where is everyone? i know my blog´s gotten kinda boring... but if no one is reading then there´s no point in me writing everything by computer...
grand vote... shall the blog continue? if you wish to keep reading my ecuador chronicles, make like the whos that horton heard... leave a comment saying "we are here"... five "we are here"s from different people (not jessica five times in a row!) and the blog continues....
... cuz people are people no matter how small... :)
Thursday, December 28, 2006
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
La Costa - Puerto Lopez boobies and Montañita surfing
After descending from the Andes, through the cloud forest, and through countless banana plantations, I arrived on the coast, where I stayed Monday night, just for the night, in the big city of Manta. I managed to catch a movie in English there, since I was bored at night, I ate Kentucky Fried Chicken and watched "You, Me, and Dupree."
The next day dawned hot and sticky. I wasn´t in the mountains anymore, Dorothy. One morning I awaken shivering under thick wool blankets and my flowing poncho. The next morning I am sweating in the coastal humidity, swarmed by malaria-infested mosquitos. From Manta, I had a little adventure to buy Mark´s Christmas present so I can´t say what I did but it was very cool.
Then I caught a bus to Puerto Lopez. In the morning, Wednesday, I went with a tour group to the Isla de la Plata. They call it the poor man´s Galapagos because it has the same birds as Galapagos but only costs 30 bucks instead of 1500. No lizards or sea lions. But lots of boobies... blue-footed boobies, that is!! It was so cool. You could just walk right through them, and they weren´t scared and didn´t move one inch. The young have gray feet and are very fuzzy and fat. After a few years, they get browner feathers and their feet turn blue because of some weird genetic code. This was the first tour I´ve actually paid for since October! but it was the only way to get to the island. We had a very rough two hour ocean ride in a small boat to get there and back. After seeing the birds, I went snorkeling and saw tons of brightly colored tropical fish.
On Thursday, I went to another part of the same national park, the Parque Nacional Machalilla. I went to the beach called Los Frailes, one of the most pristine beaches of Ecuador, where I enjoyed the afternoon by getting horribly sunburnt because I was an idiot and didn´t use sunscreen.
Then, bus to Montañita. Montañita is a world famous surfing town. But it is full of surfers, that is to say, idiot drug addicts and tripping foreigners. The people are very bad, and the town would have been a nice little beach town but for all the bad people. The upside was that I learned how to surf on Friday. It´s actually a lot easier than it looks, but I was severely injured throughout my surfing experience because of the whole-body sunburn that made squirming around on a soggy board more than unpleasant. But... I can now surf!!! So... I guess it was worth it. Then, a guy I knew, who was an indigenous guy from the jungle went all ape-poop on me. His grandmother died, and he was trying to kill himself... so I did not sleep Friday night, as I tried to convince him in Spanish that he didn´t want to stab himself... Argh!
Because I was sunburnt, a bit sick, travel weary, tired of suicidal acquaintances, exhausted, and lonely, I was ready to return to Baños for Christmas. What I was not ready for was 15 hours on horribly crowded, stinky, loud buses. From Montañita to Salinas to Guayaquil to Riobamba to Ambato. I could barely walk by the time I got to Baños, and my feet had swollen to twice the normal size from mosquito bites! I had some horrible reaction, and they went all numb.
I stumbled into Baños Saturday night, almost falling over with the weight of my backpack. That night... I fell asleep in about two seconds...
The next day dawned hot and sticky. I wasn´t in the mountains anymore, Dorothy. One morning I awaken shivering under thick wool blankets and my flowing poncho. The next morning I am sweating in the coastal humidity, swarmed by malaria-infested mosquitos. From Manta, I had a little adventure to buy Mark´s Christmas present so I can´t say what I did but it was very cool.
Then I caught a bus to Puerto Lopez. In the morning, Wednesday, I went with a tour group to the Isla de la Plata. They call it the poor man´s Galapagos because it has the same birds as Galapagos but only costs 30 bucks instead of 1500. No lizards or sea lions. But lots of boobies... blue-footed boobies, that is!! It was so cool. You could just walk right through them, and they weren´t scared and didn´t move one inch. The young have gray feet and are very fuzzy and fat. After a few years, they get browner feathers and their feet turn blue because of some weird genetic code. This was the first tour I´ve actually paid for since October! but it was the only way to get to the island. We had a very rough two hour ocean ride in a small boat to get there and back. After seeing the birds, I went snorkeling and saw tons of brightly colored tropical fish.
On Thursday, I went to another part of the same national park, the Parque Nacional Machalilla. I went to the beach called Los Frailes, one of the most pristine beaches of Ecuador, where I enjoyed the afternoon by getting horribly sunburnt because I was an idiot and didn´t use sunscreen.
Then, bus to Montañita. Montañita is a world famous surfing town. But it is full of surfers, that is to say, idiot drug addicts and tripping foreigners. The people are very bad, and the town would have been a nice little beach town but for all the bad people. The upside was that I learned how to surf on Friday. It´s actually a lot easier than it looks, but I was severely injured throughout my surfing experience because of the whole-body sunburn that made squirming around on a soggy board more than unpleasant. But... I can now surf!!! So... I guess it was worth it. Then, a guy I knew, who was an indigenous guy from the jungle went all ape-poop on me. His grandmother died, and he was trying to kill himself... so I did not sleep Friday night, as I tried to convince him in Spanish that he didn´t want to stab himself... Argh!
Because I was sunburnt, a bit sick, travel weary, tired of suicidal acquaintances, exhausted, and lonely, I was ready to return to Baños for Christmas. What I was not ready for was 15 hours on horribly crowded, stinky, loud buses. From Montañita to Salinas to Guayaquil to Riobamba to Ambato. I could barely walk by the time I got to Baños, and my feet had swollen to twice the normal size from mosquito bites! I had some horrible reaction, and they went all numb.
I stumbled into Baños Saturday night, almost falling over with the weight of my backpack. That night... I fell asleep in about two seconds...
Sunday, December 24, 2006
Quilotoa
From Chugchilán, I was lucky. It was Sunday. Usually the only bus to Quilotoa runs at 4 am, but since it was market day there was a 9 am bus. As this is Latin America, the 9 am bus left at 10, after a debacle in which they decided the pigs running around on the roof of the bus might fall off as we careened around steep cliffs... In the end the pigs were evicted, lowered down by the legs rather harshly from their rooftop seats, where they had been making an ungodly racket.
I arrived at Quilotoa, a beautiful lake in a volcanic crater hours from any big towns, and a local family convinced me to give them 6 bucks for dinner, a bed, breakfast, and their company...
I hiked down to the bottom of the crater. The water is incredible, and over the rim I could see the Ilinizas and the base of Cotopaxi, as its top was obscured by clouds. Unbelievable. At the bottom, sheep look at me curiously and a llama munches on the scrubby green grass. A man tried to convince me to pay 5 dollars for a horse to take me back to the top. But I refuse. I am strong, and 5 dollars is a lot of money.
Mistake! The climb was incredibly difficult. I was put to shame by two boys hopping along with two cows up the trail, bringing them in from a day of grazing. They constantly beg me for gifts, candy, and money as we trudge together up the cliff over the next hour. I admonish them in Spanish. Stupid tourists have learned that throwing candy and money at indigenous kids is a good way to get them to pose for pictures, etc. And it disgusts me. Like the people are a pretty part of the landscape or something... Therefore, I take very few pictures of people. Only people I know, or people who ask me to take their picture because they like to see it afterwards in the little screen.
Then I take the long journey to the coast... Puerto Lopez and Montañita.
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
Days in the Andean páramo
Saquisilí market
I wind between pigs and sheep, feeling ridiculous with my huge backpack and out-of-place white skin, but everyone ignores. They are too busy bargaining over the price of this llama or that cow. I am shocked when two ladies next to me agree on a price for a few pigs, pick them up, and throw them unceremoniously into a potato sack as though they were vegetables from the grocery store. Meters away, a man is hauling another pig, one bigger than me, into the back of his truck by its hind legs as it squeals loudly in protest.
The Saquisilí Thursday market is the largest indigenous market in the region, and I don´t see any foreigners around enjoying the spectacle. After watching the animal market as the clouds gathered around the snow-capped Cotopaxi volcano in the distance, I make my way to the tapestry and jewelry vendors, bartering for a few ridiculously inexpensive souvenirs. I have some time before the bus to Isinliví leaves so I grab an almuerzo of soup, chicken, and rice. My soup is filled with chicken feet, one food I still am not quite delighted to find on my plate.
Isinliví
The one daily bus to Isinliví is filled with Quichua campesinos returning to their farms from the market. The road narrows as we climb higher into the Andes. The hairpin curve is so tight, the bus must reverse in the middle of the curve, back wheels spinning on the very edge of a precipice. I actually stand up in panic, ready to attempt an impossible dash to safety should the vehicle plummet into oblivion. The two women across from me laugh hysterically.
¨I get nervous,¨ I explain, smiling back, knowing how humorous it must be for them to watch my facial expressions alternating between consternation and sheer terror. They smile, some of their teeth rimmed in gold, their faces brown and leathery under their European-looking homburg hats. The women are wrapped in shawls and wear velvety knee-length skirts. And I know underwear is impractical… it makes peeing in the fields more awkward.
I wear pants and hiking boots. And funny-looking piercings.
About two hundred people live in Isinliví. I disembark, drop my backpack off at the hostel, and hike up to a little hill beyond the village. I walk past pigs and sheep and nervous schoolgirls who giggle as I pass by. The view is incredible. Below me lies the Toachi River Canyon, like a canyon in the Colorado Rockies, but greener and wider. I eat grapes and enjoy the view until the rain starts. Shuddering under my thick poncho, I hurry to the warmth of the stove in the hostel.
Llullu Llama Hostal is run by Jose Luis, a Quichua guide, and his Dutch girlfriend, Katrien. They are incredibly amiable, and we spend quite the night chatting away in Spanish and English. The kitten, Rumi (Quichua for rock), pounces from lap to lap as we pass the time. Katrien and Jose Luis invite me to the local school presentation after mass the next day.
One class presents a traditional dance, the boys awkward under their long red ponchos and the girls dazzling in their fluorescent skirts. Two boys put on a play as a cautionary tale about an ¨Indian¨ who goes to Guayaquil, the big city, leaving his indigenous ways in search of work and money… only to end up a pot-smoking thief. The boys are absolutely hilarious, though, and we laugh until we almost pee. Example..
Policeman, You´re smoking marijuana! That goes against the law!
Indian boy, No it doesn´t!
Policeman, What?
Indian boy, It goes against the throat!
We are the guests of honor, and they decide that we will be the official judges of the who-made-the-best-manger contest. The second graders, with their Christmas lights and moss-covered manger, are the winners, especially since the sixth grade baby Jesus had gone AWOL.
Outside sit two ¨Añosviejos¨ (Old Years), scarecrows dressed up like old men to represent the old year. They will burn these effigies at night to represent the passing of the old year and their preparation for a new beginning. The sixth graders begin dancing, and the pull one Añoviejo out of the chair to join the dance. We think they are dragging the scarecrow along, until the Añoviejo starts dancing by himself! There was a boy inside the whole morning! Waiting, not moving… it was the grand surprise the sixth graders and their teacher had planned. Women scream, men laugh, we clap our hands, amazed and impressed.
The teachers give Jose Luis a cuy, a dead guinea pig, to thank him for our attendance. The cuy will be dinner tonight, the thick meat strange but juicy.
Trekking the Rio Toachi Canyon
The next morning I leave with detailed instructions and a rough map, planning my backcountry hike to Chugchilán. My pack is heavy and the hike will take most of the day. As I climb in and out of ridges, the pack pulls at my shoulders and my head spins from the altitude. The trails take through fields of sheep, pigs, cows, horses, and llamas. I stop to re-pack my bag, moving the heavy books to the bottom where the weight will be placed more on my hips. Three children stare at me unabashedly during this entire process, looking at each other wide-eyed to my friendly questions in Spanish. A couple passes, urging a reluctant horse across a river. Farmers harvest their plants from impossibly steep cliff sides.
I cross a ridge to find the River Toachi Canyon sprawled out below me, amazingly beautiful. I have to make it to the bottom of the canyon then climb back out the other side. Resigned, I chug some water and begin the steep descent, half falling through gravelly tunnels as my balance is affected by the heavy backpack that is slowly killing my back. Suddenly, a vicious dog rounds the corner, barking and growling. I grab a handful of rocks, ready to beat it off. Most dogs in Ecuador are not like the cute little puppies we are used to. They are vicious, sometimes rabid, animals, ready to bite and mangle with little warning. The standard defense is throwing rocks.
The dog´s owner appears, a young man wielding a machete. For the first time, I am very alert. He´s a strong man with a weapon and a dog, and I am a tiny foreign woman weighed down by my pack, sick with altitude, and very exhausted. We are three hours from the nearest town. But all is well. He calls the dog off and points me to a faster route to the river. He is friendly enough, but I breathe easier once I reach farmland again in the valley. At the river is a wobbly suspension bridge with no rails. I cross it after my lunch of crackers and water at the riverside. After the river, I climb to a blue and white church in Itaulo. I would say the town of Itaulo, but there is no town, just a chuch. Then, I enter Hell.
The trail out of the canyon is a set of incredibly steep switchbacks. I am bent double under my backpack, cursing myself for bringing my books, heavy heavy books, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. I cannot even stop for water, fearing that upon straightening up, I will topple backwards. A man passes me, trotting by rapidly… on horse. I want a horse!
At the top of the cliff, a man is harvesting corn. We exchange greetings and chat as I catch my breath. I turn to his wife, but she only grins at me. She doesn´t speak Spanish.
After a day of lonely trekking through the high Andes of the Quichua, I arrive in Chugchilán, a tiny village.
¨You carried this all the way from Isinliví?¨ the hostal owner´s son asks, taking my bag to help me inside. He is impressed.
I want to hike to Quilotoa the next day, but my body hurts from the hard trek I´ve already made it endure…. Quilotoa entry to follow….
I wind between pigs and sheep, feeling ridiculous with my huge backpack and out-of-place white skin, but everyone ignores. They are too busy bargaining over the price of this llama or that cow. I am shocked when two ladies next to me agree on a price for a few pigs, pick them up, and throw them unceremoniously into a potato sack as though they were vegetables from the grocery store. Meters away, a man is hauling another pig, one bigger than me, into the back of his truck by its hind legs as it squeals loudly in protest.
The Saquisilí Thursday market is the largest indigenous market in the region, and I don´t see any foreigners around enjoying the spectacle. After watching the animal market as the clouds gathered around the snow-capped Cotopaxi volcano in the distance, I make my way to the tapestry and jewelry vendors, bartering for a few ridiculously inexpensive souvenirs. I have some time before the bus to Isinliví leaves so I grab an almuerzo of soup, chicken, and rice. My soup is filled with chicken feet, one food I still am not quite delighted to find on my plate.
Isinliví
The one daily bus to Isinliví is filled with Quichua campesinos returning to their farms from the market. The road narrows as we climb higher into the Andes. The hairpin curve is so tight, the bus must reverse in the middle of the curve, back wheels spinning on the very edge of a precipice. I actually stand up in panic, ready to attempt an impossible dash to safety should the vehicle plummet into oblivion. The two women across from me laugh hysterically.
¨I get nervous,¨ I explain, smiling back, knowing how humorous it must be for them to watch my facial expressions alternating between consternation and sheer terror. They smile, some of their teeth rimmed in gold, their faces brown and leathery under their European-looking homburg hats. The women are wrapped in shawls and wear velvety knee-length skirts. And I know underwear is impractical… it makes peeing in the fields more awkward.
I wear pants and hiking boots. And funny-looking piercings.
About two hundred people live in Isinliví. I disembark, drop my backpack off at the hostel, and hike up to a little hill beyond the village. I walk past pigs and sheep and nervous schoolgirls who giggle as I pass by. The view is incredible. Below me lies the Toachi River Canyon, like a canyon in the Colorado Rockies, but greener and wider. I eat grapes and enjoy the view until the rain starts. Shuddering under my thick poncho, I hurry to the warmth of the stove in the hostel.
Llullu Llama Hostal is run by Jose Luis, a Quichua guide, and his Dutch girlfriend, Katrien. They are incredibly amiable, and we spend quite the night chatting away in Spanish and English. The kitten, Rumi (Quichua for rock), pounces from lap to lap as we pass the time. Katrien and Jose Luis invite me to the local school presentation after mass the next day.
One class presents a traditional dance, the boys awkward under their long red ponchos and the girls dazzling in their fluorescent skirts. Two boys put on a play as a cautionary tale about an ¨Indian¨ who goes to Guayaquil, the big city, leaving his indigenous ways in search of work and money… only to end up a pot-smoking thief. The boys are absolutely hilarious, though, and we laugh until we almost pee. Example..
Policeman, You´re smoking marijuana! That goes against the law!
Indian boy, No it doesn´t!
Policeman, What?
Indian boy, It goes against the throat!
We are the guests of honor, and they decide that we will be the official judges of the who-made-the-best-manger contest. The second graders, with their Christmas lights and moss-covered manger, are the winners, especially since the sixth grade baby Jesus had gone AWOL.
Outside sit two ¨Añosviejos¨ (Old Years), scarecrows dressed up like old men to represent the old year. They will burn these effigies at night to represent the passing of the old year and their preparation for a new beginning. The sixth graders begin dancing, and the pull one Añoviejo out of the chair to join the dance. We think they are dragging the scarecrow along, until the Añoviejo starts dancing by himself! There was a boy inside the whole morning! Waiting, not moving… it was the grand surprise the sixth graders and their teacher had planned. Women scream, men laugh, we clap our hands, amazed and impressed.
The teachers give Jose Luis a cuy, a dead guinea pig, to thank him for our attendance. The cuy will be dinner tonight, the thick meat strange but juicy.
Trekking the Rio Toachi Canyon
The next morning I leave with detailed instructions and a rough map, planning my backcountry hike to Chugchilán. My pack is heavy and the hike will take most of the day. As I climb in and out of ridges, the pack pulls at my shoulders and my head spins from the altitude. The trails take through fields of sheep, pigs, cows, horses, and llamas. I stop to re-pack my bag, moving the heavy books to the bottom where the weight will be placed more on my hips. Three children stare at me unabashedly during this entire process, looking at each other wide-eyed to my friendly questions in Spanish. A couple passes, urging a reluctant horse across a river. Farmers harvest their plants from impossibly steep cliff sides.
I cross a ridge to find the River Toachi Canyon sprawled out below me, amazingly beautiful. I have to make it to the bottom of the canyon then climb back out the other side. Resigned, I chug some water and begin the steep descent, half falling through gravelly tunnels as my balance is affected by the heavy backpack that is slowly killing my back. Suddenly, a vicious dog rounds the corner, barking and growling. I grab a handful of rocks, ready to beat it off. Most dogs in Ecuador are not like the cute little puppies we are used to. They are vicious, sometimes rabid, animals, ready to bite and mangle with little warning. The standard defense is throwing rocks.
The dog´s owner appears, a young man wielding a machete. For the first time, I am very alert. He´s a strong man with a weapon and a dog, and I am a tiny foreign woman weighed down by my pack, sick with altitude, and very exhausted. We are three hours from the nearest town. But all is well. He calls the dog off and points me to a faster route to the river. He is friendly enough, but I breathe easier once I reach farmland again in the valley. At the river is a wobbly suspension bridge with no rails. I cross it after my lunch of crackers and water at the riverside. After the river, I climb to a blue and white church in Itaulo. I would say the town of Itaulo, but there is no town, just a chuch. Then, I enter Hell.
The trail out of the canyon is a set of incredibly steep switchbacks. I am bent double under my backpack, cursing myself for bringing my books, heavy heavy books, barely able to put one foot in front of the other. I cannot even stop for water, fearing that upon straightening up, I will topple backwards. A man passes me, trotting by rapidly… on horse. I want a horse!
At the top of the cliff, a man is harvesting corn. We exchange greetings and chat as I catch my breath. I turn to his wife, but she only grins at me. She doesn´t speak Spanish.
After a day of lonely trekking through the high Andes of the Quichua, I arrive in Chugchilán, a tiny village.
¨You carried this all the way from Isinliví?¨ the hostal owner´s son asks, taking my bag to help me inside. He is impressed.
I want to hike to Quilotoa the next day, but my body hurts from the hard trek I´ve already made it endure…. Quilotoa entry to follow….
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Let the adventures resume...
Several updates. For everyone who has been bored by this blog of "nothing´s happening... applying to grad school...," I have news...
News flash number 1: UCLA and Berkeley applications officially done, submitted, paid for, finiti, terminadas, I´m in the applicant pool!
News flash number 2: This isn´t probably nearly as exciting to you all as it is to me, but I have spent 35 dollars on the past week of lodging and almost no (and I mean almost zero!) money on food. "How?" you ask. I´m that good... and i am in some place where they let me slide by for 5 bucks a night. I have discovered that 50 cents of empanadas makes a good budget lunch... if only I didn´t have to apply for grad school, this would have been an incredibly cheap week, which makes me happy as I watch my dwindling bank account.
News flash number 3: I am traveling!! Hard core! I turned in my applications, there was nothing left for me in Baños, unless you count guys muttering jokes about my Spanish while watching old dubbed movies in the tourist agencies... so I headed to Latacunga...
I plan on spending the next several days in the mountains west of Latacunga, hiking and trekking in rural communities with no Internet or phones. I have to meet other trekkers, and I don´t know how it will go... Realizing suddenly tonight that it was stupid to head out alone when no one had any idea where I was (no one in Baños or Quito or Ohio or San Francisco), I emailed Mark my tentative itinerary. Contact him if I don´t show up next Thursday, a week from now.
After some mountain trekking, I am going to finally go for the tourist route and hit up the beaches around Christmas. However, something tells me a hammock on a balmy equatorial beach will be more fun than watching Baños guides explain rafting to a bunch of confused American college students who will inevitably turn to me to translate. I´ve helped them a little at travel agencies, editing brochures which had said in English "wonderfull ecuador, come and discovery of the extreme sports in baños, we offer to you the jungle trip, kayac, cayoning." My version was "wonderful ecuador, come and discover extreme sports in baños, we offer jungle trips, kayaking, canyoning," but I liked their version, too :)
I´ll write when I get out of my mountain trekking. Love from the high Andes!
News flash number 1: UCLA and Berkeley applications officially done, submitted, paid for, finiti, terminadas, I´m in the applicant pool!
News flash number 2: This isn´t probably nearly as exciting to you all as it is to me, but I have spent 35 dollars on the past week of lodging and almost no (and I mean almost zero!) money on food. "How?" you ask. I´m that good... and i am in some place where they let me slide by for 5 bucks a night. I have discovered that 50 cents of empanadas makes a good budget lunch... if only I didn´t have to apply for grad school, this would have been an incredibly cheap week, which makes me happy as I watch my dwindling bank account.
News flash number 3: I am traveling!! Hard core! I turned in my applications, there was nothing left for me in Baños, unless you count guys muttering jokes about my Spanish while watching old dubbed movies in the tourist agencies... so I headed to Latacunga...
I plan on spending the next several days in the mountains west of Latacunga, hiking and trekking in rural communities with no Internet or phones. I have to meet other trekkers, and I don´t know how it will go... Realizing suddenly tonight that it was stupid to head out alone when no one had any idea where I was (no one in Baños or Quito or Ohio or San Francisco), I emailed Mark my tentative itinerary. Contact him if I don´t show up next Thursday, a week from now.
After some mountain trekking, I am going to finally go for the tourist route and hit up the beaches around Christmas. However, something tells me a hammock on a balmy equatorial beach will be more fun than watching Baños guides explain rafting to a bunch of confused American college students who will inevitably turn to me to translate. I´ve helped them a little at travel agencies, editing brochures which had said in English "wonderfull ecuador, come and discovery of the extreme sports in baños, we offer to you the jungle trip, kayac, cayoning." My version was "wonderful ecuador, come and discover extreme sports in baños, we offer jungle trips, kayaking, canyoning," but I liked their version, too :)
I´ll write when I get out of my mountain trekking. Love from the high Andes!
Thursday, December 07, 2006
Lack of updates
So, sorry I haven´t updated for some time... but life is rather boring right now. I am very happy, but there´s nothing to write home about.
This past week, I´ve visited the immigration office (they are allowing me to stay!). I worked on grad school applications (though not enough, and two are due next week!). I spent way too much money (because I was in Quito, and it´s expensive). And finally, I met with the CFHI director and program assistant in Quito (turns out, I am applying to come back to Ecuador as a program coordinator for the summer!).
In summary, Ecuador immigration accepted me, UCLA and Berkeley might not accept me if I don´t get in those apps, the ATM has accepted my debit card too much, and I hope that CFHI accepts me as a coordinator so I can come back to Ecuador! Yay!
This past week, I´ve visited the immigration office (they are allowing me to stay!). I worked on grad school applications (though not enough, and two are due next week!). I spent way too much money (because I was in Quito, and it´s expensive). And finally, I met with the CFHI director and program assistant in Quito (turns out, I am applying to come back to Ecuador as a program coordinator for the summer!).
In summary, Ecuador immigration accepted me, UCLA and Berkeley might not accept me if I don´t get in those apps, the ATM has accepted my debit card too much, and I hope that CFHI accepts me as a coordinator so I can come back to Ecuador! Yay!
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
I ate McDonalds! and parasites are horrible...
i am in quito right now... and let me tell you... it´s really sad that mcdonalds is the confort food that reminds me of my home country... but that´s how it is...
so i ate mcdonalds!
don´t tell anyone in berkeley... i will be banned forever from the kingdom of hippieland.
i am very much in culture shock after my two months in the jungle zone... and right now i am even with some old acquaintances... who speak english!!! it´s so weird to communicate in english. the only english i´ve had for two months was writing in this blog.
i am just in quito to visit the migration office and the hospital. i went to the doctor today at the hospital because i have had horrible abdominal and stomach pain for the past week. i probably have some crazy parasite things and so i am taking anti-parasitic drugs... hope the bugs get out!!! so much pain...
today i went to the mitad del mundo... the equator! and i stood in two hemispheres at once... very cool... tomorrow, it´s to the immigration office...
so i ate mcdonalds!
don´t tell anyone in berkeley... i will be banned forever from the kingdom of hippieland.
i am very much in culture shock after my two months in the jungle zone... and right now i am even with some old acquaintances... who speak english!!! it´s so weird to communicate in english. the only english i´ve had for two months was writing in this blog.
i am just in quito to visit the migration office and the hospital. i went to the doctor today at the hospital because i have had horrible abdominal and stomach pain for the past week. i probably have some crazy parasite things and so i am taking anti-parasitic drugs... hope the bugs get out!!! so much pain...
today i went to the mitad del mundo... the equator! and i stood in two hemispheres at once... very cool... tomorrow, it´s to the immigration office...
Saturday, November 25, 2006
Invisible Jaguars
This is a completely true story...
The tsenkú-tsenkú, invisible jaguar, black in color, is a mix of reality and legend. It is difficult to come upon him, because he knows how to be quiet, at a close distance, invisible the Shuar say, and he can follow his prey for kilometers, capable of attacking livestock and, in a few seconds, leaving it lifeless, then, the following day, appearing more than 20 kilometers away. He is very feared; the simple discovery of his footprints leaves a man perplexed and on his guard. (translated from a Shuar text)
MY STORY
The sound of rain continues long after the heavens have emptied all their tears for the day. Water collects in leaves, in branches, wavers for minutes or hours, then finally falls to the ground. A night of soft drip-drops follows each afternoon shower.
I sat on a large banana leaf, surrounded by the black night and the watery echoes of the day. The drip-drop from the trees mixed with the omnipresent buzz of insects and with the snores of the uwishin, who was slumped against my back, limp in his deep sleep.
We had hiked out to this place to meditate to the night sounds of the rainforest, so I tried to think of something profound or important, but the trivial details of life clouded over my thoughts. Should I go back to Baños in seven days or eight, I asked myself. God, I miss Coke, I thought, more than once.
Before sinking into slumber, he had warned me.
"Tell me if you hear loud sounds," he had advised.
The insects were loud but not troubling. I did not want to awaken him because of the normal drone of a living forest. I did not reflect much on his words, lulled into security by his presence. He will wake up if there are sounds, I thought.
To reassure myself, I cleared my throat softly, expecting him to jump up, awake. No response.
"Ahem," louder this time.
Nothing. Snores.
I wriggled my back against his, but he was firmly in the world of dreams.
So I must be his ears, I concluded, calmly. Perhaps large rodents will come by, and I will rouse him so he can teach me about them.
With the realization that I was truly alone, the unimportant distractions of my mind fled. I no longer thought; I listened, listened with all my being.
Drip. Drop. Hum. Buzz. Drip. Drop...
Twenty minutes of drip-drop-hum, then my companion woke suddenly.
"Shall we go on?" he asked, turning to me.
"Where shall we go?"
"Past the great tree."
"We shall go on," I decided.
The great tree. We had spent the afternoon helping the great tree, his favorite tree in the forest. We had arrived at the tree earlier, in the daylight hours when the clouds were thick and the rainstorm threatening. He had stopped, eyes filled with admiration at this caoba, with its solid trunk and lofty height, but it was covered in vines and half-obscured by brush.
"We will clean this tree," he had told me. We had hacked vines and small trees to pieces with a machete. We had dragged the waste far from the path. Even after I was attacked and stung by angry wasps, I continued to help the tree. When we had finallay finished, I beheld a beauty unblemished by strangling flora. We could now walk directly between the giant wings of its base and place our hands against the living trunk.
The narrow beam of my light illuminated the bottom of the caoba as we walked slowly past it in the night. We reached it, then continued on. On and on. The path ended.
He tore off more large leaves, placed them on the ground, and offered me a seat, cordially, as though we were at a tea party and would soon be eating crumpets. Imagine it´s a plush Victorian sofa, I encouraged myself, but the hard ground was unforgiving.
He settled against me, back to back, again, and repeated his warning.
"It is very important that you tell me if there are loud sounds."
His emphatic tone this time made me realize, suddenly, that perhaps I was not supposed to be listening for rodents.
"Why? What could there be?" I knew the answer. But they are so rare, I thought.
"Jaguars. And sometimes black jaguars."
My stomach began to flip-flop in time with the drip-drop of the forest.
"Do not be afraid," he whispered. "The jaguar knows when you are afraid; it attacks, and it kills. But if you are not afraid, he respects you, and he does not attack. As long as you are not afraid, you have nothing to fear."
I don´t want to see a jaguar, I don´t want to see a jaguar, a voice in my head chanted, half-praying. We should go back, I thought. But at least they are very rare, we will be fine, I reasoned. I breathed normally, recovering from my original shock.
Then...
"Did you hear??!!"
"What?" I whispered back. I had been lost inside myself, listening to my thoughts, not my surroundings.
"Sounds," he responded, barely moving his lips.
"What kind of sounds?"
"There are two animals. Very close."
I listened and heard nothing. I swallowed and swallowed again, unable to ask my one-word question. I breathed deeply.
"Jaguars?"
He did not respond. And then, I heard. No breaking branches or animal calls but something changed. I heard them. The sound was muffled and indistinct in the cacophony of nature; it was like trying to hear someone tip-toeing on a pillow in the middle of a dance club. Slowly, slowly, the almost silent footsteps retreated.
"Farther away now," he finally spoke. "Perhaps twenty meters. If they go away, they are not jaguar; if they come back, they are jaguar."
"Why? Why would they come back?" We were whispering very quietly in each other´s ears, a Shuar man and an American woman, our Spanish murmurs dropping into the night like the rainwater dropping from the encircling trees.
"They would want to scare us, so if they come back, do not have any fear!"
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
Only the sounds of water remained. They were gone. They must not have been jaguars.
"¿Escuchaste?" A frightening word. It means, "Did you hear?"
I did. The soft sounds of giant animals, two of them, moving slowly toward us through th inky blackness. Coming back. I knew it, and he said it.
"They are jaguars."
Though he could not see me, I nodded, not wanting to speak. He sensed that I understood. I nodded, and then I was paralyzed, afraid.
"Listen to me very well. It´s very important. If they attack us, you must stay seated! When you are on the ground, I can protect you. If you stand up, I will not be able to protect you. Most importantly, tranquila, tranquila, stay calm, and have no fear!! or they certainly will attack us!"
He had a walking stick. I carried nothing. In a fight between us and two jaguars, we could not win by physical strength. He was relying on our will and our fearlessness to ward off the predatory cats.
"To the left. And to the right. Now in the front." The jaguars were circling us, moving closer. Their sounds seemed to come from all directions. I began to understand why these animals seemed like spirits to Amazonian people.
"These do not live here," he explained. "They are hungry. They come searching for food." He listened. "A mother. With a son. But the son is no baby; he is almost full-grown. They are waiting for us to move."
I was crouching on the ground with him crouching behind me. His arm crossed in front of me. With his left arm, he held his pointed walking stick like a spear, balancing it on my shoulder.
"We cannot leave," he whispered, explaining our status as prey like a middle-school teacher explaining a particularly nasty algebra problem. "The second we begin walking, they attack. Right now, when we do not run, they see we are not afraid. If we move, we are dinner. Do not be afraid."
And at some indistinct moment, crouching in the rainforest night, circled by hungry jaguars, fear left me. Time passed. The cats watched their prey, moving threateningly back and forth. And I was no longer afraid. My thoughts were clear, my mind alert. I was prepared. If they attack, we fight, I thought. If not, we wait. This is how it is, and fear will not change it.
"I think they are aggressive," he said after much time. "We must get to the caoba tree. There I can protect us better. Here, we are dinner if they attack, and they are not leaving. I see you have no fear. You are not like any other woman. Other women cry and tremble, even when there is no danger like this. But you make no sound."
We must get to the caoba tree, I knew.
He quickly explained his plan. He would move first, before they attacked. He would run straight for them. While they recovered from the shock of such aggressive prey, he and I might have time to retreat.
Suddenly, he stood and ran into the brush, toward the sounds, leaving me alone and defenseless. I knew if he chased one, the other could easily turn and attack me. I was prepared. I would stand and fight.
I could not see anything, but I heard him thundering toward the animals, grunting and growling at them. Then he came back to my side, minutes later.
"Give me your hand." Instinct said to run. Instinct would have killed me. "We walk slowly, then stop, slowly, then stop, so they do not think we run like scared prey. They are very intelligent, the jaguars."
We advanced slowly, then stopped to listen. Slowly. Stop and listen.
I knew the great caoba was close, when, suddenly he stopped, too abruptly this time.
"I forgot my bag!"
I opened my mouth in utter disbelief. Surely, he was not going to retrieve his bag! "Can´t you come back for it tomorrow?" I questioned hopefully.
"Come," he said, ignoring my suggestion.
He placed me deep in the base of the caoba, where I was protected on three sides. I thought about karma. If we had not toiled away to protect that tree earlier that same day, the brush would have been too thick for us to create a makeshift fortress. Cradled by the caoba, the jaguars could only attack us from one direction. I had reached the tree but I would be alone. He was going back for the bag!
He handed me his staff. "Trust in me; have no fear." And he was gone!
I held the staff in both hands, thinking quickly. Protect your neck; stand your ground, I thought. If they came, I would use the staff to throw them away from my neck. I listened, alert and prepared.
The crashing I heard five minutes later, though, was my companion.
"Señorita," he said gravely, "we have a problem. They are aggressive. Very aggressive. When I went for the bag, they were there, where we had been sitting. Now they come for us. More aggressive than most jaguars, these ones are. They will not leave."
I sank down behing him, and he stood over me, staff ready. And they come.
"One. Right in front of us. And two behing the tree."
The math clicked in an instant. One plus two... then...
"Yes," he read my silence. "Now, there are three. Perhaps mama, papa, and son."
I heard them clearly then, coughing and grunting feet from the tree. A standstill. The hunted were trapped as an escape would encourage an attack. The hunters were wary of their aggressive prey.
"They hesitate because they do not know why we have no fear."
Minutes passed. Hours. I felt dozens of mosquitoes sucking my blood but could not move to swat them away. Even the mortal danger became tedious. I was exhausted but had to remain prepared at every instant.
We began to talk, so softly, in scratchy whispers, passing the time.
"You cannot hear the footsteps of the jaguar," he tells me. "But listen, you hear how the drops of water fall more quickly just ahead? There is the jaguar. It makes no sound, but if brushes the branches ever so lightly, making the water fall faster from the leaves. In this way, you can hear the jaguar."
I heard it. The indescribable change in the sounds of the forest. Faster drip-drop there. Faster there. Moving back and forth. The mother jaguar.
"I do no understand something," he confided. "The first sound I heard, it was a sound I had never heard before." He made the sound, a low gravelly cough. "I have never heard a jaguar do this. Perhaps these are black jaguars, and those cats never leave."
"Well, have you heard a black jaguar make that sound?" I asked, logically.
"No, him neither," he admitted.
"Well, maybe this jaguar has a cold," I joked optimistically. Yes, I joked!
He stifled his surprised laughter. Though I could not see, I knew he was looking at me.
"There is always danger in the world," he said. "Living in the rainforest is like living anywhere else. There are dangers. But you must have no fear. I am sorry to have brought you out this night. I have not encountered jaguars such as these in many years. But perhaps this is the first lesson for your new life. You must never be afraid..." he broke off...
"¡Mierda!" A very bad word.
He saw increasing danger; the jaguars suddenly had become very restless.
"We definitely have a problem!" his voice was more serious than I had ever heard. "How strong is your heart?"
"What?" I asked, confused.
He grasped me firmly by the shoulders, shaking me. "How strong is your heart? We must try to escape. They are preparing to attack."
I was prepared. And there would be no caoba tree between us and the hut on the mountain.
"Wooooo," a far off sound, a human cry. The Shuar use it to locate each other. They were calling us back at the village. They were worried.
"Wooooo," from the distant hill.
"We cannot call back. It will draw more dangerous animals," he warned.
We had to make it to those voices, I knew. The noises were so far away. Then I heard a discouraging sound, a young jaguar cry up the path. The son was lying in wait for us.
Suddenly, my friend charged the two other jaguars, leaving me alone once more. Do not have fear, I told myself. He came back and pulled me out of the tree.
We scrambled briskly, sliding through deep mud and over tree roots in our rubber boot. We stopped. Listened. The fast drip-drops. We were being followed. On and on. Scrambling. Stopping. Listening.
And finally, finally, there were no sounds. We waited. Nothing
I felt his hand fall upon my shoulder. "I like your valor," he stated.
We panted in exhaustion as we climbed the final hill. He was deep in thought.
"They were very strange, very rare. They were invisible. We never saw them. Only sounds. Invisible jaguars."
His wife called out to us. We had been gone for over four hours! Stalked for four hours!
They tell me the invisible jaguars let me live because I had no fear.
The tsenkú-tsenkú, invisible jaguar, black in color, is a mix of reality and legend. It is difficult to come upon him, because he knows how to be quiet, at a close distance, invisible the Shuar say, and he can follow his prey for kilometers, capable of attacking livestock and, in a few seconds, leaving it lifeless, then, the following day, appearing more than 20 kilometers away. He is very feared; the simple discovery of his footprints leaves a man perplexed and on his guard. (translated from a Shuar text)
MY STORY
The sound of rain continues long after the heavens have emptied all their tears for the day. Water collects in leaves, in branches, wavers for minutes or hours, then finally falls to the ground. A night of soft drip-drops follows each afternoon shower.
I sat on a large banana leaf, surrounded by the black night and the watery echoes of the day. The drip-drop from the trees mixed with the omnipresent buzz of insects and with the snores of the uwishin, who was slumped against my back, limp in his deep sleep.
We had hiked out to this place to meditate to the night sounds of the rainforest, so I tried to think of something profound or important, but the trivial details of life clouded over my thoughts. Should I go back to Baños in seven days or eight, I asked myself. God, I miss Coke, I thought, more than once.
Before sinking into slumber, he had warned me.
"Tell me if you hear loud sounds," he had advised.
The insects were loud but not troubling. I did not want to awaken him because of the normal drone of a living forest. I did not reflect much on his words, lulled into security by his presence. He will wake up if there are sounds, I thought.
To reassure myself, I cleared my throat softly, expecting him to jump up, awake. No response.
"Ahem," louder this time.
Nothing. Snores.
I wriggled my back against his, but he was firmly in the world of dreams.
So I must be his ears, I concluded, calmly. Perhaps large rodents will come by, and I will rouse him so he can teach me about them.
With the realization that I was truly alone, the unimportant distractions of my mind fled. I no longer thought; I listened, listened with all my being.
Drip. Drop. Hum. Buzz. Drip. Drop...
Twenty minutes of drip-drop-hum, then my companion woke suddenly.
"Shall we go on?" he asked, turning to me.
"Where shall we go?"
"Past the great tree."
"We shall go on," I decided.
The great tree. We had spent the afternoon helping the great tree, his favorite tree in the forest. We had arrived at the tree earlier, in the daylight hours when the clouds were thick and the rainstorm threatening. He had stopped, eyes filled with admiration at this caoba, with its solid trunk and lofty height, but it was covered in vines and half-obscured by brush.
"We will clean this tree," he had told me. We had hacked vines and small trees to pieces with a machete. We had dragged the waste far from the path. Even after I was attacked and stung by angry wasps, I continued to help the tree. When we had finallay finished, I beheld a beauty unblemished by strangling flora. We could now walk directly between the giant wings of its base and place our hands against the living trunk.
The narrow beam of my light illuminated the bottom of the caoba as we walked slowly past it in the night. We reached it, then continued on. On and on. The path ended.
He tore off more large leaves, placed them on the ground, and offered me a seat, cordially, as though we were at a tea party and would soon be eating crumpets. Imagine it´s a plush Victorian sofa, I encouraged myself, but the hard ground was unforgiving.
He settled against me, back to back, again, and repeated his warning.
"It is very important that you tell me if there are loud sounds."
His emphatic tone this time made me realize, suddenly, that perhaps I was not supposed to be listening for rodents.
"Why? What could there be?" I knew the answer. But they are so rare, I thought.
"Jaguars. And sometimes black jaguars."
My stomach began to flip-flop in time with the drip-drop of the forest.
"Do not be afraid," he whispered. "The jaguar knows when you are afraid; it attacks, and it kills. But if you are not afraid, he respects you, and he does not attack. As long as you are not afraid, you have nothing to fear."
I don´t want to see a jaguar, I don´t want to see a jaguar, a voice in my head chanted, half-praying. We should go back, I thought. But at least they are very rare, we will be fine, I reasoned. I breathed normally, recovering from my original shock.
Then...
"Did you hear??!!"
"What?" I whispered back. I had been lost inside myself, listening to my thoughts, not my surroundings.
"Sounds," he responded, barely moving his lips.
"What kind of sounds?"
"There are two animals. Very close."
I listened and heard nothing. I swallowed and swallowed again, unable to ask my one-word question. I breathed deeply.
"Jaguars?"
He did not respond. And then, I heard. No breaking branches or animal calls but something changed. I heard them. The sound was muffled and indistinct in the cacophony of nature; it was like trying to hear someone tip-toeing on a pillow in the middle of a dance club. Slowly, slowly, the almost silent footsteps retreated.
"Farther away now," he finally spoke. "Perhaps twenty meters. If they go away, they are not jaguar; if they come back, they are jaguar."
"Why? Why would they come back?" We were whispering very quietly in each other´s ears, a Shuar man and an American woman, our Spanish murmurs dropping into the night like the rainwater dropping from the encircling trees.
"They would want to scare us, so if they come back, do not have any fear!"
Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop.
Only the sounds of water remained. They were gone. They must not have been jaguars.
"¿Escuchaste?" A frightening word. It means, "Did you hear?"
I did. The soft sounds of giant animals, two of them, moving slowly toward us through th inky blackness. Coming back. I knew it, and he said it.
"They are jaguars."
Though he could not see me, I nodded, not wanting to speak. He sensed that I understood. I nodded, and then I was paralyzed, afraid.
"Listen to me very well. It´s very important. If they attack us, you must stay seated! When you are on the ground, I can protect you. If you stand up, I will not be able to protect you. Most importantly, tranquila, tranquila, stay calm, and have no fear!! or they certainly will attack us!"
He had a walking stick. I carried nothing. In a fight between us and two jaguars, we could not win by physical strength. He was relying on our will and our fearlessness to ward off the predatory cats.
"To the left. And to the right. Now in the front." The jaguars were circling us, moving closer. Their sounds seemed to come from all directions. I began to understand why these animals seemed like spirits to Amazonian people.
"These do not live here," he explained. "They are hungry. They come searching for food." He listened. "A mother. With a son. But the son is no baby; he is almost full-grown. They are waiting for us to move."
I was crouching on the ground with him crouching behind me. His arm crossed in front of me. With his left arm, he held his pointed walking stick like a spear, balancing it on my shoulder.
"We cannot leave," he whispered, explaining our status as prey like a middle-school teacher explaining a particularly nasty algebra problem. "The second we begin walking, they attack. Right now, when we do not run, they see we are not afraid. If we move, we are dinner. Do not be afraid."
And at some indistinct moment, crouching in the rainforest night, circled by hungry jaguars, fear left me. Time passed. The cats watched their prey, moving threateningly back and forth. And I was no longer afraid. My thoughts were clear, my mind alert. I was prepared. If they attack, we fight, I thought. If not, we wait. This is how it is, and fear will not change it.
"I think they are aggressive," he said after much time. "We must get to the caoba tree. There I can protect us better. Here, we are dinner if they attack, and they are not leaving. I see you have no fear. You are not like any other woman. Other women cry and tremble, even when there is no danger like this. But you make no sound."
We must get to the caoba tree, I knew.
He quickly explained his plan. He would move first, before they attacked. He would run straight for them. While they recovered from the shock of such aggressive prey, he and I might have time to retreat.
Suddenly, he stood and ran into the brush, toward the sounds, leaving me alone and defenseless. I knew if he chased one, the other could easily turn and attack me. I was prepared. I would stand and fight.
I could not see anything, but I heard him thundering toward the animals, grunting and growling at them. Then he came back to my side, minutes later.
"Give me your hand." Instinct said to run. Instinct would have killed me. "We walk slowly, then stop, slowly, then stop, so they do not think we run like scared prey. They are very intelligent, the jaguars."
We advanced slowly, then stopped to listen. Slowly. Stop and listen.
I knew the great caoba was close, when, suddenly he stopped, too abruptly this time.
"I forgot my bag!"
I opened my mouth in utter disbelief. Surely, he was not going to retrieve his bag! "Can´t you come back for it tomorrow?" I questioned hopefully.
"Come," he said, ignoring my suggestion.
He placed me deep in the base of the caoba, where I was protected on three sides. I thought about karma. If we had not toiled away to protect that tree earlier that same day, the brush would have been too thick for us to create a makeshift fortress. Cradled by the caoba, the jaguars could only attack us from one direction. I had reached the tree but I would be alone. He was going back for the bag!
He handed me his staff. "Trust in me; have no fear." And he was gone!
I held the staff in both hands, thinking quickly. Protect your neck; stand your ground, I thought. If they came, I would use the staff to throw them away from my neck. I listened, alert and prepared.
The crashing I heard five minutes later, though, was my companion.
"Señorita," he said gravely, "we have a problem. They are aggressive. Very aggressive. When I went for the bag, they were there, where we had been sitting. Now they come for us. More aggressive than most jaguars, these ones are. They will not leave."
I sank down behing him, and he stood over me, staff ready. And they come.
"One. Right in front of us. And two behing the tree."
The math clicked in an instant. One plus two... then...
"Yes," he read my silence. "Now, there are three. Perhaps mama, papa, and son."
I heard them clearly then, coughing and grunting feet from the tree. A standstill. The hunted were trapped as an escape would encourage an attack. The hunters were wary of their aggressive prey.
"They hesitate because they do not know why we have no fear."
Minutes passed. Hours. I felt dozens of mosquitoes sucking my blood but could not move to swat them away. Even the mortal danger became tedious. I was exhausted but had to remain prepared at every instant.
We began to talk, so softly, in scratchy whispers, passing the time.
"You cannot hear the footsteps of the jaguar," he tells me. "But listen, you hear how the drops of water fall more quickly just ahead? There is the jaguar. It makes no sound, but if brushes the branches ever so lightly, making the water fall faster from the leaves. In this way, you can hear the jaguar."
I heard it. The indescribable change in the sounds of the forest. Faster drip-drop there. Faster there. Moving back and forth. The mother jaguar.
"I do no understand something," he confided. "The first sound I heard, it was a sound I had never heard before." He made the sound, a low gravelly cough. "I have never heard a jaguar do this. Perhaps these are black jaguars, and those cats never leave."
"Well, have you heard a black jaguar make that sound?" I asked, logically.
"No, him neither," he admitted.
"Well, maybe this jaguar has a cold," I joked optimistically. Yes, I joked!
He stifled his surprised laughter. Though I could not see, I knew he was looking at me.
"There is always danger in the world," he said. "Living in the rainforest is like living anywhere else. There are dangers. But you must have no fear. I am sorry to have brought you out this night. I have not encountered jaguars such as these in many years. But perhaps this is the first lesson for your new life. You must never be afraid..." he broke off...
"¡Mierda!" A very bad word.
He saw increasing danger; the jaguars suddenly had become very restless.
"We definitely have a problem!" his voice was more serious than I had ever heard. "How strong is your heart?"
"What?" I asked, confused.
He grasped me firmly by the shoulders, shaking me. "How strong is your heart? We must try to escape. They are preparing to attack."
I was prepared. And there would be no caoba tree between us and the hut on the mountain.
"Wooooo," a far off sound, a human cry. The Shuar use it to locate each other. They were calling us back at the village. They were worried.
"Wooooo," from the distant hill.
"We cannot call back. It will draw more dangerous animals," he warned.
We had to make it to those voices, I knew. The noises were so far away. Then I heard a discouraging sound, a young jaguar cry up the path. The son was lying in wait for us.
Suddenly, my friend charged the two other jaguars, leaving me alone once more. Do not have fear, I told myself. He came back and pulled me out of the tree.
We scrambled briskly, sliding through deep mud and over tree roots in our rubber boot. We stopped. Listened. The fast drip-drops. We were being followed. On and on. Scrambling. Stopping. Listening.
And finally, finally, there were no sounds. We waited. Nothing
I felt his hand fall upon my shoulder. "I like your valor," he stated.
We panted in exhaustion as we climbed the final hill. He was deep in thought.
"They were very strange, very rare. They were invisible. We never saw them. Only sounds. Invisible jaguars."
His wife called out to us. We had been gone for over four hours! Stalked for four hours!
They tell me the invisible jaguars let me live because I had no fear.
Friday, November 10, 2006
See you in February
so it´s done... plane ticket changed, insurance extended, and i am off to hang out with the shuar for a few weeks...
i will be in touch by december 1... please do not worry if i don´t contact anyone until december 1... after that... yeah... worry... but i´ll be fine...
i will fly back to the states on january 30, 2007... it´s official
i will be in touch by december 1... please do not worry if i don´t contact anyone until december 1... after that... yeah... worry... but i´ll be fine...
i will fly back to the states on january 30, 2007... it´s official
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Back to the rainforest...
i talked to tzamarend today, and i am going back to yawints´
i am writing to let you know i will be completely and utterly unreachable for two weeks as i will be with the shuar in the rainforest... no phone, no internet, no stores, no plumbing, no electricity... so i love you all and don´t worry unless you don´t hear from me in about two and a half weeks... i will make phone calls tomorrow if i have time as i have to buy rubber boots for the sloppy trekking through knee deep mud... that´s why they call it a RAINforest... it sure rains enough...
i am writing to let you know i will be completely and utterly unreachable for two weeks as i will be with the shuar in the rainforest... no phone, no internet, no stores, no plumbing, no electricity... so i love you all and don´t worry unless you don´t hear from me in about two and a half weeks... i will make phone calls tomorrow if i have time as i have to buy rubber boots for the sloppy trekking through knee deep mud... that´s why they call it a RAINforest... it sure rains enough...
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Reserva Hola Vida
Sunday thru Tuesday I went with a friend to the Hola Vida Reserve. He was guiding four tourists from Italy and the States, and I tagged along (for free, of course...)
Sunday we arrived and began an all-afternoon hike to the Cascada Escondida (Hidden Waterfall). We had to swim through a canyon to arrive at the base of the waterfall! (I guess that´s why it is "hidden").
Monday we woke up and set off for the Cascada Hola Vida waterfall (see picture). I was here, and do you see Internet? Neither do I... so sorry for the lack of updates. We swam in the (cold!) pools at the base of the waterfall, and the six of us were all alone during these treks.
We then canoed down the Puyo River to where it flows into the Pastaza River, getting quite wet along the way, as dugout canoes aren´t nearly as stable as rafting rafts!
We stayed in cabañas built up on stilts, kind of like the Shuar village, Yawints´, except these were a lot nicer (i.e. they had walls) because they were for visitors. And we even had mattresses (granted they were an inch thick, but I´ve slept on platforms here.)
And snakesssss!!! They found a poisonous coral snake outside of our room. It was bright yellow, red, and black. The family that lived there killed the snake, which is understandable as they have small children that run around barefoot. And snakebites kills so many people! Then, my friend and his friends found a rainbow boa that was as long as me! Although he insists it´s nothing, as he tells stories of the 20 foot anaconda that almost ate him one time. Then later, a chonta snake in the trail. The poor Italian lady was quite distraught.
She was even more upset when my friend cut open a felled chonta trunk, picked out the grubs and began eating. He offered the wriggly fat things to us. I ate them. The Italians didn´t. You just have to bite it fast, then it´s like candy. Otherwise, it feels weird as it writhes in your mouth! We also ate lemon ants, and those are downright tasty!! Not to mention all the fruit we eat fresh from the tree, fruit I´ve never heard of before.
My friend started scraping a tree and adding water to the peelings and he said to me, "You´ve had good experiences with this, no?" And I knew. "Is that tsank??" It was. Well, I don´t have to pretend to be polite with a friend, so I downright refused! He then turned to the Italians, but I warned them, and they adamantly refused, too. Then he was upset that I had convinced the Italians not to try it... but they thanked me.
I am covered in weird bites and bumps... which is certain to get worse as I am heading back to the jungle in two days...
For those of you wondering... yes, I am in the process of extending my stay here in Ecuador. There are many reasons, which I will list briefly. If you want to know more, email me. If you don´t care, stop reading:
1. My invitation to study with a Shuar uwishin. This is a rare opportunity, not a tourist vacation. And I want to learn more. However, if I went back to Yawints´ for a few weeks, then it would be time to leave Ecuador, and I wouldn´t get to travel in the highlands at all.
2. The internet situation. The deciding factor on my return was applying to grad school, because I was not aware how available Internet and phones could be in some towns here. I have also contacted schools, and no school seems to care if I am in the States when I apply.
3. The money situation. I didn´t plan on working until at least February, and even with flight changes and a visa, it will cost me less to live and travel in Ecuador than to barely get by in San Francisco.
4. The Elizabeth-just-be-crazy-like-that reason. I feel like staying, so why not?
I have already talked to the migration office, and I will soon change my flight. Love you all, and I will probably see you in 2007!!
Friday, November 03, 2006
Nothing new...
nothing new to report... but since i have internet and my guide friends are alternately hunting down tourist clients/sleeping... which seems to be the usual work day... sleep, oye, rafting? al volcán esta noche? to the volano?, sleep some more...
thought i´d say hi while i have high speed internet
sticking around baños for a little...
thought i´d say hi while i have high speed internet
sticking around baños for a little...
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Yawints´
First, read below about my adventures up a volcano (two entries today)...
For all of you extremely worried people, I have been with the Shuar in the rainforest since Monday.
Monday, I went to the house of a traditional healer, a curandera, in Puyo. Her son, Tzamarenda Yaychapi Estalin, an uwishin (beneficent shaman), was supposed to pick me up to take me to his community.
Silvia, the curandera, decided to give me some tea. It was piripri. She told me it would "clean" me. Then, we did something strange. She had a preparation of tsank, another traditional plant, which she showed me how to snort up my nose to clean the sinuses.
About ten minutes later, I was one very sick girl. I said "I feel like puking!" And she said "ah yes, it´s working." Turns out "cleaning" = vomiting. And I did. I puked and puked.
Then I started feeling super dizzy and began sweating. "Ah yes, you´re not used to the tsank, you´re going to feel messed up." Well, I ended up passing out on the wood floor of her hut, and I woke up an hour later, perfectly healthy, but discovering I had drooled all over my own arm! Moral: Be careful when indigenous people offer to cure you!!
The first adventure over, her son arrived. But we couldn´t get a bus because the entire transportation system was on strike! So we paid a neighbor to take us the two hours down the bumpy jungle road to 16 de agosto (a tiny hamlet).
From there, we hiked an hour to Yawints´, the Tsamarenda family community.
While there, I ate plaintains and yucca, complemented with fish caught from the river. I learned so much! We went on walks to learn about traditional plants.
At night, the uwishin and his wife told me to take off all my clothes! What?? I asked the wife again, as she and I had become friends. She reassured me. I stripped naked and was wrapped in blankets and thrown on top of a steaming plant concoction. I sweated and sweated and sweated, supposedly purifying my body of toxins. After this purification, I crouched on the floor of the Shuar meeting house, sans clothes, and was covered in medicinal plants. Later, I received a massage with oils to help my muscles, which actually did seem to help a lot as I was understandably a little tense from culture shock and jungle trekking.
The only bad thing was everyone speaking Shuar, which I obviously don´t understand. But they would translate everything for me... into Spanish.
Well, I have news for everyone. They have invited me to come back and learn from them. I can stay as long as I like. They plan on taking me to a sacred waterfall. They do not accept tourists, only people they know. And the elders must give permission for any outsider to participate in their activities. Because of my respect and interest, I have been invited to come observe sacred rituals. So next week, I am going back to Yawints´, probably for two weeks. I only left in order to email some schools.
Yesterday, while catching a bus to Puyo, I noticed all the people staring at me. I am used to stares and catcalls because of my light hair and skin, but this was more extreme. Then I realized I was still wearing Shuar makeup!! Their makeup is a bright red paint straight from a little red fruit. I was covered in traditional makeup for my presentation to the community, as such makeup is a sign of respect. Lines and squigglies and triangles of indigenous natural paint all over my face. And I was wearing several Shuar necklaces they had made for me as a sign of our new friendship. I must have been quite a sight! A white foreign girl in khakis covered in Shuar jewelry and makeup!
A few more quick stories:
We were sitting talking by the fire, when people began screaming "snake! snake!" There it was in the middle of the open-walled meeting house. One of the teenagers grabbed a flaming log and beat it to death. Close call! Snakebites kill a lot of people.
We pee wherever we want! I have become a very talented outdoor pee-er.
They offered me tsank again. In order not to offend them, I pretended to snort it and let it trickle out of my fingers discreetly! I didn´t want to be high as a kite again!
The wife and I made chicha, an alcoholic drink where we mashed yucca and fermented it in our own spit!! At least this way, I thought, I was drinking my own spit and not just someone else´s, but whenever they pass me the chicha I try to throw it out when no one is looking! It´s gross... spit and yucca... who thought of that...
Well, I am off to Baños for a few days to visit a friend, then hopefully it´s back to the Shuar...
For all of you extremely worried people, I have been with the Shuar in the rainforest since Monday.
Monday, I went to the house of a traditional healer, a curandera, in Puyo. Her son, Tzamarenda Yaychapi Estalin, an uwishin (beneficent shaman), was supposed to pick me up to take me to his community.
Silvia, the curandera, decided to give me some tea. It was piripri. She told me it would "clean" me. Then, we did something strange. She had a preparation of tsank, another traditional plant, which she showed me how to snort up my nose to clean the sinuses.
About ten minutes later, I was one very sick girl. I said "I feel like puking!" And she said "ah yes, it´s working." Turns out "cleaning" = vomiting. And I did. I puked and puked.
Then I started feeling super dizzy and began sweating. "Ah yes, you´re not used to the tsank, you´re going to feel messed up." Well, I ended up passing out on the wood floor of her hut, and I woke up an hour later, perfectly healthy, but discovering I had drooled all over my own arm! Moral: Be careful when indigenous people offer to cure you!!
The first adventure over, her son arrived. But we couldn´t get a bus because the entire transportation system was on strike! So we paid a neighbor to take us the two hours down the bumpy jungle road to 16 de agosto (a tiny hamlet).
From there, we hiked an hour to Yawints´, the Tsamarenda family community.
While there, I ate plaintains and yucca, complemented with fish caught from the river. I learned so much! We went on walks to learn about traditional plants.
At night, the uwishin and his wife told me to take off all my clothes! What?? I asked the wife again, as she and I had become friends. She reassured me. I stripped naked and was wrapped in blankets and thrown on top of a steaming plant concoction. I sweated and sweated and sweated, supposedly purifying my body of toxins. After this purification, I crouched on the floor of the Shuar meeting house, sans clothes, and was covered in medicinal plants. Later, I received a massage with oils to help my muscles, which actually did seem to help a lot as I was understandably a little tense from culture shock and jungle trekking.
The only bad thing was everyone speaking Shuar, which I obviously don´t understand. But they would translate everything for me... into Spanish.
Well, I have news for everyone. They have invited me to come back and learn from them. I can stay as long as I like. They plan on taking me to a sacred waterfall. They do not accept tourists, only people they know. And the elders must give permission for any outsider to participate in their activities. Because of my respect and interest, I have been invited to come observe sacred rituals. So next week, I am going back to Yawints´, probably for two weeks. I only left in order to email some schools.
Yesterday, while catching a bus to Puyo, I noticed all the people staring at me. I am used to stares and catcalls because of my light hair and skin, but this was more extreme. Then I realized I was still wearing Shuar makeup!! Their makeup is a bright red paint straight from a little red fruit. I was covered in traditional makeup for my presentation to the community, as such makeup is a sign of respect. Lines and squigglies and triangles of indigenous natural paint all over my face. And I was wearing several Shuar necklaces they had made for me as a sign of our new friendship. I must have been quite a sight! A white foreign girl in khakis covered in Shuar jewelry and makeup!
A few more quick stories:
We were sitting talking by the fire, when people began screaming "snake! snake!" There it was in the middle of the open-walled meeting house. One of the teenagers grabbed a flaming log and beat it to death. Close call! Snakebites kill a lot of people.
We pee wherever we want! I have become a very talented outdoor pee-er.
They offered me tsank again. In order not to offend them, I pretended to snort it and let it trickle out of my fingers discreetly! I didn´t want to be high as a kite again!
The wife and I made chicha, an alcoholic drink where we mashed yucca and fermented it in our own spit!! At least this way, I thought, I was drinking my own spit and not just someone else´s, but whenever they pass me the chicha I try to throw it out when no one is looking! It´s gross... spit and yucca... who thought of that...
Well, I am off to Baños for a few days to visit a friend, then hopefully it´s back to the Shuar...
Baños
So I am writing two entries, since I have had two very distinct experiences since last I wrote.
I found myself trekking up the side of an active volcano for 7 hours, with a new guide friend and his two German clients. It was insane!!! I got altitude sickness of course, and my lungs started searing, and I couldn´t get oxygen. We were covered in ash. But the view was amazing! Finally, we started our descent. We crossed over almost-vertical fields filled with grazing cows. We raced across the steep Andean slopes down to where the tour company had bikes waiting for the four of us. Then we began what they called a "bike ride," and what I would call "careening out of control down the side of an Andean volcano on an unpaved rocky sandy road on that old bike that´s been rusting in the garage since 1985 without a helmet, praying you would die a horrible death."
Somehow, I made it alive back to Baños where I headed to the hot springs under the waterfall. I am going back to Baños this weekend to hang out.
Life is good. Tough. Dangerous. Exhausting. But good.
I found myself trekking up the side of an active volcano for 7 hours, with a new guide friend and his two German clients. It was insane!!! I got altitude sickness of course, and my lungs started searing, and I couldn´t get oxygen. We were covered in ash. But the view was amazing! Finally, we started our descent. We crossed over almost-vertical fields filled with grazing cows. We raced across the steep Andean slopes down to where the tour company had bikes waiting for the four of us. Then we began what they called a "bike ride," and what I would call "careening out of control down the side of an Andean volcano on an unpaved rocky sandy road on that old bike that´s been rusting in the garage since 1985 without a helmet, praying you would die a horrible death."
Somehow, I made it alive back to Baños where I headed to the hot springs under the waterfall. I am going back to Baños this weekend to hang out.
Life is good. Tough. Dangerous. Exhausting. But good.
Saturday, October 28, 2006
Tungurahua
I am here...
So I am in a small town at the base of Tungurahua volcano right now, and the volcano gods are not smiling. The ash is raining down in our eyes and making us cough, but it's so microscopic, you can't actually see it! We thought the volcanic activity was settling down, but it appears not... so we are now stuck in our hostel, waiting for the wind to blow the ash on to another unfortunate town.
Will write more soon...
p.s. mark, remember how you thought there were no active volcanoes! well, i have lungs full of ash who would like to tell you that you were pretty much dead wrong!!
So I am in a small town at the base of Tungurahua volcano right now, and the volcano gods are not smiling. The ash is raining down in our eyes and making us cough, but it's so microscopic, you can't actually see it! We thought the volcanic activity was settling down, but it appears not... so we are now stuck in our hostel, waiting for the wind to blow the ash on to another unfortunate town.
Will write more soon...
p.s. mark, remember how you thought there were no active volcanoes! well, i have lungs full of ash who would like to tell you that you were pretty much dead wrong!!
Monday, October 23, 2006
Palora, Tena
So you may have noticed I´ve been pretty unreachable over the past week...
On Thursday, I took a 5 am bus to Palora, hours from Puyo. We truly left civilazation then. They drove the bus on a raft, NOT A FERRY, an honest-to-God raft! and floated it across the river. I felt like I was living the Oregon Trail (the computer game), but I hope that I don´t find out "Betsy dies of cholera," like in the game. In Palora, I stayed in the Catholic mission which is a clinic run by one rural medical student and a nun. It was insane! We saw a botched suicide and a botched abortion in the same afternoon. Don´t overdose in the Amazon... we pumped her stomach the old fashioned way, tube down the throat and 100 ml syringe, pumping by hands, and emptying the syringe in the sink!!
It makes me so angry to see backstreet abortions here! (Abortions are illegal.) The girls are teenagers sometimes, and they are so sick! And you´re not going to stop them from doing what they will with their own bodies. The thing that really got me was there were signs all over clinics with babies with little conversation bubbles saying, "Mommy, I love you so much, why do you want to stop my little heart from beating? Why do you want to kill your loving child?" It´s horrible! This is what young women have to look at! Argh! So upset!!!
The last interesting patient we had was a tiny Shuar baby who came in late at night with his head sliced up, and the rural doc had me help suture him up!
The highlight of Palora was the rural doc putting me on the back of his moto for a "paseo" through the countryside. We sped along dirt paths among tea plantations, which, sadly are planted amongst the rainforest, but it was still beautiful, the mountains and volcanoes in the background. In the mission church they even had their Jesus crucified with the background you could see outside the church, complete with the peaks of Sangay, and the jungle laid out before it. I never imagined I would be trying not to fall off and die from a speeding old motorcycle along a jungle path in rural Ecuador with a young doctor who referred to himself as el negrito hermoso, "the handsome little black guy." I felt like I was in the Motorcycle Diaries!
On Friday, in order to cross the river, the bus drove down the "highway," the five of us passengers got off, jumped in a box, and were hauled by pulley in a swinging metal platform, dozens of feet above the wide raging river basin. Then we boarded a bus on the other side. Craziness!!
I was in Puyo about twenty minutes before I jumped (literally, as it didn´t stop moving...) on a bus to Tena, where I was meeting some Quito friends for a jungle tour.
We went to cabañas over the River Anzu. Oh my God! You wouldn´t believe the view! And we were the only people there. It was like out of a movie. We went trekking through jungle canyons. We went tubing down the river, to a Quichua village, where the guide´s family sold us necklaces, so they could earn money without panning the river for gold (it looks like 1800s California in some places, with all the gold panners).
Then, on Sunday, we went whitewater rafting down the Upper Napo River, with some crazy guides. They really like to horse around, throwing us in the water, hitting people with paddles, purposely slamming into rocks. (Things that certainly would be a lawsuit waiting to happen in the States!) They showed us secret lagoons and passages. It was amazing.
I went the whole day injury-less. At our final stop, we took off our shoes that were sinking in very very deep sand, and I stepped on the only rock within miles! My foot is sliced to ribbons. Right now, I can barely walk, and I have to take taxis everywhere! Mamaw would freak out because a huge part of the bottom of my foot is literally ribbons of flesh and blood! Ick! The doctor told me not to walk for a week and a half! That´s not going to happen, but I am trying to hop along as best I can! Oh well, I´d rather be injured than sick to my stomach!
Congratulations if you read this whole entry! You are a true friend... I am back in Puyo for this work week, so maybe I can try calling, and you can expect faster email responses.
Love from the jungle...
On Thursday, I took a 5 am bus to Palora, hours from Puyo. We truly left civilazation then. They drove the bus on a raft, NOT A FERRY, an honest-to-God raft! and floated it across the river. I felt like I was living the Oregon Trail (the computer game), but I hope that I don´t find out "Betsy dies of cholera," like in the game. In Palora, I stayed in the Catholic mission which is a clinic run by one rural medical student and a nun. It was insane! We saw a botched suicide and a botched abortion in the same afternoon. Don´t overdose in the Amazon... we pumped her stomach the old fashioned way, tube down the throat and 100 ml syringe, pumping by hands, and emptying the syringe in the sink!!
It makes me so angry to see backstreet abortions here! (Abortions are illegal.) The girls are teenagers sometimes, and they are so sick! And you´re not going to stop them from doing what they will with their own bodies. The thing that really got me was there were signs all over clinics with babies with little conversation bubbles saying, "Mommy, I love you so much, why do you want to stop my little heart from beating? Why do you want to kill your loving child?" It´s horrible! This is what young women have to look at! Argh! So upset!!!
The last interesting patient we had was a tiny Shuar baby who came in late at night with his head sliced up, and the rural doc had me help suture him up!
The highlight of Palora was the rural doc putting me on the back of his moto for a "paseo" through the countryside. We sped along dirt paths among tea plantations, which, sadly are planted amongst the rainforest, but it was still beautiful, the mountains and volcanoes in the background. In the mission church they even had their Jesus crucified with the background you could see outside the church, complete with the peaks of Sangay, and the jungle laid out before it. I never imagined I would be trying not to fall off and die from a speeding old motorcycle along a jungle path in rural Ecuador with a young doctor who referred to himself as el negrito hermoso, "the handsome little black guy." I felt like I was in the Motorcycle Diaries!
On Friday, in order to cross the river, the bus drove down the "highway," the five of us passengers got off, jumped in a box, and were hauled by pulley in a swinging metal platform, dozens of feet above the wide raging river basin. Then we boarded a bus on the other side. Craziness!!
I was in Puyo about twenty minutes before I jumped (literally, as it didn´t stop moving...) on a bus to Tena, where I was meeting some Quito friends for a jungle tour.
We went to cabañas over the River Anzu. Oh my God! You wouldn´t believe the view! And we were the only people there. It was like out of a movie. We went trekking through jungle canyons. We went tubing down the river, to a Quichua village, where the guide´s family sold us necklaces, so they could earn money without panning the river for gold (it looks like 1800s California in some places, with all the gold panners).
Then, on Sunday, we went whitewater rafting down the Upper Napo River, with some crazy guides. They really like to horse around, throwing us in the water, hitting people with paddles, purposely slamming into rocks. (Things that certainly would be a lawsuit waiting to happen in the States!) They showed us secret lagoons and passages. It was amazing.
I went the whole day injury-less. At our final stop, we took off our shoes that were sinking in very very deep sand, and I stepped on the only rock within miles! My foot is sliced to ribbons. Right now, I can barely walk, and I have to take taxis everywhere! Mamaw would freak out because a huge part of the bottom of my foot is literally ribbons of flesh and blood! Ick! The doctor told me not to walk for a week and a half! That´s not going to happen, but I am trying to hop along as best I can! Oh well, I´d rather be injured than sick to my stomach!
Congratulations if you read this whole entry! You are a true friend... I am back in Puyo for this work week, so maybe I can try calling, and you can expect faster email responses.
Love from the jungle...
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Missionary doctors, culture clashes
The good news is that I am better... so I went back to Vozandes Hospital in Shell today.
Vozandes is a missionary hospital started by Nate Saint. (Mom and Dad, he´s that guy that ended up dead on the end of the spear in the movie of that name.) The four American doctors that work there now are also missionaries. The missionaries in Shell also run Alas de Socorro, which are planes that fly into the rainforest to remote villages from the Shell airstrip.
I had some very interesting conversations with the doctors today about the role of missionaries in developing countries. One doctor told me how much anthropologists really don´t like missionaries, because they come in and change the local culture, etc. But then he brought up some good points. For example, the anthropologists want the missionaries to leave the indigenous people alone. But then, according to the missionaries, some of these same indigenous people are begging for the gringo doctors to come to their village when there are malaria epidemics and other rampant illnesses. As the doctor said, "Are we supposed to let children die of malaria for fear of altering an indigenous culture?" They seem to think that anthropologists can be unrealistic, as change is definitely coming for these cultures, and the missionaries see themselves (and, actually, Jesus) as a force to assuage the pains of cultural transitions. If we can´t stop the oil companies, then why not at least help cure people made ill from diseases introduced by oil company workers? That is what they think.
He also explained that the missionaries wanted to bring the Huaorani to Christ out of fear that malaria and inter-ethnic group war would kill them off...
Obviously, I don´t think expecting people to convert to Christianity is a good goal, but I did learn a lot from his perspective, and I don´t have answers to his questions about letting children die of malaria in order to not harm their culture. It´s very complicated. And fascinating. He told me I should come back and would be welcome to do some research about these topics with them...
As usual, there were a couple cultural discrepancies between us North Americans and the patients today. The doctor told me that people always ask two questions "Can I eat everything, even pork? and Can I bathe?" This is because of an indigenous belief that certain foods hurt certain organs, and that bathing makes you wet and cold and therefore will worsen your illness. I had been confused when a teenage Quichua kid was diagnosed with epilepsy based on his EEG, and his father kept asking "but can he eat pork?"!!
Fathers do all the talking. In indigenous families, the women often don´t even speak Spanish. We had a Quichua woman come in. She told her husband her symptoms in Quichua, then he translated them into Spanish for us. It is rude for a male doctor to talk to another man´s wife, so he asks the husband all about the woman´s health, as if she´s not there! Needless to say, this would be very offensive in the United States, but the doctor told me if he talks too much directly to the women, the families sometimes get offended and refuse to say much more.
When women are talking about female problems, like menstruation, they won´t look at the male doctor. They would suddenly look directly at me. The doctor told me they were more comfortable telling me about these things. He would listen to her and answer all her questions, but she would only make eye contact with me, as I was a woman. I just nodded my head and looked interested, but obviously I couldn´t diagnose her or tell her anything.
I saw problems with people saying they understand when they really didn´t. For example, the doctor asked a Quichua man if his wife had any secretions. He nodded and looked nervous, saying "yes." A minute later, he said "um, doctor, excuse me, actually, um, what does 'secretions' mean?" Another time, a young woman insisted that she didn´t understand what "menstruation" or "periods" were. You wonder how many times people don´t understand and just remain silent. Sometimes it is a language barrier if the family doesn´t speak a lot of Spanish, but more often it is a simple lack of basic healthcare knowledge.
In addition, I am learning basic medical stuff. I know the difference between rheumatoid arthritis and osteoarthritis, that it´s pretty pointless to treat gestational diabetes, and that ulcers caused by varicose veins can easily be healed with ACE bandages.
Vozandes is a missionary hospital started by Nate Saint. (Mom and Dad, he´s that guy that ended up dead on the end of the spear in the movie of that name.) The four American doctors that work there now are also missionaries. The missionaries in Shell also run Alas de Socorro, which are planes that fly into the rainforest to remote villages from the Shell airstrip.
I had some very interesting conversations with the doctors today about the role of missionaries in developing countries. One doctor told me how much anthropologists really don´t like missionaries, because they come in and change the local culture, etc. But then he brought up some good points. For example, the anthropologists want the missionaries to leave the indigenous people alone. But then, according to the missionaries, some of these same indigenous people are begging for the gringo doctors to come to their village when there are malaria epidemics and other rampant illnesses. As the doctor said, "Are we supposed to let children die of malaria for fear of altering an indigenous culture?" They seem to think that anthropologists can be unrealistic, as change is definitely coming for these cultures, and the missionaries see themselves (and, actually, Jesus) as a force to assuage the pains of cultural transitions. If we can´t stop the oil companies, then why not at least help cure people made ill from diseases introduced by oil company workers? That is what they think.
He also explained that the missionaries wanted to bring the Huaorani to Christ out of fear that malaria and inter-ethnic group war would kill them off...
Obviously, I don´t think expecting people to convert to Christianity is a good goal, but I did learn a lot from his perspective, and I don´t have answers to his questions about letting children die of malaria in order to not harm their culture. It´s very complicated. And fascinating. He told me I should come back and would be welcome to do some research about these topics with them...
As usual, there were a couple cultural discrepancies between us North Americans and the patients today. The doctor told me that people always ask two questions "Can I eat everything, even pork? and Can I bathe?" This is because of an indigenous belief that certain foods hurt certain organs, and that bathing makes you wet and cold and therefore will worsen your illness. I had been confused when a teenage Quichua kid was diagnosed with epilepsy based on his EEG, and his father kept asking "but can he eat pork?"!!
Fathers do all the talking. In indigenous families, the women often don´t even speak Spanish. We had a Quichua woman come in. She told her husband her symptoms in Quichua, then he translated them into Spanish for us. It is rude for a male doctor to talk to another man´s wife, so he asks the husband all about the woman´s health, as if she´s not there! Needless to say, this would be very offensive in the United States, but the doctor told me if he talks too much directly to the women, the families sometimes get offended and refuse to say much more.
When women are talking about female problems, like menstruation, they won´t look at the male doctor. They would suddenly look directly at me. The doctor told me they were more comfortable telling me about these things. He would listen to her and answer all her questions, but she would only make eye contact with me, as I was a woman. I just nodded my head and looked interested, but obviously I couldn´t diagnose her or tell her anything.
I saw problems with people saying they understand when they really didn´t. For example, the doctor asked a Quichua man if his wife had any secretions. He nodded and looked nervous, saying "yes." A minute later, he said "um, doctor, excuse me, actually, um, what does 'secretions' mean?" Another time, a young woman insisted that she didn´t understand what "menstruation" or "periods" were. You wonder how many times people don´t understand and just remain silent. Sometimes it is a language barrier if the family doesn´t speak a lot of Spanish, but more often it is a simple lack of basic healthcare knowledge.
In addition, I am learning basic medical stuff. I know the difference between rheumatoid arthritis and osteoarthritis, that it´s pretty pointless to treat gestational diabetes, and that ulcers caused by varicose veins can easily be healed with ACE bandages.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
Well... no longer healthy
The update is I am not healthy. Last night, I became horribly ill. Let´s just say stuff is coming out both ends, and I am miserable. My stomach hurt so much, I couldn´t sleep last night, and I spent most of today crying. I only just gathered up enough strength to drag myself to an Internet cafe to hear Mark´s voice... which cost a ridiculous 10 dollars! I am sweating, and my whole body hurts.
Luckily, if things get bad, there are always the missionary doctors in Shell. They are Americans, and I worked with them yesterday. I was supposed to be with them today, but my intimate relationship with the toilet wouldn´t allow for it.
Hopefully, it was just something in the food or water... And I do live with a doctor, who has been worried about me and checking on me every few hours. I will let you know how I am doing, so don´t get too worried. I just can´t call everyone because it would cost a hundred dollars here.
I love you all... Pray for my return to health...
Luckily, if things get bad, there are always the missionary doctors in Shell. They are Americans, and I worked with them yesterday. I was supposed to be with them today, but my intimate relationship with the toilet wouldn´t allow for it.
Hopefully, it was just something in the food or water... And I do live with a doctor, who has been worried about me and checking on me every few hours. I will let you know how I am doing, so don´t get too worried. I just can´t call everyone because it would cost a hundred dollars here.
I love you all... Pray for my return to health...
Sunday, October 15, 2006
Puyo
Mark has posted my Quito pictures on yahoo photos. The link is:
Quito photos
Commenting on them with this bad Internet connection would be a week-long endeavor, so for now you will have to guess what I was doing and who is in the pictures.
I have arrived in Puyo. When I got here, I called the doctor on a public phone. He said "wait for me" and hung up. Luckily, he showed up ten minutes later, drove straight up to the only American girl around, and asked me to get on in. After confirming that he was Dr. Torres, I got in and we went to his house.
I am staying in Dr. Torres´s nice home in Puyo. The streets and the infrastructure here make Quito look like San Francisco, but we have Internet and phones, etc. The Internet is as slow as ours in New Richmond, and international calls are rather expensive, 20 cents a minute. Considering a huge pizza and soda for lunch at a nice restaurant put me back 4 bucks, taxis to anywhere are one dollar, and the bus is a couple cents, international calls are ridiculously unaffordable.
The climate, as could have been expected, is humid and hot. It rains every afternoon. Bugs are everywhere. These huge flying ants crawl up my curtains, but in Puyo itself, the mosquitoes aren´t really a problem.
This week I will be heading over to Shell, fifteen minutes away. Shell is pretty much a little airplane landing for planes going in and out of the rainforest. They have a hospital there where I will be working for three days. Then, later this week, Dr. Torres and I will head out on a bus for a clinic two and a half hours farther out from Puyo, to help the nurse who runs it. Next week, I have a plethora of hospitals to visit and doctors to talk to. The third week, I will be heading off to a Shuar community.
So busy times ahead. Dr. Torres was very interested in my studies and work, and he made me happy when he told me that he really liked the way that I saw the world. He even is hinting already at staying in touch in the future, and he gives me the idea that I might be able to become an ally to efforts here somehow. I am not sure because he refuses to say much now, promising "you will understand, we will talk more later, you will see..." I press him for more answers and ask him if my preconceptions are incorrect. He says no, but refuses to explain, adamantly restating that "i will understand" and the conversation was over.
So, obviously, I am very intrigued.
I will try to make phone calls this week before heading out to Esperanza on Wednesday or Thursday, but I am going to wait for a day or two because calls are so expensive.
Know that I am relatively healthy and safe (as long as this dang traffic doesn´t kill me.) Love you all!
Quito photos
Commenting on them with this bad Internet connection would be a week-long endeavor, so for now you will have to guess what I was doing and who is in the pictures.
I have arrived in Puyo. When I got here, I called the doctor on a public phone. He said "wait for me" and hung up. Luckily, he showed up ten minutes later, drove straight up to the only American girl around, and asked me to get on in. After confirming that he was Dr. Torres, I got in and we went to his house.
I am staying in Dr. Torres´s nice home in Puyo. The streets and the infrastructure here make Quito look like San Francisco, but we have Internet and phones, etc. The Internet is as slow as ours in New Richmond, and international calls are rather expensive, 20 cents a minute. Considering a huge pizza and soda for lunch at a nice restaurant put me back 4 bucks, taxis to anywhere are one dollar, and the bus is a couple cents, international calls are ridiculously unaffordable.
The climate, as could have been expected, is humid and hot. It rains every afternoon. Bugs are everywhere. These huge flying ants crawl up my curtains, but in Puyo itself, the mosquitoes aren´t really a problem.
This week I will be heading over to Shell, fifteen minutes away. Shell is pretty much a little airplane landing for planes going in and out of the rainforest. They have a hospital there where I will be working for three days. Then, later this week, Dr. Torres and I will head out on a bus for a clinic two and a half hours farther out from Puyo, to help the nurse who runs it. Next week, I have a plethora of hospitals to visit and doctors to talk to. The third week, I will be heading off to a Shuar community.
So busy times ahead. Dr. Torres was very interested in my studies and work, and he made me happy when he told me that he really liked the way that I saw the world. He even is hinting already at staying in touch in the future, and he gives me the idea that I might be able to become an ally to efforts here somehow. I am not sure because he refuses to say much now, promising "you will understand, we will talk more later, you will see..." I press him for more answers and ask him if my preconceptions are incorrect. He says no, but refuses to explain, adamantly restating that "i will understand" and the conversation was over.
So, obviously, I am very intrigued.
I will try to make phone calls this week before heading out to Esperanza on Wednesday or Thursday, but I am going to wait for a day or two because calls are so expensive.
Know that I am relatively healthy and safe (as long as this dang traffic doesn´t kill me.) Love you all!
Friday, October 13, 2006
Counterfeit money, men with guns
So sometimes you get a jolt in Quito that reminds you you're not in Kansas anymore...
Sometimes it's the indigenous Quichua children pulling at your sleeve, pleading "señora, señora, buy some gum," sometimes it's the bright shawl wraps of the tradionally dressed women, sometimes it's the reckless traffic...
Then sometimes it's fake bills and armed men.
About half of the students in the program have already run into trouble with counterfeit money. Ecuador completely got rid of its sucre currency earlier this year. Counterfeit money is rampant here. Every person looks at EVERY bill, even fives. Last night, we had a counterfeit twenty when we paid the bill at a restaurant and the restaurant refused to accept it, so you have to eat the loss when this happens. I went to the bank and changed all my money into five dollar bills, so that I wouldn't need to get change. Sometimes, when people know they've been passed counterfeit bills, they try to pass it off onto foreigners to recover their losses. You are supposed to check all your own bills, but I can't even spot the counterfeits because they're pretty good.
Then there's the armed guards. It's a little unnerving to get money from the ATM when a uniformed tough guy is standing next to the machine with some kind of rifle in his hands. Wealthier people walk around with bodyguards. Today was the scariest. An army vehicle pulled up in front of our apartment as I was leaving, and a bunch of armed soldiers ran into the neighboring house, guns at the ready... I have no idea what they were doing... Of course, to me, it looked sketchy.
Elections, including the presidential election, are Sunday. It is the law here that everyone between 18 and 65 MUST vote. It's illegal not to vote. Candidates are not allowed to campaign after Thursday for Sunday elections, and no alcohol can be sold in the country this weekend, so that everyone will supposedly be sober for the voting process. Sunday promises to be a day of upheaval as people frequently protest and contest elections here. They told us to stay put at home and avoid people and public in general Sunday, which will be my first full day in Puyo.
Being here has reminded me how fortunate I am to live in a country with a stable government, where armed guards are not necessary, where fake money is rare, where they don't arrest gays, and where they don't throw women in prison for two years for having an abortion! Not to mention all the illnesses they still combat here like the rampant malaria and dengue. Then there's the grotesque poverty.
I bought my bus ticket to Puyo, and now I must go home to pack. I have no idea who will be picking me up in Puyo or where I will go, so I hope the doctor emails me. Otherwise, looks like I'll be hunting down a last minute hostel.
Sometimes it's the indigenous Quichua children pulling at your sleeve, pleading "señora, señora, buy some gum," sometimes it's the bright shawl wraps of the tradionally dressed women, sometimes it's the reckless traffic...
Then sometimes it's fake bills and armed men.
About half of the students in the program have already run into trouble with counterfeit money. Ecuador completely got rid of its sucre currency earlier this year. Counterfeit money is rampant here. Every person looks at EVERY bill, even fives. Last night, we had a counterfeit twenty when we paid the bill at a restaurant and the restaurant refused to accept it, so you have to eat the loss when this happens. I went to the bank and changed all my money into five dollar bills, so that I wouldn't need to get change. Sometimes, when people know they've been passed counterfeit bills, they try to pass it off onto foreigners to recover their losses. You are supposed to check all your own bills, but I can't even spot the counterfeits because they're pretty good.
Then there's the armed guards. It's a little unnerving to get money from the ATM when a uniformed tough guy is standing next to the machine with some kind of rifle in his hands. Wealthier people walk around with bodyguards. Today was the scariest. An army vehicle pulled up in front of our apartment as I was leaving, and a bunch of armed soldiers ran into the neighboring house, guns at the ready... I have no idea what they were doing... Of course, to me, it looked sketchy.
Elections, including the presidential election, are Sunday. It is the law here that everyone between 18 and 65 MUST vote. It's illegal not to vote. Candidates are not allowed to campaign after Thursday for Sunday elections, and no alcohol can be sold in the country this weekend, so that everyone will supposedly be sober for the voting process. Sunday promises to be a day of upheaval as people frequently protest and contest elections here. They told us to stay put at home and avoid people and public in general Sunday, which will be my first full day in Puyo.
Being here has reminded me how fortunate I am to live in a country with a stable government, where armed guards are not necessary, where fake money is rare, where they don't arrest gays, and where they don't throw women in prison for two years for having an abortion! Not to mention all the illnesses they still combat here like the rampant malaria and dengue. Then there's the grotesque poverty.
I bought my bus ticket to Puyo, and now I must go home to pack. I have no idea who will be picking me up in Puyo or where I will go, so I hope the doctor emails me. Otherwise, looks like I'll be hunting down a last minute hostel.
Thursday, October 12, 2006
Enjoying the city... while I can
I am just getting very comfortable in Quito... just in time to leave Saturday morning for Puyo.
The doctor in Puyo hadn´t emailed me. I asked the program coordinators here in Quito to call the doctor for me but they were like "nope, you do it." So I called the doctor on his cell phone. I don´t like speaking Spanish on the phone, because I can´t see the person and it´s a lot more difficult. Well, he claimed to have sent me an email on Monday. I said I didn´t receive it. He said, "okay, I´ll send it again," and about hung up. I was like "wait, wait! I probably didn´t receive it because you probably have the wrong email address." So I told him my email address, which was difficult because letters and vowels sound very different in Spanish than English so I had to say "a" when it was "e" and "oo" for "u" ... I thought certainly he didn´t get it all... but then I got his email this afternoon. Sure enough, he had had the wrong email address before.
It appears that I will have some interesting opportunities. One of the sites is Voz Andes Shell, fifteen minutes from Puyo. My parents probably best know this town from the movie The End of the Spear, a controversial film to say the least, but Shell is the town where the missionaries lived.
I also might stay a few days with an indigenous Shuar community a 4 hour hike from Puyo, learning about their culture and tradional medical practices with a Shuar healer.
The rest of the sights are hospitals and a diabetes clinic in Puyo.
So that´s the plan for now.
I have to go to a bank to change my twenties into fives before I leave Quito, because people can´t except more than a five dollar bill around here... it´s simply too much money.
I started my anti-malaria medicine last night, and when they say that dizziness is a "side effect" they mean it´s an ACID TRIP... I was so dizzy, I could hardly walk. The room looked all wobbly and the numbers in my Su Doku book swam around the page. I am still dizzy today. Hopefully, I get used to the medication because this side effect is pretty intense.
Needless to say, debilitating dizziness is not what I need right now. Well, hopefully I´ll post a little something tomorrow before heading off to Puyo, where the calls and Internet posts are going to be a little less frecuent.
Hasta entonces...
The doctor in Puyo hadn´t emailed me. I asked the program coordinators here in Quito to call the doctor for me but they were like "nope, you do it." So I called the doctor on his cell phone. I don´t like speaking Spanish on the phone, because I can´t see the person and it´s a lot more difficult. Well, he claimed to have sent me an email on Monday. I said I didn´t receive it. He said, "okay, I´ll send it again," and about hung up. I was like "wait, wait! I probably didn´t receive it because you probably have the wrong email address." So I told him my email address, which was difficult because letters and vowels sound very different in Spanish than English so I had to say "a" when it was "e" and "oo" for "u" ... I thought certainly he didn´t get it all... but then I got his email this afternoon. Sure enough, he had had the wrong email address before.
It appears that I will have some interesting opportunities. One of the sites is Voz Andes Shell, fifteen minutes from Puyo. My parents probably best know this town from the movie The End of the Spear, a controversial film to say the least, but Shell is the town where the missionaries lived.
I also might stay a few days with an indigenous Shuar community a 4 hour hike from Puyo, learning about their culture and tradional medical practices with a Shuar healer.
The rest of the sights are hospitals and a diabetes clinic in Puyo.
So that´s the plan for now.
I have to go to a bank to change my twenties into fives before I leave Quito, because people can´t except more than a five dollar bill around here... it´s simply too much money.
I started my anti-malaria medicine last night, and when they say that dizziness is a "side effect" they mean it´s an ACID TRIP... I was so dizzy, I could hardly walk. The room looked all wobbly and the numbers in my Su Doku book swam around the page. I am still dizzy today. Hopefully, I get used to the medication because this side effect is pretty intense.
Needless to say, debilitating dizziness is not what I need right now. Well, hopefully I´ll post a little something tomorrow before heading off to Puyo, where the calls and Internet posts are going to be a little less frecuent.
Hasta entonces...
Tuesday, October 10, 2006
Toilet paper, guinea pigs, homicidal traffic, indigenous painters
This is the most interesting thing in this entry, so I will put it first... in Ecuador, guess where you put the toilet paper? If you guessed the toilet, you guessed WRONG! Because the plumbing is so bad, you have to put the used toilet paper in the waste basket next to the throne so that the pipes don´t block up. Poopy paper in a basket, that´s something to get used to.
So, I have had intensive Spanish for four hours a day the past two days. Since I don´t need to practice reading or writing, we are just talking and talking, which is hard to do in any language for four hours straight. Yesterday, I learned a lot about traditional medicine. They use a lot of eggs, guinea pigs, tobacco, and rocks. They rub the rocks and (unbroken) eggs over people to restore the balance between negative and positive energies. They also rub a guinea pig all over the person, then cut the guinea pig open while it´s still alive. (Obviously, it then dies.) In this manner, supposedly, they can see what is wrong with the person by looking at the insides of the guinea pig.
My teacher and I talked about the positive and negative benefits of such "cures." I think that a lot of the rituals are more psychologically and culturally important for the patient, while the herbs and teas they use actually do have a scientfic basis. The only problem is when a traditional healer diagnoses someone with "el mal aire" or "el mal viento." This is what happens when one goes alone somewhere and the soul escapes from the body. The person becomes very ill, and the healer has to perform a series of rituals to get the soul back in the body. This is a problem if someone really has a serious illness and the healer tells them they just need to get their soul back, when they really need Western medicine.
There are also definitely cases of fraud, where people calling themselves healers claim to have supernatural powers. They charge exorbitant prices to their patients, taking advantage of local superstitions to make quite a profit. But you got to be careful messing with some indigenas. My teacher told me about one town where such fraud occurred, and the people threw the fraudulent healer into the river and hit her with spiny plants as a punishment. Apparently, they take the law into their own hands in some of these towns.
Quito looks a lot like North America, being a big city and all. Then my host mother last night informs me that gays are thrown in jail for a month if they are caught... being gay, I guess!! After some rigorous reasearch in guide books, it appears it has recently been legalized... but talk about different from San Francisco!
On to other topics, forget malaria and guerrillas, the most dangerous thing here is the motorists. When they say they don´t stop for pedestrians they mean THEY NEVER EVER EVEN COME CLOSE TO SLOWING DOWN for pedestrians. One motorcyclist that almost hit me today, proclaimed "oh, haha, I almost killed you, my love."
That´s the other thing. My new names include "my princess, my queen, my love." Unlike a lot of men in Rome, the men here don´t drool like they´ve never seen a woman before, but every comment I get from men is followed by "my most beautiful princess." They seem very cavalier. I haven´t run into too much machismo yet. But the younger generation of men are generally a lot less machista; in fact, many of them seem simply courteous and sweet.
Today, I went to La Fundación Guayasamín, which shows the works of the most famous Ecuadorian painter, Guayasamín, who was half-indigena. He was quite the progressive, and let´s just say he didn´t think too highly of Latin American dictatorships or the CIA. Some people criticize him as a Pizarro rip-off, but I thought his work was rather amazing. From the museum, which was high above Quito, I could look into the whole valley and the surrounding mountains. It´s like nothing I´ve ever seen before.
I will put up a link to the photos as soon as I figure out what Mark´s telling me to do with them online.
Hasta luego.
So, I have had intensive Spanish for four hours a day the past two days. Since I don´t need to practice reading or writing, we are just talking and talking, which is hard to do in any language for four hours straight. Yesterday, I learned a lot about traditional medicine. They use a lot of eggs, guinea pigs, tobacco, and rocks. They rub the rocks and (unbroken) eggs over people to restore the balance between negative and positive energies. They also rub a guinea pig all over the person, then cut the guinea pig open while it´s still alive. (Obviously, it then dies.) In this manner, supposedly, they can see what is wrong with the person by looking at the insides of the guinea pig.
My teacher and I talked about the positive and negative benefits of such "cures." I think that a lot of the rituals are more psychologically and culturally important for the patient, while the herbs and teas they use actually do have a scientfic basis. The only problem is when a traditional healer diagnoses someone with "el mal aire" or "el mal viento." This is what happens when one goes alone somewhere and the soul escapes from the body. The person becomes very ill, and the healer has to perform a series of rituals to get the soul back in the body. This is a problem if someone really has a serious illness and the healer tells them they just need to get their soul back, when they really need Western medicine.
There are also definitely cases of fraud, where people calling themselves healers claim to have supernatural powers. They charge exorbitant prices to their patients, taking advantage of local superstitions to make quite a profit. But you got to be careful messing with some indigenas. My teacher told me about one town where such fraud occurred, and the people threw the fraudulent healer into the river and hit her with spiny plants as a punishment. Apparently, they take the law into their own hands in some of these towns.
Quito looks a lot like North America, being a big city and all. Then my host mother last night informs me that gays are thrown in jail for a month if they are caught... being gay, I guess!! After some rigorous reasearch in guide books, it appears it has recently been legalized... but talk about different from San Francisco!
On to other topics, forget malaria and guerrillas, the most dangerous thing here is the motorists. When they say they don´t stop for pedestrians they mean THEY NEVER EVER EVEN COME CLOSE TO SLOWING DOWN for pedestrians. One motorcyclist that almost hit me today, proclaimed "oh, haha, I almost killed you, my love."
That´s the other thing. My new names include "my princess, my queen, my love." Unlike a lot of men in Rome, the men here don´t drool like they´ve never seen a woman before, but every comment I get from men is followed by "my most beautiful princess." They seem very cavalier. I haven´t run into too much machismo yet. But the younger generation of men are generally a lot less machista; in fact, many of them seem simply courteous and sweet.
Today, I went to La Fundación Guayasamín, which shows the works of the most famous Ecuadorian painter, Guayasamín, who was half-indigena. He was quite the progressive, and let´s just say he didn´t think too highly of Latin American dictatorships or the CIA. Some people criticize him as a Pizarro rip-off, but I thought his work was rather amazing. From the museum, which was high above Quito, I could look into the whole valley and the surrounding mountains. It´s like nothing I´ve ever seen before.
I will put up a link to the photos as soon as I figure out what Mark´s telling me to do with them online.
Hasta luego.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Basilicas y locos
Today I met the other students that will be in the Quito program this month. We went through Quito. The best part was visiting the basilica. We had an INSANE tour guide. We were allowed to climb the towers of the church with him. People gradually dropped out as the ascent became more precarious. We went across a boardwalk built over the roof of the main hall, then we climbed a tower up an extremely steep ladder. As if that wasn't enough, he then invited us to climb the vertical rebar handles up the outside of the tower! It was like a Via Ferrata except without gear and on the side of a basilica tower. Then we went inside another tower... now only three of us followed this loco. And we climbed the negative sloping rebar inside the tower. He and I talked about rock climbing a lot, as he was a climber, so that was cool. He tried to convince me to try some of the ice climbing in the volcanoes around here, but I insisted that I cannot stand the cold.
We also went out on a tiny bit of concrete in the highest part of the tower. He was climbing all over the outside. It was amazing. Of course, most of the group watched from below, where they were a lot safer.
We also visited the historic district and had lunch, where I tried the local ceviche which is very different from that in Mexico. In Mexico, ceviche has the consistency of salsa, but here it is a cold soup, further evidence of the differences one encounters across Latin America.
I had my first shower. When and where "hot" water exists, it is provided by a burst of electricity, which means you get something around lukewarm for two minutes, then you get barely tolerable chilly, which means it's time to finish up. I also accidentally rinsed my toothbrush in the sink, a big no-no with the water here, but hopefully it wasn't enough to hurt me. I haven't been stupid enough to take a big swig, but it's hard not to do the automatic things like run your toothbrush under the faucet. You have to used boiled or bottled water for that.
The altitude sickness persists. Our crazy tour guide told me to try chewing coca, which is the mother plant of cocaine and totally illegal in the US. But when it's still a leaf it's nothing like cocaine. Nevertheless, I think I'll stick to aspirin.
Tomorrow I begin language lessons, which I will have only this week.
Then to Puyo.
Wait 'til I download some of these photos! You won't believe them!
We also went out on a tiny bit of concrete in the highest part of the tower. He was climbing all over the outside. It was amazing. Of course, most of the group watched from below, where they were a lot safer.
We also visited the historic district and had lunch, where I tried the local ceviche which is very different from that in Mexico. In Mexico, ceviche has the consistency of salsa, but here it is a cold soup, further evidence of the differences one encounters across Latin America.
I had my first shower. When and where "hot" water exists, it is provided by a burst of electricity, which means you get something around lukewarm for two minutes, then you get barely tolerable chilly, which means it's time to finish up. I also accidentally rinsed my toothbrush in the sink, a big no-no with the water here, but hopefully it wasn't enough to hurt me. I haven't been stupid enough to take a big swig, but it's hard not to do the automatic things like run your toothbrush under the faucet. You have to used boiled or bottled water for that.
The altitude sickness persists. Our crazy tour guide told me to try chewing coca, which is the mother plant of cocaine and totally illegal in the US. But when it's still a leaf it's nothing like cocaine. Nevertheless, I think I'll stick to aspirin.
Tomorrow I begin language lessons, which I will have only this week.
Then to Puyo.
Wait 'til I download some of these photos! You won't believe them!
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Quito
I have arrived in Quito.
The flight was very long and boring. The highlight was the full moon. At one time, we were flying over the ocean and there were no clouds. The full moon reflected off the ocean which went on forever. I felt like I was in a science fiction film.
I expected a flight with half Ecuadorians, half norteamericanos. But everyone on the plane was a rich American, Canadian, or European en route to the Galapagos Islands. Needless to say, I was a bit out of place with my backpack and in a tank top and bandana, as they all had ten pieces of designer luggage and more jewels than fingers. And they were all very old.
In the airport, my host father in Quito, Marcos, picked me up in a taxi and took me back to their apartment which is very nice. There are two little boys, 3 and 5 years old. The younger one doesn´t talk; he only grunts. But they are both very cute.
Quito is surrounded by mountains, and you can just barely make out snow on a few of the peaks. The weather is warm and humid in the morning. Then, according to Lorena, my host mother, it starts raining after 4 and becomes colder. Right now it´s 20 Celsius and rather humid.
Many of the people are indistinguishable from people in the Mission district of San Francisco. The young women wear tank tops and jeans, to my relief, though I hear they dress more conservatively in small towns. The music at the internet cafe is the same reggaeton songs they play in San Francisco, which I guess is a testament to how Latinized California has become.
Unfortunately, I have developed altitude sickness. This happened almost as soon as the plane touched down. I have a huge headache and need to drink lots of water. Quito is twice as high as Denver, so this makes sense. I should be better in a few days, just in time to leave the mountains to go to Puyo.
Internet is very fast, and at this cafe it´s a whopping 70 cents per hour. I am less pleased with some of the keyboards, which in addition to being different than those in the US, appear to not always type what they should. Such is life.
The Spanish is extremely easy to understand in Quito, although my host mother told me that it is more difficult in the east because many people speak Quichua as their first language.
I will be in Quito until very early Saturday morning, exactly one week from today.
I miss everyone. And I miss water that doesn´t have to boiled. Already.
The flight was very long and boring. The highlight was the full moon. At one time, we were flying over the ocean and there were no clouds. The full moon reflected off the ocean which went on forever. I felt like I was in a science fiction film.
I expected a flight with half Ecuadorians, half norteamericanos. But everyone on the plane was a rich American, Canadian, or European en route to the Galapagos Islands. Needless to say, I was a bit out of place with my backpack and in a tank top and bandana, as they all had ten pieces of designer luggage and more jewels than fingers. And they were all very old.
In the airport, my host father in Quito, Marcos, picked me up in a taxi and took me back to their apartment which is very nice. There are two little boys, 3 and 5 years old. The younger one doesn´t talk; he only grunts. But they are both very cute.
Quito is surrounded by mountains, and you can just barely make out snow on a few of the peaks. The weather is warm and humid in the morning. Then, according to Lorena, my host mother, it starts raining after 4 and becomes colder. Right now it´s 20 Celsius and rather humid.
Many of the people are indistinguishable from people in the Mission district of San Francisco. The young women wear tank tops and jeans, to my relief, though I hear they dress more conservatively in small towns. The music at the internet cafe is the same reggaeton songs they play in San Francisco, which I guess is a testament to how Latinized California has become.
Unfortunately, I have developed altitude sickness. This happened almost as soon as the plane touched down. I have a huge headache and need to drink lots of water. Quito is twice as high as Denver, so this makes sense. I should be better in a few days, just in time to leave the mountains to go to Puyo.
Internet is very fast, and at this cafe it´s a whopping 70 cents per hour. I am less pleased with some of the keyboards, which in addition to being different than those in the US, appear to not always type what they should. Such is life.
The Spanish is extremely easy to understand in Quito, although my host mother told me that it is more difficult in the east because many people speak Quichua as their first language.
I will be in Quito until very early Saturday morning, exactly one week from today.
I miss everyone. And I miss water that doesn´t have to boiled. Already.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Chicago
Well, here I am in Chicago.
Tomorrow at 10 a.m. I wlll be taking the El to O'Hare to begin my trek into Ecuador.
It's raining right now in Quito, the capital. And it will be raining for the whole week I am there. Hopefully, I will be getting some intense language boot camp at the "Amazing Andes" Language School. Then, next Saturday, I take a bus to Puyo, in the Oriente region, where I will spend three weeks in the Amazon Community Medicine Program of CFHI (www.cfhi.org). That month, I happen to be the only student in that program, as I have described before, so it's going to be ... interesting.
I am getting excited/nervous and think that I may be somewhat in denial.
After the long bus ride from Minneapolis yesterday, where my mamaw dropped me off at a megabus to Chicago, I arrived at Kevin's place. I did a bit o' site seeing today, including The Field Museum right on Lake Michigan (just days ago we were driving up the north shore of Lake Superior ... that makes two great lakes in one week!). Then Kevin met up with me after his classes and he showed me this crazy sculpture that looks like a kidney bean. It's unbelievable actually! I can't explain it, but it reflects things in very crazy ways.
I have read that the descent into Quito is quite adventurous, so with my fear of flying, the darkness, and the forecasted storms, tomorrow will be oodles of fun. And I have to start that danged antimalarial medication.
Know that I love you all. I already miss you.
And a special thanks to Mom, Dad, Jessica, Ashley, Mamaw, Granpa, Andy, Kevin, and last of all, the always wonderful Mark ... for all your love, help, and assistance over the past few weeks and years.
Next dispatch to come from Quito, Ecuador :)
Wednesday, September 27, 2006
Wisconsin
So I have arrived in Wisconsin.
The past two weeks have been pretty hectic and nerve-racking. I applied to Cambridge University and took the GRE last week. The GRE went well, but we will have to wait and see about Cambridge. The application was intense. Much harder than the GRE, which I ended up not so much studying for ... as the Cambridge application took over my life. I even had to write a master's thesis proposal - for the application! Geez o pete. Now I'm waiting for Bowling Green to send some additional transcripts to Wisconsin so I can send my "supplementary materials."
I ran into Kevin incidentally, as he was visiting Bishop Hall the same week I was. This is weird as we haven't seen each other in over a year, and we will be meeting up again in Chicago next week. Scott was on a ten day leave, also incidentally, but I did not get up to see him thanks to the grueling Cambridge crud. I did get to visit Jen (enjoying med school as expected) and Andy (ol' trusty hangin' out in Clermont County) so that was nice.
I spent some quality time with my mamaw at the bawdy comedy show Shadowbox Cabaret, and just let me take this time to reaffirm that I do have the COOLEST grandmother on this planet Earth. Now she and I are up in Wisconsin with my granpa.
Mis abuelos have a little cabin on a lake in some rural countryside up north so we are spending the week relaxing here and enjoying each other's company before I head to my flight from Chicago next week.
Then it's off to the high sierra, to the city of Quito, Ecuador.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Oxford, Ohio
Wow, it's so strange to be back in Oxford, not to mention in Bishop.
I am visiting my sister/studying for the GRE/working on applications/meeting with professors at good ol' Miami University. It's strange to spend four years of your life in this little bubble, move out to San Francisco, then spend a few days back here. So strange. Can't communicate the strangeness. Lots of memories. I am waxing nostalgic.
But it's different. Because what really made college was the people. And they are gone. A few professors are still around. But my friends, roommates, classmates, research partners, all dispersed, from Chicago to New York to Miami to Kazahkstan. Married. Grad school. Jobs. So it's strange to see the buildings and the familiar fall landscape and not be able to wander down to Mark and Matt's room for some time-wasting Law and Order or to Scott and Higgity's for an earful of trivial information. No Kevin and ridiculous Gospel nights or Irish parties. Ah, college. College, I make fun of Mark for missing thee, but I loved thee as well... Too bad I didn't realize it until I left.
But I love San Francisco. I love my new life. I love Latin America. And traveling. And Mark and Jessie and the other people in the Bay Area. So it's good. And all seems beautiful here now, until I remind myself about Cincinnati winters. Ick.
I am visiting my sister/studying for the GRE/working on applications/meeting with professors at good ol' Miami University. It's strange to spend four years of your life in this little bubble, move out to San Francisco, then spend a few days back here. So strange. Can't communicate the strangeness. Lots of memories. I am waxing nostalgic.
But it's different. Because what really made college was the people. And they are gone. A few professors are still around. But my friends, roommates, classmates, research partners, all dispersed, from Chicago to New York to Miami to Kazahkstan. Married. Grad school. Jobs. So it's strange to see the buildings and the familiar fall landscape and not be able to wander down to Mark and Matt's room for some time-wasting Law and Order or to Scott and Higgity's for an earful of trivial information. No Kevin and ridiculous Gospel nights or Irish parties. Ah, college. College, I make fun of Mark for missing thee, but I loved thee as well... Too bad I didn't realize it until I left.
But I love San Francisco. I love my new life. I love Latin America. And traveling. And Mark and Jessie and the other people in the Bay Area. So it's good. And all seems beautiful here now, until I remind myself about Cincinnati winters. Ick.
Monday, September 04, 2006
New Richmond homecoming
Well, I am in the Cincinnati area now. I need to hunker down and study, but being around the countless TVs and in a house where the rooms go on and on and where food is endless and the piano calling my name, it's very hard to work. So far, I've watched lots of TV (I don't have it in my place in Cali), eaten countless handmade cookies, and remembered what life is like with no cell phone reception (too rural) and only dial-up internet (again, too rural, no dsl here). Not much to do here, but the weather and landscape are green and beautiful. And now the Simpsons are on. Looks like I will start studying tomorrow.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
One is the loneliest number
Last night, I received the program participant list for my time in Ecuador. The list looked like this:
Elizabeth D------ (myemailaddress) (mycontactinfo)
I scrolled down looking for more names. There were none. So I emailed the lovely people at CFHI to tell them they didn't send the rest of the participant list and could they please re-send it?
The response: No, you have the whole participant list.
...
...
I am it. No roommates. No friends. No traveling companions. I will be staying with three Americans in Quito, then it's off to Puyo. By myself.
Needless to say, this knocks the anxiety up a notch or two or seven.
Elizabeth D------ (myemailaddress) (mycontactinfo)
I scrolled down looking for more names. There were none. So I emailed the lovely people at CFHI to tell them they didn't send the rest of the participant list and could they please re-send it?
The response: No, you have the whole participant list.
...
...
I am it. No roommates. No friends. No traveling companions. I will be staying with three Americans in Quito, then it's off to Puyo. By myself.
Needless to say, this knocks the anxiety up a notch or two or seven.
warning: insurance soapbox... read at your own risk
People have lost their moral compass.
Not to sound like a raging neo-con, but what has happened to our humanity?
Take this, for example:
"A slim majority of Californians, 53 percent, said they would be willing to pay more -- either through higher health insurance premiums or higher taxes -- to increase the number of people who have health insurance." -- SF Chronicle
That makes me sick. Just sick. Yes, 53 percent will part with some of their precious precious MONEY so that more people can LIVE. But that means 47 percent of Californians are cold-hearted ... people. Well, I've made very little money in the past year, and I would give my entire savings account if I thought it would make a dent on the misery caused by our health care system to millions of others.
Seven million people in California are uninsured. I will be joining them on Friday. Hopefully, I will be getting some travel insurance to cover the emergencies, but there's plenty of people way less fortunate than I.
47 percent of people would rather spend money on another ski trip to Tahoe or another Lexus SUV or another yacht rather than providing insulin to an elderly diabetic. There are some freakin' RICH people in California. But I bet the RICH people are mostly in that 47 percent of inhuman slime.
Travel insurance won't pay for my last rabies vaccine. Why? Because they have done a "cost-benefit analysis" and determined they'd rather risk me dying of rabies than pay 200 dollars for the last shot. How do these people sleep at night? I mean, really?? They are KILLING people with their cold accounting. I can't even make coherent arguments when it comes to this because I am so enraged.
I guess that's how capitalism works. Everything is numbers, money. Your child needs a flu shot? Hmmm, how much will that cost? You need food? Well, we're going to have to charge you. Don't have money? Oh sorry. No food for you. You don't have any money? You must be a failure! You certainly can't be intelligent, because smart people always figure something out.
Yes, I figure something out. I guess I am smart. I plan. I save. But I can't buy into this huge machine. That's why I can't be a doctor. I can't deal with this system. I couldn't let people DIE because they didn't have insurance. I can't fight all these ignorant fools who swim in money rather than seek friendships or experiences or human connection.
It will be good to leave this country. People can be monsters. Though I guess that's everywhere nowadays...
Not to sound like a raging neo-con, but what has happened to our humanity?
Take this, for example:
"A slim majority of Californians, 53 percent, said they would be willing to pay more -- either through higher health insurance premiums or higher taxes -- to increase the number of people who have health insurance." -- SF Chronicle
That makes me sick. Just sick. Yes, 53 percent will part with some of their precious precious MONEY so that more people can LIVE. But that means 47 percent of Californians are cold-hearted ... people. Well, I've made very little money in the past year, and I would give my entire savings account if I thought it would make a dent on the misery caused by our health care system to millions of others.
Seven million people in California are uninsured. I will be joining them on Friday. Hopefully, I will be getting some travel insurance to cover the emergencies, but there's plenty of people way less fortunate than I.
47 percent of people would rather spend money on another ski trip to Tahoe or another Lexus SUV or another yacht rather than providing insulin to an elderly diabetic. There are some freakin' RICH people in California. But I bet the RICH people are mostly in that 47 percent of inhuman slime.
Travel insurance won't pay for my last rabies vaccine. Why? Because they have done a "cost-benefit analysis" and determined they'd rather risk me dying of rabies than pay 200 dollars for the last shot. How do these people sleep at night? I mean, really?? They are KILLING people with their cold accounting. I can't even make coherent arguments when it comes to this because I am so enraged.
I guess that's how capitalism works. Everything is numbers, money. Your child needs a flu shot? Hmmm, how much will that cost? You need food? Well, we're going to have to charge you. Don't have money? Oh sorry. No food for you. You don't have any money? You must be a failure! You certainly can't be intelligent, because smart people always figure something out.
Yes, I figure something out. I guess I am smart. I plan. I save. But I can't buy into this huge machine. That's why I can't be a doctor. I can't deal with this system. I couldn't let people DIE because they didn't have insurance. I can't fight all these ignorant fools who swim in money rather than seek friendships or experiences or human connection.
It will be good to leave this country. People can be monsters. Though I guess that's everywhere nowadays...
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
México - El programa para madres muy pobres
The program for very poor mothers.
http://members5.boardhost.com/CasaLibertad/msg/1154627353.html
As many of you know, Mark and I went to Mexico in the beginning of August and stayed with retired U.S. Marine Bob and Mexican nurse Vicky at their beautiful home in the small seaside town of Rincón de Guayabitos in the state of Nayarit.
One day, Vicky roused us all after breakfast, saying "Hurry, hurry, a girl just had a baby in the countryside and she is very poor, we need to help."
We jumped in the jeep (no seatbelts of course, old school), and headed up a jungle-covered hill over cobbled-together rural roads. The girl in the picture just gave birth to her second baby. You can see the blue tub of baby stuff I just handed her on the bed and the groceries that we brought in the chair. Mark and I donated $50 to this community, not much because we are poor kids ourselves, but it is a small fortune there. For example, this girl's husband makes 150 pesos (less than 15 dollars) a day. (Though familes in Ecuador make a fraction even of that!)
I have given Vicky and Bob information about VIDA, hoping some of their friends will be able to take medical supplies there in the future.
http://members5.boardhost.com/CasaLibertad/msg/1154627353.html
As many of you know, Mark and I went to Mexico in the beginning of August and stayed with retired U.S. Marine Bob and Mexican nurse Vicky at their beautiful home in the small seaside town of Rincón de Guayabitos in the state of Nayarit.
One day, Vicky roused us all after breakfast, saying "Hurry, hurry, a girl just had a baby in the countryside and she is very poor, we need to help."
We jumped in the jeep (no seatbelts of course, old school), and headed up a jungle-covered hill over cobbled-together rural roads. The girl in the picture just gave birth to her second baby. You can see the blue tub of baby stuff I just handed her on the bed and the groceries that we brought in the chair. Mark and I donated $50 to this community, not much because we are poor kids ourselves, but it is a small fortune there. For example, this girl's husband makes 150 pesos (less than 15 dollars) a day. (Though familes in Ecuador make a fraction even of that!)
I have given Vicky and Bob information about VIDA, hoping some of their friends will be able to take medical supplies there in the future.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Comments
I fixed the comment problem. I got complaints that it wasn't letting you comment without registering. Turns out I had the setting "Who is allowed to comment?" set to "Only Registered Users." Now it is set to "Anyone" so comment away...
And I thought I was unpopular...
And I thought I was unpopular...
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Insurance companies are shady
I went to the travel clinic yesterday. The nurse shot me in the arm four times, Hep A, Yellow Fever, Tetanus, and Rabies. If I haven't had rabies vaccine, I will need two more shots. Plus, I might need Hep B. The typhoid vaccine is oral. Sixty bucks for four little pills! I have to take them over a week period, but I don't want to take them right now because I think between all the shots I got yesterday, I am a little sick. I have had a headache and fill cruddy in general since yesterday. But I have to do the typhoid before the antimalarials start!
So, here is my insurance companies are shady story:
There are several antimalarial drugs. The cheapest one by far is mefloquine (or Lariam). Thing is, it's horrible! It has horrible side effects and causes psychosis so bad that people have even murdered their families on it. It basically is like LSD for some people. Okay, maybe not, but it causes self-mutilation, suicide, homicidal thoughts, hallucinations. Doxycycline can also be used, but it is a powerful antibiotic and also has side effects, though not nearly as bad as Lariam.
Then, there is the best antimalarial drug out there... Malarone! Malarone has almost no known major side effects, it is not known to cause yeast infections like the traditional antibiotics, and it's 98% effective.
So why don't they give everyone Malarone?? It's expensive. And if you only pay 35 dollars for a generic prescription, the insurance company want it to cost them as little as possible.
I go into the travel clinic and the nurse practitioner rips me off a Lariam prescription. It's pre-typed and everything! She didn't even ask me anything or tell me anything. Here is the conversation:
"Here. This is for malaria. Take it to the pharmacy."
Me: "Aren't there really bad side effects? Like psychosis and stuff on mefloquine?"
Her: "Where did you hear that?? You should be fine. You don't have any psychiatric condition."
Me (exagerrating): "Oh, but I had a lot in the past. I've had all kinds of psychiatric problems. I WON'T take mefloquine."
Her: "Well, I'm not authorized to prescribe anything else. If you really want something else, you can ask your doctor for DOXYCYCLINE."
Me: "How about Malarone?"
Her: ...very surprised uncomfortable look... pause... "How do YOU know about Malarone?
Me: "Isn't it the safest and best antimalarial?"
Her: "You're going to have to go see you doctor if you think..."
Me: "Fine, I will..."
So, I go to my doctor. He says "Oh, I am so glad you came to me. I NEVER prescribe mefloquine. It's a horribe drug, and I don't think it's even very EFFECTIVE. Of course, here's a prescription for Malarone."
I hate the way healthcare in this country works.
At least now I have my Malarone, which cost the insurance company $460 instead of pennies. But I won't go psycho and kill any of you.
So one painful arm, several vaccines, $150 from me, and one heck of an antimalarial drug battle, and my body's prepped to go... almost...
So, here is my insurance companies are shady story:
There are several antimalarial drugs. The cheapest one by far is mefloquine (or Lariam). Thing is, it's horrible! It has horrible side effects and causes psychosis so bad that people have even murdered their families on it. It basically is like LSD for some people. Okay, maybe not, but it causes self-mutilation, suicide, homicidal thoughts, hallucinations. Doxycycline can also be used, but it is a powerful antibiotic and also has side effects, though not nearly as bad as Lariam.
Then, there is the best antimalarial drug out there... Malarone! Malarone has almost no known major side effects, it is not known to cause yeast infections like the traditional antibiotics, and it's 98% effective.
So why don't they give everyone Malarone?? It's expensive. And if you only pay 35 dollars for a generic prescription, the insurance company want it to cost them as little as possible.
I go into the travel clinic and the nurse practitioner rips me off a Lariam prescription. It's pre-typed and everything! She didn't even ask me anything or tell me anything. Here is the conversation:
"Here. This is for malaria. Take it to the pharmacy."
Me: "Aren't there really bad side effects? Like psychosis and stuff on mefloquine?"
Her: "Where did you hear that?? You should be fine. You don't have any psychiatric condition."
Me (exagerrating): "Oh, but I had a lot in the past. I've had all kinds of psychiatric problems. I WON'T take mefloquine."
Her: "Well, I'm not authorized to prescribe anything else. If you really want something else, you can ask your doctor for DOXYCYCLINE."
Me: "How about Malarone?"
Her: ...very surprised uncomfortable look... pause... "How do YOU know about Malarone?
Me: "Isn't it the safest and best antimalarial?"
Her: "You're going to have to go see you doctor if you think..."
Me: "Fine, I will..."
So, I go to my doctor. He says "Oh, I am so glad you came to me. I NEVER prescribe mefloquine. It's a horribe drug, and I don't think it's even very EFFECTIVE. Of course, here's a prescription for Malarone."
I hate the way healthcare in this country works.
At least now I have my Malarone, which cost the insurance company $460 instead of pennies. But I won't go psycho and kill any of you.
So one painful arm, several vaccines, $150 from me, and one heck of an antimalarial drug battle, and my body's prepped to go... almost...
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Travel clinic
I have to go to the travel clinic.
Only thing is, my insurance sucks.
My program says I will probably need a vaccination against yellow fever, typhoid, hepatitis A, and hepatitis B. Hopefully, I already have the hep shots because they take months. I think I do. Maybe Mom will know.
Then I am supposed to pick up prescription anti-diarrheal drugs.
Then there's the anti-malarials. These are the worst. You have to start them before you leave, take them religiously the whole time you are there and for four weeks after you get back. The problem is these drugs are POTENT! They are no laughing matter. They can make you very sick, cause raging yeast infections (I know, ick), and even cause psychosis. The psychosis possibility is pretty bad. They say if you've ever had anxiety or depression they need to watch you closely for psychosis.
Then, even if you do take the anti-malarials, survive the very likely yeast infections and possible psychosis, it's not 100% safe. They say if you get a fever IN THE NEXT YEAR, that you need to go the emergency room and tell them you are at risk for malaria.
Great...and I don't tolerate meds well, anyway. And my insurance might not cover them, and they are expensive.
Hope I'm not scaring any of my relatives :) Don't worry, please, I am worried enough for all of us!
If anyone out there has taken anti-malarial drugs, please let me know how that went for you.
I guess I should feel "lucky" because a lot of children die from malaria, and because they are not from rich USA like me, they don't have the choice to take anti-malarials drugs.
Only thing is, my insurance sucks.
My program says I will probably need a vaccination against yellow fever, typhoid, hepatitis A, and hepatitis B. Hopefully, I already have the hep shots because they take months. I think I do. Maybe Mom will know.
Then I am supposed to pick up prescription anti-diarrheal drugs.
Then there's the anti-malarials. These are the worst. You have to start them before you leave, take them religiously the whole time you are there and for four weeks after you get back. The problem is these drugs are POTENT! They are no laughing matter. They can make you very sick, cause raging yeast infections (I know, ick), and even cause psychosis. The psychosis possibility is pretty bad. They say if you've ever had anxiety or depression they need to watch you closely for psychosis.
Then, even if you do take the anti-malarials, survive the very likely yeast infections and possible psychosis, it's not 100% safe. They say if you get a fever IN THE NEXT YEAR, that you need to go the emergency room and tell them you are at risk for malaria.
Great...and I don't tolerate meds well, anyway. And my insurance might not cover them, and they are expensive.
Hope I'm not scaring any of my relatives :) Don't worry, please, I am worried enough for all of us!
If anyone out there has taken anti-malarial drugs, please let me know how that went for you.
I guess I should feel "lucky" because a lot of children die from malaria, and because they are not from rich USA like me, they don't have the choice to take anti-malarials drugs.
It begins
This is a long post as it is the first....
On August 15, 2006, I was accepted into CFHI's Amazon Community Medicine Program.
CFHI stands for Child Family Health International. They provide students with service-learning opportunities in healthcare fields throughout the world. Their programs are in India, Mexico, Bolivia, Ecuador, and South Africa. You can see CFHI for yourself at www.cfhi.org, and click on the Amazon Community Medicine Program if you want to know more about their description of the program.
I met people at CFHI while working for VIDA, Volunteers for Inter-american Development Assistance, for the past year. VIDA is in Emeryville, CA, at the end of the Bay Bridge across from San Francisco. The website is www.vidausa.org and is available in English and cruddy Spanish. (Our partner is at www.vidaperu.org if you speak Spanish. Their site is pretty good.) What VIDA does is collect medical supplies from Bay Area hospitals, like Stanford, that they are going to throw away. Sometimes, because Stanford has so much money from their big endowments, they will just throw away perfectly good hospital beds that somebody else could use for years! VIDA rescues this stuff. We only take good, unexpired stuff because we don't believe in sending our garbage to the Third World just to get it out of the US and make ourselves feel good. We are only helping if we send quality donations, not if we send trash... that offends people. People living in poverty still have dignity and pride like everyone else.
CFHI works with VIDA sometimes. CFHI sends pre-medical and medical students and others interested in healthcare on month-long programs in other countries. This is NOT actually a medical mission. See, in a medical mission the idea is that you provide care to people so poor they don't have any other choice. This has actually hurt people in the past, because unqualified younger students from the US or Europe would go to developing countries to "practise" on people who had no choice but accept sub-standard care.
The problem is because many people still do not trust "Western" medicine. For example, they may rely on what we call shamans ("curanderos" in Spanish) to treat their illnesses. If they take their child to a Western medicine doctor or student who is not really qualified, and their child does not get better, they may never trust Western care again. So it is very important that only well-qualified doctors trained in cultural issues attempt what we think of as "medical missions."
So what am I doing then? I am assisting and observing healthcare providers in the field. This is more like a cultural exchange or opportunity.
CFHI works with VIDA because sometimes they send medical supplies with students, and VIDA can provide them with supplies. Well, since my job at VIDA is ending, I thought I'd give it a shot and see if CFHI would grant me one of their scholarships. They did, and now I am going to spend October in the program, and then I will contine traveling Ecuador through November.
On August 15, 2006, I was accepted into CFHI's Amazon Community Medicine Program.
CFHI stands for Child Family Health International. They provide students with service-learning opportunities in healthcare fields throughout the world. Their programs are in India, Mexico, Bolivia, Ecuador, and South Africa. You can see CFHI for yourself at www.cfhi.org, and click on the Amazon Community Medicine Program if you want to know more about their description of the program.
I met people at CFHI while working for VIDA, Volunteers for Inter-american Development Assistance, for the past year. VIDA is in Emeryville, CA, at the end of the Bay Bridge across from San Francisco. The website is www.vidausa.org and is available in English and cruddy Spanish. (Our partner is at www.vidaperu.org if you speak Spanish. Their site is pretty good.) What VIDA does is collect medical supplies from Bay Area hospitals, like Stanford, that they are going to throw away. Sometimes, because Stanford has so much money from their big endowments, they will just throw away perfectly good hospital beds that somebody else could use for years! VIDA rescues this stuff. We only take good, unexpired stuff because we don't believe in sending our garbage to the Third World just to get it out of the US and make ourselves feel good. We are only helping if we send quality donations, not if we send trash... that offends people. People living in poverty still have dignity and pride like everyone else.
CFHI works with VIDA sometimes. CFHI sends pre-medical and medical students and others interested in healthcare on month-long programs in other countries. This is NOT actually a medical mission. See, in a medical mission the idea is that you provide care to people so poor they don't have any other choice. This has actually hurt people in the past, because unqualified younger students from the US or Europe would go to developing countries to "practise" on people who had no choice but accept sub-standard care.
The problem is because many people still do not trust "Western" medicine. For example, they may rely on what we call shamans ("curanderos" in Spanish) to treat their illnesses. If they take their child to a Western medicine doctor or student who is not really qualified, and their child does not get better, they may never trust Western care again. So it is very important that only well-qualified doctors trained in cultural issues attempt what we think of as "medical missions."
So what am I doing then? I am assisting and observing healthcare providers in the field. This is more like a cultural exchange or opportunity.
CFHI works with VIDA because sometimes they send medical supplies with students, and VIDA can provide them with supplies. Well, since my job at VIDA is ending, I thought I'd give it a shot and see if CFHI would grant me one of their scholarships. They did, and now I am going to spend October in the program, and then I will contine traveling Ecuador through November.
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