Yes, Michigan!

Yes, I am still in the United States. No, I don´t happen to have a great excuse for this, other than the fact that I don´t know when I will be back next. And, of course, there is also the fact that right now, it just feels like where I need to be.

Autumn in Michigan should also be enjoyed at all costs, and I've been endeavoring to do so. This, as it turns out, is much easier to do when you don't have the specter of an Upper Peninsula winter bearing down on you (that is, when you know you won't have to be here through it).
And, of course, one has to enjoy the good, old-fashioned Michiganders who live deep in the woods and post lots of informative signs at their property lines. Reading the signs aloud aids a great deal in comprehending them.

That said, it is sometimes creepy to come across these things in the woods. You quietly take your photos, and move along quickly.

A few more photos at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/martonia27/

The dog is dead

And, now that she is dead, I can actually admit what everybody has known all along: namely, that she was in fact my dog, not "my landlord's", as I kept calling her (as if that would make it so).

So, the city puts out poison occasionally, to "control" the stray dog and cat populations when they start causing problems. (Spaying and neutering is too costly for most families to do.)

And apparently, there have been a lot of problems in the neighborhood lately because of all the strays. I imagine that the street-food vendors were being overrun. I imagine that there were probably a bunch of females in heat, too (or, in "jealousy", as that term translates back from Spanish), and that the nights were loud and full of barking and howling dogs as the males fought over the females, and as the females fought off the males. I imagine that, as usual, the city didn't let anybody know that they were putting out the poison, and so quietly placed hunks of meat stuffed with d-CON around town under the cover of night, then waited for the hungry dogs to excitedly devour the food, and then came back 12 hours later in a truck to pick up all the corpses with shovels.

I imagine that Lila-Gitana-Duquesa-LittleDog probably thought that she had hit paydirt when she found whatever tasty morsel that she did. Not that she didn't get enough food at home, but since she had been literally starving when I found her, she had some pretty hard-to-break scavenging habits. I imagine she probably pounced on the poisoned meat and made a little gremlin sound or two, as if to say "I gotcha!".

Nobody knows how she got a hold of it, either. She had been down at the farm in the jungle with the landlady for the 3 days prior, and basically did nothing but sleep once they got back to town (heckling cows and chasing monkeys and keeping up with the farm dogs can be hard work, you know). Somehow, though, she must've gotten out, and by the time one of the tenants found her on the patio, it was waaaay too late to save her. Basically, once any symptoms of being poisoned show up, there's nothing you can do.

Oh, and it gets better. ALL the dogs in the neighborhood were killed. The neighbor across the street's mama dog and her 5 puppies? Dead. The other neighbor around the corner's wolfhound? Also dead. Still another neighbor's bull terrier and one of her (furry adorable collie-mix) puppies? Ditto.

Don't get me wrong, I understand that the town doesn't have the money or infrastructure in place to run a shelter, and that they view the poisoning as the "least bad" way to deal with the stray issue. (Let's face it, otherwise, we'd all be getting attacked by packs of wild dogs every time we left the house.) BUT, COME ON! It does not seem to be too much to ask, that they maybe, possibly, might want to think about letting people know beforehand, so that they can make sure to keep a really close eye on their pets. It's not like the word will spread to the strays, who will in turn not eat the meat. They could just make a simple announcement on the radio in the morning, when almost every household has the local news tuned in. Or, put up fliers beforehand. Copies cost almost nothing (and jeez, I would even pay for it, if needs be). It would just be really frikking EASY, in other words, to make sure that a bunch of people's pets don't die.

Anyhow, it seems that I have my work cut out for me when I get back there (yes, I am still in the U.P.), and that it will include a visit to the commissioner's office.

I am pissed. But mostly just sad.

Random Tuesday blogging with photos to make it actually seem like something

Not much to report on the Ecuadorian front.

(Beware: some dog material follows)

Lila-Gitana-Duquesa-Little Dog (as her list of names grows) is doing well. While she´s not trying to hug/scratch your arm or nearest appendage, she´s either tearing up the belongings of the neighbors, trying to electrocute herself by chewing on electric cords, or sleeping like a little angel. She is getting really big.

Lila out on the town with me:


Lila endearing herself to her new best friend and co-conspirator, Helen:


















Otherwise, there are elections coming up for the Constitutional Assembly. Lots of rhetoric, and almost equal amounts of amazing grafitti and murals. This was in the capital:















I have made a few trips lately up to my friend Carol´s organic (WWoOF) farm. She has a plethora of amazing ideas that will hopefully come in handy at the school. It is sure beautiful up there, even if it is in the "high risk zone".



Making fence posts at the school; this was pre-laceration from saw:


And finally, another trip to church, with the requisite "art shot":




That´s all for now, folks!

P.S. The doggis formerly known as Lila

Gitana is now living in the house I rent the apartment in. Apparently my landlord was looking for a dog. I had no idea.

Everybody wins.

Especially her.

She has gained enough weight where you can´t see each of her ribs anymore. She has been eating mostly kitchen food (dog food is expensive here!) which I think has helped.

Hello darkness my old friend...

This past weekend in Salasaka, there were a number of First Communions for kids from my sector of the community. Among the girls receiving First Communion were both my goddaughter Zoila and the girl I live with (Marga, the patron saint of abused animals). So of course, I found myself in church. Again.*

The morning started out innocuously enough, with a fine mist that was much appreciated. (When it doesn´t rain, or at least mist, Salasaka turns into a big dust bowl, which is exacerbated by the high winds at that altitude. You end up with dust in your mouth, nose, ears, eyes---you get the picture.)

However, what followed was anything but innocuous. By the time I got to the church with the kids (the parents were busy still cooking) it was raining in earnest. We went about setting up the table with the communion wine and host, at the entrance to the church. The tile floor was slippery due to the rain, but we thought nothing of it until ---CRASH--- somebody slipped and brought the whole table down. There was wine and wet wafers everywhere. Of course, it was blessed wine, which they don´t exactly sell down at the corner store. So, somebody had to go to the provincial capital to buy more. These things happen. We settle in and get ready to do some waiting.

In the meantime, a random woman (who is not Salasakan, but who is at the church, for whatever reason) approaches me and starts asking me a bunch of random questions. Then, out of nowhere, she asks me to be godmother to her daughter. In fact, she insists. I tell her that no, I already have both a god-daughter and another soon-to-be god-daughter (Marga) to attend to on that particular day (the maximum allotted god-child number being two for any one occasion). And so she then asks me whether on a different day, maybe for example, in September, I could be godmother to a different daughter for her confirmation. She is really pushy, and has unfortunately already noticed that I have a cell phone. I tell her it´s not mine when she predictably asks for my number. Thankfully, I also have an out for the September confirmation; I will be back in the States. She offers to change the date. I tell her that that´s not a good idea, since I don´t know how long I will be gone. She perseveres until I at least give her my business card (yes, I have a business card). I am pretty sure that she doesn´t know how to do email, so I breathe a sigh of relief and get ready to listen to the priest, who is by now making overtures at the front of the church while the 2-piece band is setting up.

The priest (who I know from when I baptized my goddaughter) decides to take advantage of having the captive audience while we wait for the new bottle of communion wine, and gets on the microphone to make “a few little announcements”. Through the over-modulated maxed-out speaker system, and with the mic about one centimeter from his lips, he starts lecturing the congregation about teaching their children manners at home, and how he has noticed some really badly behaved children around town. He says that he has even seen kids throwing mandarin peels on the ground. (Oh my god, not biodegradable trash!, I am thinking. As if the kids don´t have bigger problems.) He is posing questions like “Do you want your children to grow up to be lazy?”, and “Do you think GOD wants your children to be lazy?”. He then pauses dramatically, waiting for the unanimous chorus from the (with very few exceptions) indigenous congregation. “NO!”, they say in unison. He makes them repeat their responses to his absurd questions with more emphasis when he deems the initial response lackluster. I am already thinking that this guy is kind of a bastard, when in the middle of his numerous and petty call-and-response-formulated recriminations, his cell phone rings. With the mic still at his mouth, he pulls out the phone from under his robes to see who it is. I am surprised by this, especially in light of the topic at hand. Then (wait for it….) he answers his freaking phone. And proceeds to have a full-length conversation, in front of all 200 of us. We are all looking at each other with amazement as his little phone conversation transpires. After about 2 minutes, he hangs up and puts his phone back under his robes, without so much as a word of apology or an excuse. He goes back to castigating the parents some more about manners. Unbelievable. I´d like to ask him if God would want him to be such a racist prick. This would never, I repeat, never, never happen in a non-indigenous community. The church (and indeed, the congregation) would have his head. As this is all going on, I am trying to distract myself by looking at the recently-completed mural behind the altar, which depicts a bunch of Salasakans, walking through the countryside, sort of waiting in line to meet Jesus. Jesus, of course, is depicted as being white white white.


And then I notice that the closer to Jesus the Salasakans are in the line, the whiter their skin is. The baby that Jesus is holding in the painting looks more Norwegian than Salasakan, while the people at the back of the line have the appropriate complexion. There you have it, folks. In case you didn´t already know, Heaven is getting to be white.

While I´ve been spacing out and looking at the oil and water recapitulation of racist church ideologies, a man who is still drunk from the night before has wandered up the aisle. It is obvious that he must´ve gone to one (or several) of the graduation parties the night before, slept in the road somewhere, and then decided to come to church to chat with the lovely priest. He is gesticulating and mumbling, and stumbling closer and closer to the altar. He doesn´t seem to be able to see straight. On the other hand, everybody sees him just fine, although nobody wants to associate themselves with him enough to even remove him. People are in fact moving away from him like he has the plague. Once he gets to within a few feet of the priest, Mister Manners himself finally asks for somebody to please take him out of the church and (wait for it…) back to the bar. I´m sure that´s exactly what he needs, more trago.

Finally, the wine arrives and the mass gets started. The kids all proudly take their first communion, two-by-two. The parents and godparents are all gathering around, stretching their necks to get a better view. Some are taking photos. Todo normal. Until I notice the music. The accompaniment is an electric guitar and a Fender Rhodes-sounding electric piano, both turned up to 11. The majority of the hymns themselves are set to the tune of various Simon and Garfunkle songs**. I don´t know all hymns in Spanish (yet, although I will soon enough), so I instead sing the words to the songs that I learned while growing up. I´m sure that God won´t mind.





* I have been in church more in the past two months here than I have in the past two years.

**In defense of the Andeans, Simon and Garfunkle actually stole at least one traditional Quichua folk song that I know of, which we know in the States as “Flight of the Condor”. How the other songs got reintegrated into the Andean Catholic canon, I don’t know.

Did I mention that the road was out? And that I have a dog problem?

Aside from the lamb, etc., there was one other pleasant surprise waiting for me in Salasaka. A little dog. She seemed pretty badly beaten up, and scared, and hungry (emaciated, in fact). Definitely stinky.

You can probably imagine what happened next.*


Anyhow, one of the women I live with told me that she just sort of showed up at the house, but that she had a suspicion that her daughter had brought the puppy there, and just didn´t want to fess up. (Her daughter is 12 and an avid lover of animals. Aside from the pig, the cow, the guinea pigs and the chicken that she takes care of, she has a dog, several coy fish, and two cats.) However, since the little girl dog showed up, the actual dog tenant of the house had refused to come home.

Even so, I started giving the puppy some food and water, as she made herself more and more comfortable. Then I found the 12-year-old, to get the back-story. Apparently, some neighbor kids had been stabbing the puppy with agave leaves (which are also semi-poisonous) and throwing rocks at it. Being the good kid that she is, she yelled at them and took the puppy away and up to the house. Yet, the dog couldn´t stay there, which we both knew. So, we hatched a plot that I would bring the dog to Baños and find it a home. Easier said than done, as it turns out.

If you´ll remember, the road to Baños is still out (they are in the process of fixing it, really they are!). Also, I had to somehow get the dog past the neighbors, who would probably want her back; which no way, now how, was going to happen, and I definitely wanted to avoid that confrontation. So, I cajoled little puppy into my empty felt shoulder bag. She fit, with room to spare. We set out, first in a truck from the house to the center of town. Then, there was the convincing the bus driver to let me bring her onto the bus (“Look, she´s just right here in the bag! She won´t do anything! I promise! She´s just a puppy!”) He relented, and we rode as far as the next town, in order to catch another truck up to where the road collapsed. No trucks came, though, for whatever reason. Finally a father and his two kids pulled up, asking me if I knew whether the road to Baños was open or not. I kind of lied and said that I had heard that it was, and that I was trying to get there, too. Predictably, he offered me (us) a ride. His kids thought it was pretty cute that the puppy was riding along in my bag, with just her little head sticking out. It was cute. They pet her the whole way to the roadblocks. She only trembled a little. The family decided to wait in their car until they actually opened the road, which the police said would be in a few hours, which I doubted, but whatever. After thanking them, I went on ahead, walking and hoping to catch a truck at least up to the summit of the mountain that allows you to bypass the collapse.

So, after all of that, we are finally almost to Baños de Agua Santa, and I find myself standing in the back of a parked pickup with two Quiteños and a Peace Corps worker from Boulder. The driver doesn´t want to leave, since there are only four of us (which only earns him $1). So, we start trying to encourage other potential passengers to get in. “¡Trasborde! ¡25 centaditos!” It works, and pretty soon we are 12 people and a dog in the back of the truck. We leave for the summit. Little dog girl has still not so much as uttered a peep throughout the entire trip so far.


Now comes the fun part: namely, the descent. The descent is along a switchback path down the side of a steep mountain that, if it should rain hard enough again, will definitely come down. Luckily, it is not raining (yet). How bad can it be, I am thinking to myself, as I watch grandmas in skirts with canes making their way along the beginning of the path. It was a 45 minute descent, sometimes through slippery mud, sometimes at a 90 degree pitch. These are tough old ladies, is all I have to say. By the end, the dog is sticking her head further out of the bag, sniffing at the eucalyptus. I am concentrating on the burning sensation that has settled into my thighs and calves. Finally, almost home. Only one more truck to catch. This time, it´s a vendor truck, with the cooking appliances taken out to make room for transporting people from the site of the collapse. This time, we are 17 humans and one dog.

We make it home, 3 hours after starting out. This would normally be a 25 minute journey. By now, the dog has a name. It´s Lila (pronounced liy-la in Spanish). She doesn´t seem to want to come out of the bag that she´s called home for most of the evening, but eventually does, and then goes promptly to sleep (after being briefly traumatized by a much-needed bath).

Luckily, there is a combination vet/animal pharmacy around the corner from my apartment, which like everything else in town, is open on Sundays. The vet is amazing and kind. We get the basics out of the way first: she definitely has parasites ($1) and she needs a parvo vaccine ($2) to be street legal. She is severely underweight at 5 kilos and 9 or so weeks old, especially for a medium sized dog. I buy some fancy weight gain dog food for $8. And a little cat collar for $2. And some Frontline for the fleas that I´m sure are on her. And some little bowls for her food and water. So, about $20 later, Lila is well on her way to being a non-abused, non-parasite-ridden puppy.

As of tonight, Monday night, after the anti-parasitics did their magic, she is like a different dog**. Silly instead of lethargic, eating and drinking plenty, and making herself right at home in my favorite chair. She is still pretty shy with big scary people who are not me. She won´t go to the bathroom inside (yay for dogs born in the country). She also won´t go near the actual bathroom, which she now associates with a form of abuse that she´d never encountered before the other night (that is, a bath). She walks nicely on the little leash that I crocheted, albeit with some coaxing. She also happens to have a bunch of the same habits as Nina (like the whining and the forceful yawning). It is sure nice to have a little dog around, even for just a few days. As I write she is warming herself up, crammed next to my computer.



I am not looking forward to finding her a home, that is for certain.











*I would like to preface all of this with the fact that there is a huge stray dog issue in most of Latin America, and that, despite my so-called dog psychosis, I have never even contemplated bringing one home. I swear. I have befriended some of the strays (they know a sucker when they see one) but without ever even thinking about bringing them home. There are just too many. This particular dog, however, was different.

**Do not, I repeat, do not, ask or wonder about the horrible creatures that were living in her intestines.

P.S.

I promise that, whatever my next post may be, that it will not include yet another excruciatingly detailed explication of how effed up the road is, and how hard it is to get around.

Seriously, though. It is amazing.

Like this sunset, only not as relaxing.

Mmmm, meat.

So, I finally made it back to Salasaka this week, taking a truck to where the road used to be, climbing a mountain to get around the washout (and of course, descending said mountain), jumping into the back of another truck to get to the bus station, and then finally catching a bus to the center of Salasaka. And then, taking still another truck up to the house. Así sufrimos lo que amamos. It was kind of a long trip. That said, it was far better than the shorter, less physically exhausting route that involved the tarabita, or cable car. In fact, every time I have even thought about getting into one, this painting comes to mind (excuse the soft focus):


It´s in the church in Baños, and depicts a man who, in the 1880´s, fell from the tarabita and miraculously survived, thanks to the Virgincita. I am not so sure she would spare me in the same manner.

ANYway, the following day at the school was a very important one, so I was really glad to have been able to get back to Salasaka in time, by whatever means. We were having an open house for the end of the school year, complete with a program put on by the kids (in English!), a barbeque, a band, and about 70 people in total (including the parents, grandparents, and teachers and students from elsewhere in the community). The program went swimmingly, and the kids did a fantastic job of showcasing their English skills. This is particularly remarkable, because they have only had English classes up at the school for about 6 months. Small class sizes sure do help.

So, aside from the program itself, the part that interested me the most was the food (perhaps not so surprising, that). Besides the standard soup and potatoes that accompany nearly every big meal in the Andes, we had meat. Lamb meat. Lots of it. Adding further excitement to this was the fact that we were going to use a pachamanka, or earth oven, to cook said meat. People don´t do this very often anymore, as it is somewhat time consuming, but since this was a special occasion…

You make a pachamanka by first digging a big hole in the ground, and lining it with stones. Then, you make a big fire, which ideally burns hot enough to turn the majority of the wood into coal. Then you remove the coal and wood. What we did was then line the stones with bean pods, then put the lamb in, then more bean pods, then the coal on top of that, and then… Then you bury the whole thing (yes, with dirt). It takes about an hour to cook the meat to medium rare. Here´s a picture of the meat, and the oven while it was heating up.

And, here´s a picture of the finished product:

Man, was it good.

People were sort of surprised that the gringita (me) was eating the lamb with such enthusiasm. Oh, you have no idea, I told them…

Aaah, Winter

I don´t even know where to start, really. I am (still) back in Baños, where I have been since last Sunday. This is a record-breaking week, in a number of ways. For one, it´s the longest I´ve been in one place in quite a while, as I normally am in Salasaka Wednesday through Sunday, and in Baños the other days. Secondly, the amount of rain we have gotten here has made leaving virtually impossible. People are saying that it hasn´t rained this much in forty years. The flooding is worse to the south, but even still, there are currently 3 obstacles to getting out of town. In order of appearence, they are:

1.) Lahars: These are rivers of mud --sometimes small, sometimes not-- that originate from the volcano and flow down over the road out of town, which also sits (at that point) conveniently right on the edge of a cliff that drops down about oh, 1,500 or so feet to the Pastaza River Gorge. This is also the same area that was most effected by the last eruption in August, and so it is mostly already loose volcanic material from the flow. (There are rooftops of houses that you can see peeking out of the mud-rock-lava stuff along the way.) “Normally”, one can hop a truck up to where the lahars are, and then jump across them, catching a bus or truck on the other side of the roadblock, or walking a ways until one comes by. (This sounds insane, but really, it´s not so big of a deal.) Lately however, with all of the rain, the lahars have not been so small. And, of course, with that much water flowing down the mountain, there are plenty of landslides and large mudflows to go along with the lahars. Fun for the whole family. The national police have the area completely blocked off now. The only people who are getting through are those who are willing to yell at the police and make a run for it, or who have their own cars and are willing to drive throught the barracades while the police scream and threaten arrest. I do not really fit into either of those groups, as it turns out.

2.) A big chunk of the road (same road, different locale) collapsed. That is to say, the road is now completely gone, for about a 200 ft stretch. Judging from the cracks spanning on either side of the collapse, it also looks as if more of the road will go with the next rainfall, which should begin any second now. The real problem with fixing this is that (again) the now-former road is sheer rock cliff up on one side, and sheer mud cliff down on the other. So, they are actually working right now on removing part of the mountain, so as to make some space for a new road. This is no small task. They say they will be done on Wednesday. Somehow, I sorta doubt it. But, we´ll see.

3.) My favorite obstacle of the three is the overflowing river that suddenly changed its course, and is now in the process of washing out the rest of yet a different part of the same poor road. At the point where it comes down the mountainside and now covers the road, there is also a shrine to the Virgin. Smartly, the shrine was built on a huge rock, and it is the only thing to not have been stripped from that side of the mountain. So, among all of the mud, and uprooted trees, and the (now) fast-flowing water, there is this beautiful little shrine, adorned with flowers and pictures, and painted in bright colors, completely intact. Somehow, it´s not even dirty. Quite an image. No pictures of that, though, as I was a bit concerned at the time that the river would carry the truck I was in over the side of the mountain. Or that the road would collapse.

Sounds kind of dramatic, huh? Well, I can only say that this is what people are having to do here (every day, lately) just to get to work, or to get home, or to take their university entrance exams, or whathaveyou. I did it twice, (once going from, once coming to Baños) as I had planned to go to the doctor in the provincial capital. However, once I got there, I felt fine; no fever, no nothing, and so went shopping for necessities and came back to Baños to get my things to go up to Salasaka. By the time I went to catch a truck out of town again, it was raining and the police weren´t even letting pedestrians through the barracade. I had to turn around and come back home. That´s when you know it´s bad; usually, they will at least let you try to cross the 10 or so “problem” kilometers on foot, at your own risk.

Anyhow, so here I am, in town still. Every morning when I wake up, I look out at the mountains, and there are more and more mudslides up there. One hit the little hospital here on Saturday. And, there are still 2 more months left to the rainy season.

Local businesses, as you might imagine, are also being hit hard by this weather, since tourists can´t get into town to spend their money. The common refrain around town is “Fuck, if it´s not the volcano, it´s the winter. We are screwed.” Needless to say, there is also a general shortage of things at the moment (gas, fruit, veggies), as the trucks that normally come from Quito and the coast can´t get through to make their deliveries. Also also, the rain this morning damaged the pipes that serve the whole town with water. So, no water, except for at the hotsprings, which are fed by Tungurahua. (This will get resolved quickly, though. Probably even today.*) Luckily, after the last time this happened, I filled up several gallon jugs with water, so I am in good shape this time around. I even had water to make coffee with this morning.

I should say that all of this sounds worse when I write it down than it actually is. Aside from not being able to leave (ok, and not having water today) I personally wouldn´t necessarily even notice that anything was wrong, although town is definitely quieter than usual.

Anyhow, it´s not like I don´t have work to do here, so I have been transcribing and doing other computer stuff that requires the internet (which, knock wood, is still working). Also, my landlord just went down to the jungle (that road was still open, although barely, as of 2 days ago), and she brought me back some endemic orchids. Big ones. In bloom. $.50 a plant. Biodiversity be damned! I want some orchids on my balcony. (I plan to re-plant them on a friend´s property when I leave, don´t worry…)

So, tomorrow is Wednesday, the day that I normally would go back to Salasaka, and that is still my plan. I have tons of stuff to do, and have already been gone for too long. I am antsy. Supposedly, the road is going to be passable tomorrow. Hopefully, it will not rain again. In the event that it does, an indigenous guide friend tells me that there is a cable car across the gorge, that leads to a road out to the provincial capital. Vamos a ver.


*UPDATE: The water issue is fixed!

Non-bloggy blog post

Will post more soon, but in the meantime, have just been able to post photos on flicker.

Go look.

http://www.flickr.com/photos/martonia27/

Randomness

Other random factoids of the last week or so:

You do not really have to refrigerate eggs. Really.

Erupting volcanoes feel like a cross between a huge thunderstorm and an earthquake.

People here believe that extraterrestrials come to said volcano to draw on its power (images of the UFO’s have even been on the 6 o’clock news).

Cold showers are not always a bad thing.

Quinoa (a high-protein grain) is completely underrated.

People think I am a freak for not having any children yet (this, I already knew, though).

I speak Quichua with a funny accent.

I speak Spanish with a funny accent.

Working with kids, whether in the States or here, will give you a cold almost immediately.

Ecuadorian blood sausage is friggin’ amazing. (Sorry, Mom! I will have to take another stab at our fam´s blood sausage!)

The best brand of olive oil / balsamic vinegar you can find here is called “Snob”. I´m not kidding.

Up until about 2 weeks ago, the best interest rate Ecuadorians could get on short and long term loans from the gov’t was set at about 30%. This was with no prior debt and perfect credit. Rapacious bastards.

I think that Sr. Correa is the best president this country has seen in a long time.



For more pictures from the last few weeks, go to:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/martonia27/

Salasakabi kani.

Back in Salasaca...

As I write, I am sitting under the eaves of the terrace, listening to the rain and watching the storm move through the valley. Although it sure is something to watch, hopefully it will stop soon, so that I can grab a truck into the center of town at some point, to use the phone.

The days are flying by. I’ve been going up to the school in the mornings with Rosa Maria, my friend and also the founder of the school (which is called Katitawa). We get up at around 6 and leave around 7 or 7:30, so as to make it to Katitawa by 8 or 8:30. Somehow, it really is uphill both ways, no matter whether you’re coming or going. It’s an amazing place, though. The kids, who number around 30 or so, range in age from 3 to 15. A lot of them are there because their parents value native language education, but a good number are there because they couldn’t get into other schools, be it for so-called “linguistic deficits” or for regular old learning disabilities of some kind or another (the latter being correlated with the former, I suspect). The instruction is divided up loosely by age, although secondarily by proficiency. There are 3 teachers (not including myself). The school gets about $150 per month from the government, to pay the salary of one teacher. The other two teachers are volunteers (one of them being the school’s founder). Twice a year, the school also gets a subsidy of about 50 pounds of rice and beans. This is to feed the kids, many of whom wouldn’t eat otherwise during the day.

Most of the amenities at Katitawa have been funded by donations from foreigners, including solar panels for generating electricity (there isn’t any otherwise at that altitude in the community), running water, a kitchen, a small library, and a bathroom. 2 out of the 3 schoolrooms were also built with donated money. Anyhow, right now, the batteries that get charged by the solar panels are broken, so there is virtually no electricity. We are trying to figure out a way to remedy this, but despite the intensity (understatement!) of the sun here, there is not a whole lot known about solar power in Ecuador. So, finding somebody who can help, let alone get the parts, is nearly impossible. And, just today, the water pump piping broke. This happened because there is only one pump, and two tanks; one potable, one not (that one is for irrigating the small organic crops they have going). So every day, to make lunch, we have to switch out the one pump to the other tank. This has put a lot of stress on the whole system (not to mention the fact that there is some mixing of potable water with non- in the process), and now the washers and pipes that connect everything are completely stripped. In lieu of not eating (we were all really hungry!), we hauled I-don’t-know-how-many gallons of potable water from the tank site up to the school itself. We talked about it, and decided that the best thing to do would probably be to try to fix the piping, and to also try to get a hold of a second pump. The problem? Well, supposedly, the pump that we need, which hooks up properly to the solar panel wiring, costs around $1250. This is a crazy amount of money, especially for here. An American man who has been helping out financially (and otherwise) at the school is trying to get the money together to buy the second pump. I will end up pitching in too, I’m sure. We’ll see how it all goes, anyway.

Baños de Agua Santa

So, getting to Baños proved to be more difficult than expected, and took much longer than it should have. (I think that you will find this to be a recurrent theme in my life here, actually.) Firstly, the friend who met me in Quito to help me carry all of my crap had business to take care of during the afternoon, so we set out later than planned. We then proceeded to miss the bus by just a few minutes and so had to wait for the next one. It came shortly thereafter (at about 4:30 pm), and I thought, Great, I will be checked into my hostel and at the hot springs by 8:30 or so. I was also really looking forward to the low(er) altitude, and to not hearing my heart beating like a drum in my ears anymore. But, about 2 hours into the trip, we screeched to a halt in the middle of nowhere on the Pan-American. At least we were in the valley at that point, and not at 10,000 feet. Man-o-man, was I glad about that.

Nobody paid much attention to being stopped, despite the fact that we were all almost thrown from out seats in the process (these things happen sometimes), but after about 20 minutes, people start wandering out of the bus to see what was going on. Somebody tells me it’s an accident, and that the vehicles involved are blocking the road. By this time, it’s completely dark, so I put my knitting away and set out to do some leg-stretching/rubbernecking. The accident itself, which was just a block or two ahead of us, was shocking. Truly. Imagine the damage incurred in an accident involving a bus full of people, a semi-truck, and a pickup truck. The undercarriage of the bus was completely gone, and its back axle had been propelled onto the opposite side of the road by the force of the impact. The pickup truck (or that’s what I heard that it was, anyway) looked like a crumpled up piece of tinfoil. The semi had spilled most of its contents onto the road. There was blood, glass and broccoli everywhere. No ambulances yet, so random people were trying to get the survivors out of the vehicles. By that point, dozens of people from all of the stopped traffic had come out to help, or look, or whatever. People were running all over the place. I was trying to figure out what to do, as if my swiss army knife was going to be of any help… Total chaos, anyway. Finally, about 10 ambulances show up, and then the police. Everybody is really shaken up, especially us idiots that went to look at the crash.

I have no idea how many people died in total, or whether the bus responsible for the accident was the one that I accidentally missed in Quito.

Anyhow, 3 hours later, we are back on the road, and the bus conductor is trying to make up for the lost time by driving like a complete asshole (this is probably how the other accident happened in the first place). This possibility is not lost on the other passengers, either, who all start screaming at him to slow the hell down, or else we’re going to end up like the people in the other bus. The old women all start making the sign of the cross. He finally slows down, and stops passing other vehicles on blind curves. By that point, I am doing my cross, too.

It’s late by the time we finally pull into Baños, and as usual, it's misty and smells like springtime. No hot springs for me. Cable tv and a hot shower seemed just as good, though. When I wake up in the morning, I am treated to this outside my hostel window. It's the same room I always stay in, but the view never gets old.

Not so bad, eh? Think it was worth the trip?

Fleeing from Quito, or "¡Eso no sabía!"

I am way behind in posting, I realize. It's been a hectic couple of weeks, though, with trying to get settled and everything else.

Anyhow, hellooo from Ecuador! Finally!

The best part of the flight down was the fact that I had _3 seats_ all to myself! Hopefully this is a harbinger of good things to come.

Quito was everything it usually is: crowded, expensive, and semi-frustrating, but with great food* and amazing views. Normally, I would hightail it outta there directly from the airport, but I had (what was ostensibly) important business to attend to. Namely, I had to register my fancy new visa the next morning. *All* I had to do was take my paperwork and passport into the offices of foreign relations. No problem, right? Well, not exactly.

First off, Quito is enormous, and I’m fairly unfamiliar with it. Also, not being a planned city, let’s say it’s “unintuitive” in that it’s built spreading upwards from the valley (the bottom of which is at an elevation of about 10,500 ft.), with the houses spreading all the way up to elevations that you’d never expect people to live at. Many of the neighborhoods, especially those on the outskirts, are comprised of cobbled together houses with tin roofs. Also also, when one comes from sea-level to 11,000 or so feet, one feels ready to pass out, even from just walking a few blocks at a granny’s pace. This can be especially intense when “one” has not yet managed to quit smoking.

Isn't it beautiful, though?

Anyhow, after some blundering around the city on the bus line (which is fabulous, and costs about $.25), and with the some local help, I did find the office of foreign relations, and was immediately accosted by a gaggle of lawyers in front of the iron gates that surround the edifice, all of whom were offering their help navigating the process. But I already did my “process” back in California, over the course of several weeks and one very very long day at the Consulate. Or so I thought. After running the lawyer gamut, I got to meet Mr. Machinegun guy, and tell him my business before being allowed in the gate. Seeing that: a) I have a funny accent, and b) I couldn’t really breathe after walking up the hill to get to the office, it was probably fairly obvious to him from the outset why I was there, even before I pulled out all of my stamped photos and documents to show him, “No, really, I’m not from here! See?”.

The waiting room of this office was pretty standard looking. There was, of course, a television mounted to the wall, as is the case in most public places in Ecuador. But the truly unbelievable aspect of this waiting room involved the huge bank of about 70 chairs, each row having about 10 (connected) chairs. Once I get into the room, I have to again go through my “why I’m here” shpiel to Mr. Machinegun guy #2, and he instructs me to sit in the very last empty seat in this bank of chairs. He is very specific about this. As I’m sitting there wondering how they’ll know whom to call next, a person in the very first chair in the room gets called for her turn. And, here is where it gets fun: what ensues is a 60-odd-person, musical-chairs-like shift. Everybody gets up, and advances one seat towards the front of the line. When the line is really moving, you’re getting up like 3 or 4 times a minute, in consort with 60 other people. Everyone is laughing and plopping themselves into their new position in the line, each time moving their coats, bags and folders with them. It is great fun, and actually, the 2-hour wait passes by in a flash. Even though I’m the only ferner in the room (which seems weird, considering the office I’m in), and even though I’m sure everybody but me has done this before, it adds a certain joviality to an otherwise un-fun situation. It’s little things like this that make me love this place.

So, when I get into the back office to present my documents to the appropriate person, she tells me, “Great! You have almost everything you need!”. What could possibly be missing? Well, aside from the $10 payment to the government that has to be deposited directly into the Banco Internacional, via their checking account (which they give you the actual account number for!), and notorized, I was also missing the special file folder, with special clamps for my special documents. This is apparently a nation-wide protocol. Duh. Ok, then! ¡Eso no sabía!

So, I’m off to find the bank, which the government official assures me is “Just right across the street”, which in Quito, translates to “Somewhere in the vicinity, on any number of the 6 intersecting avenues in that part of town, maybe up a huge frigging hill, maybe not”. So, I figure this is going to take some searching, and buy a bottle of water on the way and ask for directions from the tiny (tiny, as in half my height) indigenous grandma working in the kiosk. She literally walks me almost all the way to the bank, which it turns out, is not terribly far. Not that I would’ve ever found it otherwise, though. At the bank, I wait in another line, make my payment, get my official receipt, and head out to find one of these special folders with a special clamp for my special documents. You can’t just go to a Walgreens here, either. You have to go to a special paper store. I figure that the chances of finding one of these quickly are low, and so I buy another bottle of water. At this point, I’m getting light-headed, and my legs are feeling wobbly. Loving the altitude. Just loving it. Much to my surprise (again!), there is a paper store as soon as I turn the corner. Hey! So, I fumble through some idiotically long-winded explanation of what it is that I specifically need, and the employee patiently listens to me, and says, “Oh, a document folder, then!” Right. So, $.32 later, I am on my way, really this time, to register my fancy new visa.

Except, when I get back (up the hill, again, I might add) to the government offices, Mr. Machine gun guy (#1) won’t let me back in the building. “We don’t work after noon”, he tells me. It would have been nice to know this before hand, but fine. ¡Otra chucha cosa que no sabía! I decide to get the hell out of Quito, as soon as is humanly possible, and to register my visa at a later date, when my head and chest don’t feel like they are about to implode.

So, thus began the odyssey towards Baños, where I planned to do some altitude acclimatization, and some hot springs-oriented activities.

More soon!

¡Un fuerte abrazo!


*Who knew that there was a huge Eastern Indian population there? Not me!

Stratovolcanoes and You

So, one interesting thing about the area I work in is that there is a very large, very active stratovolcano nearby. We're talking lots of ash plumes, magma, and the occasional incandescent rock or two. Oh yeah, and then there's also a pyroclastic flow once in a while. Here's what an ash plume looks like from a satellite. They are much lovelier in person, as it turns out.

Her name is Tungurahua (III). Tungurahua II collapsed roughly 3,000 years ago, and that's what current Tungurahua (III's) "volcanic edifice" is built around. The original Tungurahua (I) collapsed during the late Pleistocene. But, the Andes are relatively "new", so there is still a lot of activity going on there. Geologists and vulcanologists can explain this much better than I can, obviously.

Anyhow, the village that I'll be spending the bulk of my time in (aka Salasaka) has a beautiful view of said volcano, which stands about 16,000 ft at its summit. I sure think it's pretty, anyway. The picture below was taken the last time I was there, in an unusually wet early spring. The greenhouses that you see in the valley below the volcano are mostly roses and other ornamentals, mostly. This is also the primary valley in Ecuador where avocados are grown. Really, really good avocados. (This also reminds me of the unfortunate time I was inadvertently stranded in "avocado town", called Patate, due to the Carnaval festivities (no buses out, due to the parades!). But, that is another story, for another time...)
So, in Salasaka, even at an altitude of 8,000 feet or so, when Mama Tungurahua erupts, we mostly "only" get ash fallout. Not that this isn't sometimes catastrophic; most people are subsistence farmers to some degree, and when ash covers your small crop, that crop usually dies. No food. For you, or for your animals (which you also rely on for food, in addition to other things, like wool). Also, the water all gets tainted by the volcanic ash, too. Boiling it doesn't help, either, because you still will end up ingesting all kinds of particulates. So, things get tricky, in other words. Why don't they just move, you might ask? Well, land rights (and people's relationship to the land, more generally) are something for an entirely different post.

The OTHER place I am going to be spending my time (when I'm not up in the village) is Baños. There is internet access there, and Argentine beef, and falafel, among other things that I am fond of, including orchids. The interesting thing about Baños is that it is actually right at the foot of the mountain that is Tungurahua (III). This makes for lots of really amazing hot springs and mineral baths (as the name of the town suggests).*

Thanks to David for the illustration. For perspective, Salasaka is about half-way between Ambato (where this photo was taken from) and Baños.

Honestly, though, there is nothing like getting up before sunrise, and going up to the springs, and soaking and watching the sun come up over the Andes, under the spray of a huge waterfall. It's also luscious and green and, for whatever reason,(knock on wood) has not lately had serious problems with Mama T, due to the side of the mountain it's on. Yet, as I'm sure you've noted, it is quite close. Sure, the town's been evacuated before (in 1999). But, there are great evacuation routes now (and I plan to stay on one of them)!

David and I once took the "chiva"** up the side of the volcano, to try to see some of this much-talked-about magma. It was too cloudy to see even our own shoes at 11,000 feet, and we were instead served some local sugar cane liquor mixed with hot guayusa tea, as a consolation prize, I suppose. It was still a great night, even without the magma (although as I'm writing this, yes, I realize it's not such a great "story"). Tell me that one again about how you didn't see any magma! Oh, well. Maybe next time there will be a more noteworthy tale.

So, anyway, I have stratovolcanoes on the brain. I'm not worried, though, and you shouldn't be either. Really.





*To dispel any misconceptions, Baños does not literally mean "toilets", although it is commonly used euphemistically to refer to them. It actually means "baths". I am not living in "toilet-town", in other words. (Although, wouldn't that be something?!)

** Aaah, the chiva. It's basically a brightly-painted open-air truck with benches for seats, the driver of which blares horrible reggaetón music to attract potential customers. The "pleasure" of the whole experience will set you back about $2.

Procrastination Station

So, I am sitting at my little cafe, doing some work and some people watching. In other circles, this may be known as "eavesdropping".

But anyway... Today, we have a "normal" mix of Friday morning coffee-drinkers:

There are several older men playing guitars on the patio and producing some nice harmonies. It reminds me of Neil Young, only without the warbling*.

Two stoney California surferdoods, who are hawking their new hemp (of course) clothing line from the back of a brand new Subaru, are jumping around and taking their clothes off. They are "on the road", going to (surprise, surprise) Santa Monica. Their rooftop Yakima pod-rack-thing is full of hemp fiber yoga pants and t-shirts. They are "the people's people", they say, as they snap off photos with their digital SLR. Also, why do people like this always have stickers to hand out? I am now the proud owner of a big blue bumper sticker, saying "Jungymaven" or something, which I will promptly put nowhere. Like most English words that begin with the letter "j", I also have no idea how to pronouce their brand's name. (Hungymaven? Yoongymaven?) I avoid having to say the word out loud while listening to the "story of hemp" (for the 237th time in my life). Did I know that the Constitution was written on hemp paper, for example? (Well, actually, it was the Declaration of Independence, but I play along and act amazed, as if I'd never heard this shpiel before.) I wait for a reference to 4:20. Thankfully, it doesn't come. They seem like nice enough kids. Good handshakes, anyway. They bounce back to their car and head towards the 101.

Some scantily clad Cali hipster girls are sitting closeby, "inspiring each other" (their words, not mine!). They look to be freezing their bazongas off, since it's only 57 degrees today and foggy, and they are in semi-transparent tubetops. For whatever reason, they also have their over-sized Paris Hilton sunglasses on. In the spirit of a truly converted-to-Californian-wussy, I am in a wool sweater, scarf and gloves, and still trying to absorb the heat from my coffee to try to warm up.

The owner of the cafe pulls up with her son, who is about 5 and has dreadlocks. They are white. She almost hits another car as she pulls in, since she is (wait for it....) on the phone. Lots of honking ensues. The other (also white) dreadlocked barefoot patrons shake their heads at her, and say "Damn hippies".

The bearded man who is living in a (not so) "mobile" home next to the cafe (with his two 140 lb. dogs) pulls out a Razor phone and laments his one dog's food and skin allergies. I think that he just hangs out there all day. He talks loudly and constantly and seems to know everyone, including the bicycle-riding man with the prosthetic metal leg, who keeps coming and going. I can see the metal leg clearly, only because he is wearing pink capri pants. Mobilehomeguy keeps talking about "Back East"**, to anyone who will listen. This is certainly a better place to live in a trailer than "Back East", I'm sure.

Stereotypical Italian Man (fashionably dressed, and in a fisherman's cap) sits brooding in the corner, rolling one cigarette after another. The artist of the month is hanging his art inside. It features a lot of text, apparently in Spanish, but randomly has French words thrown in. There are grammatical errors everywhere, no gender or number agreement to be found. The Spanish-teaching semi-French speaker in me wants to get the red pen out. I say nothing. Maybe I just don't "get" the art.

Various German-car driving wealthy people come in and out, stepping around the growing pack of dogs hanging out at the door. Aside from them, I think I am the only one to have left her dog at home. Very pierced barista guy comes out to fill up the dog water bowls. Some guy appears out of nowhere and asks me to "borrow" 50 cents for dog food. I tell him, don't worry, he doesn't have to pay me pack. He looks at me strangely, not getting the fact that I was trying to be funny, and not trying to be an asshole. Aah, well...

Tourist families walk by, rolling their suitcases clumsily and staring at this microcosm of California. I don't blame them. I'm staring too, and I live here.

It's like being at the circus, only without the elephants.

I am definitely coming back tomorrow.


* I like the warbling. Really!
**In California, "Back East" means anything east of Nevada. South Dakota? "Back East". Chicago? Also "Back East".

Lest you think that I hate California...

I absolutely do not. And, sometimes, even less so.

This last week, I got to be in a music video for one one my favorite bands of late, Beirut. Imagine nostalgic Balkan-esque music of your (my) youth, meets the Smiths. That is an oversimplification, but you get the gist... It was an extremely silly thing to do, but also fun (in some way or another). Anyhow, you can look for me in the music video for "Elephant Gun", dancing around with a rubber elephant nose on, with a fake wine bottle in my hand. That's me (partially obscured) on the far right.

ALSO, the fam's visit is this week, which has forced us (happily!) to leave our home-cave by the beach, and venture out to other parts. So far, we have done beach stuff with the crazed circus dog, and lots of wonderful food, in addition to mountain traversing. Next is whale watching, and then out to the desert.*







What a whirlwind visit!







*UPDATE: We saw an unusual number of Grey Whales on our outing on the catamaran, in addition to some Dahl's Porpoises (sorry, Jo!), and were hot on the trail of a Humpback when we had to head back to the marina. Bummer, that. Also, the desert was aMAZing. Joshua Tree Nat'l Park is (obviously, perhaps) really something, as was the B & B we stayed at. I, personally, enjoyed both equally. JTNP was everything I expected it to be, and even in such a dry year we managed to see some Joshua Trees in bloom.

The B&B exceeded any expectations I may've had, however. Homemade banana creme pie in the evening, decadent breakfasts of praline french toast with a berry compote, good coffee, beautiful cottages (skylights, even!), and every possible attention to detail, in addition to beautiful sunrises/sunsets, and wildlife on the grounds, including a mated pair of Great Horned owls, coyotes, foxes, and Sammy, the 2nd friendliest dog in the world. The owners of the B&B were amazing, as well, and also had great senses of humor. A wonderful, wonderful place. Many thanks to Lisa, who found the place to begin with, and to Sally and Chuck, for inviting us to go out there with them!

I give you some links:

Joshua Tree Nat'l Park

Roughley Manor B&B

Certain things about California, I won’t miss so much…

How surprising that the topic of this post would involve: 1) Our dog, and 2) Why some of the interactions I have with people in my neighborhood irritate me to no end. It's so rare that either of these things should come up, let alone both at once, I know.

Background: despite the absurd location (3 blocks from the ocean), our neighborhood is populated mostly by working class people, frat-boys, homeless people, and tennis-garb-toting vacationer types. It's an interesting mix, and, even though the last homeless guy that I "helped out" literally left his crap (as in, yes, his actual excrement) on our sidewalk, the homeless people are not the biggest problem around here. It's the self-righteous vacationer types, many of whom are actually on permanent vacations. Decked out in their "vacation gear", they peer into your yard, and then tell you any number of things while you're trying to pull weeds or play with your dog, or deal with the trash, or whatever. Back to that in a second.

Background, take II: Nina the dog is possibly the most spoiled animal on the planet; part of it is that she's turned "cuteness" into her own personal performance art piece. The other part of it is that she's really just a great dog, and so you don't mind, for example, squeezing into a chair with her, even though she's not really small enough for that. She regularly gets marathon frisbee sessions. Walks on the beach. She has free reign of the house (including all furniture) and the yard. You get the picture. We have a potentially unhealthy amount of love for this animal. And, she is happier than you, me and most of the people that we know, combined.

So, the vacationers... sometimes they'll stop and chat about how nice the flowers smell, how great the weather is, or any number of other pleasantries regarding the town we live in. This is a pleasant freaking place, after all. But, usually? Usually, they stop to question me, or to comment upon how mistreated my dog seems.

The thing is, (as many of you know) Nina whines when she gets excited. And, she gets excited a lot. Like, when people walk by, for example. She also knows that if said people are walking by, and she whines at them, they will invariably stop to pet her and coo at her incessantly. Only, they think that the whining is some expression of sadness, or a plea for help. "Oh, you poor baby, locked in this yard. Somebody needs to take you for a walk." Puhleeeze.

"Don't you ever walk her?", they'll then ask me. "She looks really thin. Do you feed her enough?", or "She looks kind of fat. Do you exercise her enough? She’s an active breed, you know." Really? I hadn’t noticed! There was this one couple that came by 3 times in as many days, just to "check up" on her. "You know, we walked by yesterday and the day before, and she seemed really upset. Have you been doing something to her?" Um, excuse me? Oh, but they're just concerned citizens, you see. No need to be so rude to them! Right.

Just the other day, in fact, an older woman waited at the front (now always locked) gate for me to come out, so that she could make sure I was paying enough attention to Nina. Through gritted teeth, I assured her that yes, she is a very healthy, very happy dog, and that if she had any more of my attention, it would probably necessitate my getting less sleep.

This kind of thing happens all of the time.

Also, I'm just not sure why these people insist on taking up our dog as their cause, when there are drunk morons tearing around the neighborhood in their 'stangs, who have nearly run over half of the other dogs in the neighborhood (who just roam around, because, you know, their owners think that leashes are "unkind"). Or, perhaps they could turn their ire (more appropriately) on the dudes who break car windows and yell things like "f^#*ing fa&&ot" incessantly. Another, perhaps more outrageous option, of course, would be that they just mind their own damn business!

No, no. Those things, I will not miss.

Poor little neglected Nina, however, I will.

First Post

Hi folks.

After a lot of waiting on research protocol approvals, visas, grants, etc., I am finally (finally!) getting ready to push off for Ecuador, where I'll be spending the better part of a year. For the moment, though, I'm still at home, just trying to take care of the myriad things that need to be done before I leave.

This is essentially a personal blog*. The plan is to use it to post photos and other info about what's going on (with me, and in Ecuador, and in California, for that matter), in addition to using it to stay in better touch with people outside of Ecuador. This will also spare friends and family the pain of my mass-mails, hopefully.

So, steel yourselves for the excitement of Ecuador, when I can tell you more about eating guinea pigs, and drinking corn beer, and eating 200 different varieties of potatoes and corn, and riding around in the backs of trucks, and burning garbage, and eating more potatoes and corn, and volcanic eruptions, and learning to play the charango, and working with traditional weavers, and, of course, my research, which consists of mainly talking to people (which will probably thrill you somewhat less than it thrills me). Whoa, the excitement of it all (seriously!). Hold onto your seats.



Feel free to leave comments, too, or just email me directly!


*This means that the views expressed here do not represent those of the universities or funding agencies I'm affiliated with, all of which will also remain nameless as far as the blog goes.