On an average weekend, Banos hosts mountain bikers, city dwellers seeking gorgeous vistas and cheap spas, and adventure seeks hoping to jump off bridges and canopy across rivers. Due to the recent desrumbes (landslides) on many of the major highways, passage was cut off to the Coast... and to Banos went Ecuador, to celebrate Carnaval... a Fat Tuesday of sorts that began on Saturday and lasted through Tuesday night. It was insane fun, filled with mischievous little kids, water balloons, cans and cans and cans of sweet, sticky Kareoka (a watery foam that comes in various colors that stain everything they touch) and loads of gringo targeting.
I am not quite sure what we were celebrating, not quite sure what watery foam and water balloons represent in the grand scheme of life and Lent beginning, but it was the most inclusive party I have have ever experienced... everyone was in, there was no bench warming, no tagging out for a breather, no place of respite.
Because the weekend was filled and my memory is cloudy with bits of foamy Kareoka (I wonder if any longitudinal studies have been done on the effects of Kareoka on one's mental capacities), I will simply list the most vivid memories from the weekend:
*On Friday, on the bus out of Quito, I met a small boy who was carrying his new pet bird, a brown, raggedy little thing, in a black plastic bag. The bird's head was sticking out of the bag and the boy was so dang proud, clutching the top of the bag around the bird's neck. I wonder how long it will survive.
*On Friday night we met the Reinoso family, friends of my friend Mary Beth, who took us into their humble home and showered us with generous hospitality. It was home, next to a volcano, with a poodle named Munenca and a small farm of fruit trees out back.
*On Saturday afternoon, we watched a long, colorful parade with every elementary school in the area represented with outrageous dances and elaborate floats. It was mesmerizing to watch 8 year olds wiggle their hips in ways I will never know, until, alas, one of them cried and then peed in the street. Three hours is much too long to hold it, even when a gal is wearing a sequined skirt, high heels and glitter on every piece of exposed skin.
*On Sunday, we played Carnaval at the Rio Verde, hiking and sprinting and spraying Kareoka on each other as I hemmed and hawed a bit about water pollution and tried to read the not so natural ingredients on the side of the can. The highlight of my day? Being shoved into a waterfall by the Reinosos, who were tickled pink, and green, and blue, and foamy yellow, to have a gringa to pick on a bit.
*On Sunday and Monday nights, we went to the two squares in Banos to listen to live music, spray Kareoka on clean passersby and laugh as people got tossed into the fountain. At some point, I was hit directly in the crotch of my jeans with a water balloon, which made the wee Reinosos giggle with delight. An adult who peed her pants, now that's something! I should have been in the parade. At the end of the night, the square was littered with empty cans, bits of sticky flour and drying Kareoka. It was a war zone, abandoned for the sunlight to come.
*On Monday, we took a bike ride along a highway, through dripping waterfalls, into and out of a rough tunnel, singing the whole time. We were, of course, sprayed with water and foam by every third car that passed. It was beautiful, even through a helmet of sticky Kareoka.
*On Tuesday morning, we walked to the store with some of the smaller Reinosos to buy food for breakfast. I had an overwhelming sense of calm as we trudged through patches of sunlight, along a dirt road, next to a smoking volcano, with scraggly Muneca leading the way.
Banos feels like home, due to the generosity of the Reinosos and the way the roads wind into mountains. I was invited back, told that my return was anxiously awaited. The world is small but the people who love it are not.
Note: photos to come!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
it's raining, it's pouring...
It appears the winter is upon us here in Ecuador... it has rained, without pause, for the last 6 days. This was not supposed to start until April but alas, my toes are permanent raisins and I cannot seem to shake a cold that snuck up as I was beginning to heal from my uninvited guests. Like anyone who has spent any time in the Northwest, however, I have not let it stop me. I spent the majority of the weekend exploring Quito, in the rain, in my Chacos, with my large black umbrella and my gay pride knit hat. I also drank a lot of coffee. Nescafe, with a scoop of sugar and even a bit of milk... living on the edge, I know.
Strange things happen when it rains here. The packs of stray dogs that roam our neighborhood have gone into hiding. Garbage bags have spontaneously exploded and there are bits of everything scattered in the streets. Bus drivers seem to be participating in a exciting game of soak the gringos... I have quickly learned to keep away from curbs and large potholes. In smaller villages, bridges have collapsed and chunks of road have been swept away. On the noon news, there are images of people squishing through thigh high mud to leave their flooded homes. And we have just begun.
to work, to my favorite coffee shop,
to get lunch in the afternoon,
Strange things happen when it rains here. The packs of stray dogs that roam our neighborhood have gone into hiding. Garbage bags have spontaneously exploded and there are bits of everything scattered in the streets. Bus drivers seem to be participating in a exciting game of soak the gringos... I have quickly learned to keep away from curbs and large potholes. In smaller villages, bridges have collapsed and chunks of road have been swept away. On the noon news, there are images of people squishing through thigh high mud to leave their flooded homes. And we have just begun.
It is hard not to participate in apocalyptic conversations as we watch fires rage in Australia, the aftermath of tornadoes in the Midwest and flooding sweep through Southern Ecuador. If this isn't climate change, I am not sure what is. The inconvenient truth is all around us.
And I will continue walking through it with my raisin toes,to work, to my favorite coffee shop,
to get lunch in the afternoon,
all the while wearing my favorite rainbow hat.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Sick Sickly in Paradise at the Bosque de Puke
I have to admit I have been getting bolder in my eating choices here in Ecuador... and it has, after a month, bit me in the ass. Literally.
Sometime this w
eekend I ate something that contained a family of parasites. It could have been the french fries at a street market in Ibarra or the fried fish here in Quito... but at this point, it doesn't quite matter what it was... just that it was, and is.
The weekend played out something like this: on Saturday afternoon, Lukas, Bianca and myself headed out on a 4 hour trek to the Bosque de Paz (the Forrest of Peace, owned by a lovely gent from Holland named Piet) so Bianca could have a look-see about a potential job. We arrived after dark but we could see enough of the forest to know that it was heaven... if mosquitoes live in paradise. There were hammocks and mountains and two little girls who gave us stickers and chattered incesantly about their pet sloth that had just died.
About 4 am that night, I knew something was wrong... I woke up with a slight ache in my belly and the urge to vomit. I held it together, for no particular reason other than I did not want to climb down a set of steep stairs to vomit in the organic farm, for the next 6 or so hours, when I did, in fact, vom
it, in the organic farm. Multiple times. While Piet, Bianca and Lukas harvested bamboo a mere 10 feet away and Piet's daughters looked on with intrigue. Not so organic anymore.
I spent the next 4 hours reading and moaning and napping and then we headed home... on two buses and in a taxi, over the course of the entire afternoon. The first bus might have been the worst 1.5 hours I have ever spent in my adult life. Perhaps it was my spot on the floor of the bus, between a ricky guardrail and the open door, the whole time atop an older gentleman's shoes (there are no weight or space limits in Ecuador... if you can squeeze someone in, in they go).
I managed to hold everything in (save for a few self-pitying sobs on the side of the road as we waited for a taxi) until we came home, and then my body had enough of hosting the buggers and evicted them over the course of the next 36 hours.
This leads me to this afternoon, where I sit in a puddle of sunlight, watching Quito go about its daily activity and dreaming about Papa John's Pizza (perhaps I am Louisville-sick a bit). I went to the ER last night, for lack of appointments with a doctor, and was quickly hooked into an IV and given a barrel of apple flavored Pedialytel to drink (which almost induced vomiting again). I have meds that promise to kill anything and a sudden vacation from work... and it would be lovely, if only I could eat a slice of extra cheese and drink a beer.
However horrid this has been (thank you, Angus and Kelly, for braving my feverish phone calls and Mom and Dad, for not panicking), it has brought into focus so many things for which to be grateful:
*medical insurance that pays for itself by paying for a (maybe unnecessary) visit to the ER
*housemates who carried my bag, bought me liters of Gatorade and bunches of bananas and have checked on me, on the hour, for almost three days
*my supervisor, who brought Pedialyte and safe food over to house, who took me to the ER, who talked me through my new meds
*the woman on the first bus who put the whole thing into perspective by asking if I had cancer and then laughing when I told her it was something I ate
*and perhaps most sharply in my mind, the older gent who allowed me to perch precariously atop his sunday best dress shoes for almost 2 hours without complaining once
*my first real meal in three days, of Ritz Crackers and Special K, which tasted like heaven
I am grateful to be from a country where we don't worry about drinking water or contaminated food. I am also grateful to currently live in a city where there is a Papa John's... as soon as I am back to walking, that is certainly where I will venture, with housemates in tow. To health and yes, to pizza that tastes like home. You can take a girl out of the midwest but you can't take the midwest of a girl...
Sometime this w
eekend I ate something that contained a family of parasites. It could have been the french fries at a street market in Ibarra or the fried fish here in Quito... but at this point, it doesn't quite matter what it was... just that it was, and is.The weekend played out something like this: on Saturday afternoon, Lukas, Bianca and myself headed out on a 4 hour trek to the Bosque de Paz (the Forrest of Peace, owned by a lovely gent from Holland named Piet) so Bianca could have a look-see about a potential job. We arrived after dark but we could see enough of the forest to know that it was heaven... if mosquitoes live in paradise. There were hammocks and mountains and two little girls who gave us stickers and chattered incesantly about their pet sloth that had just died.
About 4 am that night, I knew something was wrong... I woke up with a slight ache in my belly and the urge to vomit. I held it together, for no particular reason other than I did not want to climb down a set of steep stairs to vomit in the organic farm, for the next 6 or so hours, when I did, in fact, vom
it, in the organic farm. Multiple times. While Piet, Bianca and Lukas harvested bamboo a mere 10 feet away and Piet's daughters looked on with intrigue. Not so organic anymore.I spent the next 4 hours reading and moaning and napping and then we headed home... on two buses and in a taxi, over the course of the entire afternoon. The first bus might have been the worst 1.5 hours I have ever spent in my adult life. Perhaps it was my spot on the floor of the bus, between a ricky guardrail and the open door, the whole time atop an older gentleman's shoes (there are no weight or space limits in Ecuador... if you can squeeze someone in, in they go).
I managed to hold everything in (save for a few self-pitying sobs on the side of the road as we waited for a taxi) until we came home, and then my body had enough of hosting the buggers and evicted them over the course of the next 36 hours.
This leads me to this afternoon, where I sit in a puddle of sunlight, watching Quito go about its daily activity and dreaming about Papa John's Pizza (perhaps I am Louisville-sick a bit). I went to the ER last night, for lack of appointments with a doctor, and was quickly hooked into an IV and given a barrel of apple flavored Pedialytel to drink (which almost induced vomiting again). I have meds that promise to kill anything and a sudden vacation from work... and it would be lovely, if only I could eat a slice of extra cheese and drink a beer.
However horrid this has been (thank you, Angus and Kelly, for braving my feverish phone calls and Mom and Dad, for not panicking), it has brought into focus so many things for which to be grateful:
*medical insurance that pays for itself by paying for a (maybe unnecessary) visit to the ER
*housemates who carried my bag, bought me liters of Gatorade and bunches of bananas and have checked on me, on the hour, for almost three days
*my supervisor, who brought Pedialyte and safe food over to house, who took me to the ER, who talked me through my new meds
*the woman on the first bus who put the whole thing into perspective by asking if I had cancer and then laughing when I told her it was something I ate
*and perhaps most sharply in my mind, the older gent who allowed me to perch precariously atop his sunday best dress shoes for almost 2 hours without complaining once
*my first real meal in three days, of Ritz Crackers and Special K, which tasted like heaven
I am grateful to be from a country where we don't worry about drinking water or contaminated food. I am also grateful to currently live in a city where there is a Papa John's... as soon as I am back to walking, that is certainly where I will venture, with housemates in tow. To health and yes, to pizza that tastes like home. You can take a girl out of the midwest but you can't take the midwest of a girl...
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
rules, rules, rules.
Living in another country is a terrific way to learn about oneself. Being uncomfortable and out of place puts one in a situation of constant pensive exploration. My inner monologue in Quito has begun to resemble something of a narcissistic three year old (hmm, aren't they all, simply by matter of development) as I stumble over which vowel renders a verb in the past tense and how to pronounce words that are over three syllables.
Alas, I have been saved from myself and my self correcting monologue day in and night out by my somewhat paranoid Ecuadorian mama, Jenny, who greets me in the morning with new and wondrous things to ponder as I stroll to work.
Mi hija, she says, Tienes que... and the list of rules grows.
Here ar
e some of the gems:
1. Pee sitting down. Always. See sign above toilet in the rare chance that you forget this.
2. Always walk opposite of traffic in the case that someone tries to kidnap you and take you to Colombia in the back of their car.
3. Sleep with your window closed in the case that someone climbs over our 12 foot, razor topped fence, tiptoes around the guard dogs, avoids tripping the alarm and props a ladder against the house to enter your bedroom with a semi-automatic weapon.
4. Whenever possible, use bland curse words in place of more illustrative adjectives. It adds flavor and lets people know that you are not too good for them.
5. Drink coffee before sleeping so you will have more vibrant dreams. (this also helps if someone happens to climb through my window at night, as I will be alert and ready to spring into action).
AND should I forget myself and sink into any sort of wallow or daily rehashing of my grammar errors, I am quickly jolted out of the pit of despair by Jenny's favorite lived rule...
6. Yell, whenever possible, in order to communicate with others in your household. It is best if this yelling takes place between floors and early on weekend mornings.
Alas, I have been saved from myself and my self correcting monologue day in and night out by my somewhat paranoid Ecuadorian mama, Jenny, who greets me in the morning with new and wondrous things to ponder as I stroll to work.
Mi hija, she says, Tienes que... and the list of rules grows.
Here ar
e some of the gems:1. Pee sitting down. Always. See sign above toilet in the rare chance that you forget this.
2. Always walk opposite of traffic in the case that someone tries to kidnap you and take you to Colombia in the back of their car.
3. Sleep with your window closed in the case that someone climbs over our 12 foot, razor topped fence, tiptoes around the guard dogs, avoids tripping the alarm and props a ladder against the house to enter your bedroom with a semi-automatic weapon.
4. Whenever possible, use bland curse words in place of more illustrative adjectives. It adds flavor and lets people know that you are not too good for them.
5. Drink coffee before sleeping so you will have more vibrant dreams. (this also helps if someone happens to climb through my window at night, as I will be alert and ready to spring into action).
AND should I forget myself and sink into any sort of wallow or daily rehashing of my grammar errors, I am quickly jolted out of the pit of despair by Jenny's favorite lived rule...
6. Yell, whenever possible, in order to communicate with others in your household. It is best if this yelling takes place between floors and early on weekend mornings.
Monday, February 2, 2009
Illegal Immigrant
My work here with CRS falls within two categories: researching and understanding the challenges faced by people who have emigrated from Ecuador and immigrated into Ecuador (primarily Colombians) and researching movements by indigenous groups as they fight the destruction of their land by big business.
Everyone in the world of human mobility is discussing the new Constitution in Ecuador, supported by Rafael Correra, the progressive Obama-like president, which gives rights to immigrants and strengthens Ecuadors place in the world economy... and tightens the process of those folks who want to enter and be in Ecuador for a period of time, say working as an intern with Catholic Relief Services.
Last night, in a spirited conversation in La Casa Amarilla (my very yellow home away from Boston), my Ecuadorian mama, Jenny, informed me that I was certainly, according to the new law, living illegally here in Quito because I dont have a volunteer visa.
My companeros in the office do not quite agree with Jenny, but the verdict is out until next Monday, when the office expert on visas returns from maternity leave.
The irony is certainly not lost on me... but how different it is for me, a pale faced North American, to live in a city among families who have run from coca eradication, horrendous health problems, violent uprisings and political instability. Here I am treated with respect, or if not respect, a great deal of attention (usually not wanted) while my Colombian neighbors are ignored, insulted and kept out of social services.
To be a citizen of the United States is a powerful, heady thing.
May we be aware of what we have and tread softly in the world around, without big sticks and bigger egos.
Everyone in the world of human mobility is discussing the new Constitution in Ecuador, supported by Rafael Correra, the progressive Obama-like president, which gives rights to immigrants and strengthens Ecuadors place in the world economy... and tightens the process of those folks who want to enter and be in Ecuador for a period of time, say working as an intern with Catholic Relief Services.
Last night, in a spirited conversation in La Casa Amarilla (my very yellow home away from Boston), my Ecuadorian mama, Jenny, informed me that I was certainly, according to the new law, living illegally here in Quito because I dont have a volunteer visa.
My companeros in the office do not quite agree with Jenny, but the verdict is out until next Monday, when the office expert on visas returns from maternity leave.
The irony is certainly not lost on me... but how different it is for me, a pale faced North American, to live in a city among families who have run from coca eradication, horrendous health problems, violent uprisings and political instability. Here I am treated with respect, or if not respect, a great deal of attention (usually not wanted) while my Colombian neighbors are ignored, insulted and kept out of social services.
To be a citizen of the United States is a powerful, heady thing.
May we be aware of what we have and tread softly in the world around, without big sticks and bigger egos.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Being prepared... for (almost) everything.
Two weeks into my adventure in Quito and I have begun to realize that my year of Brownie Badging has done me wrong... I am prepared for (almost) every calamity, for (almost) every bout of loneliness, intestinal wavering, insomnia and language mishap. I have read all sorts of books and ha
ve brought all sorts of books on how to be in Ecuador, how to speak like a native (still working on that, whew), how to order, how to ask how tall someone is and how to greet and say goodbye to folks. In the sanctuary that is my brightly painted (sunrise orange) bedroom, my months of preparation sits around me in cheerful piles... my stack of books for my independent study, my jumbo box of brown sugar cinnamon frosted poptarts for my days of crashing, photos of my family and friends and a small yankee candle that smells like Gram's house.
It is when I leave the house that I realize how insignficant and Global North all this preparation is... how I am really insolating myself in a space that is not allowing me to be in the present, to feel as if I am free to move about without a sense of restriction, without the weight of owning (and having on me, at this particular moment) THE right things. I have traveled twice now with my co-workers and both times I arrived with my Eagle Creek Travel Bag, stuffed to the brim, wobbling on my back, eager and... prepared. Both times I have had to stop the urge to hightail it back into my house to clean out the ridiculous amount of extras in my bag... my huge Spanish-English dictonary, my industrial size can of natural bug repellent, the 8 billion coins I have gathered from various transactions.
I have the Poisonwood Bible on my bedtable, and once I get some of these environmental ethics books read, I am going to reread it, if only to remind myself of the Betty Crocker cakemix that the frantic mother sews into her daughters' petticoats as they prepare to fly to Africa for a year. How much cakemix have I brought? How much does it weigh? How much do I really need?I will let you know after I eat those dang poptarts.
I hope you are traveling well, treading lightly, and living in the present.
ve brought all sorts of books on how to be in Ecuador, how to speak like a native (still working on that, whew), how to order, how to ask how tall someone is and how to greet and say goodbye to folks. In the sanctuary that is my brightly painted (sunrise orange) bedroom, my months of preparation sits around me in cheerful piles... my stack of books for my independent study, my jumbo box of brown sugar cinnamon frosted poptarts for my days of crashing, photos of my family and friends and a small yankee candle that smells like Gram's house.It is when I leave the house that I realize how insignficant and Global North all this preparation is... how I am really insolating myself in a space that is not allowing me to be in the present, to feel as if I am free to move about without a sense of restriction, without the weight of owning (and having on me, at this particular moment) THE right things. I have traveled twice now with my co-workers and both times I arrived with my Eagle Creek Travel Bag, stuffed to the brim, wobbling on my back, eager and... prepared. Both times I have had to stop the urge to hightail it back into my house to clean out the ridiculous amount of extras in my bag... my huge Spanish-English dictonary, my industrial size can of natural bug repellent, the 8 billion coins I have gathered from various transactions.
I have the Poisonwood Bible on my bedtable, and once I get some of these environmental ethics books read, I am going to reread it, if only to remind myself of the Betty Crocker cakemix that the frantic mother sews into her daughters' petticoats as they prepare to fly to Africa for a year. How much cakemix have I brought? How much does it weigh? How much do I really need?I will let you know after I eat those dang poptarts.
I hope you are traveling well, treading lightly, and living in the present.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Lago Agrio- how crude.
I am working as a pasante (intern) with CRS Ecuador, learning as much as I can about human mobility (immigration, emigration, Internally Displaced Persons) and the effects it has on individuals, families, communities and the country. This week we traveled to Lago Agrio, an area within the Zone Frontera, near the border of Colombia, to assess some of the education programs that are taking place in the schools.
A place of border crossing in Colombia, the town of Lago is popular with drug traffickers, prostitutes and...oil companies. The jungle around Lago is breathtaking- green and lush, with all sorts of flowers dripping through the foilage. The town itself is in disarray. There are massive potholes- in the street and in the sidewalks- the buildings are crumbling, the people seem empty.
Oil companies- particulary Texaco and Chevron, have pumped billions of liters of oil from this area. According to the people, the damage they left behind is unbelievable. There are open-air pits of crude oil smoldering in the hot jungle, some as large as a football field, and these companies have contamenated the water supply and tampered with the fragile ecosystem.
As noted in the town, they have contributed little to the infrastructure of the town and pumped the oil off to foriegn lands, to fuel foriegn cars and feed foriegn appetites.
Want more information than I can give you from my short, short time there? Read up on the class action suit filed against chevron: www.chevrontoxico.com or www.texacorainforest.com.
A place of border crossing in Colombia, the town of Lago is popular with drug traffickers, prostitutes and...oil companies. The jungle around Lago is breathtaking- green and lush, with all sorts of flowers dripping through the foilage. The town itself is in disarray. There are massive potholes- in the street and in the sidewalks- the buildings are crumbling, the people seem empty.
Oil companies- particulary Texaco and Chevron, have pumped billions of liters of oil from this area. According to the people, the damage they left behind is unbelievable. There are open-air pits of crude oil smoldering in the hot jungle, some as large as a football field, and these companies have contamenated the water supply and tampered with the fragile ecosystem.
As noted in the town, they have contributed little to the infrastructure of the town and pumped the oil off to foriegn lands, to fuel foriegn cars and feed foriegn appetites.
Want more information than I can give you from my short, short time there? Read up on the class action suit filed against chevron: www.chevrontoxico.com or www.texacorainforest.com.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
