travels

2007-01-30T19:23:00.000-08:00

What I Do These Days....

So. School’s done, what ever do I do to fill all of my glorious free time? Well, there’s this little thing called the ICRP (InterCultural Research Project, phew, what a name), which has been filling, um, some, of my time. The general concept of an ICRP is a project/internship/apprenticeship/volunteer work within the community that we are living in. Our program’s program is relatively flexible, and the first couple of months we were researching and testing out organizations to figure out how we would fill this five-week span in Jan/Feb, while also reading and discussing texts on development, volunteerism, and Ecuadorian society. Unsurprisingly I elected to do something within The Arts. I actually have two separate jobs, one at an organization called Arteducarte (Art to Educate Yourself) and the other is an apprenticeship with a well-known Ecuadorian painter.

Arteducarte is an organization that brings local artists into public schools to hold art workshops once a week. It is a non-profit, completely Ecuadorian funded program, although it was originally founded by the Guggenheim. Now, to the average American, this idea sounds cool, but not ground shaking. But what I’ve come to learn after working several months in the schools is that Ecuador really has very little infrastructure for art education. The school system is very structured and much of the schooling is based on repetition and memorization. Meaning, children don’t get art education. Also meaning that many kids don’t know and/or have forgotten how to be creative. Overall meaning that Arteducarte is slowly bringing a very important new thing to select Quiteño schools. The thing that I’ve find really fascinating about the program is the type of projects that the artists bring, usually more conceptual and open-ended than traditional classroom art projects. The artists usually have to work within a subject area given by the teacher, and I’ve seen solar-system hats, animal arm-puppets, clay monsters, and collaged counting books, among many other things, flow in and out of the classrooms. I’m a volunteer in the classes twice a week (read: crowd control, interesting foreign distraction, occasionally I’m actually useful), and I also work a couple of days per week in the office (read: cutting cardboard, filling glue containers, counting paper, painting things white, probably the most concrete contributions I’ve given). It has been a fun experience, especially talking to the very intelligent director of the program and reading the v.cool book they recently published. I’m not ever, ever, ever going to be an elementary school teacher.

The other part of my ICRP is a bit more, well, “open-ended.” I convinced our program leader to let me figure out some type of apprenticeship or internship within the Quito art scene, so that I could get a feel of what’s going on here and possibly form some contacts. I landed up with the painter Marcelo Aguirre (he was my painting prof. fall semester), who had just started a job of coordinating a shiny new gallery space in the basement of a graduate school. Which is neat, and actually a pretty big deal, because the Ecuadorian art market/scene dropped dead after dollarization, and this is a small symbol of progress for the art world here. For the first week and a half, I worked really really hard with a couple of other folks to mount a painting show in the space, including a quite complicated installation. It was fun, I learned a lot, I worked dutifully, and I got great feedback from my temporary co-workers. After the opening of the show and wrapping up all the details that pertained to it, my workload quickly dropped off, and left me scrambling to fill my time. I’ve been hopping from person to person, visiting studios, filling odd jobs, being a secretary. It’s been hard to not have a fixed way to fill my time, and jarring to be in the work force for a bit. The experience has certainly forced me to think about future job possibilities and what-people-do-with-their-lives. And, although I’ve kind of had fun being a little floating worker-drone, it reminded me that (as I found when I was working 40+ hrs/wk in NYC) being a student isn’t all that bad, and I’m not too upset that I have to slave away at my studies for another 1.33333333 years... life advice quite welcome at this point.

2007-01-14T09:13:00.000-08:00

The bi-polar trust issue.

One thing I realized recently is that my trust has been put through a rigorous obstacle course since being in Ecuador. Usually, at least in the States, I’d say that I’m a naturally trusting person. [This is not to say that I’m not cautious in some ways, growing up in the dirty D did teach me to religiously lock doors, be alert outside alone after dark, and to be weary of anything that came on my porch and rang the bell (often resulting in me cowering motionlessly in my room if I heard the doorbell ring and was caught home-alone). For these things I am thankful. I felt triumphant when, during a string of break-ins and muggings on campus, I knew more or less how to deal with the situation and didn’t have a panic attack.]
However, Ecuador is a different story. I don’t really trust anything. Food and water have the potential to invert your intestines. Vendors, upon hearing an accent and seeing hazel eyes/delicious creamy complexion, have the tendency to double prices. Ditto to nighttime taxi drivers. Dogs attack. Buses veer off cliffs. Random people harass. Electricity fails. The Internet glitches. Stores close randomly. Time is flexible. Things get stolen. Hot water makes itself scarce. Walls are topped with barbed wire and broken glass. There are security guards with massive guns. People misinform rather than admitting that they’re unsure. We´re living with essential strangers. Even the earth, the ultimate constant!, rumbles with earthquakes and spews out lava unpredictably.
I noticed that I had become so untrusting when I went to places that I trusted. In Peru in the tourist-infiltrated hostel and more recently at an amazing eco-lodge in the Ecuadorian mountains, I relied on the advice of others, used honor systems, and left valuables lying around. Wow! I take trust for granted! I realized that trust is yet another one of the convenient little advantages that comes in the tidy package of privilege. If everyone around you has similar resources, there’s much less temptation to abuse others’. (Funny how these things reveal themselves). And I am looking forward to returning to my comfy trusting home, so that the little sliver of me here that is always on edge, always suspicious and guarded can rest and rejuvenate, remember to trust again.

2007-01-01T16:42:00.000-08:00

Traveling vs. Study Abroad

I just returned from a ten day vacation to Peru, which was kick started with a quick tour of southern coastal Ecuador. After wrapping up the academic loose ends, breathing a deep sigh of relief, and cleaning my room corner to corner, I hopped on an overnight bus with friends to Guyaquil to watch the National University Track Championships in which, I am proud to say, I had several friends running. After suffering through the oppressive heat of the equatorial coast and exploring a bit of the Big City, we escaped to Salinas, a classy beach town. And, after just one night in a sterile hotel, Rachel U. and I hopped right back on the bus towards Guyaquil, to begin our Peruvian Adventure.
Before we even made it to Peru, the experience already felt different. We found ourselves in a cavernous, arching airport of glass, metal, and polished stone, being approached (actually, more like attacked) by the over-friendly, over-helpful, and over-English-speaking sales ladies in duty free. A stark contrast to fluorescently lit bus terminals with shifty eyed ticket collectors and being approached by pre-pubescent vendors of gum and cigarettes. The businesspeople and upper-class patronizers of the air made me, in my casual attire tinged with the South American Explorer aesthetic, feel a bit out of place. It was also the first trip that I’ve planned All By Myself, and Rachel and I found ourselves a bit giddy to be mature grown-up type travelers in a real live airport.
¡Bienvenidas a Lima! Wow. A throbbing hoard of expectant family members at the exit of the airport, followed by a half hour taxi ride through the expansive city of roughly twelve million. We stumbled upon a hostel in our guidebook in the touristy suburb of Miraflores, and decided to take a chance there. It turned out quite well and we were very comfortable; comfortable enough to stay our first six nights there. We met a variety of young backpacking adventurists. People you meet traveling are a distinct breed. When we first arrived, I was full of interest for the stories of Australians with around the world plane tickets and the Americans motorcycling the length of America del Sur, and was excitedly engaged in tales of traveling escapades. And then, after a few days, the dialogues started to blend and blur. It seemed like everyone and their brother had visited Machu Pichu, and couldn’t for the life of them understand why Rachel and I weren’t racing to the Inca Trail. I heard all about muggings, hectic buses and taxis, embarrassingly broken Spanish, wild nights out, and explanations for the recesses from “real life.” I felt myself grow uninterested in the tales, yet unable to start conversations without the prescribed safety questions. And it was really hard to watch people swoop in, without ANY sense of the native language or customs of a place and expect to be accommodated to. It was weird, too, to sit on my ivory tower of The Study Abroad Experience and reflect and interpret and observe what was going on. But I really enjoy being critical, and I’m also quite thankful for the experiences I’ve had in the past with traveling in an intuitive way. My family is a great bunch of voyagers, and I’m grateful for the perspective they’ve given me on experiencing journeys and breaking the box of tourism.
The trip was great. We didn’t “do” a lot, in terms of the requisites set up by the tourist industry. But we did relax, cook and eat good food, have serious conversations, almost die from laughter (literally), and meet some truly interesting people. It was nice to dip our toes into the webby world of backpackers. But I don’t think I could do it for six months.

2006-12-01T07:59:00.000-08:00

I do funny things in Ecuador to help me recognize that time is passing. Despite my efforts however, sometimes it still feels like I’m trapped in a vacuum where the seasons never change, school is endless, and holidays are a formality imposed to symbolize the march of time. Little things help me remember that I’ve been here for over three months; we’ve gone through three tubs of dish soap, birthdays have come and gone, my vitamins are slowly but surely disappearing, and soon I get to bust into my advent calendar. Sometimes I wonder if I hold myself religiously to routines that deplete things so that I remember that days are separate and irreversible. It sounds like I’m kidding, but seriously after watching the same cracked concrete pass under my feet for months and feeling sunny skies nip at my back every single morning, it sometimes feels like Ecuador is some alternate reality where repetition becomes the real measure of time. I try to take new routes and vary my schedule when I can, also something which I do at home. Habits can be both comforting and suffocating.

It takes me a long time to accept new “realities.” When I arrive in any fresh situation, everything is “cool, amazing, unbelievable...” I sometimes think I have an abnormally long honeymoon period. Usually right about when I start to settle into/accept somewhere, the end is imminent. And all of the cool amazing unbelievable things have somehow become shadows of memories recorded in the stories and pictures and souvenirs. This may be because I change realities like I’m changing my socks, and realities tend to mold me like I’m a warm batch of play dough. Even now I am still having flashes of “Wow, I live in Ecuador”, where I wake up to my own reality for a second and understand it, but usually only for a fleeting instant. But most of the time it is hard to comprehend “I am living, breathing, studying, eating, and existing in Quito, Ecuador.” Language has been a huge factor. Sometimes after listening and talking a day away in Spanish, I don’t believe it actually happened, that I, little old (ex) monolingual Julia is actually subsisting in Spanish. And I’m not falling on my face. And then I wonder, “Wow, how was there a time that I didn’t understand Spanish?”

Sometimes, especially in the grocery store or walking alone in the city, I have slightly out-of-body experiences, where I’m watching myself, an anonymous visitor, stroll purposefully. If someone interacts with me, it is an abrupt jolt out of my little haze. Wandering around by myself is private time where I can put my mentality on autopilot so as to not have to deal with or interpret the huge experience I’m experiencing. And what has been especially hard to realize here is that all of my old realities still do exist. But it is almost impossible to imagine what is going on in Durham, Kalamazoo, in the lives of my friends (especially those in distant creases of the world), or my family, or my nation. Which has been a useful shield in many ways; I haven’t been particularly homesick or jealous, there are fewer things for me to worry about, I’m able to take risks. Sometimes it helps to think about what I must sound like or look like from someone else’s perspective, what with all of the travels and experiences and cultural blunders. But I still feel like it is going to be a challenge to have to return and tuck my six months abroad into a neat little box that I can present to people when I’m faced with the inevitable “How was Ecuador?” So if you want to make me really really happy, ask me REAL questions about the experience, let me talk, reflect, and be a little bit different. Because I’m still not exactly how this has all altered my overall perspective, but it sure has done something, and it will be quite the interesting reentry in March.

2006-11-20T15:09:00.000-08:00

Food: part III: typical meals

I’ve written lots about food mostly because I think it’s interesting and a big indicator of how/why cultures develop as they do. It’s also a considerable part of the experience, because there are a lot of novelties and it’s a terrific way to familiarize yourself with a culture. I also happen to LOVE food. And I’ve picked up a ton of great ideas that I will most certainly be integrating into my diet when I return. [If you’re antsy to try something new, here are two of my favorites: home-popped popcorn in a cream-based soup for texture (put a handful in every couple of bites so it doesn’t just disintegrate), and fresh mozzarella bits in steaming rich hot chocolate (I know it sounds weird, but try it in a less-sweet hot chocolate, it’s amazing...)]

Desayuno: For the first 2 and a ½ months my breakfast was as follows: one scrambled egg, bread of some variety (sometimes with marmalade or dulce de leche, sometimes plain), hot chocolate, and either a piece of fruit or some deliciously exotic juice. Big breakfast, no? I enjoyed it for a while, but finally told my host mom that I wasn’t accustomed to eating eggs every day, and now I usually get granola or some combination of the other stuff... sin juevos.

Almuerzo: During the week, Kalamazoo generously provides our meals in the cafeteria at USFQ. Cafeteria is usually a cringe-inducing word, but the food in this place is phenomenal. There are always cold salad items (beans, lettuce, avocado, carrots, etc.), a soup (Ecuador is soup-crazy!), rice, meat or the vegetarian alternative, bread, fruit juice, and an extraordinary dessert. And it’s all prepared by the culinary students at the University. And it’s all delicious.

Merienda: Bread, of course. I drink a lot of tea here, too. And eat tons of fruit (gotta pack it in before I get back to the LAME fruit of the states...).

Cena: Prepared by my host mom, who’s quite a good cook. Usually meat, vegetables, and rice (I’m starting to tire of this combo...) Usually with juice. Hardly ever with dessert :( Sometimes just a soup, or on special occasions just hot chocolate :) Occasionally fried plantains or pasta. We eat LATE, which has been a challenge, because I’ve been known to get a bit grumpy/uncomfortable when I’m hungry, but I’m adapting....

All in all, I’ve enjoyed Ecuadorian food, and haven’t found that there’s too much I miss horribly or that I absolutely despise. I would say, actually, the hardest thing has been giving up control over my diet and not being able to cook for myself (which I miss A LOT! Especially with my lovely cooking buddies!). Pretty much all of my meals are decided for me, which definitely gets tiresome, but also makes it that much more exciting when I actually do get to elect what I eat. And I’m going to export a crapload of scrumptious Ecuadorian foodstuffs back with me to the states!

2006-11-14T18:10:00.000-08:00

10 Things that are dangerous or scary in Ecuador, and How They Make My Life More Thrilling.
By Julia the Recovering Hypochondriac

*Serious Disclaimer* My parents, greater family, and the weak of heart probably shouldn’t read this. And if you read it and consequently have a panic attack, don’t say I didn’t warn you, and don’t try to convince me to hop the next flight out of Quito. South America is a zany place.

1- Plugging in my computer. My 3-2 plug adapter has one fat prong and one that has been hitting the diet pills; unfortunately, the holes in my wall are identical twins of the skinny variety. Meaning that when I have to re-plug in my computer (which is every day, because when it’s plugged in I can’t open my dresser...) it’s kind of like playing Russian roulette. The stakes aren’t quite as high, about every tenth plug in I get a fun little shower of blue sparks and a loud POP. This has trained me to (a) plug in my computer as little as possible and (b) do it in a very awkward manner: body back, head up, eyes behind the screen. If anyone has any advice about this, I’d be pretty glad to hear it, because the prongs of my adapter have started to melt...

2- I already touched on this, but bus rides are damn frightening. About three weeks ago, Rachel Brainerd and I were involved in a hit-n-run bus accident on the way to school; needless to say we were shaken up. On the way home from Mindo last weekend, I saw a bus that had its entire face smashed in, apparently from a run-in with a tenacious guard rail. And I don’t even want to go into the numerous disastrous tales I’ve heard about buses. But buses are a necessity of life in Ecuador; a necessary risk.

3- Being a pedestrian in Quito. Probably tops on the scale of seriously risky things to do while you’re here. Unfortunately, also a necessity, since my hermit days are over. The driving in this country is Xtreme. Rules, well, they don’t seem to exist. Pedestrians jet into the middle of chaotic intersections, while taxis navigate fleeting gaps in traffic. The speed limit is “as fast as you can go in a shitty five speed.” Drivers are merciless; there is absolutely no concept of right-of-way that we can find in even the most uncivilized of the States. Look, look again, make sure your shoes are tied, look just one more time, RUN.

4- Walking in general, even when you’re not crossing streets. Circumnavigating potholes, pointy things that stick out of sidewalks, random steps, ramps, and elevation shifts, dog crap, slugs, and other various detritus if you’re in the city. Avoiding Mud with a capital M, cliff edges that threaten to initiate a plummet, sneaky monkeys, fish that hide out in quick sand and have a unicorn horn that they dig into unsuspecting feet, dog crap, and slow hikers if you’re in the mountains. Mom, if you’re reading this, take it as a memo to bring your ankle brace. “Just in case.”

5- Yummy food. Yummy food’s night job is intestine emptying.

6- Tap water. An evil conspirator with Yummy Food.

7- Being in the Wrong Place at the Wrong Time. I’ve heard exciting and chilling accounts of being robbed at gun point, having bags slashed open and emptied, wallets being lifted, jungle pirates (no joke), money pilfering, the brandishing of needles filled with threatening mysterious liquids, old smelly men sticking things down their pants, and hot pursuits after sluggish pickpockets. Chances of these occurrences are amplified by looking touristy, white, or rich. These things obviously aren’t meant to be taken lightly, and it is worth the trouble to be over-cautious. I feel safe in my immediate neighborhood.

8- Flying into/out of Quito. It is the second most dangerous airport to take off or land from in the world, thanks to a fun combination of buildings/city set in a valley (the airport is IN the city, so the planes fly unnervingly close), thin atmosphere at almost 10,000 feet (nothing for the wings to sink their teeth into), and a fairly reliable accumulation of clouds. Luckily for us, that means that only the most skilled pilots are allowed to fly in or out; in fact, many of the best pilots in the world are Ecuadorians.

9- Lack of safety enforcement, standardized regulations, or disclaimers. The U.S. goes totally overboard with this kind of stuff, and it’s pretty sick how often idiots sue businesses in there. But Ecuador could maybe stand to have a few more metaphorical and not-so-metaphorical safety nets in place. I guess it fits in with the laid-back, fatalistic attitude of the culture to not have the standardization, and has made for some seriously stimulating situations. It just means that you should investigate what you’re doing before you do it a bit, instead of being initially or naively trusting.

10- Street dogs. I’ve personally never had any trouble with ‘em, but my buddy Marlene was bitten and had to get some nasty rabies shots. The runners of the group have had to adapt their running style so as not to perturb the more territorial mongrels. I try to avoid them and not emit anxious hormones.

10.5- A combination of 2 daily hazards--- a dead street dog on my path to school, which remained there for 3 days. I was pretty sure (even by day 3) that it was gonna get up an attack me.

OK, now that I’ve scared the pants off half of ya’ll out there, I want to let you know that I didn’t write this just to be a jerk or make you worry unnecessarily. I think it’s an important part of the “study abroad experience” that things here are topsy-turvy. These are some of the day-to-day realities that a large percentage of the world’s population face. We are VERY sheltered in the United States. And being here with the unpredictabilities and perils has loosened me up a bit, especially because no one in the group indulges the hyperbolic accounts of my health situation. But I’m still no risk taker, and some of the circumstances have pushed me way past that friendly li’l thang I like to call my comfort zone. (For the lovely LandSea-ers out there, I’m finding my edges) But I’ve managed three months so far and can’t really turn back now, so I’ll continue to embrace and adore the wild wonderful world of Ek-wah-dorrrr!

2006-11-07T09:55:00.001-08:00

2006-11-07T09:55:00.000-08:00

Clases y “La U”

Universidad de San Francisco Quito... what a place. If living in a Quiteño host family is a warped view of “normal” Ecuadorian life, than USFQ is like normal Ecuadorian life’s genetically mutated step-cousin. Which is to say, we’re dealing with the crème de la crème of society; the student body, in fact, is reminiscent in ways of dear old Duke, but instead of popped collars and boat shoes, we’re talking enormous sunglasses and head-to-toe coordination. I enjoy how Aubrey described it: the entrance to school is like the runway at a fashion show, and you KNOW people are scrutinizing your every stylistic decision; you just can’t tell who, because their sunglasses are so fucking huge. So, needless to say, the dirty sweatshirt and jeans that the typical American student sports to class don’t exactly cut it here. And this is partly cultural; Ecuador is a country that values first impressions strongly, aesthetics are important. But this also has some serious implications, I’ve seen a lot of noses that have recently been “jobbed,” and the vast majority of girls could stand to eat a hamburger or 17.

The University itself has a very different feel from most universities I’ve experienced in the U.S., mostly because it is a commuter school, since Ecuadorians live at home until they are married. The campus is a-b-s-o-l-u-t-e-l-y gorgeous, with a fishpond, clock tower, appropriate landscaping, Buddhist temple, colonially inspired architecture, and a VIEW. It’s the only Liberal Arts school in Ecuador, and amongst the only in South America. Students congregate on any available surface, and a lot of times it feels to me more like high school than college: socializing between classes, sharing rides to school, gossip. There is a massive exchange student population, mostly Americans, which is good/bad. Good in terms of the professors and faculty generally being understanding of the “exchange student mentality,” meaning we are cut a break language and culture wise. Bad in terms of “there is a massive exchange student population”, which consequently forms two very comfortable cultural bubbles, each side pretty much sticking to their propia cultura. Unlike at K, where our tiny population of foreigners is a novelty to be revered, at USFQ I think that extranjeros are something of a nuisance. I have a handful of Ecuadorians that I would call acquaintances, but I thus far have been totally unsuccessful in gaining real Ecuadorian friends (I’ve tried! It’s hard!). I try to take up any opportunity that involves hanging out with Ecuadorians, and it has been good for me, because I’ve found I’m less picky about who I hang out with, just because I’m so damn desperate, and some wierd/crazy opportunities have popped up.

Classes... I have FIVE classes and two seminars, not including gym classes. Let’s just say that it’s a bit different from the THREE I’m used to at the Zoo. I have two art classes: ceramics (a totally different approach, I kind of feel like I’m in middle school...but I’m working on shaping it into an independent study) and painting (a good class, the professor is a well known Ecuadorian painter and the class is very open ended; I’m doing paintings of trash I find around Quito). Geology: The only class I have that is entirely Ecuadorian besides me, which is cool, but the class is booooooooring. It is kind of funny though, because I get picked on a lot, I’ve turned into something of a class joke, but in a good way. Andean Anthropology: My least favorite class I’ve ever taken. Ever. End of story. Advanced Conversation Spanish: The perfect mix of vocabulary and discussion for my level of Spanish. No grammar! Hallelujah!! Taught by a funny middle-aged Chilean woman. Seminar on the Galapagos Islands (where we’re going in February!) and our service-learning project seminar (more about that later). Andinismo (Mountain climbing gym class, but I rarely go, unfortunately, too busy!) and Tennis. It’s quite the schedule, Mondays and Fridays are the only day that I’m finished before 5 o’clock, and most mornings start at 8.30 (which is really 7.45 when you factor in the transportation). But luckily I go to bed every night at 11 (because I’m a square), and the scheduling has not been so horrible. Plus, there are tons of long weekends, because Ecuador has a festival for just about everything. All in all, school was a secondary motive to go on study abroad. And, although I’ve appreciated seeing a University-In-Action, I’ve been putting the bare minimum of effort into it (enough to pass, of course), and just absorbing as much culture and adventure as possible!

2006-10-23T08:25:00.000-07:00

Bullfight

Today I went to a bullfight. A bit out of character, no? But my host sister, Karen, adores them, and I reasoned that the bull is going to be killed if I’m there or not, so why not get a dose of cul-cha on a lazy Sunday afternoon? It was a qualifying round for the Quito Festival, and three Ecuadorian toreros were vying for a coveted spot in the ring in December. It was held, appropriately, in La Plaza de los Toros, a quick jaunt from our house, and we went around 11:30 to meet up with (fellow Kalamazooin) Alex. Tickets ran a cool five dollars off the street, and people were crowded around the main entrance, dressed snazzily for the festivities (lots of panama hats, which are actually native to Ecuador). There was a whole range of characters, from society ladies to young families to teenagers to typical working class Ecuadorians. I was pretty nervous going in, considering that about half of my life I didn’t eat red meat, and that I was also having flashbacks from a slightly traumatizing Oklahoman cattle auction.

But somehow when we got into the arena, I knew that I was ready to see some action. The stadium was practically empty considering these were the qualifiers, but that meant we scored prime seats about halfway up, with a full view but without the “splash zone” effect, as Karen explained. Apparently bull blood doesn’t smell so good. The event commenced with a procession of the toreros and their helpers, including the blindfolded and armored horses who take their fair share of the bull’s rage. Each torero fought 2 bulls; each fight follows a strict order and takes about half an hour.

The bull is let into the ring through a gate, and the helpers start to agitate it with pink capes, (although, this is after it has been “prepared” behind the scenes, who knows what this entails). After the bull has charged through the pink capes for a while (sometimes sending the helpers running behind their safety panels or shielding themselves from horns and/or hooves), out come the beleaguered horses, ridden by men with long spears and metal boot-legs. The pink-caped helpers guide the bulls to the horses, who they charge, and while the horses are getting a pounding to the belly their riders lance the bulls between the shoulder blades. Here begins the gore. Especially on black bulls the blood was spectacular.

Next, the jabbers. Three guys with long fluffy hook-stabber-jabbers come out and are essentially charged head on by the bull, and as they leap out of the way they throw their barbed hooks into the bull’s back. Getting two in is quite the accomplishment, one is pretty good, and the crowd pretty much eats you up if you miss both. In fact, the crowd is an integral part to the whole event, “¡Ole!” and clapping if you’re doing well (accompanied by music from the band), booing and whistling if you’re boring, and all important silence at the crucial moments.

After the jabbers, the torero comes out to do his job. He brandishes a red cape, which he controls with a sword. He encourages the bull to make passes around him, and does so with considerably more grace than his helpers. One of the toreros did this maneuver on his knees, which was pretty damn impressive. Each guy had his own style, Karen (and my) favorite was poised but charming, a true crowd pleaser, and fought the bull sin zapatos! After a bit of charging about, the torero switches swords and prepares for the kill. The ultimate goal is to stare the bull down, with the cape out of sight so that he stays in place, and then plunge your sword between its shoulder blades (Alex and I couldn’t decide if the target was the heart or the spinal cord), which should make the beast topple within the minute. Well, there was only one direct kill, most of them had to strike several times, and one of the toreros had to resort to a different sort of skull piercer to get the job done. I will admit that at first it was hard to see the animals being slaughtered, but after three or four rounds I started to understand the sport/art/tradition of the competition, and it was easier to speculate/root/whatever. It was also interesting to compare the bulls’ style (some were full of energy, some were on the less intelligent end, some were practically impossible to kill... etc.) and consequently the reactions/styles of each torero. I would imagine that after being trampled by a bull that it would be pretty hard to dust off your ego and continue fighting with quite the same pompous flare, but the rule is that either the bull dies or you do. And the rewards are pretty grand. For a good fight one gets to “dar la vuelta,” or take a lap around the ring. For a great fight, you get one of the bull’s ears. For an exceptional fight, two ears. And, best of all, for a supreme-style-filled-swift-kill-daring-macho-and-even-more type of fight, you get the tail. And, I suppose, the honor and glory of being really good at killing enraged 1000-pound muscle machines.

So all in all, it was exciting, interesting, and something I’d probably watch again. Which is surprising, but I think humans thrive on potential disaster, especially from the vantage point of a spectator. And i think it’s partly because I was a spectator, and it seemed like a movie; I was just far enough away that it was almost possible to imagine that the spectacle was fake. And despite what my principals tell me, I do realize it goes on with or without me in the crowd, and it was kind of thrilling to do something that I’m technically morally opposed to.

2006-10-19T12:53:00.000-07:00

earthquakes and elections!

one in the same?

sunday held some exciting events. i absolutely ADORED being in quito this weekend, after four straight weekends of traveling. it was good to reconnect some with da host fam, and r-e-l-a-x. the 15th was the day of national elections, which means that all of the public schools in the city were converted to voting stations, since EVERYONE except for the indigenous population is REQUIRED to vote! the streets adjacent to the voting stations were FULL of people, almost like mini carnivals; food vendors and salespeople materialized to take advantage of the throngs, and there was an air of merriment, despite the pessimistic political prospects. the voting was interesting, it was a presidential election, and considering that Ecuador has had 7 prezzes in the past 10 years (only 3 elected by the popular vote), one could say that the government is a wee bit unstable. in fact, i’m learning more and more every day about the devastating corruption that plagues the entire country. which in turn means that the people (ALL of the people) are disenchanted with government and have very little in any of the candidates. but who can blame them, when the government has proven more likely to steal from the citizens than to help them? and the corruption has trickled down, creating something of a lawless state. consequently laws are rarely enforced or obeyed, police are routinely paid off (it’s expected), and money has a way of disappearing unaccounted for into the tangled web of bureaucracy. the election turned out as predicted, and from the 15ish(!) candidates, two (correa and noboa) each won about a quarter of the votes. there will be a runoff election in about a month. i’ve never been super interested in politics, so about all i know is that correa is something of a populist and has similar ideology to chavez (the president of venezuela) (oh, and also used to be an economics professor at my university and is apparently a great prof...), and that noboa has wads of cash and is conservativish without much of a political history, but lots of people support him hoping that *since* he has wads of cash that he won’t steal from the country... should be an interesting round number two in noviembre... it has been neat to be here during election time, because people very openly discuss politics, sort of unlike the united states. it has been a hot topic at school recently, it isn’t taboo to ask in what direction someone voted, so i’ve learned a lot about the political leanings of my fellow students and professors. i guess we’ll see in about a month what realllly happens... elections usually bring some type of excitement, like riots.... the only significant disturbance to the peace here on sunday were two mini-earthquakes!

2006-10-16T11:10:00.000-07:00

This is one of the hardest entries yet to write, because I want to portray, but not stereotype, what I have seen and experienced of poverty, race relations, and privilege here in Ecuador. It’s also important that I write this for myself, to start to express and interpret what I’ve witnessed, as well as to communicate to everyone that, although most of my entries are light-hearted and adventure-filled, that there are difficult times too, and it has been sobering to be living in a developing country.

First off, I’m learning about the international privilege ticket that whiteness brings. I mean, I’ve “learned” it in the past, in classrooms and on other, shorter, trips, but I think it’s finally hitting home. One of the things I was looking forward to on this trip was being in a country that I’m a minority. Just to experience it, because I am blatantly majoritied in the U.S. But what I didn’t take into account was that, although I am a minority here, it is in an advantageous direction. I stick out here like a sore thumb. Even days that I feel “blendable,” people *know*. Which means a multitude of things. Prices are jacked up for me, I’m addressed flat out in English, and I pretty much don’t go anywhere without getting stares, especially in “untouristy” areas. Which is fine, and I’ve adjusted. And I try to blend as much as possible, and talk to people, but it’s hard. And then there are the other serious race issues within Ecuador. Racism is institutionalized, but in a less aggressive manner than in the U.S., it seems. European blood is highly regarded, followed by mestizo (mixed race), the indigenous population, and then blacks. I’m not sure where other races fall in, but there are huge stereotypes about each group. And it’s uncomfortable to have to conform to some of these cultural values so as to be sensitive to the greater cultural system.

When we went to Bunche and Muisne last weekend, two radically poor costal villages, I started to recognize some of my “lenses.” I remember thinking as we were walking down the main street in Bunche, “Hmm, I think I could live here... if I cleaned up all the trash and painted a bit.” And right after I thought that, I almost slapped myself for being so selfish. The people that live in this type of village don’t have the privilege of worrying about the aesthetics of their town. Potable water, food, healthcare. Those are a bit more important. We walked down the streets of Muisne, which were literally flooded up to my thighs thanks to one of the highest tides of the year. And as we sloshed through the murky water in our trusty, overflowing rubber black boots, another naive thought flashed through my head.... “Why would people ever build their houses here... it seems pretty inconvenient to have your street flood twice a day.” Smack. There isn’t another option. Most of the land in the area is marshy and mangrove-y, and certainly unfarmable, leaving the best place to build houses here, where the property is imperfect, but free. And their life, consequently, is ruled by the tide. When do we leave for our fishing expedition so we have enough time to catch the high tide back into town? If I go to the market now, will I have to swim home?

So I’ve seen extreme poverty. How do I deal with that? I am still having trouble wrapping my head around the reality, or imagining what it would be like to live in these conditions. Because honestly, I’m never going to have to. And how do I justify leaving these deprived towns to return to my 3-meals-a-day, electric, comfortable and dry life, crowded with superfluities? Even my day-to-day in Quito is ridiculously advantaged and my perspective skewed, opportunity is practically handed to me on a platter in exchange for my wealth and skin. And in the city, where my trash is picked through by *children* who have to do this to survive? Where does that leave me, a university student wrapped up in my own life and interests? So I guess I still have more questions than answers, and maybe some that I’ll never be able to resolve. But it’s important. And I would LOVE to hear input/criticism/advice/ideas/reactions/questions from y’all out there in cyberspace. Because I am confused, but interested and, (I think), open.

2006-10-02T08:08:00.000-07:00

Carbs, Meat, Salt.

Chapter 2

The bread in Ecuador is Amazing. Actually, I think I’m becoming a carb addict. Every morning I have un pancito with my eggs, at lunch a couple pieces with the soup or to sop up something juicy, then of course a stop at the bakery on the way home, and hmmm perhaps another couple of pieces with dinner... four times a day? Definitely an addiction... Although at home home I’ve become a die-hard crunchy/nutty/wholesome/snobby bread eater, the majority of the bread here is good old white bread. My favorite varieties include the flaky pastries filled with delectable guanámana marmalade, the croissants (here known as bull’s heads; picture horns), the sugar topped rolls, and the empanadas filled with cheese or chicken (heated, of course). What’s so great about bread here is that you can get it just about everywhere. And it costs anywhere from ten to sixty cents; i.e. the perfect on-the-go-snack for the busy exchange student! Seriously though, there is a bakery or convenience store on every block, and if you have the right connections you know when the fresh bread appears... yet another thing I’m sure to miss upon exit....

Next, Meat. Lots of it. In everything. Everywhere. A puzzling situation for a semi-veg-head. But. Of course. Food is an integral part of culture. Meaning I have embraced my inner carnivore and taken the plunge into a protein-rich heaven. Chicken, pork, beef, fish, turkey? I’ve done it all. It is almost impossible to avoid, although on the rare occasion that I get a chance to elect my own meal, I opt towards veggies. But even so, a vegetarian meal is tough to “hunt” down. I am, however, lucky enough to go to the über-private-and-fancy University in (the suburbs of) town, meaning that our Buddhist President has required a vegetarian option with every meal in the (oh-so-unbelievably-delicious) cafeteria on campus. So this is my golden opportunity to jump on the tofu train, although I’ve found that wheat gluten is not my cup of tea.

SALT. The spice of life. End of story.

Next chapter: Typical Meals

2006-09-27T08:18:00.000-07:00

Montañas y el Medio Ambiente

The first time I was consciously humbled by nature was the summer after my senior year of high school, on a trip with my mom to Colorado. I vividly remember taking a walk by myself at dusk in Leadville, the highest town in the continental U.S., and being absolutely blown away by the Rockies. I had never felt so small, insignificant, or awe-struck, and yet in a way I felt complete and in touch with the environment. It was so peaceful walking up and down the quiet streets in this town, feeling unimportant and free. That type of feeling doesn’t happen to me very often, and I’ve found that for me the sentiment is usually provoked by natural phenomena or big cities.

Well, I’m in a big city surrounded by natural phenomena. My weekends recently have all held excursions outside of Quito; trekking through the Andes, visiting fault-lines-slash-waterfalls, watching the sun rise over the city from 15,000 feet, hiking through clouds, etc., etc. (And I’m not just listing these things to boast, this is seriously about all I’ve been doing lately besides school). But nature has kicked me in the ass a bit recently, too. It started with our monsoon jungle adventure, and has continued with seriously depleted oxygen, falling into rivers and then mud (within 15 minutes of each other, no less), cold/rainy/windy nights and days at altitude, and lingering insect bites. Nature has basically showed me experientially who’s boss.

Not that there was ever any question. And not that I haven’t also had amazingly fun times on our adventures. But it has been incredibly humbling. And at times demoralizing. Which is great--- because it has forced me to question why I even bother to put myself through these insane, strenuous, and occasionally dangerous escapades. And I think part of it is an unconscious pursuit for that fulfilled feeling I can get if I’m lucky enough to be at the right place, in the right mindset, at the right time. There is something undeniably satisfying about exhausting yourself to the point of delirium, and being propelled by only your own will power. So for now, that satisfaction is my drug of choice. I think I’ve used the trips as self-imposed tests of sorts, and every time nature bumps me down a notch, I get to interpret it, and figure out how I can make myself physically and mentally stronger. And this is part of the reason that being in Quito-- a big city surrounded by big nature--has already been so unbelievably good for me.

2006-09-20T14:06:00.000-07:00

pictures!?
yes, i'm a luddite.
i was finally inspired after seeing lizz's amazing pictures to try to add some.
so here's the first installment.
believe it or not, i actually took this picture.
and, also believe it or not, this is nothing out of the ordinary for where i'm living right now.
i know.
in-freaking-credible.

2006-09-20T09:50:00.000-07:00

Stroke O’luck

I never thought that one day I would be sitting in a library (doing anything-but-homework) and a superb opportunity would fall in my lap. If I learned a lesson from what happened last Wednesday, it would have to be that wasting time brings good fortune.

The scene: Julia, sitting in a cubicle, alternately Googling things and ogling the unfailingly gorgeous Quiteño weather, is startled when approached by a young long-haired Ecuadorian man. “Do you like hip-hop?” asks said young man. “Sí” says startled Julia. “Do you speak Spanish?” continues long-haired skater dude. “Más o menos...” says Julia, clutching her Spanish-English dictionary with tenacity. Uh-oh, thinks Julia, with sinking heart, yet another Ecuadorian suitor... (a whole ‘nother story....)

But No! A fledgling filmmaker! Looking for help with English Subtitling for his hip-hop-doc that is about to be sent to international film festivals! “¿What?” thinks the still-startled Julia. “I don’t know the right slam,” says Victor. “Slang?” asks Julia. “Yeah yeah yeah! This is perfect! I do not know how to say things as an American would say them. I need help from a native speaker to put things in slam.” Julia: “Ummm.... this sounds kind of perfect for me. I’m very interested. I like hip-hop. I want to be involved.” “Well, you should watch the movie to see if you like it. I’ll put your name in the credits.” We watch bits and pieces of the 20-minute movie. I adore it. But I play it cool. “Yes, I’d really like to help. I don’t really care about the credits. I just want to help. This is superchévere. Wow. How random.” Julia continues to babble in amazement. “Great!” We exchange emails.

Friday: 1st (and thus far, only) day of subtitling. We meet outside of the bookstore at school. I’m a little nervous, after thinking through what it really means to be secluded in a room with a man that I don’t know. Mercifully the film department, which is in the architecturally modern (think glass and metal) basement, is more open and inhabited than I expected. We get down to work. About every five minutes Victor thanks me. About every five minutes I tell him how freaking cool it is to be helping him.

Subtitling is a beast. We worked for two and a half hours straight and subtitled a mere minute and a half of the film. But this doesn’t faze me. I learned so much in just the first session, from some of the technicalities of using Final Cut Pro to how to say “crazy motherfucker” in Spanish. And it will go faster the next time, now that we have something of a method.

The film is very well made and engaging. It follows the day-to-day lives of several members of an underground hip-hop group in Quito who have been friends since teenagehood. It splices music with anecdotes and imagery, also briefly touching on graffiti, politics, and the realities of being on the periphery. The group members recently opened a club in the heart of Quito, which I went to on Saturday. It was almost surreal to see the “stars” of the movie live and in person, performing, interacting, dancing. I felt like I knew them. But they don’t know me from Adam. Their club (The Lab) is among the best that I’ve been to in Quito, and I feel so lucky to have stumbled upon this random connection. The group is doing other cool things too--- namely creating a weekly meeting space for city artists. (I’m going. Jeez, how cool.) And I may have scored a sculpture commission for the club. Next time I go, I’m going to try to start meeting some of the “characters” and learn more about the alternative underground of this great city. Until then, I’m gonna flex my “slam” muscles for another twenty hours!

2006-09-12T10:00:00.000-07:00

Mi Familia y Mi Casa

I decided to wait a while before writing about my host family, because I wanted to get to know them before they were immortalized in my blog. I’ve been in Quito for a month, which is pretty hard to believe, and I think I have gotten to know my new family: Iliana (mom), Karen (sister, 18), y Andrés (brother, 15 very soon to be 16).
We live in a humble three-bedroom apartment, which is sparsely decorated and furnished. This suits me quite well, since I’ve recently been on a quest to simplify my life and cut down on possessions. (A valuable lesson I learned after driving back and forth between North Carolina, Michigan and New York). I have my own room with a little desk and lots of closet space. It reminds me of a dorm room dimension-wise and furniture-wise, but it’s cozy. My room has a double sliding glass door that opens onto a concrete patio, butting up to several neighbors’ terraces. I don’t use the porch much, because there are no chairs and it is pretty public to the neighbors; it is mostly used for drying our laundry.
We don’t have any pets in the house (sad), although I do have a neighbor-dog that lives on the porch next to me. My neighbor-dog is a stunning brindled boxer with a friendly but forlorn face, and I try to talk to it and cheer up its poop-on-concrete and avoid-stepping-on-broken-beer-bottles-on-concrete kind of life. I really like this dog (a big step for me, cat lover extraordinaire), it never barks and has expressive eyes. It is so frustrating that I can’t touch it or wrestle with it or take it out on a big run in a grassy park.
Our house is in the heart of the new section of Quito, which is fab-u-lous. I am walking distance to almost anything I could want (mall, futbol stadium, corner stores, food, internet, pharmacy, huge park, Rachel’s house, etc...) and that which I cannot reach on foot I can easily get to via bus ($.25) or taxi ($1-4). I’ve changed my route to school (saving myself a cool $2.50 per week), so now every morning I test my cardiovascular limits by hiking up a monstrous mountain through the smog. I’m really enjoying being back in a city, especially a city that is on a mountaintop in the middle of the Andes. The views from the city are unbelievable, we can see Cotopaxi (hailed as South America’s most perfectly shaped volcano) on the bus ride to school, and literally every direction you look there are mountain peaks. The night view is especially breathtaking, with lights spanning across the sky, it really demonstrates how huge and topographical the city is. And it’s comforting to know that when I tire of cars, people, and sidewalks that I can escape on some outdoorsy Andean adventure.
Okay, on to the family. My host mom Iliana is about 45, a divorced mother who works at home. I didn’t exactly understand her explanation of the work situation, but I gleaned that she was laid off from a good job at an oil company recently. She does all of the housework and cooking; I am being spoiled by having my laundry done and my room swept and tidied. Not to imply that I’ve been a slob--- I make my bed every day and keep my room organized. Iliana is very sweet and enthusiastic, and I feel pretty comfortable with her. She is almost always in the house, a lot of times in bed or watching t.v., and I’ve had to adjust to having less private space/ feeling a bit like I’m in high school. Another thing that has been hard is that the family very rarely asks questions about me, which I do not mean in a self-centered way, but I feel like I have to inject facts about myself whenever I can so they can get a feel for my personality. I think this issue really stems more from my family at home, who interrogates anyone who walks through the door, whereas here I have to make a concentrated effort to review my day or my mood. And I certainly get the feeling that emotions are not to be discussed. But I’m glad that I’ve discerned this early, so that I can turn to other resources if I’m in need.
Karen (pronounced car-in en Español) graduated from high school last year and is about to take a semester of classes in Quito before moving on to a university in Europe. She is studying 3(!) languages (French, German, Italian), and is already completely fluent in English. She is tiny and full of energy, and laughs all the time. I’ve gone out to the clubs with her several times, and we get along well. She does, however, have a moody streak, and some days its better to lay low around her. I adore Andrés. He looks and acts way beyond his fifteen years (well, there are occasional relapses that usually involve computer games), and is hands down the easiest member of the family to talk with. Andrés goes to a school that is taught ½ in English and ½ in Español, and wants to be a surgeon and chef, among other things. I told him he needs to do more homework and less partying if he’s serious about that. I like having younger siblings; it is a new experience for me.
We lunch with the extended family on the weekends. This means grandpa, grandma, an aunt, and her son (27). The grandparents are round and jolly, and have begun talking to me more at meals. (The first couple of lunches I seriously didn’t understand a word of the rapid conversational Spanish. I probably pick up 75% now.) The aunt is a caterer, and her son is quite the character, he always serenades me in broken English: “How are you dooooing my liiiitle cousin?” The weekend outings have been a great way to practice speaking and listening, and I’ve also gotten to eat at some delicious restaurants.
In terms of Ecuadorian “norms” for a middle to upper class family, our household is something of an oddball--- all of my other K friends have an empleada (maid), and divorce is rare/looked down upon. We also are all staying in houses that fall in the 1% or so of well-to-do Ecuadorians, so from a general cultural perspective ALL of what we are experiencing in our home life is abnormal. And although sometimes I’m a bit jealous of my friends whose houses are literally three times the size of mine and who are forbidden from washing their own dishes, I am also very content with my little apartment and my little family.

2006-09-04T09:58:00.000-07:00

Fruit/Juice/IceCream.
the first chapter in a novel of FOOD.

(the food here, by the way, is absolutely incredible.
it consists mostly of three things... meat. carbohydrates. and salt.
...more on that later.)

guyaba, mora, guanámana, taxo/a?, tomate del arbol, papaya, una variedad de plátanos, límon, acuate, mandarina........ the list could continue!

the fruit here is unbelievable. i am a big fruit eater at home, but i am already dreading the return to boring produce sections filled with apples, oranges, $2 mangoes, and generally “normal” fruit. when i go to a street market or grocery store here in ecuador, i honestly don’t even recognize half of the fruits or vegetables. there are the freakishly large papayas, shaped kinda like a newborn infant, with a slightly textured yellowy-greeny-browny skin and striking orange flesh. there are the tomates del arbol, smooth-skinned like “regular” tomatoes, but more oblong, orange, and sweet and delicate in flavor. there is taxo (i’m not sure i have the name exactly right), a pure yellow oblong pod reminicent of squash, that you can split open with your fingertips to reveal seeds covered in a slimy boogery tangy fruit, very much like pomegranates. there are lots of members of the banana family: black plantains, green siamese-twin bananas stuck together down their whole length, bunches of ity-bity finger sized bananas, and other piles of variations on the bananas-we-know-and-love in the u.s., each with its own subtly distinctive flavor. there is the boring-from-the-outside-but-oh-so-delectable guyaba, kinda fist sized, round, and light yellow, but break through the soft half inch thick skin and you reveal a gooey grouping of rose colored seeds and other gunk. both the skin and gooey gunk of the guyaba are edible. there are mounds of avocados (forty cents each!), literally as soft as butter, just begging to be smeared on bread or plopped in soup. on the street there are pickup trucks whose beds are overflowing with mandarin oranges; you can buy about twenty for $1. and then there’s the plethora of fruity things that i can’t even begin to describe, because i seriously have no freaking clue what they are.

one of the coolest things about the fruit here is that it is all so local. you can’t find a lot of these things outside of ecuador, because they come straight from the jungle. in fact, on our hiking escapade one of the guides shook us down fresh guyabas and lemons from trees growing by the side of the road, and we saw bananas growing wild. (bananas grow so crazily! hundreds grow in a mega-bunch off of a rope-like branch, ripening from the bottom up. at the end of the rope-like branch, there is a cone-shaped anchor thingy. a very scientific description, no doubt.)

so then there’s the juice. with just about every meal, my host mom blends up fresh fruit juice of some variety. a lot of the time i have no idea what i’m drinking, but without fail it is delicious. some of the more fleshy fruits make for a thick, smoothie-like concoction. my favorite juice is tomate del arbol, which is not overpoweringly sweet, but has a silky smooth texture. all restaurants also offer an amazing variety of fresh juices, one of the ecuadorian specialties being mora (basically rasberry). and ice cream. the ice cream here is a little different, less milky and more fruity. all of the fruits above (and more) are folded fresh into the soft ice cream. Ooh-la-la.

2006-08-29T12:25:00.000-07:00

The Craziest Hiking Adventure of My Life and What it Taught Me About Ecuadorians.
by Julia the Sore

... I’m not going to go into all of the details of how me and 7 of my Kalamazoo compatriots experienced first hand some of the wonders/dangers of Ecuador’s tropical jungle, but I will give enough detail to capture the adventure (without my dad ordering me a one way ticket back to The States)...

One of my friends lives with an outdoorsy type family whose sons like to take hiking trips with their friends every weekend or so. We expressed heavy interest in joining these treks, since Ecuador is freaking gorgeous and we wanted to start exploring some of the flora and fauna of the most ecologically diverse country in the world(!) The “walk” we signed up for is an annually organized event, and for twenty bucks you get admission, three meals, and a bus ride home. Over 500 people signed up, and from the information we got with our tickets, it seemed like a tame, family-oriented type stroll through the jungle on mostly flat terrain.... Nope.
I don’t want to get long winded, so I’ll skip the tame family-oriented parts and get straight to the juicy death-in-the-jungle parts. Fast forward to four o’clock. We’ve been hiking for about seven hours. It starts to mist. “We’re in a cloud! Cooooooooooool!” The cloud decided to rain. For the next twelve hours. We see a nice man who tells us the campsite is about half an hour away. Sweet, we’re golden. We’ll get in before we’re soaked, and before the sun is gone. Nope. (We find out along the way that (a) Ecuadorians would rather tell you something wrong than nothing, and (b) Ecuadorian estimates of time should be multiplied by a factor of five)
Enter stage left our antagonist: The River. A rushing beast, snaking through the journey, so that we have to cross it several times, and at this particular place, twice in a row. After a forty-five minute wait behind about 75 people, we get our chance to shuffle across the slick 2-log thick bridge, one by one, one foot in front of the other, clinging to a rope and trying not to think about the white water below us. The armed national police came along on the trek to ensure everyone’s safety, and luckily were supervising this crossing. After we all make it to the other bank we were all pretty geeked and scramble over some rocks to wait for the other River Crossing.
This is where we start to notice something strange. Despite the torrential rain, cold, impending darkness, and huge line for the second-and-more-precarious River Crossing (not to mention the hundreds who hadn’t even crossed the first one), there was an inexplicable sense of calm in the air. And despite the fact that many of the hikers were some combination of ill-equipped, old, young, tired, hungry, cold, etc., there was no jostling, no complaining, and seriously NO sense of rush.
Hmm, we thought. What would be happening right now if we were in The States? Certainly some yelling, some alpha male-ism, some alternate bridges being built, and LOTS of complaints and grumbles. In fact, we even saw an American couple who, fed up with the wait, decided to ford the river in tall rubber boots, with the woman riding piggyback. That was kind of irritating and insensitive, but as we stood there for another hour, our worried American mindsets kicked in, and we gave into a bit of complaining. But the Ecuadorians placidly waited in line, chatting amongst themselves.
My friend Rachel U. told us about a cultural scale that she had studied which rates cultures from “Controlling” to “Fatalistic.” Not surprisingly, the U.S. is at the tipy top of the scale on the control end, meaning that We Americans think that anything that can be manipulated or changed in our favor should be. Also not surprisingly, we were finding out, Ecuador is about at the bottom of the scale towards the fatalistic end. This means things are taken as they are, the culture takes everything in stride, and is very laid back. It was fascinating. Especially how automatic our impatient reaction was, and how tense we were about the potentially disastrous situation in comparison to the Ecuadorians.
Fast-forward some more. We’re in the middle of The Jungle, hiking in the dark through ankle deep mud, literally on the edge of cliffs that would deposit us right back into our River Friend. Remember that it’s still monsooning. I’m starting to panic, and the pessimist in me is thinking about the headlines that were going to sweep the U.S.... “Four Beautiful American Exchange Students Disappear in Ecuadorian Wilds, No Remains Found” and the like. I know that I’m a dramatist, and I also know too much about emergency situations in the wild, but it really was scary.
But we arrive at the several hundred deep campsite around 7 and once again enter into a bubble of impenetrable calm. An orderly line for the hot dinner. Tents up and inhabited. A dance party with blaring music. Unbelievable.
To make a very long and exciting story (sort of) short, we made it though the night, despite a stolen rain fly, and had just as many (if not more....) zany adventures the next day. In total we hiked 35 kilometers in a span of 28 hours. I slept 13 hours last night. It Was Amazing.

2006-08-21T08:54:00.000-07:00

When Language Loses Meaning
You know how when you say a word (ex: chocolate) over and over, it starts to lose meaning? (Try it). That’s kind of where I am right now: a confusing language void. I feel like I’m losing both Spanish and English, and also have started to lose the base concept of language, that slippery symbolic gibberish we all know and love.
Let’s start with some background: I’ve been in Ecuador for a week. I’ve taken Spanish since seventh grade, but I am far from fluent. Upon arrival, I was amazed at my ability and confidence with which I could communicate. I could pretty much say most of what I wanted to, usually in an interesting talking-around-the-words-I-don’t-actually-know kind of way. What was even better was that I could understand pretty much all of what was said to me in simplified-Spanish-for-weary-exchange-student. I’ve been taking a daily Spanish class at the university with other K students, and I was doing fine, actually even excelling in my class. Then I hit a wall.
About two days ago, I just couldn’t do Spanish. My tongue wouldn’t move the right directions, I couldn’t think of simple words, conjugations, or even how to dance around the things I didn’t know. I was walking to the mall with my host brother, and was desperately trying to explain this to him. “My brain has died,” I said. “I collided with a wall.” He acknowledged, but I was so frustrated that all of a sudden the Spanish carpet had been ripped out from under my feet. I made excuses. “I’m tired.” “It was a long day.” Both true, and both important contributors.
But the next day was the same. Where did my language go?? I have reached a weird plateau, where speaking in English seems awkward and rude, and where Spanish fails me. And even in just one week of solid Spanish, I feel like my English vocabulary has started to slip.
I think what is twisting my brain the most is the translation factor. For the most part, I still have to translate everything from English to Spanish, and vice versa. It has started to happen automatically; every time I hear a sentence in Spanish, think of a sentence in English, or read something in either language, I try to translate it. Which is where I’ve started to find the holes, canyons really, in my languages. I think that I’m past the “honeymoon” stage of language, and getting into the gritty part. Following the conversation amongst my host family is way beyond me, or takes so much concentration that I can only stick with it for short bursts. I can still understand lectures and things addressed directly to me, but my tongue is still heavy and my brain languid. I feel a little lost, and unable to wrap my head around the concept of being bilingual.
But I have hope! Because of course, I always forget to marvel at the fact that I can understand a majority of what is being said. Everyone says that some time it will just “click.” Until then, I just have to wait for and accept that point everyday where I reach my “Spanish Quota,” after which my brain is all filled up and worn out for the day, rendering me mute.

2006-08-19T10:15:00.000-07:00

The bus ride to school is the first (and one of the more colorful) of many daily adventures. At eight o’clock (yes, in the morning) mi amiga Rachel, also a Kalamazoo student, meets me outside of my house and we begin the journey. The bustop is a short jaunt down the hill, and after depositing a quarter in the machines, we wait with others on the platform island. When the bus arrives, we squeeze our way in through the throngs of people. It is standing room only, but apparently it could be worse; Rachel’s host mom told us that the busses are relatively “empty” because rush hour is around 6:30. (The sun both rises and sets at 6).

We take this first red double-length bus to the end of the line, about a 10 minute ride which terminates at a large station. We de-bus and walk up the hill to another: green, single-length. There are many to choose from, and we have to be careful to pick one labled “Cumbaya,” the rich suburb that is home to La Universidad de San Francisco. These green buses are more charter-bus than city-bus, but with flare. Each driver decorates according to their personal tastes; it usually invovles fringe and dance music. Luckily, these buses are less crowded, and a seat is always available.

The bus always has a living infomercial aboard. Before we leave Quito, an unfailingly handome young man of some variety boards. He is dressed sharply, and carries a briefcase filled with goodies. After a convincing promotion of the product (candy, herbal suppliments, DVD’s), the man will traverse the aisle, handing out the product to passengers. After yet another plug, he will come around and either collect his money or his product.

After we leave the Quito city limits, the real fun begins. The city is on top of a (huge) mountain, and the only option is down. Down is fine, but in a charter bus with a racecar-minded driver, down gets a little more exciting... Honking, screeching, passing, and hairpin turns, all with bus doors open.... I think it’s good that seats are always available... it is beautiful, though!

Finally, our hair-raising 25 minute ride comes to an end as we approach Cumbaya. As we deboard, the acomplice to the driver comes around to collect our quarters. (The driver and money-collector are quite a pair; the m-c likes to swing out of the bus doors as we round the most trecherous of turns, and the driver likes to make these turns as exciting as possible)... The university is a quick 3 minute walk from the bustop.

Oh wait, no this is where the real fun begins: school!