If you smile at me, I will understand

I´m back in town for a day, relieved to check my internet and get my fix of a hot shower and a cerveza. Get some business done. I´ve got a belly full of a scrumptious $2 breakfast americano from Hotel Cotopaxi, eaten with luxurious flatware bearing the American Airlines insignia, and a weekfull of events and thoughts to drop into cyberspace.

Everything in the country was put on hold this week, as CONAIE, the blanket indigenous rights organization, put together a work and road stoppage to voice their concern over the free trade agreement Ecuador is currently negotiating with the USA. I think they´ve got a legit concern - the people that work in agriculture here have no protection - no subsidies, nothing major in the agreement as is to make sure that they´ll still be able to get a good price for their products, here in Ecuador and abroad. Its interesting how in a small country like this - 13 million people - they can stop everything in the country. Nobody goes to school, nobody goes to work. No public transportation. And it was most intense near where I live, as the central highlands have the highest concentration of indigenous people in the country. The stoppage ended on Thursday, after some dialoge with the government, but there´s a chance it could start up again.

It was another exiting week up in Malingua Pamba, and I´m getting used to the life up there. A shorter week, as we hopped in the back of Paulinos pickup truck on Thursday, taking advantage of a dry and (relatively) safe road.

The stoppage carried over from last weekend, and all school in the province was suspended, ostensibly due to a lack of transportation for school children. Of course, everyone in Malingua walks to school and nobody knew about the stoppage, so all the kids showed up anyway. I felt a little bad leaving them to head to the (somewhat nearby) market in Guantualó with some of the locals, as I´ve come to realize that the kids really enjoy school. In comparison to the U.S., where school is something that gets in the way of kids´ fun, these kids actually learn and have fun at school. At home, they´d be tilling a field.
I hopped in front of the truck - having a feeling the back would be somewhat uncomfortable. Ryan opted to ride in back with the locals and the people and animals we picked up along the way. A pig that must have been some 4 or 5 feet long took up a lot of the room back there, and tromped on Ryan´s foot a few times. Up front with Paulino and his wife and second kid, we chatted about the free trade agreement and US agriculture policy.
The market was a sight. All kinds of farmers who had walked or hitched rides from nearyby villages, selling fruits and grains, stands selling empanadas (fried dough filled with cheese and topped with sugar. 5 cents), fried fish, fried pork, and other delicacies, many including - you guessed it- potatos. There was also an animal market set a little down from the town, on the way down there was an amazing view of the valley and the surrounding fields. Men and women barganing over sheep, goats, and cows, checking teeth and feeling genitals (of the animals. please.). A couple of butchers chopped up a sheep, squeezing the juices out of the entrails, trimming the hide, and hanging the meat from a string tied between trees. A half of a lamb costs about 12 dollars, the hide (uncured, of course) only about a dollar.

Ryan and I met a lot of folks at the market, many of whom knew who we were, shaking the bloody hands of meat peddlers (eew.) and asking about various unidentifiable food items. One woman gave us some free empanadas and instructed us to take good care of her son at school. We ate little ice creams with fruit juice and consumed some more salchipapas. I tried my first orange banana - a shorter, sweeter type (I managed two great bananas for 9 cents.) and José Sacatoro bought us some friend pork to try. Served in a small plastic baggy, delicious, but very hot. The family that cooks our food (José´s family) sold all kinds of fruits and veggies, some of which they had bought at the market in Latacunga the previous weekend. We met the local priest and hung out with some kids we knoew from the colegio (high school) in Malingua. And the sun! Hot equatorial sun up in the mountains. I had been sure to grab my raincoat on the way out, but I didn´t think I´d need suncreen after a week of nothing but clouds. My face is still red nearly a week later. Hot and dusty, until a little afternoon when the downpour promptly started.

We packed back into the truck - Ryan and I both up front this time- for the return trip around 1pm, the family having sold most of what they brought, including the gigantic pig (I´m sure the folks in back were thankful for that, though they are probably more accustomed to sharing quarters with farm animals.) Ryan asked Paulino if his truck - the 77 Ford F350 - had a name. It had none, and we explained to Paulino the American tradition of naming your vehicle, traditionally a feminine name. Paulino was into it, even discussing "baptizing his vehicle". I said we ought to pour a little holy water into the radiator for good measure. A lot of smiles. Paulino said he´d have to talk to the priest. Thursday morning, I remarked to Ryan that I was happy that we´d actually managed to share a joke with a local. We´d actually imparted some humor, and laughed about the same thing for the same reason. Read On.

Of Mass and Baptism

We broke class early on Thursday for the Santa Misa - the mass held in town every third Thursday when the priest comes doen from Guantualó. Ryan and I were recognized in church and invited to sit up front. There were about 8 pews filling about a third of the sanctuary, and a lot of people were standing in back. Shouts of little ones playing outside came in through the open door. No paintings or stained glass windows; only comandments and saints depicted on mass-produced cartoonish drawings hanging in cheap frames along the walls. The short priest, dressed in white (very clean) and purple, preachd from a modest altar up front and took comunion wafers out of a plastic baggy.
During communion, Paulino slipped out; I learned that this was to bring his truck around to the church. He had not, in fact, followed our humor: we were actually going to baptize his truck. I was afraid that I would have to play a part in th religious ceremony, having suggested it, more or less. Thankfully, mercifully, the Priest finished the service before we headed outside to Christen the truck. I offered the name "La Pambita" (the love their dimunitive "-ita" or "ito" in Malingua Pamba. I thought it appropriate) as the priest, using a freshly picked flower, sprinkled holy water on the engine, hood, and inside of the cabin on the steering wheel. It was difficult not to laugh, they took it so seriously, but it was nice, in the end, seeing how happy and thankful they were for our help baptizing a 30-year old vehicle. Its never too late to be baptized.

Of Family (and sickness)

Also on the way back from the market, Paulino told us (he calls us "Zackcito" and "Ryancito") that we wer a family until we leave MP. And its true. They cook for us, they care for us. They appreciate us.
I was fairly ill on Tuesday, and excused myself early from dinner (leaving only a small mountain of starch). Soon, Paulino, José, and the kids came down the hill to our room with some natural cures for me - a huge pot of hot water with a mixture of eucolyptus and mint leaves. They set it up on the bed. Under the covers with the hot aromatic mixture, I stirred it with a stick, sweating profusely and breathind deeply. With the sunburn, I felt like my face was going to fall off my face. Then, still under the covers, all I saw was Paulino´s hand and forearm as he rubbed coca butter on my neck and chest and back. He was really worried about me. All night, waking up several times, I could taste the eucolyptus fuming out of my lungs. I´m pretty sure it helped.

MOPH

The hygeine in the hills is something to see - or rather, not see. I haven´t layed eyes on soap that wasn´t mine or Ryan´s in two weeks up there. I myself try to wash my hands as much as possible, but I´m sure its not enough - I have been sick, after all. A constantly runny nose, but this week some other, more intense problems. Everyone greets each other with a handshake. That means that in the first minute of class in the morning I touch 40 germy little hands - always the right hand, if they remember (parents firmly remind kids who slip up). I suspect the use their left for wiping.
I myself have gotten used to not showereing during the workweek, and to recycling yesterday´s clothes into today´s. Whats the point of putting clean clothes on a dirty body? I wore teh same socks for 2 weeks straight. The kids wear yesterday´s clothes, too, but theirs are covered in dirt.
I think some of the children have some concept of cleanliness - in one house we visited on thursday I noticed a rack nailed to a crossbeam that held several absolutely decrepid looking toothbrushes. Rosa - the schoolteacher - brushes hers, and some of the kids have nice teeth, but most all the older Malinguans are missing some.
This morning I also realized how accustomed I´ve become to dropping my toilet paper in the wastebin next to the toilet. South American plumbing can´t handle the TP. I´m going to have to retrain myself to just drop it down upon reentry.



I get up at 6 nowadays, trying to run or get some excersize before a day full of activity - kids around until dinnertime, and often after. Tough to start running, though, in the cold and damp, and straight uphill or straight downhill. Always vigilant of vigilant pastor dogs, I keep my eyes peeled. Thursday morning I was victim of a sneak attack. Jumped in Malingua Pamba. By a terrier.I think I woke up the whole town (all or 8 or 9 people) with my yelp following a bark directly behind me. Hadn´t seen a dog for the whole run. I´ve been conditioned to fear. I´m fairly sure that the surprise of a breadbox-sized dog´s bark at close range would inspire more fear in me than the discharge of a deer rifle at the same distange.

School, well, it went well this week. Tuesday I tought english to the young ones again, the older ones can now say small sentences with words we´ve learned, like "I have three white dogs" or "I have seven yellow apples". I let one class out early as I was a bit sick. I don´t think anyone had any question about what was happening when I promptly told them to go to recess and grabbed a roll of toilet paper. The kindergarden was fun in the afternoon, reading childrens books and having fun...

Wednesday and thursday were a bit more of a chore, teaching the high school. They know very little english and don´t pay attention as well as the younger ones. Other things to think about. My hour long session trying to teach microsoft word to 25 high schoolers with only 2 computers was a real treat.

Thursday we also had an interesting visit with one of the families, who made me and their 12 year old daughter, Elsa, a bit uncomfortable by trying to arrange a marriage. Ryan cheerfully egged them on. They fed us a plate of potatos, farmed right there. Seven large boiled potatos with salt. Nothing to drink. No liquid. A real chore. Have to finish. I hope that after all this forcing potatos down my throat, one day I´m going to bite into a spud and find a diamond.


The Big City.

Yesterday was a blast. Got some things done - laundry, mail, internet, SHOWER, etc. On the internet I chatted with Ben Osetek, and learned that he had become a real person with Job in San Francisco. Or rather - the same old professional collegiate who now must limit drunkenness to two days a week. Life goes on the Hemisphere Up There. He also let me in on a secret - it was St. Patrick´s Day.
Ryan and I had been planning on shaving our heads - but first getting a couple of funny do´s to go out in in the city. Or town, or whatever Latacunga is. Sadly, my hair was not long enough for a mullet, so I was planning on lightning bolts on each sid eof my head. After a beer in the park, we stopped in teh first place that said they cut hair. It looked too nice to me - a salon rather than a barber - but we waited it out for the $3 haircuts, the two of us seated on a leather couch reading spanish versions of Cosmo and Seventeen (I´m not all that crazy about Hillary Duff´s "New Look").
Ryan went first, armed with a sketch of a quintesstial mullet. It was a bit of a chore, as the early 40´s woman who was cutting his hair wanted to give him a real nice haircut. Went after the back a couple of times. Dangerously close. She just didn´t understand. Bizness in Front, Party in Back. Fiesta Atrás. Ultimately he did end up with a rather feathery mullet-let, looking very much like Joe Dirt.
I stepped up to the chair with a drawing - from above - of the cut I was asking for in honor of St. Paddy´s day: a shamrock shaved - in relief - into the top of my head. Very unfortunately, she said she was incapable of such a cut - didn´t have the tools. I was able to convince her to sculpt a mean mohawk, but I became aware during our conversation that she probably could have cut the shamrock. She just didn´t want to. My initial instinct had been correct: this was a "stylist", not just someone who cuts hair. She had too much artistic integrity to honor my silly request. I suppose it was ok, as the shamrock would have fallen on dead ears, so to speak. The Irish population of Latacunga is - shall we say - limited. I´m not sure that I´ve seen another white person in two days, in a city of some 50,000.

Last night, the town was pretty quiet for a saturday, but Ryan and I enjoyed it, dining on an amazing 7 dollar meal - two filet mignion medallions with fries and salad and big beers, followed by an evening at some club/bar called VIP, with loud spanish dance music and a free beer with $1.50 entry. It seemed like couples night in there, so there wasn´t much opportunity to meet people, so we sat with a couple jack and cokes and chatted. About this trip of ours, how traveling puts a different perspective on things. About being content. I find myself now and then in certain places - on a beach in Mancora with my hands around my knees and the waves crashing in my ears, or on a ledge overlooking Huaraz with a guitar- and I´m perfectly content. That is, I don´t want to be anywhere else. Things are good. After the conversation, Ryan broke for the bathroom, and upon returning, remarked, "Sometimes you find yourself content in the most unlikely of places". I told him I would go see if I couldn´t find some contentment and headed for the head. Halfway there, he called me back.
"Zack", he yelled over the bumping dance remix of If You´re Going to San Francisco, "Its under the urinal mint. Just reach in there and pluck it out."

There´s a lone soldier on the hill watching fallin´ raindrops pour.

Back in Quito, a place with internet and bars and common conveniences, I`m back to blog, quickly. Exhausted, as it has already been a long day, coming this morning from Malingua Pamba.

At 3am, heavy knocks on the metal door of our makeshift lodging in part of Malingua Pamba`s schoolhouse. I start up from a not-so-heavy sleep, thinking we must have missed the bus, supposed to come at 4. Standing on the cold cement floor in my boxer briefs, I open the door to find the senile Quechua screaming grandma Sacatorro, four and half feet of energy and hurry in the middle of the night. She yells at me as if Ryan and I have been holding everyone up, but we were ready to get up at 3:30 to catch the bus. 5 minutes is a lot to ask of her, apparently, for a guy to put some clothes on and get ready in the freezing cold middle of the night. We head up to catch the "bus" to find that we are actually to ride with her son, 25-year old Paulino Sacatoro, in his pickup. The bus, we are told, isn´t coming tonight because the road into Latacunga is too muddy.

Sleepy-eyed, with my lower intestine playing accordion and Paulino honking the horn and screaming in my ear, we climb into the cab, Paulino, me, Ryan, and Paulinos father, Grandpa Sacatoro. 4 men across in the cab. I took jabs to the ribs as Paulino turned the wheel or reached between my legs to shift. (any way that could not be homoerotic?? I could have said I straddled the stick...) A line of tassles hung above the dash, sillouhetted in the headlights, swinging back and forth like the Rocketts at Christmas. The lead dancer, hanging wher the rearview mirror would have ben, was a plastic rosary that traced circles around my knee, often in time with the fuzzy música folklorica from FM 93.5, muffled out of a car speaker perched precariously on top of the dash. The cab was decorated with a variety of stickers; Bruce Lee, a busty blonde wearing nothing but a blue thong and a ton of hairspray (clearly I gave this one a good look), and several images of the Virgin Mary.

About ten minutes into the trip, necessitated by the muddy dangerous roads, Paulino took the opportunity to indicate where a man had died by driving off of the cliff. At about 4:30, we stopped and the rest of the passengers (there were several in the coverd back of the truck to begin with, and we picked up a lot more along the way) got out to walk up a hundred meters and put straw and sand in the muddy ruts that had trapped another truck for several hours (it only got out as we arrived). Ryan remarked that he would pay a decent sum of money to be in a warm bed with his girlfriend. Unfortunately, he was in the dark, freezing cabin of a ´77 Ford F350 with me, and I had gas.

A half hour later, we cruised through the tough spot and Paulino said "Now we are there", meaning it would be a bumpy but not entirely treacherous 2 1/2 hours to Latacunga. I plugged my left ear as Paulino and I discussed prices of trucks in the U.S. and skiing. Arriving in Latacunga, Ryan and I thought we´d check out the market, where our traveling companions were selling grains in bulk and buying up bulk produce. We decided to go with them to the lumberyard, as Ryan and I had suggested buying wood to construct tables and benches for the school "cafeteria". We thought this would take only a few minutes, as in the U.S., but after 2 hours of bargaining, buying wood, cutting it and squaring it, we were both pretty cranky. 8 hours into our day, and we wern´t even on the bus to Quito yet. We paid for the rest of the work (there was still more to be done at the lumberyard) and got Paulino to drop us at an intersection where we quickly caught a bus to Quito. And slept.

Quito, our destination, where we were to buy some games and books for the kids and some running shoes for Ryan, get our laundry done, do some internetting and some international caling, and have a good crazy night out. Hustling through the hail (thats right, hail. by 1 pm we`d been in the cold black of night, moist dawn of Latacunga, severe sunny heat of the Lumberyard, and half-inch diameter hail) to the laundromat, we found that it wasn´t open on saturdays. We were both a little sick and both quite tired, so a nap was certainly necessary. That meant no shoes or games or toys. Our room was on the fourth floor, farthest from the entrance to the hostal and directly underneath the tin roof, which sounded quite pleasant with hail bouncing off of it. Lightnight struck on or very near the building, which cut off the internet in the building, forcing us to wander around for a while to find the place where I now compose this sad song. Nothing has been easy today. Nothing. We may yet have a good night out, though we`ll have to fight through our swollen lymph nodes and rally.

Now back to review (quickly. I am getting sick of internet already...) the week in Malingua Pamba.


Monday

After a hectic morning, we hopped a bus to Latacunga and caught another one to Malingua Pamba (one bus heads out per day, at 1:30pm. One returns, at 4am. I think this is to travel when it is not raining. The roads are bad.) Ryan sat next to a man who turned out to be the husband of the school teacher at Malingua Pamba, so he sent her a text message and they were expecting us when we got there. A group of guys two rows behind us got so blind drunk during the first 1 1/2 hours of the bumpy trip that they literally fell out of the bus when it was time for them to get off. An impressive showing, blurred speach, the works.

When we stopped at Malingua Pamba, a community of a couple of hundred indigenous people, all living off the land, a Malinguan girl who looked to be about our age, pretty, wearing shiny, bright yellow necklaces, said to us "Éste es Malingua" with a big smile. I felt at home already.

There is nothing much in Malingua Pamba proper, a couple of cement houses (one is actually two stories!) two structures for elementary school, a small church, two half-built structures that are to be a new high school and a new house for Paulino Sacatoro, the high school (also where we sleep), a small building housing the cafeteria, and another building for storing wood. All dirt, there are some posts set up in a big space in front of the church for playing soccer or volleyball. The city sits on the east side of a valley, and walking parallel along the hill in any direction away from Malingua Pamba proper, the world is big. Huge views of the river, and little farms and poor houses off into the distance.

We saw all of Malingua in the first five minutes off the bus, and took a couple of shots of a strong liquor from a little plastic cup, offered us by a smiling man we now know as Juan Camilo. Paulino and his brother José Sacatoro were replacing the tires on the old truck we were to bump around in this mornig/last night. We met José´s five children, Wilian, Patricio, Wilmer, Edison, and Hernán, and Wilian took us on the very brief walking tour, beginning at our place of residence.

Our Home: A couple of nights ago, Ryan described our lodging as "non-descript", but later revised this to say "square cement box". I think that is about as good a description as is possible. The room we share is one of two rooms (the other occupied by a paid Ecuadorian teacher, Marcelo) just off of the smaller of two classrooms in the highschool building. This smaller, entrance room, our "foyer", has two computers (the two we use for teaching computing to some hundred kids), a table, the occasional desk, and a sink that spurts water at about a gallon per hour.

Our room contains one uncomfortable bed, long enough to sleep on diagonally, a chest full of junk, and a shelving unit containing assorted and very dusty medical supplies, sold by 17-year old Pedro, who we met on day one. We put mats down on the cement floor, and switch off each night, sleeping on the mat or bed. The mats are a bit more comfortable, actually, but breathing cement dust and dirt all night makes it less than ideal. There is a light in the room, turned on an off by connecting or disconnecting two live wires that hang from the ceiling. There is nowhere to put anything where it will not get covered in dust, so we keep all of our stuff in our backpacks. Our bathroom is about 20 meters out the door, actually relatively comfortable. On one side, there is a garden, about 7"x3" I´d say. A big spider hangs from a petrified owl that hangs from the ceiling above the garden, in front of a huge window that loks out over the valley. On the other side, there are two holes in a wooden bench, supposedly used for pooping and peeing, respectively, but one hole has been deliberately closed up. We make due with just one hole. There is a plastic toilet seat to put over the hole for #2, and a bag of straw which is to be dropped down on the pile upon completion. It isn´t the Ritz, but it doesn´t smell too bad given all the organic matter in there, and the view can´t be beat. There is even a motion-sensing light, which works almost all of the time that the electricity is working. Quaint. Usable.

Nothing much happened our first night, a little soccer after the liquor was not exactly the right move, but a potato soup treated us ok for dinner. We had no idea what to expect with the food. Its been good, but the initiation with potato soup was appropriate. We´d have to get used to it. I´d say I eat about 15-20 potatos a day on average. Small potatoes, but plenty.


Tuesday

A breakfast of bread and a little cafecito (can refer to any hot or warm drink) and we were introduced to the kids, kindergarden through 7th grade. We made up a quick class schedule, in which I would teach English and Ryan Computing. I take the little ones, 2-4 graders for a while while he has the older ones, then we switch. We have the kindergardeners after lunch. I wasn´t entirely sure what to do up there - I´m still not - but we´ve I think more than held our own with the teaching. I´m not sure that we´re being used in an entirely appropriate way, as we essentially give one of the teachers (paid to be there) a break in the morning, but I think the kids are learning. I think it might be best to work in smaller groups, especially with the computers, but we´ll see how things work out. Ryan and I are a good team, I think, bouncing ideas off each other about teaching and how to improve the experience. wow, I´m actually being productive.

I was pleased to se we got a healthy banana drink for our morning break, along with fortified vanilla wafers provided by the Ecuadorian Provisional Government. That and the teacher´s salaries, I think, are about the only thing provided by the Gov. Ryan and I both snacked hungrily along with the kids in our cafeteria. We sit in the only chairs in the small cement room, while the kids sit on the dirty floor and shovel food into their faces. Its sad, and I hope the tables we build will make it a little brighter in there. Lunch tuesday was lentils and rice, a huge plate that the little kids ate with soup. Ryan and I were full without soup, but most ate all of their meals. I suspect they get very little to eat at home.

Being short on time here, and ansy to leave the internet cafe, I´ll paste what I´ve written for Friday and hit on a couple interesting parts of the week...

Wednesday

First day with the high schoolers, who were all shuffled into our small computer room. We were somehow supposed to show 50 kids who had never used a computer how to do so in a small room with only 2 computers. A daunting task. We did an introduction and showed them some pictures with a projector... next day to actually try and teach.

We took a walk into the poorer section of the community, called Pucará. Enlightening. All the students that were at home were happy to see us and say hello, along with their parents.

We walked with Wilan Sacatoro, our guide, who told us about the plants - a variety of cactuses with various medicinal uses, one cactus used to protect other crops against wind, several bushes used to protect against erosion - a huge problem in the community, tomato trees (yes, they grow on trees! taste kind of like a strawberry...), corn, potatos, grains, other tubers... Wilian was a great guide, a short 12 year old beginning high school, he explained part of the next day´s exam: there are two diseases facing the world today, AIDS and abortion. I gave Ryan a glance. I´m not sure that I´ve time to discuss what I think about abortion being taught as a "disease" in public schools, I´ll just say I was taken aback.

We visited Wilan´s crazy grandma, the one that woke us up at 3am this morning, at her house. A straw roof, the ceiling stained black with smoke, which poured out of the room. Dogs, chickens, and guinea pigs crawled around on the dirt floor, and Wilian grabbed a rabbit out from the corner of the room by the ears. Corn hung on a string from the ceilng, drying. And.. A TV in the corner. somehow. luxury.

Thursday

Ryan and I have become experts in "winging it". We had no idea what we would be doing once we got up to Malingua Pamba, though I remarked to Ryan last night that even if we had known, we still wouldn´t have prepared ourselves. He thought that an "astute" observation, and I complemented his use of an advanced English vocab word, as we are both beginning to speak like ESL-ers. Anyhow, we discussed what we would do to teach the high schoolers computing for a few minutes before we were to do so, and ultimately we decided that I´d give a lesson to the greater class with one computer and a projector while he took small groups into the next room for hands-on experience. I winged it, and everyone paid attention as I explained what the desktop was, the start menu, how to use a mouse, etc. I dropped a file named "Jackie Chan" into the recycle bin, like a tough guy, making a joke. nobody really got it. ouch. I rescued him later, though, and put him back into "Mis Documentos" where he came from. Things were fine until the power went out - the third time that day, I think. It is difficult to teach computer literacy without a computer. Class dismissed!

We met some of the parents after school, who had come in for their once-a-month meeting. This time to discuss the 30 cent per day contribution for their children´s food. They felt as if the contribution was too much. They didn´t want to pay it. $1.50 a week. Crazy, you might think, but these people have absolutely no money. Most live off of what they grow. They feel the government should cover the food costs. So do I.

Had a spectacular run after the rain finally stopped (it rains every day, never failing. Cold rain.) A high schooler named Edwin joined me on his bike, which helped to fend off the dogs which were protecting corrals of sheep along the road. The view was amazing, farms spread out along the hill like a patchwork quilt all folded up. Colorful, lines up and down the hills. Everyone said hello to me along the road - some knew who I was - and they all looked at me like I was crazy.


Friday

Finally beginning to wake up before the alarm goes off, Ryan and I woke up Friday in different beds in different rooms for the first time in as long as I can remember. (I´m a little sad, waking up without him…) A little after 7, José Sacatorro knocked on our door to let us know our hot water was ready: our first shower in the four days we´d been in Malingua Pamba. Jose´s wife had warmed us each up a big bucket of water over the stove; in the broken shower stall of our schoolhouse/living area, we used a tin cup to scoop the warm water over our heads. Ryan went first, and noted that the “ducha” (shower) was a lot more effective than he had thought – and it truly was remarkable how clean I could get using a two gallon bucket of water. After a breakfast of cafecito with machaca, fried plantains, and bread, I felt almost ready for the day. Ready as I´d ever be.

We were the only teachers in town Friday, as Marcelo had gone to Latagunga for a class and Rosa had to give a presentation, so it was up to us to entertain 30-some 2nd thru 7th graders. We continued with our morning class schedule, so that I took the Primer Curso (grades 2-4) from about 8:15 until around 9:30, when we broke for our morning cafecito snack. By Friday, the kids were really starting to warm up to me (not that they were especially shy on Tuesday or Wednesday), and when I asked each of them “what is your name” at the beginning of class, even the girls told me “My name is…” loud enough for all to hear. We worked with greetings like “hello” and “good morning” and learned the English names for a variety of animals. I accompanied each Spanish/English translation with a very poor drawing of the animal, and ultimately was unsure whether my little guinea pigs and sheep were helpful visual teaching aids or simply proof of my sub-par blackboard drawing abilities. Either way, I had fun with it, and the kids were into asking me the names of more animals. One of the more talkative students, named Guido, asked me how to say “bicycle” in the middle of our animal lesson – I humored him, mostly because I was fairly confident in my ability to draw a good likeness of a bicycle. I read Simbad el Marinero after our English lesson, a horribly anticlimactic story of the same series as Pinocho and Aladino, and despite having had Ryan read them the story the day prior, the kids wanted me to finish the story even after we were told that cafecito was ready. A good feeling knowing they´d rather stick around with me than run off to get banana drink and vanilla wafers.

After our snack, ever nutritious, we switched classes as is custom, and the 5-7th graders walked over from the small school room/computer room into the larger one for their English lesson at 10am. I welcomed them with “good morning”, and some mercifully answered back. We went over “My name is” again briefly, mostly for my benefit, as I still am unable to remember the names of the less-participatory alumnus, and I started off with a song. I´d chosen an old Cat Stevens favorite entitled “I love my dog”, a song with simple lyrics that I could teach after I caught their attention. Everyone was fairly good with I/You/He, She/We/Them, so I only had to teach “dog” (perro) and “love” (querer) in order for them to get the gist. The lyrics are:
I love my dog as much as
I love you
You may fade
My dog will always come through.*

I think I got the point across, teaching “dog” and “love” and explaining the meaning of “as much as”(tanto como), knowing that that was a much more advanced term. I´m not sure that they understood the irony of the song; I´m not sure I would have at that age.

Next, I broke out a little of the Quechua I´ve been learning, and everyone got a real kick out of my sorry pronunciations of Quechua words for goat and sheep. I worked with it, and soon had every kid nearly jumping out of his or her seat to come up to the board and write a Quechua word, to show me how much they knew. They were teaching me, and it sure seemed that they loved it. A kid would write the Quechua term for an animal, (generally with spelling help shouted from the peanut gallery) and maybe the Spanish word also, and then I´d write the English word. We were working in three languages, Spanish the one we shared, and the kids and I were all happy to share our other language. We weren´t having so much fun that they didn´t remind me when it was time to go to recess, but even after that, we reviewed all of our Quechua-Spanish-English translations and they wanted a song before recess. I went with Neil Young´s “Sugar Mountain”, and had their attention long enough to tell them not to loose their youth before they stampeded out to the soccer field or into the church to chat.

At recess, we were recruited for a game of football, in which Ryan and I were captains forced to choose sides, each youngster having paired with an equally-skilled partner in order to be split up fairly. A nice way to do things, I thought, but I still didn´t like having to choose. Ryan´s team won, but I still say it was mostly due to our goalkeeper´s preference for his popsicle over our team´s pride.

Lunch was rice, beats, and plantains, more banana vitamin drink, and a bowl of soup which, as per custom, was dished out in a proportion roughly five times the size we were after. Ryan and I made a valiant effort, but ultimately were unable to conquer such a mountain of food, leaving only the rice (the least nutritious food component). I´m fairly sure an elderly gentleman who happened by as we were finishing up was glad to polish off our portions, though Ryan and I always feel pressure to clean our plates given that so many around us go without.

We went over our afternoon class session for a few minutes at lunch, as we still refuse to plan lessons more than 10 minutes before they are to be given. As the kids are at drastically different levels in most areas, we decided on a South American geography lesson, something that almost nobody knew anything about. When I was 7, I could probably tell you the capitol of Mongolia and point out the location of Mt. Kilamanjaro, mostly due to my undying interest in trivia, but thanks in part to the Geosafari game in Mrs. Clark´s room. These kids – like their parents - have been exposed to very little outside of Malingua Pamba. We made an effort: Ryan drew a decent likeness of this here continent (though I´ll say Peru and Brasil got short shrift in favor of Bolivia and Venezuela) and we had the kids call out names of countries. Many called out cities in Ecuador, but we were able to come up with a little more than half of the countries, I´d say. We went over the languages spoken and had them copy what we deemed the most important countries and capitols to learn. I had a nice chat with Byron from my Primer Curso, who was excited to show me he´d finished copying and really happy when I told him we´d be here for another couple of weeks. Felt nice. As the afternoon rain had again begun, and we had a little time left, I went ahead and read a story from the American South, called Los Huevos Parlantes (“The Talking Eggs”), about a mistreated little girl who is very good and obeys her elders and is ultimately rewarded with riches. Her mean mother and sister are greedy and don´t do as they are told, and end up sad and lonely. Strangely, all the stories I read end up with the main character very rich. I´m not sure this is the right message to send.

After class, Ryan headed straight to bed while I watched the hang-arounders play ball inside. Nothing to break, so I though It´d be ok. I sat with Sonia, one of the younger ones, and played some upbeat Dylan stuff on the guitar – “My Back Pages”, “All Along the Watchtower” – while the kids did something of a dance while knocking the ball around. Me and a bunch of kids rockin out in the schoolhouse. I taught English for another hour and a half to Edwin, the high schooler who had biked with me while I ran the previous day, and finally to a well-deserved nap.

Awaking, the sun was actually out and Ryan was up playing fútbol. I took advantage of my warm hands to play some more guitar and type out a little pre-blog until I was interrupted by more kids wanting to practice typing or watch movies on the computer. It never ends. Locked in my bedroom next door, I did some Yoga while Ryan picked out a tune and we kicked the kiddies out around 7:30 to head up to dinner. Spectacular, hearty, mostly potatoes again with a warm chunky milky drink made with Machoche, a ground corn grain, and sugar. An avocado was a nice accompaniment. I made the mistake of asking for a bit more and found myself in the familiar position of trying to finish off a huge bowl of soup that I really didn´t want. Me, grandma, Patricio, Edison, the two Sacatorro spouses, and five guinea pigs or so together in the smoke. A rollicking good time.




* The verse goes “all he asks of me is the food to give him strength/ all he ever needs is love / and that he knows he´ll get… so I Love my dog, etc. If every lady was as easy to please as my perro. My my… Sam? You out there? Te Quiero.

*I don´t travel, I just get drunk in exotic places.

A new country, and as I move physically closer to zero degrees latitude, my attitude moves ever closer to completely carefree, in asymptotic fashion.* Now in Quito, a short bus ride away from the Center of the Earth, I´ve got a sunday to put down some reflections and recap the move north from Mancora into Ecuador.

Our last night in Mancora, we splurged for a 3 dollar meal. I went with a Tamale * for a starter and heartily enjoyed a plate of lasagna and a lemonade. I triumphed in an epic game of chess, dealing Ryan´s ego a nasty blow (he has since evened the score). After looking for a proper chess set for some time, Ryan purchased one for about 7 dollars in Mancora, as we were in need of something to occupy our time. The small set pits the Spanish Conquistadors against the Incas, though this set is somewhat deficient in that one Spanish pawn (represented by a soldier) was slyly substituted by an additional Inca knight (represented by a llama). We decide pregame whether we want to be savages or subjugators. Generally this fight is a lot more even than the historical one.

We said goodbye to Betty at La Casa de Betty and dumped all our drugs and guns before heading for the bus to cross the border. The bus we were to catch at 8am, however, had been moving at a snail´s pace through rain the previous night, coming north from Lima, so it didn´t arrive to pick us up until around 11. No surprise. Around 8pm we arrived on the outskirts of Guayalquil, Ecuador´s largest city, population about 2 million.

We were excited about going out in a big city on saturday night, as it were, and I had even washed my hair that morning. We headed out ready to rock, and soon found that nobody else in that city shared that sentiment. In fact, it seemed that there actually was nobody else in that city. Apparently, most of the city dwellers take to the coast for the festivities of carnaval, coinciding with lent and those other more famous celebrations in Rio de Janeiro and New Orleans. After popping in and out of several vacant bars in what was purportedly a very busy district downtown, the Cerro Santa Ana, we hopped a cab to the Kennedy Mall, expecting something like a Mall of discotecas. (well, actually, we got a ride from a random middle aged woman as we were trying to call a cab. Ryan thought it would be more interesting. I went along, and we both regretted that decision, as she was unable to maintain anything resembling a constant speed, sporadically stomping the gas pedal as if vying for the title of "best representation of stereotypical woman driver") Sure enough, the Kennedy Mall actually consisted of one vacant bar sandwhiched between two discotecas, both charging substantial covers. We chose the more expensive, the one we couldn´t see inside of, called Diesel, and forked over 10 dollars for entrance and 6 free drinks.

I wanted to leave Diesel as soon as we got in there. While tastefully decorated in typical flashy club fashion, it was mostly empty and sewage smells wafted periodically through the "lounge" area. Two girls who turned out to be 17 years old approached us as we were beginning to drink our 6 drinks as quickly as possible, and we thought we might as well pass the time humoring them. It was next to impossible to speak to anyone in that place, especially near to the Karaoke section, where tone-deaf Ecuadorians did their best to ruin my eardrums. Apparently Ryan had a good time talking to (about totally ridiculous topics) his teenage buddy, very into him, but the girl who I think was acting as her friend´s wingman (er-person. -woman. girl.) had nothing at all interesting to say, and whatever she did say was screamed three centimeters from my in a pitch that I´m hard pressed to repeat. I was miserable. We drank fast, got out, and decided to get out of Guayalquil as soon as possible. The next day we checked out Guayalqul´s showpiece millenium development, Malecón 2000, which transformed a formerly dangerous area into a riverside park with a nice walkway, museums, and shops. Ryan bought me an ice cream, and I thanked him and called him "honey". He still likes his girlfriend more than me, though. I´m pretty sure. He probably buys her ice cream all the time. Anyway, the Malecón (sounding unsettlingly simlar to Maricón, the spanish equivalent of "fag") was ok, a decent way to pass the afternoon, but we left early, passed the evening at the hostal watching "Dead Man Walking" and "Anny Hall" at the hostal, and were happy to catch a bus up to Quito, leaving around midnight.


Interlude:

Now for a section entitled "Mundane Observations in Personal Hygiene", (hereafter MOPH):

I have traditionally been an avid flosser. I´m perhaps the most avid flosser I know. But after running out of floss, I thought I could take a break, as I´m on vacation. After a couple weeks, I learned something new: puffy gums are no fun. And so now I have a new reason to floss. Before, I really did it not so much because I thought I should, but because I derived daily pleasure from the exciting discovery of bits of the day´s meals lodged in between my teeth.(Spinach... Unidentified Meat chunk.. Popcorn Kernel... : Jackpot!) I felt like i was doing myself a favor by getting that stuff out of there. Now I´m motivated by the preventative power of flossing. I just dont like puffy gums.

Back to plot.

Quito is a great city. Set in a valley in the highlands as are most big Andean cities, there are hills all around and a big temperature difference between night and day. At night, the lights sort of climb up the black hills. I like being in a big urban bowl. At first, there were very few people here, either, as they too were on the coast for carnaval, but they´ve returned and the city has a great feel to it. I´m not quite sure what we did to pass the time for most of the past week, but we did things, I´m fairly sure. and the week passed, I´m certain of this. I do feel like I know the city fairly well at this point, having walked around both significant parts of the city on multiple occasions.

The Old Town, colonial Quito, is a great spot, with pretty squares and lovably un-square old buildings and narrow streets. There are several churches, the presidential palace, and some great museums. I managed to buy myself a new guitar over there for about 40 bucks, as the one I´d bought in Huaraz turned out to be impossible to tune, with a warped neck and improperly spaced frets. I´m going to have to smash it, give it the dishonorable burial it deserves, and I guess that will have to happen tonight, as I head for the hills tomorrow. Though i´d hoped to be good and drunk in order to have a proper rock star moment. hmmm..

The New Town is where most of the hipper restaurants and bars are in Quito, and we´ve spent some time in some of those bars. One of my favorites is the Reina Victoria Pub, where I read the paper over a couple of happy hour pilsners and talked to the bartender, Shaun, a Brit who is good buddies with an old friend of mine from Harbor Springs, Chris Woodside. I´m fairly sure that Shaun is just as bad off for knowing Woodside as I am. heh. Chris had recommended the bar to me, as one of his old haunts (he has a cheap plastic beer mug hanging behind the bar), and I was happy to check it out. I also got a tip from a couple of the british patrons about thursday´s soccer match between Holland and Ecuador, both world cup qualifiers. Ryan and I, after searching for far too long (given our self-professed superb and manly sense of direction), found El Pobre Diable ("The Poor Devil") bar, right next to the Dutch embassy. Dutchies and Ecuadorians gathered there to watch the game on the big screen, and watching Holland triumph 1-0 was a good time. Next, we headed over to the Reina Victoria to watch the U.S. play Poland and play some chess. The U.S. tied, but I suffered a brutal defeat - mainly due to my happy hour beer consumption, I assert, which at 4 drinks was 4 drinks more than that of my esteemed yet sober opponent.

I have had a couple of great runs in the city, one in a park in a hilly area overlooking Old Town. A great trail, but being attacked by 8 mangy dogs was a terrifying experience. I don´t think I have rabies. I´m pretty sure. I jump whenever I hear dogs barking on a run. I´ve been conditioned. This continues to happen. Another run took place in a great park in central Quito, La Carolina. Legs feel good, but every breath means a little diesel fumage in my lungs. Not so pleasant.

We´ll be leaving Quito tomorrow for a small town called Malingua Pamba, where Ryan and I are volunteering at a school for most of the next month. We´re looking forward to contributing as we can - the education in rural ecuador is very poor - and having some time to relax and stay in one place for a while. The community of a couple of hundred indigenous people is pretty far from civilization, in a beautiful part of the andean highlands, and I´m excited about being away from the hustle and bustle, reading and writing and running on some mountain trails. I don´t expect there is a discoteca in Malingua Pamba, but I suppose I´ll be able to deal with it. I expect it´ll be healthy and inspiring, being in a place like that, hanging out with small children and breathing the clean air. As it is I´m daily making reflections and thinking big thoughts, and I hope to find some more time and some clarity out there... bring back a healthy spirit as a souvenir.


*Title from the insightful mind of my traveling companion, Ryan Servais. 3/1/06

*Note first use of geometric term in this blog. For those who have not taken geometry in some time, an asymptote is a line whose distance to a given curve tends to zero. That is, I´m about as close to the carefee curve as I can get without being entirely apathetic. Oh, and I did have to look up asymptote. I´m not actually that smart.

*Vocab lesson: A Tamale is a snack often sold by street vendors, mostly made up of corn meal, but normally including other vegetable or meat items. Everything is wrapped up in a corn husk and steamed, then usually served with raw onion soaked in lime juice.

*also, logistically, should anyone need to contact me, i will have a cellphone in Malingua Pamba and until I leave Ecuador (there is no landline in the community). The country code is 00593, I think, and then you dial my cell number, 96979602.