Monday, March 31, 2008

"Damos una vuelta!"

This weekend with my host family was a fun and entertaining one, for sure. Friday after class and my four hour nightmarish experience at La Dirreción de Migración (which I will not speak more of for fear of reliving painful memories and then doing something I might regret out of a desire for sweet revenge), I finally returned home just as it was getting dark. My family was all at home and I joined Soledad (my host sister who is expecting a baby and who, although she says she is due at the end of April, I think cannot possibly have more than two weeks AT MOST before little Pablo Jose comes into the world) and Marco on Marco´s bed, where we watched "Clueless" in Spanish followed by "Two and a Half Men." I also realized as we were watching these things that I had begun to not even think twice about the dubbed Spanish over familiar TV shows and movies...in fact, it is stranger to me now to watch something on TV in English.

After a while, we all had pan, té, cafe, and queso in the kitchen and then decided to go over to Soledad´s house, where her husband, Raoul, was with two friends from work. So my mother, Marco, Soledad, and I all drove over to their house, which in reality is only a few blocks from our house, but it was quite impressive, to say the least. Their house is actually more of an apartment or condo and is in a gated community. Once inside, Soledad eagerly gave me a tour and it made me want an apartment just like theirs. It is three floors and very new, with a really cool loft area on the third floor and a deck on the roof with a spectacular view.

Soledad also went through and showed me the baby´s room--the crib, the toys, and the clothes. I felt so happy for her and Raoul as she showed me everything--they are going to love their son so much (not to mention my host mother is going to spoil her first grandson rotten) and they deserve to be happy. Soledad had told me before that, for a long time, she thought she could not have kids, so this is sort of their miracle baby. I am very excited that I will most likely be there when she has the baby--I can only imagine how crazy it will be when they finally bring the baby home!

So after the tour, we joined everyone downstairs, where Raoul and his friends were drinking some beer and listening to music. After a while, one of the friends had to leave and my mother decided to go home, too. The rest of us, however, decided to "dar una vuelta," which I thought at the time meant to go for a walk. To my modest surprise, it turned out that it meant driving aimlessly around Quito for a while, which actually turned out to be pretty fun, since I got to see some of the city that I never had before.

The friend that came, Tato, me, and Marco all sat in the back. Marco pointed out various sites and things to me as we passed. Tato, on the other hand, was pretty quiet but would occasionally say something--usually a very dry but funny comment. Eventually, we stopped at this hot dog stand which was apparently the place to be, since it was crowded with people, standing all over the sidewalk eating hotdogs and hamburgers. Only Tato and Raoul were interested in eating, but we all got out and stood around talking for awhile. Eventually, one of Tato and Raoul´s friends walked up and talked with us for a while.

OK, so while we were standing there, Tato kept jokingly saying things like, "Alex se va con nosotros" and "Alex sale con nosotros" (essentially, "Alex leaves with us, Alex goes with us"), so I joked right back "¿Es la unica cosa que tu puedes decir?" ("Is that the only thing you can say?"). Eventually, we parted ways--Tato and his friend and Marco, Soledad, and I. Only later did Marco tell me that Tato actually really did want me to go out with him and his friend, but that because he knew I was on anti-parasite medication and could not drink he did not really seriously ask (yes, I failed to mention before--a few of us came back from la Selva with some parasitic action going on and although I luckily just felt generally strange and nauseous, I finally took anti-parasite medication last Thursday and Friday but UNFORTUNATELY you cannot drink while on it unless you want to kill your liver). So, anyway, FRUSTRATING! Because even though we did not talk too much and I do not want to make too big a deal of it, I was...intrigued by Tato and would have loved to have spent more time with him had I not been on that stupid medication...stupid parasites! Argh!

ANYWAY, so Saturday we all woke up early and drove two hours to Otavalo, which is where my family is originally from and where my host mother´s mother lives. We stopped along the way at a restaurant for breakfast, but I was unfortunately suffering the hangover effects of my anti-parasite medication and was not feeling too hungry. It was really a shame--they had eggs, bisochos (kind of like biscotti, but so much better!), fresh-made cheese, and coffee. I stuck to aqua con gas.

When we finally arrived in Otavalo, I broke out the list I had of all the gifts I wanted to get people (as well as some things for myself) and my host mother, Denisse, and I set off into the market. Now, whereas I had visited Otavalo on a weekday briefly before when it was more or less dead, Saturday it was INSANE! Every street was lined with vendors selling everything imaginable! And not to mention, on the weekends, Otavalo is also invaded by tourists, hence I saw a load of gringos walking around. It is amazing--I am not saying that I exactly blend in, but I never really thought that tourists in other countries really looked like the stereotypical image I had of them. But apparently, they really do. And they really do stand out as painfully obviously as I had thought, too. I cannot tell you how many people with fanny packs, white tube socks pulled up over the calves and worn with khaki shorts, and polo shirts I saw! Wow...just, wow...

Anyhow, so the way our shopping expedition worked was I went first, plunging through the crowded lanes, and when I found what I was looking for, I stopped at the stall and picked out what I wanted. Then, my host mother would kindly step in and say to the vendor, essentially, "Look, I am from around here...I know how it works and this is my daughter...now, let´s get that price down, okay?" and she was always able to knock off a decent amount for me, which was great. I have no illusions: bartering is a skill I am just plain not good at, but thank goodness, my mother is a pro. All in all, I walked away with pretty much all my gifts for people back home taken care of (Score!) except for good old Ecuadorean coffee and chocolate, which I will wait until my last week to buy.

After I finished shopping, we walked with Denisse to the local hospital. She is a med student (studying, specifically, physical therapy) and she was instructed by her professor to put up fliers advertising for an upcoming medical conference at the hospital in Otavalo. Now, this was definitely an experience I will never forget.

I have been to UNC Hospital many times, since my mother works there, and so all my impressions of a hospital are basically based on that. UNC Hospital is light, huge, always full of doctors and nurses, and patients, as well. The lobby is almost all glass, so sunlight always pours in. Always, just a really lively, busy place. There could not have been a greater contrast with Otavalo´s hospital.

There is a giant fence all the way around it, first of all, and Denisse had to show her med student ID card to the guard so he would let us in. We walked to the entrance on the side that said "Emergencía" and into the tiny waiting room, empty except for some chairs and two women who sat there, silently waiting. A sign advised us to press a doorbell if we wanted a doctor´s attention, so we pushed it and then waited. After a while, a man in scrubs unlocked and opened the door that led to the rest of the hospital. Denisse talked with him briefly and he told us that we could put up the fliers wherever we wished. Then he locked the door behind him and was gone. So Denisse put one up in the waiting room, then we walked around to the front entrance.

The main part of the hospital reminded me of Catonsville Elementary a little, only spookier. It is a brick building and old. It gave me the impression of a hospital that at one point was fully staffed and state of the art, but had with time fallen into disrepair, judging from the dark, windowless, empty hallways and peeling paint. Chairs lined the long, dark hallway and the only person we saw was a little girl who entered behind us and wordlessly ran down the corridor and disappeared through one of the doors.

We posted another flier there, then turned and left, walking back through the crowded streets to my host grandmother´s house. We picked her up, all piled in the car, and took off down the winding country roads. Eventually, we arrived at a gorgeous crater lake--the same crater lake that we stopped at on our way to Intag (I posted pictures of it in one of my first rounds of photos). This time, however, we went to the little hostel located on the water´s edge. Marco, Soledad, and I bought tickets and piled into a boat with a bunch of other tourists to take a turn around the lake.

It was a cold, cloudy day, but this gave the place a romantic, Ireland or Scotland-esque feel. The whole time we were motoring around the lake and the two mountainous islands in its center, both thick with trees and brush, I kept thinking that the Loch Ness monster would be just as happy here as in any lake in Scotland. As we drew closer to the islands in the center, I also noticed that there was a little house build in the low, marshy land between the two islands, partly hidden by the reeds at the water´s edge. It looked abandoned and empty, but I thought of how beautiful and peaceful and also lonely it would be to live there.

We eventually stopped on the far side of the islands, near shore and amongst a bunch of small, black ducks who flapped and dove all around us, while our guide told us a bit about the lake. Apparently, it was formed from volcanic activity thousands of years ago and that even today volcanic gases (mainly sulfur, I think) rise from the bottom of the lake continually, therefore making any fish life impossible. Only when he pointed that out did I notice that, all around us, little bubbles were rising to the surface, like boiling water. The water itself was beautiful--crystal clear in the shallows and in the deeper parts an amazingly vivid blue. Despite the lack of fish, however, wolves, rabbits, and armadillos, among other things, apparently live on the islands.

Eventually, we returned to shore, piled back in the car, and drove off to have lunch at a restaurant called Mr. Chancho´s. Now, by this time I was starving, having gotten over my anti-parasite medication hangover, but it gave me pause slightly as we rolled up to the restaurant because, right in front, was a giant statue of a smiling indigenous woman, brandishing a bloody knife, with a statue of a slaughtered pig hanging behind her. However, my hunger and the fact that my family could not wait for me to try this Ecuadorean delicacy of fritadas overcame all.

Fritadas, I discovered, is basically fried bits of pork. I was presented with a heaping plate of them, along with tostado (corn), potatoes, and some other corn-ish thing I could not quite identify, as well as queso. I ate what I was given, as I was starving and, given that I had not eaten much at all in the past week due to my bout with parasites, my family was beginning to think I had a serious problem or something. However, the experience reinforced my previous thoughts (based on eating a pig foot with my previous host family, learning about the environmental benefits of vegetarianism in Intag, and also seeing the numerous barely-identifiable animal parts hanging up in windows and the pig heads displayed by street vendors beside heaps of fried pork) about possibly trying vegetarianism upon returning to the States.

After lunch, we dropped off my host grandmother at her house and then drove back to Quito, arriving after dark. Exhausted from the early morning and long day, I pretty much went to bed straight away after we got back.

The next morning, we all had breakfast and then piled in the car and head to the birthday party of an uncle (I am not sure exactly how he is related) in Cumbaya. It was a very interesting day, if a bit overwhelming meeting all the people at the party. They were all extremely nice, though, and we had a great meal of beef (I think...), potatoes, rice, ceviche (cold soup with shrimp), and a chocolate cake my mother made.

One thing I have to say that I LOVE about Ecuadorean food (and I really do love a lot of it!) is that, with almuerzo, oftentimes you get served popcorn and tostado with it. What other culture is there where you get to eat popcorn with your meal??? And tostado is perhaps my new favorite snack food and hey! You get to eat it at lunch! Not as a snack, not as dessert or something, but WITH your meal! Heck yes!

ANYHOW, we have many preparations to do before we leave for a week on the Coast starting this Wednesday. I have to say, I am not entirely looking forward to it--besides the intense heat and humidity, we were told that this is by far our most difficult excursion because we will be living with very poor families for a week. For a week, we simply have to observe them and participate in their daily activities. I know it will probably be very eye-opening and rewarding, but still...I think it is one of those things that I will be glad I did AFTER the fact, but might not enjoy quite so much while it is going on...vamos a ver...

Until next time, ciao!

-Alex

Friday, March 28, 2008

It is official: la Dirección de Migración is the fifth ring of Hell...

So I felt compelled to write again today, even though I just updated my blog yesterday, because I needed to vent my frustrations somewhere other than by beating one of the fine employees of the Migration Office in Quito senseless. So, here I am, writing to you after spending literally the past four hours sitting in an incredibly uncomfortable chair in la Dirección de Migración in Quito (the equivalent of the DMV here). See, in order to take a plane next week on our coastal excursion, all of us were required to take a folder of information given to us by our academic directors to this office in order to obtain our Censos (aka. Ecuadorean ID card). I decided to go this afternoon after class with another girl, Aly. We were assured by our friend, Allison, who had just gotten hers, that she only waited a half hour and that it was not that bad. So, our spirits buoyed on what turned out to be false hopes for a quick, painless transaction, Aly and I entered the Censo office at approximately 1:00 PM, each took a number, and sat down among the crowd of people already present.

What followed was perhaps too horrifying, too frightening, too harrowing to talk about in any great detail, but, needless to say, after four hours of waiting in my uncomfortable chair with a screaming baby behind me, I longed for the good old days of the DMV. And that is saying something!

Besides the fact that for a long time, there was only one employee behind the desk, thus only allowing one person to be processed at a time, the employees did not seem too eager to expedite anything and took their time calling for the next number, laughing and talking with their coworkers at length in between people. To add to my frustration, around hour three, two nuns who had apparently been waiting since 11:30AM that morning (thus putting their total wait time at about four and a half hours) FINALLY had their numbers called. However, literally just as they were proudly walking up to present their papers to the Censo officers, two other nuns appeared out of nowhere and scooted right in front of them!

Now, I SAW the slip of paper that one of these imposter nuns held in her hand and it was nowhere NEAR that number yet! However, being nuns and perhaps due to the fact that one of them was on crutches, they decided they did not need to wait for their number to be called. Now, by this point, what had once been two fairly mature, civilized human beings called Aly and Alex had become more or less petulant children on the verge of a temper tantrum. But then, anyone who has been waiting that long and in those conditions would be, as well. I turned to Aly and told her, "I do not care if you are a nun. I do not care if you are on crutches. You can very well take a seat and wait your turn just as well as anyone else!" The nuns, the officers behind the desk, nor God, apparently, gave a crap about fairness, though, because the nuns (the IMPOSTER nuns, not the poor nuns who had been waiting since 11:30 AM and were now waiting yet again for the imposter nuns to be processed) went right on through, got their Censo cards, and shuffled back outside and out of the Hell in which the rest of us who believed in waiting our turns were presently in.

FINALLY, after four hours, the numbers got dangerously close to ours: I had 634, Aly had 633. We watched as the numbers on the little call screen got closer and closer to ours--629, 630, 631...FINALLY, 633 flashed on the screen and Aly practically leapt up from her seat. I could not help but emit an enthusiastic, "Yeah!" as she marched, smiling and victorious, over to the desk. After about fifteen more minutes of angsting and waiting, my number FINALLY flashed on the screen. For the first time in my life, I knew what it was to win the lottery, because that is honestly how I felt! I strode proudly up to the desk and presented my envelope to the stern-faced officer behind the desk...and that´s about where it all went downhill.

First, she asked me for a copy of my passport and visa. Now, I had my actual passport with my actual visa, but apparently they needed a copy and did not have a copier. AND apparently, even though we were led to believe by our academic directors that everything we needed for our Censos was in our envelopes, this was apparently not the case. I cannot tell you how my heart sank all the way down to my feet (plummeted is perhaps a better verb) as the officer told me sternly and mercilessly that I needed to get a copy and return when my papers were in order. I asked her weakly if I could return to her or if I would need to wait all over again and the only thing that kept me from bursting into tears was that she did tell me I could at least return straight to her and not wait again.

I burst from the Censo office, angrier than words could describe and also somehow on the verge of tears. Luckily, there was a store that made copies right next door (probably there expressly for idiots like me whose papers are not "en orden"), so I ran in like a madwoman, made a copy of my passport and visa, practically threw a dime at the lady behind the counter, and flew back to the Censo office. I presented my things to the Censo officer, sure that they must be okay now, but then she informed me that, apparently, on the outside of the envelope of papers I had given her, I had to write my name, address, nationality, type of visa, passport number, and glue a picture. They at least took pity on me as I struggled to write out everything as quickly as possible and gave me glue to put my picture on the envelope. However, the rest of the time, they just sort of glared at me icily as I struggled to arrange everything.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the officer tossed my tiny, laminted Censo card at me and called out, "¡Listo!" to signal the next person, not giving me a second glance. It was a good thing, though--if she had looked at me again, I might have reached across that desk and gouged her eyes out or just plain throttled her.

I must say, I feel a great deal calmer after having written all this out. However, that does not mean I will not sleep soundly tonight, dreaming sweet dreams of strangling Censo officers and dropkicking nuns all the way to the back of very long lines.

Ciao,
-Alex

Thursday, March 27, 2008

"¡¡¡¡Hugoooooooooo!!!!"

My first week here in Quito has been pretty fun and exciting thus far. We had three guys from the US Embassy come to speak to our class yesterday about US-Ecuador relations and I can say that, hands down, it was the most interesting discussion session we have had so far. I will go ahead and just say that there are a lot of people here who are very critical of the US government (both Ecuadoreans and Americans alike), so we have gotten more than our fair share of that point of view. So it was quite the reverse yesterday to have an economic officer, political counselor, and vice consul from the Embassy come to speak to us, because it is these guys´job to sell people on US foreign policy. Needless to say, it made for one hell of an interesting discussion! From some rather pointed, awkward questions about Plan Colombia and the US´s position regarding the pollution and health problems of people in Ecuador as a result of the herbicides that have spread into Ecuador´s border region ("The US´s official position is that any studies indicating negative health and environmental affects among the people and ecosystems in Ecuador´s border region as a result of Plan Colombia are not accurate or reliable or fact-based.")to the US base in Manta ("It is not a base--it is a non-base."). All in all, a very lively, sometimes contentious, but all-around fascinating discussion.

I talked with the political counselor briefly (before we proceeded to interrogate him and his fellow officers for two and a half hours) and he told me a bit about where else he has served and his career so far in the Foreign Service. Listening to him made me so homesick for D.C. and FSI and ADST (and Dan!!!). Just this time last year I was interning there! Talking to the political counselor and the other two officers made me decide that I am probably going to take the Foreign Service Exam when I get back to the US. As the political counselor insisted yesterday and as I have heard countless times from Dan and other Foreign Service officers, it doesn´t hurt to at least take the exam. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain, so why not?

ANYHOW, so, on a completely different note, I have been rather enjoying my TV in my room in my new host family´s house. At night, when I can´t sleep or just want to watch something mindless before bed, it is nice to turn it on and zone out for a while. As a result, I have, number one, watched a great deal more news and have come to the conclusion that what I learned in my journalism class last semester is most definitley right: US news is definitely incredibly sanitized in comparison to news in other countries. I had heard that much more graphic images are shown in the news in other countries, whereas in the US not that much is shown. Wow, was my professor right! So you wanna hear about how Colombia bombed FARC members in the jungles of Ecuador? Well, why just hear about it when you can see it: charred campsite, splintered trees, and oh look! A hand! Missing the body to which it should be attached! You wanna hear a news story about a man and his son who got into a car accident outside Quito and were killed? Well, if you don´t believe it, here are their bodies right here on your screen!

It´s kind of jolting and shocking, but it also makes me wonder if maybe this difference in the way news is presented accounts for some of the differences in opinion on certain issues between countries. I mean, if you are hearing the same news stories but seeing incredibly different things on your screen, that could drastically affect your perception of events. For example, in the US, you can hear on the 6:00 news the latest stats on how many casualties there have been in Iraq today while images of soldiers shooting rockets or carrying American flags flash across the screen. Here and in other countries, they show those casualties--they show the injuries, they show the bodies. Yes, it is morbid, and yes, it is terrible, but it is much harder to ignore. It is easy to ignore numbers and statistics--not so easy to ignore seeing those statistics in terms of actual human lives. It almost seems cowardly to me, that our news does not show us the actual human toll of a war we started...maybe if we actually saw it, the way people in other countries do, it might give us a change in perspective. Just something I was thinking about...

On a much LIGHTER note, I have, in addition to watching more news, become much more well-versed in the famed telenovelas here. Essentially, all of them involve really pretty people in really pretty clothes crying, screaming, kissing, and everything in between. Of course, in every telenovela, you must have the following in addition to the hunky male love interests and gorgeous, collagen-filled heroines: an older, sinister fellow whose eyebrows are somehow frozen in a position which causes you to look at him and think, "Hmm, well he is up to something and it is not good!"; an older, conniving woman who is forever plotting against the two younger love interests; a short, sometimes fat, never attractive fellow whose purpose is solely for comic relief; and, quite often, some cute little kid who is occasionally called upon to cry or look directly at the camera with giant, puppy-dog eyes, causing anyone watching to involuntarily utter something like, "Awwww! How cute!"

I have watched bits and pieces of most of the telenovelas out there (which is basically like watching one show, since the stories and characters are pretty much the same in all of them), but I have recently become somewhat of a fan of a particular telenovela called, "La Traícion." I was first drawn to it by the fact that they play the musical them to the movie "The Pirates of the Caribbean" during the previews, which was enough to make me want to watch it. However, in the case of this particular telenovela, you take the pretty people, sinister man, conniving woman, chubby funny fellow, and cute kid with all their requisite drama and transplant them into what I believe is supposed to be the 1800s; this change in time period makes all the crazy drama and storylines even more overacted, even more unbelievable, and even more freaking fantastic!

So, basically, what I have gathered thus far is that you have the requisite gorgeous heroine, Soledad, and the requisite hunky love interest, Hugo (he literally looks like a Latin Fabio, like he just stepped off the cover of some cheesy romantic novel, long flowing hair and all!). Additionally, Soledad´s parents pretty much qualify as the sinister older man and conniving older woman (although I have yet to really understand what all the meaningful glances and raised eyebrows are about between the two of them). The comic relief comes in the form of a guy who definitely fulfills all the prerequisites of being short, fat, and ugly (and has, on more than one occasion thus far, ended up dressed in women´s clothing for some reason, which more than qualifies him for the comic relief part, I think). And while there is no cute kid yet, in the latest episode, Soledad discovered that she was pregnant with Hugo´s baby, which indicates that a cute, puppy dog-eyed kid is surely in the show´s future.

It is amazing, I have learned some incredible things about the 1800s in Latin America as a result of this show! For example, I have learned from Soledad´s servant and slave girl that apparently, besides being impeccably dressed, slave women at that time were apparently more or less a part of the family and their mistress´s closest confidantes (who knew!). I have also learned that, apparently, prostitutes and bar wenches in this time period had not only discovered the wonders of breast implants and collagen but also, apparently, had access to incredible hair colorists that could give them some amazing platinum blonde highlights. I am just learning new things every day with this show!

So, in case you were wondering about the latest happenings, on last night´s episode, it was Hugo and Soledad´s wedding day when suddenly, Soledad discovers Hugo dead in his room! This allowed for much screaming and wailing and crying on Soledad´s part (the single, slowly-dripping tear down the cheek is a favorite amongst telenovelas, apparently, as is uncontrollable wailing...there was much of both in last night´s episode). Soledad then faints and, once revived, is informed by the doctor in front of her parents that she is pregnant with Hugo´s baby (which prompted much furtive glancing and plotting between Soledad´s parents). To complicate matters, Hugo may not actually be dead but rather, somehow, in some state in which he appears dead but really is not. His twin brother (another tall, hunky, flowing-haired guy) knows his brother is not dead, but wants Soledad for himself and is willing to let his brother to be buried alive in order to have her. Da-da-dum! (Oh yeah, and somewhere in there, chubby comic relief guy dressed up as a woman and danced around in the saloon with the fake-breasted bar wench...much fun was had by all...)

Only time will tell if Hugo will in fact be buried alive, if Soledad will EVER stop crying, and if comic relief guy will be forced to wear women´s clothing again.

And on that note, ciao!

-Alex

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

"¡Mi Querida Hija!"

OK, so at 3:00 on Saturday everyone gathered in the lobby of the Hotel Alston Inn with all their heaps of luggage to meet our new families. I sat on a couch, surrounded by my things, watching as the sky opened up and began pouring rain down upon our families as they ran inside from their cars waiting at the curb. Of course it had to start raining just in time for our families to pick us up!

People gradually disappeared into tiny cars with host mothers showering them with hugs and kisses and host brothers designated as the carriers of all the luggage. Eventually, a man in a baseball cap and a petite girl walked in--these were my host brother, Marco, 34, and my host sister, Denisse, 24. We hugged, exchanged pleasantries, then picked up my things and ventured out into the rain.

Once in the back of their little red Fiat and speeding through the rain-soaked city, my brother and sister asked me questions--about how my trip to the rainforest was, did I like Ecuador, etc. And as I answered, I could not help but constantly be thinking about how different this car ride was compared to my first ride home with my host family in Los Chillos four weeks ago (feels like forever!). During my first car ride home with my host family there, I was absolutely terrified, smiling tightly and painfully, struggling to understand the people chattering at me rapidly in Spanish. This time, I could not have felt more relaxed. My only "worry," if you could even call it that, was simply in wondering what my new home would be like and my new host mother (Hilda, a teacher, who had not come to meet me because she was in Otavalo visiting her mother) and hoping they would like me and I would like them.

Eventually, we arrived in a neighborhood in the far North of the city and pulled into a small, square cement driveway, the cream-colored iron gate clanging shut behind us. We dashed inside. I stood near the front door in the hallway, waiting for Marco to bring my bags in (he insisted--that whole machismo thing). And suddenly, my jaw literally DROPPED as my eyes came to rest on a painting hanging on the wall. It was an original Guayasamin painting of Quito and has his signature in the bottom corner and is made out specifically to my host family! I have not gotten a chance to ask them about it yet, but I totally want to get my picture taken with it. An actual Guayasamin! Ahhhh! ¡Que chévere!

ANYWAY, they showed me up a small flight of steps to my room. Even though my room in Los Chillos was not bad at all, this one is much smaller but much more comfortable and homey (and actually part of the house, as opposed to completely separated!). I have a little bed with a daisy bedspread, a dresser, a TV (it only has the national channels, but I have gotten to fall asleep while watching "Charlie´s Angels" and "Harry Potter" in Spanish the past few nights, which has been fun, and it is certainly more than I was expecting!), and a closet.

I hung out in Marco´s room for a while, once I got settled, talking to him about everything for politics to the situation with the stray dogs here to movies (he and I are apparently both highly anticipating the new "The Dark Knight" movie this summer!). I also hung out with Denisse in her room a while and we talked, mainly about her problems with her boyfriend and her conflict between wanting to study abroad in Ireland and her boyfriend wanting to marry her and start a family. It seems that those kind of choices exist in whatever country you are in, since my friend Mary had a similar decision before coming to study abroad here.

We eventually went down into the kitchen and had some tea and bread. While we were there, my mother finally got home. I will never forget meeting her. She walked down the steps, saw me, cried, "¡Mi querida hija! ¡Mi amor!" and swept me up into a hug that lasted a solid 30 seconds at least. Immediately, I liked her and knew I would be happy living with them. She presented me with three bracelets she had bought me in Otavalo, which I immediately put on and do not plan to take off anytime soon, and told me all about how excited she is to have another daughter.

I am the youngest in their house, which is a new experience for me, and I am reminded of it often, every time my mother hugs me or kisses me or cries, "¡Mi bebe!" when she sees me. However, though that might sound annoying, it actually is not at all--the way she does it is just really endearing. Plus, I think I might just be enjoying it because my other host mother, while very nice, was not super affectionate, which was fine. But now, I think I was feeling rather starved for affection (which I did not even realize) and I really appreciate it. Granted, we will see how long I continue to feel that way, but sometimes, you just need a hug. Also, Hilda kind of reminds me, somehow, of Granny Joy, which occasionally gives me pangs of homesickness but is also a great comfort, as well. One thing that does crack me up is that she also calls me, essentially, "my biggest littlest daughter" because, while the youngest, I tower over all of them. I told her that in the US, I am just average height, but here, I am a giant and tower over all my host siblings, my host mother, and apparently nearly everyone in Ecuador.

ANYWAY, Sunday was wonderful and relaxing. I woke up and had breakfast with my host family (pan, tea, juice), and then we took off to the Centrohistorico, the oldest part of Quito in the center of the city, where the streets are narrow and cobblestone and the buildings are obviously remnants of Spain´s presence here. We drove up this huge hill in the Centrohistorico to this huge iron statue of an angel that presides over the whole city. From here, we could see everything, North and South to the very edges of the city, and I took pictures with my host mother and sister (which I hope to post sometime soon) overlooking the city.

After walking around a bit, we got back in the car and headed off to meet Soledad (the other daughter, 29, who is pregnant and expecting Hilda´s first grandson in April) and her husband at El Jardin. What I expected to be a restaurant or, um, I don´t know, a garden (el jardin=garden in English) turned out to be a GIANT mall even bigger than San Luis in Los Chillos, just about as amazing as Southpoint or any other mall in the US. We had lunch in the foodcourt (I did NOT get McDonald´s, like my host sister...I resisted and got lentils, fish, and rice from a more traditional Ecuadorean restaurant instead!), then walked around a baby store there so Soledad and Hilda could shop for some things for the baby. Marco and I talked for awhile and he and I ended up going and getting icecream and then going back to the house on our own.

We all hung out together the rest of the afternoon/evening, watching soccer on TV and talking, and I actually went to bed fairly early, since I was exhausted and had my first day of classes the next day.

As far as classes go, they have been fine so far. Much less intense than our Spanish classes in Los Chillos, which is a relief, and much shorter. Instead of five hours of intensive Spanish, we only have 3 and a half or 4 hours of lectures on various topics (thus far this week, development, human rights and immigration, and pre-colonial history of Ecuador). And after class, now that we are in Quito, it is very easy to just go off and explore the city, which me and some girls did today after class, which was fun.

I do not know why, but for some reason today (I think it was the fact that it was a beautiful, sunny day) I kept thinking about this time last year when I was in Washington, D.C. I kept thinking about how beautiful it must be in D.C. right now and kind of missing it. My friend, Robin, who is from Chicago, said that she has been having the same pangs of homesickness for Chicago since being in Quito because, while they are two very different cities, they are both big cities and I can definitely understand her feelings. But walking around today after classes kind of made those feelings dissipate as I kind of got immersed in THIS city; it made it a bit easier to stop thinking about D.C. so much, which is good because I need to enjoy Quito while I am here, since my Independent Study month will be here before I know it and I will be far from any city.

Lastly, just thought I would mention: I chopped off my hair. :) Not the shortest I have ever had it, but it was in desparate need of a trim and apparently, I am incapable of ever "just trimming" my hair. So, Lenore recommended her friend, Debbie, who is from Chicago and is a great hairdresser but has lived here with her Ecuadorean husband and kids for twenty years. So, yesterday, I walked into her salon. She asked me what I wanted, I said I did not know, she showed me a picture of something she thought was going to be easy and fun, and I just kind of shrugged and said, "Well, what the hell! OK!" I definitely like it and you will no doubt see it in pictures as I post them in the coming weeks.

Until later, ciao!

-Alex

Friday, March 21, 2008

"Welcome to the Jungle! We got fun and games!"

So I just got back from what was an exhausting but awesome week in the selva (rainforest) of Ecuador. It started Monday morning at 8:00am, when we all piled into the bus that has become so familiar to us, and set off down the winding mountain roads leading out of Quito. We stayed in the mountains for a while, traveling along the Andes. This made for some incredible views along the eight hour bus ride, most of which I spent with my face pressed up against my window trying to take in every amazing sight.

We eventually stopped, after about two hours, at some natural hot springs that are the result of the volcanic activity in the mountains. This was a nice pit stop--the water was scalding hot, but wonderful, and many of us ran alternately from the hot pools to the cold ones which was definitely invigorating, as Faba had raved to us, but also just kind of masochistic. Regardless, a good time.

HOWEVER, we were only supposed to be stopped for about an hour before getting back on the road. It was almost noon, which was when they had told us to be ready to get back on the bus, so I went in the locker room to change. When I came back out, I noticed a bunch of the students from my program crowding around near one of the pools, some crouching, others running frantically and yelling, "Where´s Faba? Get Lenore!" I walked up and was confronted with the sight of Rebecca, one of the girls from our program, passed out cold on the ground. Apparently, she had stayed in the hot pool too long (which we had been warned about) and felt light headed, so she had sat down on a rock to drink some water. But almost right after sitting down, she passed out cold and hit her head on cement walkway on the way down, as well.

We all stood around her for what seemed like forever. She was out cold for at least five minutes solid, perhaps ten. Finally, Faba and the doctors that worked at the hot springs arrived and put towels drenched in cold water all over her and poured some over her chest and stomach. And sure enough, that did the trick and she came around, looking around at all of us somewhat confusedly. They put her in a wheel chair and went of to check all her vitals, so, while we were waiting, we decided to go ahead and have lunch (a picnic of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, queso, bananas, and oranges).

Eventually, we got back on the road and I reattached my face to my window. I looked at the huge, rising mountains around us and the clouds hovering over them; I watched the landscape gradually change from grass and shrub-covered mountainsides to jungle. It was like watching a painting--jungle as far as I could see and in the distance, the shadows of more mountain covered in more jungle. The air gradually became hot and heavy with humidity and it was around this point that we got a flat tire! So we had another break of about an hour or so where we all stood awkwardly in the dirt road, sweating and hiding our faces from the burning sun, while the bus driver, Faba, and Lenore´s compañero, Rick, helped to change the tire.

However, in the middle of nowhere on a seldom-traveled road, we had managed to stop more or less right in front of a little shack with laundry hanging on the porch. And gradually, as we stood around, children began to appear. First, a tiny little girl from the shack, then a slightly taller boy. They were both dirty and barefoot and stared at us shyly. We tried to talk to them, but they seemed more interested in staring at us and wondering about what these strange gringos were doing in front of their house than actually saying anything. At some point, the little boy ran off down the road and reappeared a few moments later with another, slightly older boy in a soccer jersey and shredded jean shorts. He looked at us suspiciously, completely silent.

Eventually, the tire was changed and we all climbed back on the bus and were off, but the children stood in the road by the bus and watched us wordlessly until we were out of sight. In the more rural areas like this, we received the same reaction, from people and animals alike. Anytime our bus passed anyone, they stopped and stared at us, brows knit in confusion and suspicion. Even the dogs sniffing trash in the street stopped and watched us pass by, as did the occasional chicken that we saw clucking in someone´s yard. It is strange to be the subject of such intense interest, especially when you are not even really doing anything other than passing through.

By dark, the heat was slightly alleviated and we finally arrived, turning down a dark, narrow lane that cut through the jungle, with a sign that read Aliñahui Cabañas next to it. We traveled for about ten minutes down this road, deep into the jungle. When we finally stopped and were able to get out, everything was dark around us. A man with a lantern and a GIANT black Great Dane met us and led us down a cobblestone pathway, through the trees, until suddenly the trees on either side disappeared and we were in a much more wide open area, with the occasional palm fronds, exotic flowers, and other plants growing near the pathways and across the lawn.

We immediately went to the dining room--a shelter with no walls and a roof made of intertwined leaves. After dinner, we were assigned cabins and all stumbled off into the darkness to find our rooms. By the time I got to my room and despite it being night, it was oppressively humid and therefore oppressively hot, so naturally I was drenched in sweat. And it was at this point that I was faced with the task of sleeping. So I laid down on my bed on top of my covers, staring up at the ceiling of our cabin with my two roommates and wondering how I would ever fall asleep.

Somehow, I did and in the morning, I finally was able to get a good view of where we were. The place was amazing! While the grounds were very open and cleared of most large trees, when you walked to the edge of the yard you were overlooking a wide, fast-moving river below, and beyond, trees--vegetation that was thicker and greener and wilder than any I had ever seen! And beyond that first line of trees, rising hills and mountains with more jungle covering them.

After breakfast our first day, we split into two groups--one group went with Faba and the other (my group) stayed with Lenore. The first thing my group did was a hike through the jungle--first the secondary forest, then the primary forest. Our guide pointed out medicinal plants and demonstrated the uses for some as we walked. At one point, he stopped and broke a branch off of a rather small, thin tree. He then split the branch down the middle to reveal a next of ants, thriving and moving within. He said they were lemon ants and that they lived in a symbiotic relationship with the tree. The tree´s branches were hollow, giving them a place to live, and in return, the ants produced a citric acid that protected the tree and they also protected the tree from other plants growing around it (hence why this particular tree, in a forest thick with vegetation, actually did not have anything around it for several feet).

Then suddenly, our guide shook some ants onto his hand and, without warning, popped them into his mouth. I just sort of looked on with a mix of fascination and horror. He then went around the circle of us, shaking some ants into each of our hands. Turns out, they taste like lemons (due to the citric acid they produce). Who knew!

The most amazing thing I saw, however, was the primary forest. And there was no doubt when we got to it. Whereas in the secondary forest there is a lot of undergrowth and everything is crowded and dense, the primary forest is more open and the trees are, to put it plainly, huge. Our guide stood talking to us for several minutes in front of what was the biggest tree I had ever seen in my life, but I could not pay attention to a word he said--I was looking up, my mouth agape and eyes wide. This tree was mammoth--it would have dwarfed dinosaurs! It has giant, spreading roots that almost formed giant walls because they were so tall and the thick trunk shot up for what seemed like forever. Apparently, this particularly tree is about 250 years old! I stood there, stared, and wondered about what this tree would say if it could talk, about what amazing stories it could tell! This tree had been around before the nation of Ecuador existed! Even before the US existed! It was amazing to think of what things this tree might have borne witness to throughout history.

Next, we tromped through the woods and were each dropped off in the middle of the jungle, about 100 yards apart, to have an hour-long solo. This meant sitting/standing/lying down in the jungle for an hour, alone, with no watch or camera or anything, and just thinking. I think that my first half hour or so was spent obsessing, Howard Hughes-style, about quarantining a little spot where I could sit down. I first had to make sure the plants and leaves were out of the way, that I was not sitting on some nest or hive. Next, upon noticing the cloud of mosquitos hovering hungrily around me, I put on my rain jacket and my hood so that only my eyes more or less showed.

However, finally, I began to relax and take in my surroundings--how loud the rain drops sounded as they came crashing through the tree limbs, how I could hear the distant sound of a truck on the road, the calls of birds. And suddenly, in the blink of an eye, it was over! I turned around in time to see Lenore, our guide, and the other students, waiting for me, so I got up and joined them on our trek out of the woods.

We returned to the lodge then for lunch and immediately afterwards, went thrashing into the brush toward the river. We walked through a little tunnel carved out of the bamboo and other vegetation growing near the river and emerged on a stony bank where a motorized canoe waited. We all piled in and immediately went zipping off down the river. Trees hung over the bank on either side of us and occasionally we saw another little canoe, people dragging a net through the shallows, children swimming.

After about half an hour, we pulled up to a bank with a set of step steps carved into the hillside. We hiked up them and emerged at an animal rehabilitation park (the name escapes me at the moment). A young man took us on a tour of the place, explaining to us about the animals--monkeys, parrots, toucans, etc. Many, apparently, had been pets at some point and rescued by their organization. As we walked through the park, a funny-looking little flightless-bird with puffy feathers on his body and a more or less bald head, followed us. He stopped when we stopped, walked when we walked. Apparently, he was a pet at one point and his kind are supposed to be social birds that live in a group, but because he grew up without others of his kind, he now thinks that any group of humans is his group and thus follows them wherever they go. He was very cute and funny, though it was certainly sad to think that he would not really be able to ever live in the wild.

After our tour, we were treated to some cold Cokes and Sprites by Lenore, which was a great treat since we were all pouring sweat by this point. Afterwards, we piled back in the canoe and headed back upstream to Aliñahui. We immediately were whisked back up the trail to the dining house, where our next activity began immediately--a lecture by a local shaman on the uses of shamanic practices within the indigenous groups in the area.

He told us stories and acted out how shaman had sucked out the illness from people, how they cleaned their souls. As he explained it, to become a shaman, the apprentice would have to essentially have tobacco that has been fermented in water poured down his nose. This is to clean his soul (aka. to make him vomit) and make him ready to receive the magic powers of the forest. He also then demonstrated how the apprentice would have to also have tobacco smoke blown all over his body and in his face on one of my roommates, Kristen. She sat respectfully and let the shaman encircle her in a cloud of smoke without so much as coughing.

However, Jenna was not quite so lucky--she got chosen for the demonstration of how a shaman would clean someone who had been suffering from bad luck, ill health, or the like. She had a bouquet of leaves shaken and dragged all over her body for about five minutes. She just sat there, laughing and apologizing. I just sat there, glad it was not me because I would have definitely been laughing a lot harder than she was (not necessarily because I thought it was funny but because I am super ticklish).

Essentially, I walked away from the shaman lecture with this: shaman are like doctors, only with more showmanship. Maybe a mix between a magician and a doctor, perhaps not with as much technical skill as a medical doctor, but with some actual real knowledge of medicinal plants and other techniques. Some of the people in our group were genuinely convinced it was real. While I have respect for it, I was not nearly so convinced (frankly, I cannot believe that a shaman sucked an actual bird out of a boy´s head because it was making him crazy, but then, everyone is entitled to their opinions).

We had dinner after the lecture, followed by a night walk around the grounds of Aliñahui to view the local insect life, which truly comes alive at night. I learned, for example, that the cockroaches we occasionally get in NC have NOTHING on the cockroaches in Ecuador (some of which are as big as my hand!). I ALSO learned that tarantulas are not actually as scary as I thought. The idea of tarantulas scared me a lot more than when we saw the actual thing. Our guide reached up into a spiderweb-filled hole in a tree and poked a hole in the webbing with a stick. He shined his light in and, voila! I thought at first I was looking at a small, furry rodent, but no, it was just a big-ass spider with fur, somewhat pissed off that we had disturbed it.

The small spiders in Ecuador, I discovered, are just as amazing as the big ones but because of what they make rather than their size. Apparently, the little spiders make big, communal webs that quite literally can be ten feet wide, spreading between two trees and reaching all the way to the ground! When we shined our lights on these amazing constructions (thank God, rather than walking through them by accident, which would have been a nightmare!), we were faced with huge, intricate webs, like constellations connecting the spiders and bugs that were their stars.

The most terrifying thing of the night, it turned out, was not the spiders or cockroaches, however. It was the ants. Specifically, the Conga ants. These are "big-ass ants with attitude," as our director calls them, and they are mostly solitary, though they do live in nests together. And they look just like a normal black ant, only much bigger. Apparently, should one of these little suckers bite you, you will be in immense pain and have a fever for several hours at least! Faba told us about how he once was bitten on the nipple by one and he had a breast for a week. Another story was about a friend of Faba´s who was climbing a tree and accidentally placed his hand on a branch with four Conga ants on it--they bit him, he fell, and he was unconscious before he even hit the ground as a result of the bites.

So, you can imagine my terror when, on our nightwalk, we came upon a tree with Conga ants literally crawling all over it. IMMEDIATELY, I dashed about twenty five feet away and began to sahke out my feet, my arms, everything, for fear one might have crawled on me or fell on me. And that night, in bed, I could not help but be startled from my sleep once or twice by visions of Conga ants climbing over my bed as I slept.

The next morning, we had breakfast and then took the bus to another river where Faba was waiting for us. His group from the day before would be going back to Aliñahui to do the previous day´s activities while we did theirs from the day before. We all followed Faba down a narrow, dirt road, past some tiny wooden shacks with chickens picking in the yards, to the school at the end of the lane. Or, to be specific, three small building made of cinderblocks and with tin roofs. They had windows, but there was nothing in them--only open air between the classes going on inside and us.

The teacher in one of the tiny rooms assembled the children before us--most of them barefoot and dirty but all smiling and looking at us curiously. They went down the line and shook each of our hands and then lined up and sang the Ecuadorean national anthem for us. After this, we went inside the classroom with them and spent about an hour talking and playing with them. I happened to end up at a desk with two little 7-year old boys named Diego and Paul. We drew for a while and colored--or, to be specific, Paul drew animals silently while Diego talked nonstop (though intermittently interrupted by a terrible-sounding cough that made me cringe inwardly).

Once we were done playing with the children, the teacher showed us into one of the other classrooms. Apparently, our classmates has painted its walls the day before and now we were instructed to paint murals to decorate the walls. I painted a frog, while the others painted hummingbirds, other animals, and scenes of people on the coast, in the sierra, and in the selva. The entire time we worked, people (I do not know who, perhaps people from the community) stood watching us silently from outside, their faces pressed in between the bars on the windows.

Once we had finished, we had lunch with the teacher and the other people who worked at the school. And, just as with everything, whether we were painting or riding on the bus or just eating, the women who had cooked, as well as the children, stood silently and watched every bite we took. Slightly unnerving, but whatever.

After lunch, we took a tour of the farm near the school where all different types of bananas, lemons, limes, oranges, and other fruits grew. I got to taste cacao--the source of chocolate, my addiction--fresh from the tree and it was not like anything I expected. Besides the fact that the fruit of the cacao tree is this giant, orange bean-shaped thing, you break it open to reveal soft, white, fleshy material coating the seeds. You do not bite them, however, just suck of the fleshy part. The seed is actually really bitter (I found that one out the hard way!). The flesh itself, while very sweet, does not taste anything like what I know as chocolate, so how they make it into chocolate is a mystery to me.

We also saw an achiote tree--a tree with fruits that look like strawberries, only they are hard and when you crack them open, there are numerous small, red seeds inside. These seeds produce an amazingly strong, bright red dye, like blood, that has been used by the indigenous people for centuries to paint their skin and hair. It is also now, apparently, used as a dye in numerous products sold all over the place. We, of course, had to test this out and spent about fiften minutes painting each other with achiote.

Upon getting back to the school from our tour, we were invited to play a game of soccer with the school children and a few older guys that worked in the kitchen to prepare our lunch. So, we had a face off between team USA and team Ecuador (with Faba playing for Ecuador because he might teach Americans and have lived there, but his heart is always in Ecuador). Now, I have to say that I do not profess to be a talented soccer player or athlete really in any sport involving hand-eye coordination. My first impulse when any projectile is launched at my face, as would be that of any person who grew up involved in sports such as running and swimming, is to scream and cover my face with my hands. And, unfortunately, I did in fact do just that on one occasion during our game.

Regardless of my performance, we were doomed from the start. Any Ecuadorean from the age of five and over is dangerous with a soccer ball. And besides that, we were playing, 13 of us to about thirty of them. And they may be small and barefooted and, in many cases, infected with worms, but can they play soccer! One of my friends described it as fighting zombies, because any time one of us got the ball, after about five milliseconds, we were descended upon by at least ten small children that only multiplied every second afterward until you were completely without hope.

Needless to say, team Ecuador beat team USA thoroughly, 7 to 2 (and we only scored 2 because, out of pity, two of the Ecuadoreans finally agreed to play for us). After our game, we walked down to the river and took a motorized canoe up the river just about ten minutes, arriving in front of what literally looked like paradise! A stony beach, with cute little cabins hidden behind a line of flowers and brush.

We were greeted by Tom, who welcomed us warmly to his Arajuno Lodge. He has lived there for decades with his Ecuadorean wife and is originally from Nebraska. We all dumped our things in our cabins and then gathered in the clubhouse/dining hall, which was completely open on the side that faced the river and had hammocks lining it, hanging from the ceiling. Here, we met Mona, who is a monkey that Tom and his wife rescued after seeing her chained up in a marketplace as a baby. The idea is that eventually she will go off into the wild, since there are other monkeys like her in the jungle all around the Lodge, but for now, she is still very much a baby and relies on Tom and his wife to survive.

I have to admit, after playing with her all that afternoon and the next morning, I could understand why people keep them as pets, because they are very personable, cute creatures. She was small and black, with incredibly expressive eyes and expressions. Her favorite game was for us to sit in one of the hanging chairs and she would hang off of the chain that suspended the chair from the ceiling, swinging in our faces and batting at our hands playfully. I genuinely hope she makes it back to the wild, but we were all a little curious as to how a monkey that has now become so accustomed to humans will ever be able to be wild.

The afternoon was free, for the most part--swimming in the river, swinging from the rope swing into the river, dinner, followed by Cuarenta (an Ecuadorean card game). Eventually, people drifted off to bed, but my cabin stayed up until nearly 2:00am, just sitting on the porch in the light of the nearly full moon, talking. It was an incredibly idyllic, peaceful place.

The sad thing about the Arajuno Lodge, which Faba pointed out to me at breakfast the next morning, was that Ecuador is preparing to construct not just an airport but a major international airport nearby. This will completely disrupt the ecosystem here, not to mention the quiet and solitude. Very sad to think that I most likely will never see that place the same way again, since it will soon be irreversibly altered like that.

After breakfast, Tom´s wife instructed us on Quechuan pottery--the history and the folklore surrounding it. Afterwards, we spent a little while making our own pots outside near her kiln. Once we finished with our pots, we went on a brief tour of the farm surrounding the Lodge, where they have many medicinal plants and fruits, as well, which was pretty fun.

After lunch, it was back into the canoes, goodbye to Mona, and back to Aliñahui to reunite with the other group. We spent the afternoon before lunch relaxing and catching up, since it felt like forever since we had seen each other, even though we were only separated for about two and a half days. To celebrate our last night (and Debbie´s birthday, one of the girls in the program), we went to the only bar around, called el Laboratorio. It was an open air place, built in the traditional style--a roof of intertwined leaves, etc. However, there were speakers blasting music and a disco ball rotating in the center.

We all danced, drank, and talked with the only other people in the place--some British guys who had just graduated from high school and were taking six months to travel through North and South America before starting college. All in all, a very fun and interesting night.

Today, goodbye to the Selva and a very long, exhausted bus ride back to Quito. I am VERY exicted about tomorrow, because I get to meet my new host family. I received a letter from them with information about them when I got back to Quito this evening: apparently, I have a host mother named Hilda, a host father named Marco, and three older host siblings ( a 30 year old brother, 24 year old sister, and 34 year old sister who lives with her husband elsewhere but visits often). I am very excited and, judging from their letter, they are very excited to meet me.

Until next time, ciao!

-Alex

Sunday, March 16, 2008

Goodbye to the Valley... :(

So this weekend was a rather eventful one, culminating in a lot of tears and very sad goodbyes. First of all, our Spanish classes (finally) came to an end on Friday. We got our final exams back and I am happy to report that I did very well. Regardless of what the grade on my exam said and what number it was, I feel like my Spanish has improved immensely since I arrived, more than any grade could really reflect. And a lot of that is not necessarily due to my Spanish classes but rather to living with my family. It has been wonderful living with them this past month and I made sure to get their address and all their other information before I left, because I will definitely be keeping in touch with them for a long time to come.

Friday evening, we had a big dinner/dance for all the host families. It was in this restaurant, where we had chicken and rice and salad and icecream for dinner, followed by some wild and crazy dancing. Everyone--the families, the students, everyone!--danced and had a wonderful time. Once the party was winding down, we all went to one of the student´s houses, whose parents had agreed to host an after-party for everyone. So we hung out at their house, danced, and all around had a pretty good time. Unfortunately, I was still (mentally) hung over from my previously-mentioned wild and crazy weekend, so I did not partake of the drinking and stuck to Coke.

Saturday during the day, I mainly hung out around the house with my family until the evening, when we were scheduled to attend a wedding (to which I was supposed to wear a rather hideous outfit, as I wrote previously). However, I had gone incognito earlier in the week to the local mall and bought a slightly more appealing and flattering outfit to wear. Explaining to my mother, however, why I was wearing something other than what we bought was a bit tricky because the last thing I wanted to do was hurt her feelings. So, I just explained that since Karina (another student in my program whose host family is related to mine and whose family was also attending the wedding) was wearing a dress to the wedding and everyone was wearing such nice clothes, I just felt like what we had bought together was not dressy enough (which is actually true, since spandex pants and tops do not strike me as particularly dressy). She seemed to understand and did not really care too much. Thank goodness! Crisis averted...

So, we left for the wedding about an hour late, at about 5:00 Saturday evening. I had been ready when I was told, which was at 4:00, but I was the only one. And when I asked them about it, they just laughed at the silly gringa and told me, "Oh, no! We are on Ecuadorean time!" which basically means anywhere from a half hour to forty-five minutes later than when an event is actually scheduled to take place.

HOWEVER, "Ecuadorean time" or not, we were actually late to the wedding and walked in as it was going on. My mother was absolutely flabbergasted that the ceremony had already started, but then, I think this was not Ecuadorean time anymore--we were on "just plain super-late time". THEN, after managing to sneak into the church and get a seat without really interrupting, the cell phone in my mother´s purse started ringing! AND then, just when I thought we had everything under control (seated, phone turned off, etc.), my mother began "pssstting!" at the little ring bearers and flower girls seated across the church from us, waving and making faces. Now, I love my mother, number one. And number two, I know this is a different culture and that things are different here than in the US. But regardless, I could not help but feel like this was super rude--from the lateness to the cell phone to the continually trying to get the attention of the kids across the church. Somewhat frustrating for me, but whatever...

So, after the ceremony was over, we walked across the parking lot from the church to the center where the reception was being held. The reception took place in this giant ballroom and it was GORGEOUS! The colors were all golds, whites, oranges, and peaches, so the tables all had gold tableclothes with white and peach roses in the center. The food was incredible--beef, chicken, asparagus, some sort of vegetable souffle thing, red wine. And the wedding cake was spectacular--my mother and her sisters had apparently spent nearly two days nonstop creating it. It consisted of two flat, rectangular, cream-colored cakes, but one of them had this elaborate horse-drawn carriage constructed out of sugar on top. And inside, the cake was rum and whiskey flavored, or something like that...all I basically understood from my mother when she was telling me what was in it was that everyone could get drunk just off the filling of the cake.

However, that was not necessary, since everyone was drunk well before the cake was cut. When we first arrived, my friend, Karina, was seated with her family at one table and, a few tables away, I was seated with my mother, her sister and brother, and a family I did not know. Because my host siblings were part of the wedding party, they were seated elsewhere. Well, after the bride and groom arrived, the dancing began. Karina and I danced for awhile, but I took a quick break to go to the restroom. When I came back, in my absence, apparently all hell had broken loose.

So, I found out from a rather bewildered-looking Karina, who was sitting alone at her table when I returned, that the father of the groom had apparently come up and quietly asked her father that he not drink during the reception. Rather indignant, Karina´s father then demanded from Karina´s mother, Blancy, if she preferred he not drink. And Blancy quietly responded that "of course" she preferred that he not drink. At this point, Karina´s father stood up, put on his coat, and demanded, "Well, fine then! Let´s go! We´re leaving!" And, since Karina´s family is VERY machista and whatever her father says goes, if he had really insisted on leaving, there would have been nothing Blancy could have done to stop him.

Luckily, the groom and some other people came over and tried to calm him down and took him outside to talk. As Karina was telling me all this, Blancy came back from I assume the bathroom and, even though she tried to act like everything was fine and that she just had something caught in her throat that was making her cough, she was obviously very upset and trying not to cry. Poor Karina and her family--apparently, even though her father ended up agreeing to stay, there was much awkwardness all throughout dinner.

At MY table, however, by the time I returned to sit down for dinner, my mother, her sister, and her brother had been helping themselves to the whiskey being offered freely at the bar, as well as the champagne, and were, in a word, sloshed. And apparently, when my mother is sloshed, she smoked (who knew?). So my dinner consisted of her brother telling dirty jokes in Spanish, repeatedly making me smell his whiskey (maybe because he thought that smelling it would make me want to drink it, which it did not), and my mother smoking like a chimney.

To be clear, I was having an AWESOME time. It was kind of fun listening to them joke around and I had a blast dancing, as well. HOWEVER, it was in the last hour or so that it kind of went slightly downhill. You see, first, after about her second or third whiskey, my mother absconded with my camera to take pictures of everyone dancing, which was fine except that she had never really used to camera before and when I got it back at the end of the night, there were about a thousand pictures of random people´s backs AND a giant smudged substance on the lense of the camera which had caused perhaps the last 100 or so photos to be rather foggy and strange looking. Secondly, after all the festivities were finished and people were beginning to clear out, ONLY THEN did my mother decide (I think because she was only just then intoxicated enough) that she wanted to dance. So, despite the fact that there was hardly anyone else left dancing and me and my host siblings were all sitting down, coats on, ready to do, my mother continued to dance. And when she finally retired to her table for another cigarette, just then my host brother and sister decided to dance some more. So, Nathaly and I continued to sit there, absolutely exhausted, watching Javier and Silvana dance with maybe one or two other couples that were left and my mother´s drunk brother, who by now was more or less just stumbling around the dance floor.

So, FINALLY, we decided to leave. But it was suddenly decided that, of all my mother´s siblings (many of whom have larger cars than we do), we had to drive the completely smashed uncle home. So I was then shoved in the back of the car with my mother and my drunk uncle, who kept telling some joke I did not understand over and over. And while I might have thought it was funny THE FIRST TIME HE TOLD IT had I understood it, he continued to say it OVER AND OVER, the whole way home.

DESPITE the frustration of the last hour or so of the wedding, it was certainly memorable and, for the majority of it, very fun.

Today I just hung out around the house until 3:00, when everyone had to meet at the church to take the bus to Quito to the Hotel Alston, where we are staying overnight before leaving for the rainforest tomorrow. While I do not typically get emotional with goodbyes and continued that trend today, many people all around me were crying their eyes out, students and family alike. I said my goodbyes to my family, gave them hugs and kisses and repeated "gracias"s. They, in turn, insisted I call and write and if I ever needed ANYTHING while in Quito or during my stay here, all I had to do was call them. But poor Blancy, Karina´s mother, was crying as soon as the bus pulled up to pick us up (she only has sons, no daughters, and really enjoyed having a daughter for once with Karina). Many of the students, as well, were crying and finally retreated onto the bus after repeated tearful hugs and kisses with their host families.

It was so funny--I was sitting on the bus as we were getting ready to leave and looking at the window and thought about how, just a month ago, I was in the exact same place, feeling so nervous that I thought I might throw up, looking out the window of the bus at all those strangers. I remember how wide-eyed and bewildered we all were as we stumbled out of the bus and were immediately swept up by all those strangers, all chattering rapidly in Spanish. And then, here we were, in reverse--sitting on the bus, waving goodbye instead of saying hello, reaching out the bus windows to clasp hands with our families one last time, people crying to say goodbye to their families (truly families and strangers no longer). It seemed like forever ago that we first arrived, but then, in these past few weeks, we have come a very long way.

Next up: the rainforest for five days, followed by a month in Quito with all new families and all new challenges. I am a little nervous, to be sure, but compared with the terror I felt at the beginning of all this, what lies ahead is a piece of cake. :)

Ciao,
Alex

Tuesday, March 11, 2008

Chanchos...ugh...

So I have never been one for crazy stories, but I can now say I have at least one to tell. But let me begin at, well, the beginning. So, Friday night, my host brother, Javier, and I took a taxi to meet some of the girls from my program and their host brothers at a bar called the Western. Now, let me just say that this bar cracks me up--it´s like a bad theme restaurant from the US (Texas, to be exact). There are saddles and horseshoes hung all over the place and the poor waiters and waitresses are required to wear denim, red bandanas, cowboy boots, and cowboy hats. Think of the most stereotypical cowboy outfit you can and that is the outfits the servers where at the Western. And all this is made even funnier by the fact that we are in Ecuador, NOT Texas. I can only assume that, given the obviously tourist-y nature of the place, they are attemting to appeal to us Americans who, as you well know, will only eat pizza, drink beer, and listen to really bad ´80s pop music. However, after a few drinks of said beer, it´s a pretty awesome place!

So Friday night was really fun--just talking for hours, eating some AMAZING pizza (actually), and drinking some genuine Ecuadorean cerveza. And it is amazing, but the combination of having been in Ecuador for nearly a month and having a couple drinks really makes one´s Spanish speaking skills improve! I have noticed gradually how much easier it is to both understand and speak Spanish (though I do still have my "duh?" moments, for sure). We ended up more or less speaking Spanish the entire night since, though most of our host brothers know at least some English, it has finally reached the point where our Spanish is better than their English and so it just makes sense. Plus, we always need the practice.

Once we finally left (as the bar was closing), we split up, with my friends taking cabs with their respective host brothers and Javier and I in our own cab. However, (and this just shows you what a standup guy and good host brother he is) Javier insisted my friend, Rachel, take a cab with us so we could see her to her house since she did not feel completely comfortable with giving the driver directions on her own and she did not have a host brother with her. The next night, I must add (and I will elaborate on the rest of it later), when we were all out again, Javier left me and the rest of our group at the bar and took a cab to Rachel´s house and back because she wanted to leave early and he did not want her to leave alone. Truly a good guy.

ANYHOW, so Saturday morning, my host mother and I took a series of really confusing buses into Quito in order to embark on a mission: buy me a (cheap) fashionable outfit for a family wedding that we will all be attending this weekend. And on Saturdays, there is a part of Quito near the colonial, historic area that turns into this giant free-for-all of cheap stuff for sale. We went into this one big building with a labyrinth of cheap things on sale--clothes, shoes, appliances, you name it! As soon as we walked in, my mother grabbed my arm and dragged me over to the first women´s clothing store she saw, where the two women working there immediately starting clucking over me and offering me things to try on.

Now, I must stop here to point out that, by and large, fashion here is very different from the US. A little showier, maybe, a little tighter, a little tackier. And thus, with these two ladies and my mother crowding around me crying, "¡Que linda! ¡Que bonita!", I was kind of...peer pressured into buying an outfit that (how to put it politely) I might otherwise never voluntarily wear. They put me in a pair of spandex black pants and an equally stretchy blue and black top (I do not think there was a natural fiber in the whole place) that, frankly, appeared very similar to a maternity top, in my opinion. However, with my mother and these two ladies staring intently at me and after glancing around at my other options that truly were not any better than what I was wearing, I half-heartedly muttered, "Sí, está bien." And I also, apparently, could not escape without buying shoes to go with it. And since us gringas, besides being much larger generally than the people here that seem to average a height of MAYBE five feet tall, also have apparently freakishly large feet by Ecuadorean standards, I was forced to buy more or less the only pair in my size. Let´s just say they kind of complete the look I was going for (if that look is, in fact, complete and total humiliation of the big, scary gringa). Good times... :)

ANYHOW, I tried to forget the clothing I was stupid enough to pay money for by buying an Ecuadorean soccer jersey, which I was VERY happy with. Also, some cool bracelets. And afterwards, my mother took me to a restaurant for lunch. Besides what appeared to be actual chicken feet in my soup, it was otherwise very good.

After returning to the house after our shopping expedition, I spent literally all afternoon doing schoolwork at the local internet cafe and when I finally returned home around 7:00, exhausted and mentally drained, I intended to just zone out, watch a movie, and go to bed early. Well, that did not happen. As is known to happen from time to time due to construction in our neighborhood, the power went out around 9:00 (just as I was, in fact, watching the absolutely terrifying "Dawn of the Dead," in Spanish, on TV). My host family, among other things, thinks it is hilarious when I curse and have tried to get me to teach them English curse words on many an occasion. So it amused them immensely when, just as things were getting particularly terrifying and bloody in the movie I was watching by myself in the living room, the power went out and, after a moment´s silence, the words, "Oh, SHIT!" echoed through the house. I seriously expected a bunch of undead zombies to start banging on the window right then and there, though Javier proved scary enough when he decided to sneak up on me and scare the crap out of me as I was wandering blindly down the hallway.

Just after we lost power, some friends called from the local karaoke bar. And, with nothing better to do now that we had no power, Javier and I promptly went to meet them. We had a couple drinks at the karaoke bar (though, no matter how many we could have had, it NEVER would have made the singing going on in that place sound any better) before deciding we wanted to dance, so we went to a nearby discoteca. We danced for a while, had a few more drinks, and then sat out on the patio and talked for a while. A few people gradually left (including Rachel, who Javier escorted home since she was alone). Once Javier returned, we may or may not have played spin the bottle, which was a first for me. And since we outlawed kissing between host siblings in the game since that would, frankly, just be weird (from the moment I met him, Javier has literally felt just like one of my brothers, which is awesome but not so good for spin the bottle). And since only one other girl´s host brother, Andres, was there, there was basically only one guy for me to kiss. Which, also, was a first. What can I say--my first crazy-night-out story.

Also, unfortunately, what I neglected to realize is that what goes along with the crazy-night-out story is the morning-after-the-crazy-night-out hangover. And I know that everyone says this, but after feeling the way I did for most of Sunday, I do not ever intend to do that again. At least, not to excess, for sure. For most of the day, I sat mournfully on the couch, afraid to move, occasionally uttering to whoever was in earshot, "I am SO regretting my life choices right now..." Not a good time and not something I intend to repeat.

To add to my misery Sunday (self-imposed, I know, and deserved), I was finally beginning to feel better to the point where I thought I wanted to join my family for lunch. And whatever they were cooking, it smelled good. And it appeared good--some sort of meat, battered and fried. My mother told me excitedly that it was chanchos, an Ecuadorean "comida típica." So, I cut into it and began to eat...and gradually, but painfully, realized that I was eating a pig´s foot. I ate the majority of it, as any polite gringa would, but it certainly did not do much to help my hangover.

ANYWAY, so skip to today, which was a very fun and interesting day. Last week, we were divided into groups of three and assigned grades at a local school where we were going to teach classes. The girls I was paired up with were assigned two classes with the fifth grade and one class with the first grade. We planned an art class and a culture class for the fifth graders and an art class with the first graders. Today, we actually got to teach our classes.

Walking into the school this morning was very cool--we were immediately greeted by all these smiling kids, all somewhat shyly saying "¡Hola!" and then running away. Our first class was with the fifth graders and it was art class. Since there were three of us in my group and three classes, we each decided to take the lead in teaching one class. And mine was first. I had made drawings of some mythical creatures (a dragon, a unicorn, etc.) and told the kids a bit about what legends and history had to say about each of these creatures. Then, they each got a piece of paper and had to create their own mythical creature. At first, the kids just sort of looked at us quizzically, without making much move to draw anything. So, I got a marker and asked the class to give me an animal, any animal. Someone suggested a fish, so I drew a fish on the whiteboard at the front of the class. I asked for another--a bird. So, I drew wings on the fish. Next--a dragon, so I gave it teeth and had it breathing fire. I asked for a few more animals and added a part of each suggestion into the animal on the board until we had a very strange but very cool creature. After that, they seemed to understand much better what I had been trying to explain and they all set to work, busily drawing their creatures. Once they were all done, we divided them into groups and each group made a scene on a piece of posterboard to glue their creatures onto. My group created a beach, with an ocean for the fish-type animals in the group and a beach for the land-dwellers. All in all, a pretty successful class.

NEXT, came the first graders...and this class, well, NOT so successful, but then, any class wherein the students do not eat each other alive perhaps qualifies as successful for the first graders. They were, in a word, INSANE. We had planned to tell them the story of the Easter bunny and Easter eggs, which they do not really have in Ecuador, and then have the kids each make a bunny mask and decorate an egg. Now, we were not completely unprepared: we had precut and prepared all the masks so all the kids had to do was draw on them, as were the eggs. HOWEVER, it did not matter--after about ten minutes of drawing, we lost them and there was no going back. Some of them were quiet and really into the activity, but the ones who weren´t (namely, a group of little boys at the back of the room) proceeded to run around, jump on each other, hit each other, you name it. I do not know how we made it to the end, but once class was over, we ran out of there like we were being chased by rabid dogs...which, in a sense, we kind of were, since the activity of choice for the kids during recess was to chase us into the bathroom ("la carcel", or "jail"), close the door which did indeed have bars, and lock us in. This, actually, was really funny and very amusing for the kids, so a good time was had by all, more or less.

After recess, our last class was back with the wonderful, angelic, attentive fifth graders. The girl that was leading that class, Kristen, talked to them about culture, about what culture is, and then compared some similar holidays (Independence Day in Ecuador vs. the US and Carnival vs. Mardi Gras). After we were done talking about Mardi Gras, we had the kids make their own Mardi Gras masks (which we had, also, premade). The kids decorated their masks and seemed to really enjoy it. Afterwards, Kristen had happened to bring Mardi Gras beads with her to Ecuador, so she gave one necklace to each kid. We all took pictures with the masks and beads, which was very fun.

After our last class, we talked with the teachers at the school for a while about the challenges of their job and how they do it. Let me tell you, they are saints; they have to be to work for $270 per month, on average (even with the lower cost of living here, that is still NOT at all adequate) and to deal with the lack of funds and resources like they do. I know they talk about the state of US schools and how classrooms are overcrowded, how education is not at a very high standard; but US schools, even the worst, have nothing on the schools here. Besides the fact that the teachers are grossly underpaid and that there are few books or computers or any sort of supplies, the buildings and desks are very rundown, with broken windows and even walls, in some cases. But despite all of that, when we talked with the teachers, they seemed pretty positive and stated the problems with the school system rather matter-of-factly. Overall, a very fun and enlightening experience, for sure.

The rest of this week, unfortunately, does not appear to be too promising as far as fun goes. It is our last week of Spanish classes and being in Los Chillos. Thus, we have multiple papers and exams the rest of this week, which I am NOT looking forward to. And I am DEFINITELY not looking forward to leaving my host family on Sunday (though my mother insists that I must call her if my Quito family does not treat me well, because she will take me back to live with her). But I have the rainforest to look forward to and my Quito homestay after that.

Until next time, ciao!

-Alex

Wednesday, March 5, 2008

An Epiphany...or Two...

So I got back from the Cloud Forest last night and I can definitely say that the last four days were eye-opening, to say the least. We left early Saturday morning and drove about four or five hours to the Cloud Forest of Intag. While it was a very scenic drive, the last hour or so also happened to be one of the most frightening of my life (which actually is not saying much, since I don´t think I am too much of an expert on dangerous roads, but whatever). The Cloud Forest is called such because it is, essentially, like the rainforest only located at a very high altitude in the mountains. There are literally drifts of cloud floating just over the treetops, which makes for a gorgeous view but one hell of a terrifying ride when you are in a giant, creaking bus attempting to maneuver up incredibly narrow, muddy, unpaved roads in the mountains, with nothing but open air and cloud outside your window. I was literally clutching my armrest for most of that ride up the mountain on the way there, but on the way back, slightly more relaxed, I took tons of pictures out of the window of the bus and will attempt to post them sometime this weekend.

Eventually, we arrived at this very rural school, nestled amongst the mountains, where we all tumbled thankfully from the bus and into the cool, moist mountain air. At this point, we had to tie all our belongings onto the backs of horses that we waiting for us, as the bus nor cars could really proceed any further. Once all our belongings were secure, we set off, hiking down a winding, muddy, rocky trail through the woods. We hiked for about an hour before we finally reached the remote but absolutely gorgeous farm where we would be staying.

The farm, located in the heart of the woods on a mountainside, was all built by hand by the owner, Carlos (originally from Cuba) and his wife, Sandy (an American). Carlos is the executive director of DECOIN, an anti-mining and conservation group that has been working for years to protect the Cloud Forest from the mining companies that have been trying to move in, despite the local community´s protests, and begin a copper mine that would completely devastate everything there.

I have to say, meeting Carlos and the other members of DECOIN that talked with us was possibly one of the most humbling and inspiring things I have experienced thus far in my life. It was like the tale of David and Goliath come to life: this tiny community of people trying to fight against this giant mining company with enormous wealth and questionable morals. And after viewing actual footage of a standoff between the community and the mining company´s hired guns, I was also reminded of a line from a movie, something like, "This is what always happens when people without guns try to stand up to people with guns."

Essentially, the story behind the Cloud Forest, DECOIN, and the mining companies goes like this: besides the enormous wealth of biodiversity present in the Cloud Forest (the plethora of species of plants and animals there, including many endangered and endemic species), there is also, unfortunately, copper. And even though the copper in the forest in only 0.7% copper (LESS THAN 1%!!!) and 99.3% waste products (most of which is incredibly toxic and from which it would take the ecosystem centuries to recover), industrialized countries are apparently so hungry for copper to make, as Carlos put it, "a lot of crap that we don´t really need," that they are willing to devastate an entire ecosystem and way of life to get at it. The reason I say way of life is because, in addition to the immense wealth of plant and animal life in the forest, there is also the pesky problem of the forest´s native inhabitants, many of whom live in the tiny community of Junin. Should the mining move forward as the companies want, this community would be forcibly moved away from the forest and their entire way of living would be destroyed.

So, the mining companies (most recently one called Ascendant, which gets its money from Canada but whose headquarters are located in Colorado) began by saying, "Oh, we will do whatever the community wants us to do" but when the community overwhelmingly told them to get the hell out, the mining companies responded by saying, "well, we are going to start our mine anyway." And thus began a system of intimidation, bribery, violence, and threats, all to get at the miniscule amounst of copper in the Cloud Forest.

Carlos told us about receiving death threats, about the mining company buying police, prosecutors, and judges to bring phony charges against him in an attempt to murder him in jail (apparently, when Lenore told us at the beginning of this program that, "in Ecuador, the police are not your friend," she was most definitely right). He told us about, while he was forced into hiding, the police came to his house, completely trashed it, and intimidated and threatened his wife and son.

We also got to talk to a girl about our age who has been active with DECOIN since she was fourteen. Incredibly shy and soft spoken, she told us about her experiences fighting the mining companies to try to preserve her home in Junin and her community. What was even more amazing than listening to her, however, was the constrast of our discussion with her and a video Carlos later showed us about a confrontation with the mining company where she was present. In the video, trucks full of hired guns were sent by the mining company to set up an exploratory camp in the forest. They were stopped on the road by a group of unarmed civilians and right at the front of the crowd was this same small, shy, soft spoken girl, yelling louder than anyone at the paramilitaries to "Get out! This is our home! We do not want you here!" Even when the hired guns fired at them and shot them with teargas, they refused to move out of the road. It was one of the most inspiring things I have ever witnessed.

What I found amusing, while watching this video, was that right before the video of this confrontation was shown, we watched footage of a meeting between community leaders and the top executive of the mining company. At the meeting, the executive insisted, "We do not support violence or intimidation, we would never do that...LET OUR ACTIONS REPRESENT US." This last part almost made me laugh out loud one I had seen the footage from the confrontations between the unarmed villagers and the paramilitaries.

Besides hearing talks from Carlos and members of DECOIN, we also went on an extended hike through the forest to better understand what exactly these people have dedicated their lives to protecting. Our guide led us through huge, ancient trees and twisting vines and across waterfalls and streams. He stopped every so often to identify various medicinal plants and tell us about their uses (my favorite was the "Sangre de Drago" tree, which bleeds a red liquid when cut...very cool!), everything from herbs to treat an upset stomach to berries used to make antibiotics. And while the wildlife we saw was limited to lots of BIG bugs (mainly millipedes), we did learn about the very shy and VERY endangered spectacle bear that lives in the forest, as well as the many exotic but also very shy birds there, as well.

In all, we spent four hours on our guided hike through the woods and I spent another hour or so on my own. But from my time in the woods, however limited it may have been, I came away from this experience with one thing clear in my mind: this forest absolutely must be saved. And if all the members of DECOIN and the community of Junin are even half as dedicated as the woman we talked to and Carlos and his family, I know they will succeed.

My experience in the woods led to a few epiphanies, the first of which is that I believe I want to pursue volunteering with an environmental conservation group for my Independent Study Project for the end of the semester. Secondly, it reinforced my interest in environmental conservation and its impact on human societies (I thought that, after my international environmental politics class last semester, which was both the most challenging and rewarding of my college career so far, that I might want to pursue such interests). As a result, I am now pondering law school and the possible study of international environmental law in my future. I am not saying it is a certainty, but this experience has at least introduced me to something I feel very passionately about and think I may want to pursue in the future.

I have also had a few other epiphanies since being here in Ecuador, regarding the things I was thinking about doing after graduating this December. While I now think I may have a direction as far as my future studies are concerned, this experience so far as thrown into question some of the things I had thought to pursue between graduation and grad/law school. However, what I have also realized since coming here is that that is okay. If I do not end up doing the Peace Corps or even doing Teach for America, it is okay. I realized that I was looking at those things as more of a way to put off my future and deciding anything about it; they appealed to me because it gave me something to say when people asked what I was doing after graduation, when in reality, I had not thought much about what each of those things really meant (nor what volunteering in those organizations meant, since both, as I have gradually been learning, have very real flaws). I have been pondering that a lot more recently (hey, one of the benefits of not having a laptop or my iPod: LOTS of time to sit and think while in my room at night) and, while I am not entirely decided one way or another on either Peace Corps or Teach for America (I will probably still apply, because it could not hurt just to apply), I have realized that it is OKAY not to do either of them. It would be okay just to work for a year or so and have some experience living on my own, since I still firmly believe that I do not want to jump right into grad school (the main advice I have gotten time and again from people is to get some real world experience under my belt, outside of school, before going into grad school). Regardless of what I do, I do not nearly feel as much apprehension about it as I did before. The future is no longer this huge, scary thing looming before me. I have a lack of laptop, iPod, and cell phone access, replaced by an excessive amount of time for reading and self-reflection, to thank for that.

I have no doubt I will be thoroughly embarrassed later on when I read back on all the self-reflections that I just wrote for anyone to read. I will probably wish I had just shut up and kept it to myself, but it is a pretty big thing for me to have realized all these things. And while I may change my mind completely later on, this is my mindset as of now. And it feels pretty good to be here.

ANYWAY, one last thing that was rather profound and also pretty upsetting while in the Cloud Forest, though completely unrelated to the whole mining thing: as I have already written, there are stray dogs EVERYWHERE here. And the campo (countryside) is apparently no exception. Carlos and his wife alone have five or six dogs, but theirs are all well cared for and fed. However, there are many people who do not feed or care for their dogs here very well. My host mother told me once that there are no stray dogs in Ecuador, just dogs with owners so poor that they worry about feeding their family before their dog. Lenore told us that many say it is better, if your dog has puppies, to drown the female puppies rather than allow them to grow up in the campo, where life will be miserable for them. I did not want to believe her, but after this weekend, I think maybe she might have been right.

For one, every female dog we see around, including Carlos´dogs and the other female dogs in the campo, have all obviously had numerous litters of puppies. This is because neutering and spaying dogs here is not really normal and reserved only for the wealthy, as it is an expensive proposition for the average Ecuadorean. This means that female dogs here have litter after litter after litter of puppies, whether they or their owners want it or not.

Also, we had the experience of befriending a tiny female puppy this weekend, who apparently followed us to the farm when we hiked in. She was incredibly friendly and sweet, but also so thin that we wondered how she was still alive. Carlos and Lenore told us that puppies do not make it to her age in the campo without owners, so she had to belong to someone...just someone who apparently did not feed her. I resisted feeding her anything from the table when we ate, because I thought that might make it worse, since she would then think she belonged with us when we could not keep her. However, pretty soon the sight of the poor thing was too much for all of us and we were all feeding her bits of food at every meal.

Unfortunately, the second day we were there, an old woman and man showed up at the farm--the little dog´s owners. Carlos told them about how we had befriended their dog and had been concerned at how thin she was; they literally laughed at us silly gringos for pitying their dog and feeding it. Then, after tying a rope around its neck, they dragged the unhappy little thing up the hill and back to their home, wherever it was.

Sorry to have posted such a long, reflective, and somewhat depressing entry. I like nothing better than to write self-deprecating and hopefully humorous anecdotes of my experiences here and hopefully, the next time I write, it will be much more amusing. I also hope to post all my pictures, including pictures of my host family and the Cloud Forest, sometime this weekend.

Until next time, ciao!

-Alex

P.S. You can visit www.decoin.org to learn more about their work and how you can help. :)