We reached a dead end. A cliff of mud after climbing in the dark over hundreds of feet of falling volcanic debris, which continued to roll treacherously around us. I felt the rocks and dirt start sliding out from under my feet. The university student from Riobamba and his aunt sliding next to me, as we flew down the landslide in the cover of night, when the police would not be there, the headlamp bouncing uncontrollably as we caused an avalanche of mud to fall down hundreds of feet with us.
In my province, Tungurahua, a state of emergency has been called. The worst rains in 45 years have devastated the countryside and absolutely destroyed the infrastructure. Thursday, the road between Salasaca and Baños simply crashed into the swollen flooded river hundreds of feet below. I managed to edge around the side of the mess and walk several hours on the route to Baños on Friday. Then they closed the way, even to walkers. There is absolutely no way to get in or out of Baños. The town is running low on supplies. I was stuck in Baños. Sunday, I tried to leave Baños to make it to Inti Raymi, the Incan sun festival, in Salasaca. After walking a few hours through flooded roads that buses could not drive through, I reached the largest landslide, the disaster area.
Machines like grotesque animals pushed dirt around hundreds of feet above us. A sheer cliff of dirt obscured the tiny path that I had used a mere two days before. The machines triggered more landslides, the mountain slipping into the river, trapping everyone in Baños. The police arrived and told us to go back to Baños. The freezing rain lashed our tired bodies, and the people around me decided if the could not leave, neither could the police. They surrounded the police car, banging on the windows and the hood, out of desperation, after hours of walking in the cold, the wind, the mud. Back to Baños, I thought resolutely. Through the sheets of rain I walked, returning to Baños, no way home. My bones so cold I thought my soul was shivering when a man on a motorcycle stopped abruptly, the only vehicle that I had seen all day. ´´To Baños? Two dollars.´´ A ridiculous price. But my frozen fingers unglued to dig out the money. Accepting helmetless motorcycle rides from reckless Ecuadorian strangers on Ecuadorian roads in the rain. Usually a bad idea. But the freezing rain changes your persepective.
Monday, the news comes on the family television. No leaving Baños for 8 days. But I had to get back to the school. For my students. Thus I found myself sneaking over a crumbling landslide in the night with two other reckless fools. No need to reprimand me, Mom, Mamaw, I know what you are going to say already.
Baños is dying. No way in means no way in for tourists. In a town where everyone works for the tourist dollar, I felt like I was in a ghost town, or in the great depression. The tourists already have not come for months because of the horrid weather. But now there are none. Zero. Everyone owns a tour agency, or a craft store, or an internet cafe. And the few who dont work directly in tourism are suffering because no one has money to go to the hardware store, for example. And, as I have noted before, no one has any saving.
He shows up at Santiago´s store to lament one thing or another, a friend. His jacket has a small hole in it. ´´What happened there?´´ we ask. ´´That was breakfast,´´ he laughed bitterly. ´´No money for food, so I am eating my jacket. I think I´ll have the hood for lunch.´´
And it is only going to get worse, I fear.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Current mood: accepting what makes me happy
This is a bit of boring introspection perhaps, but here goes...
I love my life right now. I am genuinely happy! I think I am coming to terms that I am not meant to live a life like everyone else. Being in my mid-20s (yikes!) has brought with it the general soul-searching purpose-of-my-life seeking that is to be expected. My friends have gotten married, gone to med school or law school, even had children! Which is great. And I thought that I needed to get a move on. Everyone else seems to be starting great careers and families. But I am slowly realizing that I am too restless and adventure-seeking for that kind of life right now.
Santiago says to me that we are young, that we can work hard, that we will always find away to survive while fearlessly following our hearts wherever in the world we feel like going. Living in a country where no one has health insurance or 401ks makes you re-think your priorities. Yes, I have saved approximately zero dollars for my retirement so far. But maybe I won´t live until then. And that doesn´t make me sad. It emboldens me to live now, to live every day. And why do people need a 401k? So they can retire from a job they hate, that has consumed their lives, so they can spend a few years in their old age enjoying themselves. But if we live our whole lives without seeing the inside of an office, without settling for lukewarm satisfaction, what do we need to retire from?
Yes, I know one day, especially if I have a family, I will want some security, some guarantee that when I am 70 and need a heart surgery, I will not go bankrupt. Some day, perhaps I might even settle down. But that day is not today. Nor is it this year, nor perhaps this decade.
With 2000 dollars, I can buy a plane ticket and live in some Latin American countries for 6 months. And what is wrong with working for 6 months in the United States, saving 2000 dollars, and living in another country the rest of the year? What is wrong with that if that is what makes me feel alive? I don´t know what I will do next year. I don´t know what I will do with my life. But that doesn´t scare me right now. Instead, I am excited about the endless opportunities.
I am very alive!
Anyone want to throw up from the cheesiness? Haha. But it´s true. And I wanted to share my happiness. Very happy, though I do wish it would stop raining.
I love my life right now. I am genuinely happy! I think I am coming to terms that I am not meant to live a life like everyone else. Being in my mid-20s (yikes!) has brought with it the general soul-searching purpose-of-my-life seeking that is to be expected. My friends have gotten married, gone to med school or law school, even had children! Which is great. And I thought that I needed to get a move on. Everyone else seems to be starting great careers and families. But I am slowly realizing that I am too restless and adventure-seeking for that kind of life right now.
Santiago says to me that we are young, that we can work hard, that we will always find away to survive while fearlessly following our hearts wherever in the world we feel like going. Living in a country where no one has health insurance or 401ks makes you re-think your priorities. Yes, I have saved approximately zero dollars for my retirement so far. But maybe I won´t live until then. And that doesn´t make me sad. It emboldens me to live now, to live every day. And why do people need a 401k? So they can retire from a job they hate, that has consumed their lives, so they can spend a few years in their old age enjoying themselves. But if we live our whole lives without seeing the inside of an office, without settling for lukewarm satisfaction, what do we need to retire from?
Yes, I know one day, especially if I have a family, I will want some security, some guarantee that when I am 70 and need a heart surgery, I will not go bankrupt. Some day, perhaps I might even settle down. But that day is not today. Nor is it this year, nor perhaps this decade.
With 2000 dollars, I can buy a plane ticket and live in some Latin American countries for 6 months. And what is wrong with working for 6 months in the United States, saving 2000 dollars, and living in another country the rest of the year? What is wrong with that if that is what makes me feel alive? I don´t know what I will do next year. I don´t know what I will do with my life. But that doesn´t scare me right now. Instead, I am excited about the endless opportunities.
I am very alive!
Anyone want to throw up from the cheesiness? Haha. But it´s true. And I wanted to share my happiness. Very happy, though I do wish it would stop raining.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Visa problems and a consequent trip to the beach
Thursday I woke up at 5 am in order to catch the bus to Quito to go to the Migration office. At around 9 they opened, and I waited and waited and waited. Finally, they got to me. I told them about how the consulate in San Francisco had wrongly told me that I didnt need a visa, and they listened, and after awhile they said ´´no problem, heres all the papers to apply for a volunteer visa.´´ I was hugely relieved, gave my friend Santiago the thumbs up and went to sit down. ´´But let´s look over the requirements, first, in case I have any questions,´´ I said. He agreed. I had a lot of questions. I kinda skipped over the part that said ´´copy of previous visa.´´
So I got back in line, waited another hour, and finally got to the window. After all my questions, I said ´´oh, and I dont have a previous visa.´´ You dont have a previous 12-VII visa?? Oh, we only do renewals from within the country. You cant get a visa here. Oh, and you are only here for four months? The minimum for a volunteer visa is six consecutive months... And no one thought to mention any of that to me BEFORE! Good thing I asked a ton of questions. SO INCOMPETENT! Well then, we cant help you. They didnt care that I had a letter from the school. Nothing. I begged and pleaded, and finally, they gave me information on a 12-X visa, which doesnt look like it will apply for me either, because the maximum is 6 months in one year, and I will have been here already for that amount of time. So they told me the only thing to do is come back 4 days... 4 DAYS! ... before my passport stamp expires with a letter begging the director of Migration Affairs himself to let me stay until my flight leaves. And if they refuse, I will have three days to get out of the country for 7 weeks! So August 4th I will know whether I am leaving August 5th for Bolivia or if I am teaching in August and September. Arrrrgh! I am writing appeals to the San Francisco consulate, too, hoping they might feel bad because this is their fault, but Ive never received an email reply from them in the past so I am not too hopeful.
On the Quito street I screamed ´´NO QUIERO GENERALIZAR, PERO TODOS LOS OFICIALES EN TU PAIS SON COMPLETAMENTE INCOMPETENTES (I dont want to generalize, but all of the officials of your country are completely incompetent),´´ to Santiago. But he agreed wholeheartedly. Yes, they are like this, he said. He was stressed and tired of the highland cold. I was shaking with anger and very preoccupied. So, obviously, we caught the next 9 hour bus... to the beach!
It was ridiculous, travelling for a day there (Thursday) and a day back (Sunday) to spend two days on the beach en Canoa. But we needed it. Oh man, it was so freakin amazing. The weather was perfect, hot. We did nothing but lie on the beach sipping coconut shakes and plunging into the warm ocean. The coast (la costa) is a totally different climate than the sierra where we live. It is tropical, hot, and humid. It was beautiful to wear a sarong and a bikini top and lie around in hammocks complaining about Ecuadorian migration, fickle tourists, and the Salasacan cold. And the best part, being with a great friend, where the talking just comes easily and everything´s great. Lindo. Beautiful.
But all good things, and warm things, come to an end. I am back in Salasaca, where, of course, all my food is gone (someone ate it) and fifteen people are wandering in and out of my house uninvited, which I finally escaped by hiding in the Internet cafe. Now, its back home to the multitudes of uninvited guests who just finished drinking all my Coca Cola without me or my permission!
So I got back in line, waited another hour, and finally got to the window. After all my questions, I said ´´oh, and I dont have a previous visa.´´ You dont have a previous 12-VII visa?? Oh, we only do renewals from within the country. You cant get a visa here. Oh, and you are only here for four months? The minimum for a volunteer visa is six consecutive months... And no one thought to mention any of that to me BEFORE! Good thing I asked a ton of questions. SO INCOMPETENT! Well then, we cant help you. They didnt care that I had a letter from the school. Nothing. I begged and pleaded, and finally, they gave me information on a 12-X visa, which doesnt look like it will apply for me either, because the maximum is 6 months in one year, and I will have been here already for that amount of time. So they told me the only thing to do is come back 4 days... 4 DAYS! ... before my passport stamp expires with a letter begging the director of Migration Affairs himself to let me stay until my flight leaves. And if they refuse, I will have three days to get out of the country for 7 weeks! So August 4th I will know whether I am leaving August 5th for Bolivia or if I am teaching in August and September. Arrrrgh! I am writing appeals to the San Francisco consulate, too, hoping they might feel bad because this is their fault, but Ive never received an email reply from them in the past so I am not too hopeful.
On the Quito street I screamed ´´NO QUIERO GENERALIZAR, PERO TODOS LOS OFICIALES EN TU PAIS SON COMPLETAMENTE INCOMPETENTES (I dont want to generalize, but all of the officials of your country are completely incompetent),´´ to Santiago. But he agreed wholeheartedly. Yes, they are like this, he said. He was stressed and tired of the highland cold. I was shaking with anger and very preoccupied. So, obviously, we caught the next 9 hour bus... to the beach!
It was ridiculous, travelling for a day there (Thursday) and a day back (Sunday) to spend two days on the beach en Canoa. But we needed it. Oh man, it was so freakin amazing. The weather was perfect, hot. We did nothing but lie on the beach sipping coconut shakes and plunging into the warm ocean. The coast (la costa) is a totally different climate than the sierra where we live. It is tropical, hot, and humid. It was beautiful to wear a sarong and a bikini top and lie around in hammocks complaining about Ecuadorian migration, fickle tourists, and the Salasacan cold. And the best part, being with a great friend, where the talking just comes easily and everything´s great. Lindo. Beautiful.
But all good things, and warm things, come to an end. I am back in Salasaca, where, of course, all my food is gone (someone ate it) and fifteen people are wandering in and out of my house uninvited, which I finally escaped by hiding in the Internet cafe. Now, its back home to the multitudes of uninvited guests who just finished drinking all my Coca Cola without me or my permission!
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Mi comida es tu comida
Latin Americans are famous for their hospitality. We´ve all heard ´´mi casa es tu casa´´ my house is your house. That´s great and all, but think about the logical conclusions. Then it´s ´my room is your room´ and ´my food is your food´ and even ´my iPod is your iPod´. Things disappear all the time. It´s great when I am hungry, because someone will give me food. If I need money, a friend would give me the last dime she had. But when I come home looking forward to an egg sandwich and my five eggs and ten pieces of bread are gone, eaten, it gets a little frustrating. And I absolutely have to order people to give my iPod back, which they pick up out of my room, which they entered without permission, and which they are listening to in the town center. Salasaca is very safe, and stealing is almost incomprehensible. But we have very different cultural concepts of stealing. In the United States, we would probably consider taking a 300 dollar iPod out of someone´s house without permission stealing. Here, there is no thought that it is wrong, and there are no bad intentions. But it´s hard to adapt to.
The Quichua is coming along nicely. My Quichua teacher, Francisca, has asked me to help her high school daughter with English, in exchange for my Quichua lessons. What can I say? So my day is quite full now. Get up at 7. 7-8 breakfast with Robert. 9-10 hike to school. 10-1 teach little children. 1-2 hike to Francisca´s house. 2-3 Quichua lessons, speaking short stupid sentences and making a fool of myself generally. 3-4 give English lessons. 4-5 hike to the town in the pouring rain. Then it´s time to make food, use the computer, study Quichua, prepare lessons, read, write, and maybe, finally, sleep.
Good days. Alli punllakuna.
The Quichua is coming along nicely. My Quichua teacher, Francisca, has asked me to help her high school daughter with English, in exchange for my Quichua lessons. What can I say? So my day is quite full now. Get up at 7. 7-8 breakfast with Robert. 9-10 hike to school. 10-1 teach little children. 1-2 hike to Francisca´s house. 2-3 Quichua lessons, speaking short stupid sentences and making a fool of myself generally. 3-4 give English lessons. 4-5 hike to the town in the pouring rain. Then it´s time to make food, use the computer, study Quichua, prepare lessons, read, write, and maybe, finally, sleep.
Good days. Alli punllakuna.
Monday, June 11, 2007
Ah, living by a volcano
The bus ride from Salasaca to Baños should take about 30 minutes. Today, it took me almost 4 hours to get home. So, what´s the deal, you ask?
Between me and my friends there is a very inconvenient volcano called Tunkurawa. After the eruption last year, there have been dramatic mudslides and flash floods that wash out the road every time it rains. And now is the rainy season. Tractors just sort of push the mud around if there is a break in the rain, which is rare. In the style of Latin American infrastructure planning, nothing is really being done. It rains, the road gets washed out, and, if you are lucky, tractors push away enough slush for your bus to bounce roughly through the landslide area. If you are unlucky, you will be walking through the mess running down from the volcano or you will be stuck wherever you are, sometimes for a day. Last week, I couldn´t get home at all from Baños. I left at 6, the bus got stuck, then I had to hike an hour back to Baños, no way out all day.
Here is a great example of Ecuadorian transportation. This morning, I got up at 5 am to leave my friend´s place in Baños. There was no way out. So I started walking, hoping to hitchhike, a common practice here. At about 6 am, the police decided to let buses through. So a bus picked me up. Then the police changed their minds. I sat in the bus for about an hour, then decided to get out and walk through the landslide, about an hour of dangerous trekking through the debris from the volcano. Just then, the police changed their minds again. The only bus that would pick me up was a small little local bus filled with campesinos going to Ambato. As luck would have it, they decided to bypass Salasaca, even though I specifically asked the driver to let me off there when I got on. So they dumped me off in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, after hiking about 30 minutes in what I hoped was the direction of Salasaca, I hitched a ride to the town center. Arriving home finally at 8:30 (3 and a half hours instead of 30 minutes!), I had to leave immediately for my 45 minute walk to school. Over 4 hours to get to school today!!! I am not going back to Baños for a little while! I hate getting stuck!
After school, it´s a 45 minute walk to my Quichua teacher's house. She read my Quichua diary today, and she freaked out! She actually told me that I write Quichua with almost no mistakes at all! I just need to learn to understand and talk better... She said "alli killkarkanki" (you wrote very well) three times before I understood her, haha! She also said that people have noticed how I speak Quichua with the youngest children (that´s because I am less embarrassed with them). I am so excited! I thought she was going to cross out the whole five pages I had written, but she hardly corrected a thing! Now, if only everyone would slow down a ton and stop having that truncated Salasaca dialect... I´d be in good shape.
Salasacapi chiri chiri kan. Ñuka Bañosman rinkapak munani, shinapash, Bañosman risha, ñukapak wasikama mana tikrankapak ushanichu. Shina, kunan tutapi chiri chiri Salasacapi puñucrini. (Salasaca is so cold! I want to go to Baños, but, if I go to Baños, I can´t get back to my house. So, tonight I am going to sleep in freakin´ cold cold Salasaca.... a loose translation) I am so happy with my written Quichua :) Maybe I can pretend I am deaf and have everyone write whatever they are saying down on a little chalkboard slung around my neck. Yeah... good idea.
Between me and my friends there is a very inconvenient volcano called Tunkurawa. After the eruption last year, there have been dramatic mudslides and flash floods that wash out the road every time it rains. And now is the rainy season. Tractors just sort of push the mud around if there is a break in the rain, which is rare. In the style of Latin American infrastructure planning, nothing is really being done. It rains, the road gets washed out, and, if you are lucky, tractors push away enough slush for your bus to bounce roughly through the landslide area. If you are unlucky, you will be walking through the mess running down from the volcano or you will be stuck wherever you are, sometimes for a day. Last week, I couldn´t get home at all from Baños. I left at 6, the bus got stuck, then I had to hike an hour back to Baños, no way out all day.
Here is a great example of Ecuadorian transportation. This morning, I got up at 5 am to leave my friend´s place in Baños. There was no way out. So I started walking, hoping to hitchhike, a common practice here. At about 6 am, the police decided to let buses through. So a bus picked me up. Then the police changed their minds. I sat in the bus for about an hour, then decided to get out and walk through the landslide, about an hour of dangerous trekking through the debris from the volcano. Just then, the police changed their minds again. The only bus that would pick me up was a small little local bus filled with campesinos going to Ambato. As luck would have it, they decided to bypass Salasaca, even though I specifically asked the driver to let me off there when I got on. So they dumped me off in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, after hiking about 30 minutes in what I hoped was the direction of Salasaca, I hitched a ride to the town center. Arriving home finally at 8:30 (3 and a half hours instead of 30 minutes!), I had to leave immediately for my 45 minute walk to school. Over 4 hours to get to school today!!! I am not going back to Baños for a little while! I hate getting stuck!
After school, it´s a 45 minute walk to my Quichua teacher's house. She read my Quichua diary today, and she freaked out! She actually told me that I write Quichua with almost no mistakes at all! I just need to learn to understand and talk better... She said "alli killkarkanki" (you wrote very well) three times before I understood her, haha! She also said that people have noticed how I speak Quichua with the youngest children (that´s because I am less embarrassed with them). I am so excited! I thought she was going to cross out the whole five pages I had written, but she hardly corrected a thing! Now, if only everyone would slow down a ton and stop having that truncated Salasaca dialect... I´d be in good shape.
Salasacapi chiri chiri kan. Ñuka Bañosman rinkapak munani, shinapash, Bañosman risha, ñukapak wasikama mana tikrankapak ushanichu. Shina, kunan tutapi chiri chiri Salasacapi puñucrini. (Salasaca is so cold! I want to go to Baños, but, if I go to Baños, I can´t get back to my house. So, tonight I am going to sleep in freakin´ cold cold Salasaca.... a loose translation) I am so happy with my written Quichua :) Maybe I can pretend I am deaf and have everyone write whatever they are saying down on a little chalkboard slung around my neck. Yeah... good idea.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
A few short tales from my week...
FULL MOON ON THE PARAMO
A camioneta takes us out to Rosa Maria's house. We are lucky because it is a 45 minute walk. We bring two bottles of wine and arrive at the beautiful house where Maria Antonia, the doctoral student in linguistic anthropology, lives. On the patio, the full moon shines like the sun, and the night is so clear that we can make out Chimborazo, the tallest volcano in Ecuador, the placest closest to the sun on the entire Earth, in the distance, the snow shining like glitter in the paramo full moon. Later, inside, songs by guitar fill the warming room as the fire burns in the fireplace lined with actual volcanic rocks from Tungurawa.
AN EXPAT IN THE RAINFOREST
R (Robert)´s friend, Linda lives in the rainforest around San Francisco, on the road between Baños and Puyo. After two long bus rides descending from the paramo to the jungle, we disembark and slosh along muddy trails and through rushing streams flowing into the Pastaza river, arriving after a lengthy hike at a beautiful house standing alone in the forest, where Linda lives with her two German shepherds. The afternoon is lazy, with lemonade on the porch and conversations on the canopy that allows us to look out across untouched forest. Rainforest solitude.
HANGING OUT WITH YOUNG MEN IN BANOS
Baños is a world apart. We watch people pass. People come in and out of the shop. Foreigners, Ecuadorians, but mostly foreigners. Sometimes we teach each a few phrases like +friends with benefits+ and a few other things inappopriate to say... Dance clubs, parties in tattoo parlors, late night drives along the windy road in someone´s car. Driving is a cool here, so driving around listening to music is a perfectly acceptable way for five young people to spend the evening, squished together in the tiny vehicle of that friend that drives. Sleeping in, dinner with friends.
THE ADVENTURE OF TAKING A SHOWER
There is no water. No showers. No toilet. No water for cooking, for washing hands. Someone forgot to fill the water tank, and water only comes on Friday. But I really want a shower. I am gross. Really. So we pass buckets of water that I fill from the outside faucet, passing them up to the roof, hauling enough liters for me to take a quick shower. If you want to appreciate your shower, try hauling all of the water for it up three laters, over a rooftop, and into a plastic tank. No pain, no gain, Robert always intones.
A camioneta takes us out to Rosa Maria's house. We are lucky because it is a 45 minute walk. We bring two bottles of wine and arrive at the beautiful house where Maria Antonia, the doctoral student in linguistic anthropology, lives. On the patio, the full moon shines like the sun, and the night is so clear that we can make out Chimborazo, the tallest volcano in Ecuador, the placest closest to the sun on the entire Earth, in the distance, the snow shining like glitter in the paramo full moon. Later, inside, songs by guitar fill the warming room as the fire burns in the fireplace lined with actual volcanic rocks from Tungurawa.
AN EXPAT IN THE RAINFOREST
R (Robert)´s friend, Linda lives in the rainforest around San Francisco, on the road between Baños and Puyo. After two long bus rides descending from the paramo to the jungle, we disembark and slosh along muddy trails and through rushing streams flowing into the Pastaza river, arriving after a lengthy hike at a beautiful house standing alone in the forest, where Linda lives with her two German shepherds. The afternoon is lazy, with lemonade on the porch and conversations on the canopy that allows us to look out across untouched forest. Rainforest solitude.
HANGING OUT WITH YOUNG MEN IN BANOS
Baños is a world apart. We watch people pass. People come in and out of the shop. Foreigners, Ecuadorians, but mostly foreigners. Sometimes we teach each a few phrases like +friends with benefits+ and a few other things inappopriate to say... Dance clubs, parties in tattoo parlors, late night drives along the windy road in someone´s car. Driving is a cool here, so driving around listening to music is a perfectly acceptable way for five young people to spend the evening, squished together in the tiny vehicle of that friend that drives. Sleeping in, dinner with friends.
THE ADVENTURE OF TAKING A SHOWER
There is no water. No showers. No toilet. No water for cooking, for washing hands. Someone forgot to fill the water tank, and water only comes on Friday. But I really want a shower. I am gross. Really. So we pass buckets of water that I fill from the outside faucet, passing them up to the roof, hauling enough liters for me to take a quick shower. If you want to appreciate your shower, try hauling all of the water for it up three laters, over a rooftop, and into a plastic tank. No pain, no gain, Robert always intones.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Freezing cold, mingas, and los chiquitos
I have one word for you: BRRRRRRRRRRR!
I had no idea it was this cold just thirty minutes away from Baños. The altitude really makes a huge difference, and as you climb away from the rainforest the temperature drops dramatically. The nights are rainy and the mornings FREEZING. I had to buy a new alpaca sweater because I was becoming an ice cube. It´s so cold, I started to wonder if I can stay here for a few months, but I can always head down to Baños in the afternoons or on the weekends, which I definitely will do, considering how cold it is up here. Baños is so warm and modern, it´s only thirty minutes away, but it´s a world apart. There in Baños the tourists roam the streets, the tour agencies hawk their services, the thermal springs teem with visitors and locals. Here the women walk around quietly spinning their wool. A different language cuts in and out of the Spanish conversations. The men in their long black ponchos talk on the street because there is little else to do.
The other day, the community called a ¨minga¨ to fix the school up. A minga is a community event kind of like a barn-raising. Everyone who has students in the school must come to help or they receive a fine for not doing their part in the community. Mingas are a great way to get a bunch of people to do a large job quickly, if it weren´t for the socializing. One man suggested they just get a tractor to do it, and after that, everyone refused to work more. The problem was, they had to wait for the municipal tractor guy to have his lunch break, then they had to compensate him for using his lunch break to take the tractor to the schoolyard to level the ground for the basketball court. The yard was half-leveled until Friday, when the tractor guy finally decided to come. ¨I hate mingas¨ R tells me.
R owns a place down in Ambato, the nearest city, which, like Baños, is thirty minutes away, but in the other direction. Ambato is cold like Salasaca. Last night, we went to a comedy play in Ambato, a play about corruption in South America, and I slept on a massage table at R´s closed-down spa, a much more comfortable spot than my old bed of rocks.
A few of the younger children (we call them ¨los chiquitos¨, the little ones), who don´t know that Quichua, Spanish, and English are different languages and just say whatever in whichever language have mistakenly decided that I speak Quichua. This probably stemmed from the pushing them on the tire game in which I threw in a little bit of my very little Quichua vocabulary. They would scream ¨ñukaka¨ (me, me) and I would shout back ¨canca¨ (you?) and they would say ¨ari¨(yes!). This was a mistake. Now they come running up to me saying things that sound like cuchikunkikukuchunkiminimu and they don´t understand why I answer them with blank stares. I did at least understand the three year old who ran up to me crying ¨carry me, carry me¨ in Quichua.
The Internet gods are, not smiling, but kind of grinning slightly, upon Salasaca this afternoon so I am going to pray to them that this post gets put up. It took me five minutes just to open Blogger.
I will be in Baños this weekend, probably hiking with R, and going out later Saturday night. Maybe I could squeeze in some phone calls.
I had no idea it was this cold just thirty minutes away from Baños. The altitude really makes a huge difference, and as you climb away from the rainforest the temperature drops dramatically. The nights are rainy and the mornings FREEZING. I had to buy a new alpaca sweater because I was becoming an ice cube. It´s so cold, I started to wonder if I can stay here for a few months, but I can always head down to Baños in the afternoons or on the weekends, which I definitely will do, considering how cold it is up here. Baños is so warm and modern, it´s only thirty minutes away, but it´s a world apart. There in Baños the tourists roam the streets, the tour agencies hawk their services, the thermal springs teem with visitors and locals. Here the women walk around quietly spinning their wool. A different language cuts in and out of the Spanish conversations. The men in their long black ponchos talk on the street because there is little else to do.
The other day, the community called a ¨minga¨ to fix the school up. A minga is a community event kind of like a barn-raising. Everyone who has students in the school must come to help or they receive a fine for not doing their part in the community. Mingas are a great way to get a bunch of people to do a large job quickly, if it weren´t for the socializing. One man suggested they just get a tractor to do it, and after that, everyone refused to work more. The problem was, they had to wait for the municipal tractor guy to have his lunch break, then they had to compensate him for using his lunch break to take the tractor to the schoolyard to level the ground for the basketball court. The yard was half-leveled until Friday, when the tractor guy finally decided to come. ¨I hate mingas¨ R tells me.
R owns a place down in Ambato, the nearest city, which, like Baños, is thirty minutes away, but in the other direction. Ambato is cold like Salasaca. Last night, we went to a comedy play in Ambato, a play about corruption in South America, and I slept on a massage table at R´s closed-down spa, a much more comfortable spot than my old bed of rocks.
A few of the younger children (we call them ¨los chiquitos¨, the little ones), who don´t know that Quichua, Spanish, and English are different languages and just say whatever in whichever language have mistakenly decided that I speak Quichua. This probably stemmed from the pushing them on the tire game in which I threw in a little bit of my very little Quichua vocabulary. They would scream ¨ñukaka¨ (me, me) and I would shout back ¨canca¨ (you?) and they would say ¨ari¨(yes!). This was a mistake. Now they come running up to me saying things that sound like cuchikunkikukuchunkiminimu and they don´t understand why I answer them with blank stares. I did at least understand the three year old who ran up to me crying ¨carry me, carry me¨ in Quichua.
The Internet gods are, not smiling, but kind of grinning slightly, upon Salasaca this afternoon so I am going to pray to them that this post gets put up. It took me five minutes just to open Blogger.
I will be in Baños this weekend, probably hiking with R, and going out later Saturday night. Maybe I could squeeze in some phone calls.
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