke up, except to go to church, so we decided to shower. This was Ian´s first hot shower in three months. To quote him, ´´I didn´t want to leave.´´

Then we picked up a variety of breads for breakfast and went to the bus station to pick up tickets for our bus later in the day. Success, and Ian even bought us some humitas (which are warm, corn deliciousness).

We returned to downtown, picked up some fruit, and learned about Panama hats (the industry that Cuenca is famous for, along with ceramic tiles). And that wrapped up our trip to Cuenca.

Everybody enjoyed their experience. Gotta catch a bus. TTYL.

Guest Bloggers: The Brothers Get Settled

So we wake up and start moving around (well, actually, Ian and Ruby start to move, Avery catches as many Z's as he can before the day really begins) when someone knocks on the door.

"¿Quien es?" It's one of Ian's co-workers coming to pick us up for classes. Naturally, now is a perfect time for Ian's landlord to invite us over for some breakfast. At the mention of a breakfast invitation, Ian hops out of the shower, throws on some clothes and beats everyone to the table.

This is Ruby and Avery's first experience with "tomate de arbol" and it is delicious. Apparently, people only consume it in juice form because it is a bitter fruit, but that juice was fantastic...anyone know anything about the bottling and packaging business?

So after trying to explain to his landlord that he needs to go teach a class and is late, Ian and his coworker excuse themselves, leaving Ruby and Avery with this Ecuadorian family that speaks very little (if any) English. While we were able to understand most everything that was being said, it was still difficult for us to string together complex sentences, and after 10 minutes of trying, decided it would be best stick with the basics and go to class.

We helped Ian with his icebreakers and sorted out the seeds that the class brought in for planting in the new school garden. After class, we sat down for some fruit salads with the teacher at the school kiosk. Let's just say that American schools have a lot to learn in the art of school snacks.

From school, we proceeded to check out the nursery. Very cool seeing the garden for real; fortunately the iguana was nowhere to be found. We watered the plants and sprayed the garlic-hot pepper hand-burning mixture around the plants to protect them for the next few days, popped some mangoes off one of nursery's trees, and then bought some coconut trees from a neighboring nursery.

On the way back to Ian's pad, we stopped off for some Brazilian sandwiches (grilled cheese with banana slices and a little cinnamon), which Ian has introduced to some of the local juice vendors in town. After shmoozing with the locals, we packed up our stuff and headed off to Batanes for the weekly meeting of the community bank.

When we got on the bus (there is only one bus to Batanes, and it doesn't even go to Batanes itself), we noticed that the driver's face was all cut up. Apparently, he had been in an accident earlier that day, but was good to go. On the drive, we saw a gas station with a sign "Si, hay diesel." [Cultural Education Necessary: We were not sure if this meant: "yes, we have diesel" or "if there is diesel..." so instead we just laughed, took a picture, and carried on.] Also, while at the gas station, a woman on the bus passed a jerry can out the window with a few dollars to fill it up. Awesome!

So we arrived in Batanes and hung out with about 10 locals before the meeting began (which represents about 1/3 of the households), had our meeting, and then went off to someone's house to spend the night. Later in the evening, the two-year-old decided that his rain boots were bigger and better than Avery's hiking boots and wanted to show off. Then, because he was so clean from his shower, decided it was time to go to work. So while wearing his rain boots and pajamas, he grabbed his machete (yes, he has his own machete), and started walking up the road as if to go to work.

Shortly thereafter, we went to sleep. It was 8:30 PM and we (and the household) were exhausted.

The next morning, we woke up at 4:30, like regular Robinson men, to catch the 5:00 pick-up truck to the 6:00 bus. We made it back to town by 7:00 and went straight to school at 7:10.

Yoni helped another class start a garden. It was the day before vacation, and everybody was excited for the freedom they would experience come afternoon, so they marked the occasion by having Field Day. Each class competes in basketball and soccer against the other classes in the school, round-robin style. They were very excited, and we would have stayed to watch more, but we had an appointment to go for a hike at the eco reserve.

The bus dropped us off at the reserve entrance, which is three kilometers from the reserve´s ecological base. So before going on our three-kilometer hike in the reserve, we had to do a three-kilometer hike to get there (and also to get back to the highway). The reserve is a dry, tropical forest. Only one percent of the world´s dry tropical forests still remains, and this is part of that one percent.

It almost looked as if winter had descended on southern Ecuador because very few trees had any type of foliage. The trees in this ecosystem shed their leaves to survive the dry season. It was almost like walking through a forest in Michigan in the winter, except there were cacti, and we were wearing t-shirts and sweating in the humidity (Coach Blitzer was right). (We will try to post some pictures later)

Afterwards, we took the bus back to town and got ready for our trip up to the mountains.