Sick Day

Miercoles 15 abril
Wouldn`t you know it. A beautiful day, blue skies, a slight breeze and temps in the mid 70`s. A full day of work planned, my last as a Peace Corps Volunteer, in both Piqiuicho and Caldera. And here I am, en mi casita, sick as a dog. Between the fever, the chills, and the all too frequent trips to the bathroom, sleep was hard to come by last night. I did drift off for an hour or so this morning, and now I am eating a little something . . . but I don`t think I will get out of the house for several more hours, if at all. As a matter of fact I will probably crawl back into bed directly – ya mismo. Funny how just sitting in a chair can sometimes wear you out. Que pena!
It`s election time (again) here in Ecuador - all kinds of local and regional offices are up for grabs as well as the presidency. Current prez Rafael Correa is expected to cruise to an easy victory, but his support is not quite as strong as it was during the last election, 2 years ago. Oil revenues are way down, and his promises of social change and infrastructure improvements have been slowed to a crawl by a lack of funds. The electorate here epitomizes the phrase “what have you done for me lately?”, and are quick to toss the bums out – only to replace them with other bums. Which might explain why Ecuador has had 10 presidents since 1997.
For many it is a great time to be in the graphics or advertising business – there are so many candidates and it seems they all have dozens of giant posters hanging all over every region. Correa`s image appears every time you turn around, his handsome face smiling and his fist pumping in a kind of “power to the people” salute. Hundreds of candidates are riding his coat tails, and there are enough political parties to make it nearly impossible to keep track of them all. I think it`s kind of funny when people tell me how they envy our system in the US – “you guys know how to do it – solo dos partidos, los democraticos y los republicanos”. I try to explain how many of us in the US would like to see stronger and more numerous “third parties”, but my friends here are convinced that the 2 party system is the only sensible way to go. I have to agree that in Ecuador the system could use some streamlining.
As my time here winds down, I have been spending less time visiting with some of the local families. This has earned me several times the term “ingrato” – implying that I do not appreciate the friendships. (Note to Alicia – your Mom has never called me ingrato!) It is usually said in a joking manner and with a smile, but it`s a term I am not too fond of. I waste no time in pointing out that friendships are two way streets, and if my friends miss me, or want to see me, all they have to do is come by the house and knock on the door. This suggestion is usually met by blank stares – and a plethora of excuses – “well you only have 3 chairs” (true) or “you never have any food in your house” (false) or “we never know when you are going to be home” (true enough, but come by anyway!) I think the real reason most of my friends don`t drop by too frequently is a certain discomfort with the concept of an older single man living alone – and without a television!! Who`s gonna cook? What would we do if not able to sit around watching a soccer game or latin soap opera? Who`s gonna clean up? Of course it`s always assumed that those chores are left to wives, sisters, daughters, nieces or any other girl or woman who happens to be handy . . . From time to time the local kids will drop in, and we play chess or checkers or just shoot the breeze, which is great. But it is a rare day when an adult stops in, other than Marianita and Gerardo who own the house and live upstairs. We talk pretty much every day.
I will miss Ambuqui, the great climate and the friends I have made. I will not miss dogs barking all night long, I will not miss radios blaring reggaeton at 5:30 en la manaña, nor will I miss the all too frequent all night parties that occur just down the street. But I certainly will miss moments like this, (actually almost all day today), of serious quiet and tranquility. This is the first day in a long time I have had the luxury of sticking around the house all day long and I have forgotten just how peaceful it can be. I had thought I might stay in Ambuqui after my travels with Tia and my trip to the states, but I have decided instead to find a small place in Ibarra when I return to Ecuador in August. I am pretty ready to get out of the campo for awhile and to enjoy some city life, and Ibarra will be an excellent base. My rent here in Ambuqui is 40 bucks a month – the idea of having a roof over your head and running water and electricity (most of the time) for 480 dollars a year is pretty sweet - in Ibarra I will surely pay double that, if not more.

Jueves 16 abril
I made a pretty good recovery from yesterdays` illness, and today got out the door early and headed up to Piqiuicho where I had promised to help with some avocado grafting. Turns out that El Presidente himself, Rafael Correa, is going to visit Piqiuicho tomorrow (!) and my friends who I had planned to help out had become gainfully employed for the day by doing last minute cleanup and patching up around town – whatever they can do to make the pueblo look semi presentable when the president shows up. With all due respect to Piqiuicho, and to my friends who live there, the best way to make it even semi presentable would be to begin with a bulldozer. A really big one, or maybe even two. 3 men with 2 machetes and a shovel are not really going to make much of a difference. . .
My first impression of Piqiuicho (pik-yoocho) many months ago had me wondering “who bombed this town and why?” Situated alongside the PanAmerican Highway, Piqiuicho is about the size of 3 soccer fields, and the entire town is constructed of cinder block. Two or three houses have had a nice plaster like finish and a coat or two of glossy paint applied to the exterior. They even have glass in the windows. Almost every other house is raw cinder block, without glass but with rebar “security guards” set in the window openings, and most have corrugated metal roofs held in place by rocks and broken cinder blocks. Fully ¼ of the houses have been abandoned and have subsequently collapsed to one degree or another. Open irrigation canals run through town and provide a very convenient method of trash or excrement disposal – and when a small child or infant turns up missing the first place to go looking for the body is at the far end of the canal. So I have heard.
Most people I have known in my life would not want to live in Piqiuicho – I don`t think I could, not for any great length of time. Working there is pure pleasure, but I am happy to leave at the end of the day and return to my cozy house in Ambuqui with its` painted exterior, glass windows (which are always open) and tiled floor. It`s almost luxurious.
President Correa`s visit is part of a larger pre-election swing through the north of Ecuador, and it may portend the coming of more than one or two bulldozers. In an effort to improve transportation in the country the Correa administration has started an ambitious plan to widen the PanAmericana from 2 lanes to 4. Almost half of Piqiuicho lies immediately adjacent to the northbound lane of the highway – and will have to be demolished if the expansion comes to pass. For Piqiuicho, it could be either a great opportunity, or a great disaster. Vamos a ver. . .
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It is a stunning night in Ambuqui – the sky is as clear as glass and there are thousands of stars visible overhead. If I lie on my roof and look north I can see the Big Dipper, and slightly further north lies Arcturus. To the west is the Gemini constellation with Pollux and Castor shining brightly. . . If I turn and look south I find the Southern Cross, Sirius, and way off to the west, just over the horizon, Orion and Betelgeuse. I think this is the clearest night sky I have seen in many years.
This weekend, starting tonight, is Ambuquis` Fiesta de los Obos. The town is full of people, there is a fireworks castillo that will be set off when everyone is too drunk to notice the danger, and there is live music which can probably be heard for miles around. I enjoyed the party a little earlier this evening, and now am on my rooftop enjoying a cold beer, the view, and the music. It`s a good life.

(NOTE) 20 April I am now in Quito, and have just completed the Close of Service procedures for Peace Corps - I am now officially just an average joe traveling in SA. And, regarding my story above about Rafael Correa, I just found out that he was in Trinidad Tobago this past weekend with the OAS meetings - so I am guessing he did not make a special trip back to Piqiuicho, oh well. In 2 hours I am flying to Guayaquil, and later this evening I will be in Lima Peru. Ciao

Six weeks to go as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Ecuador. Was it what I expected? Absolutely not! Was it “worth it”? Indeed – every moment. I will wrap things up with a certain sense of fulfillment and completion – and as well with doubts and second guesses. I think it is safe to say that this is true for the majority of PCV`s who complete their service. How could it be otherwise?
What would I have done differently, you might ask. Everything! I would say. And then I would do it differently time and time and time again, if given the opportunity. The most important thing that I would go back and do over is to have worked harder on my Spanish skills. I speak Spanish, to be sure. Some days I even speak Spanish pretty well – but on the whole my middling level of language proficiency has diminished my overall experience, as well as my effectiveness as a volunteer. I hope with a few more years of work and practice I will become more fluent.

I am finishing up most of my work with individual farmers, and now I am concentrating on the school gardens, working with the directors to plan for their continuation after I leave. This is by far the most difficult part of Peace Corps work – leaving behind a sustainable project. The track record is pretty dismal – once a volunteer leaves his or her project the thing usually falls apart. Peace Corps, in Ecuador, at least, has not quite figured out how to guarantee sustainability, despite almost 50 years of boots on the ground. To be sure, there are successful, sustainable projects, but they are few and far between.
Of course, the offering of technical assistance is only one part of PC`s 3 goals. The other 2 stress cultural exchange and understanding, and in these I think we all succeed. Our impact on our friends and coworkers here, and likewise their impact on us is in my opinion the beauty and reason for being of Peace Corps. Without a doubt, some of my most rewarding days were those in which I did no “work” at all – but rather sat and talked with a small group of friends, old or new, learned about them and their lives, and (if asked) gladly sharing my thoughts about life in the US.
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April 20th is my last day, and I will leave Ecuador to travel with my daughter Tia in Peru. We will swing back into Ecuador, then go to Colombia. I will return to the States in late May or early June – to visit friends and family, maybe pick up a little work here or there, and to think a little about the past 27 months, and as well to think a little about what lies ahead. In August or September, I will return to Ecuador. Vamos a ver.

Keeping this blog has been a good experience for me, and it`s the closest I have ever come to “journaling”. If you are reading this, then somehow you have strayed here, and I hope you have found here a bit of diversion or even something useful. If you happen to be close to or over 50 and ready for a change, you might even have been inspired to think about Peace Corps or similar organizations as a bridge into the next part of life. Hell, I did it, so can you.

I will continue to post here during the coming weeks and while Tia and I travel. After that, who knows? Thanks for reading . . .

It´s a Cultural Thing

Carnaval is over, and not a moment too soon. Four days of drinking, dancing, water balloons, buckets of water, buckets of mud, bomba, and did I mention drinking and dancing? Today almost the entire country is either in bed with a hangover or pneumonia. I have never been anywhere else where Carnaval is celebrated, so I wonder if this mode of celebration is typical – or just Ecuadorean insanity? I have been told that Colombia, just miles to the north, celebrates Carnaval, but with a little more restraint and minus the miserable soakings that are inflicted upon passers-by, whether they want it or not.
Of course I am an old fart, and actually even when I was younger this type of event would not have been my cup of tea. (Maybe I have always been an old fart.) But my younger PC friends who came up to the Valle de Chota for Carnaval all had a pretty good time, and it was a pleasure to host them in my little casita here in Ambuqui. They all crowded into my few square feet of floor space on a couple of extra mattresses, we made some great meals together, and enjoyed a hike up into the hills. I skipped most of the Carnaval partying, but the kids made the most of it. For most of them it was their first trip to the north of Ecuador, and they deemed it totally unlike any other part of the country – a different world. I tend to agree with them.
Every party comes to an end, and as I passed through Juncal on my way to work this morning I was saddened to see much of the trash and debris from the weekend being bulldozed into the river. I would have been shocked, but in many communities this is SOP. I sometimes have to remind myself that in the US it was not so many years ago when trash disposal meant finding the closest stream or river. Probably still happens.

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I stopped in at Piqiuicho to visit my friend Pedro Borja, who runs a little tienda. 10 years my senior, Pedro was griping today about being tied down to the tienda – he said he was bored, tired of waiting on customers (“sell me 2 cigarettes” – “gimme one platano” – “dos caramellos”, etc.) and all he wants to do is go down to work in his fields. But his wife is sick, and she has been spending most of her days in Quito, unable to help run the tienda. I suggest to Don Pedro that he hire a helper, but he says his wife forbids it. “She is afraid I will like my helper more than her, and forget about her down in Quito.” When I suggest he hire a male helper he gives me an odd look and says that he wants only a pretty young girl helper, so perhaps his wife has a point . . .
This Saturday Pedro will have a chance to get down to his farm; we are going to graft 25 of his avocado trees. We consulted the lunar calendar and Saturday looks to be a good day – and every farmer in these parts swears by the power of the moon. I have always been skeptical, but am quite willing to be shown otherwise. Don Pedro has agreed to let me graft his 25 trees on Saturday, and then I get to graft 5 others on a day that is not in accord with the moon. We will wait and see what the results are.

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I wandered over to the school garden in Piqiuicho and found a large crowd of people in front of the school gate. In the middle were 2 grown women, fighting – pummeling each other with sticks of wood. Anyone who stepped in to intervene, including children, were thrown to the ground. I shook my head in despair – the level of violence in this culture is hard to fathom. Physical, verbal, emotional, it`s all here. Shouting and hitting are a part of normal everyday life and here it was being played out in full view of every adult and every child in town, some of whom bore the brunt of the blows when crying out to stop it. I tried to find out what was happening, but I did not dare intervene – my head would have been smashed in without a second thought. Apparently both women had been drinking heavily during Carnaval, there was an episode over a man, perhaps a husband. This was a battle for honor. I could not stand to watch, or even to stay in town any longer. I left without even checking on the garden.

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I went on up to Caldera and thankfully there was no hand to hand combat. But an unfortunate episode occurred in the garden when several of the older boys stripped the tomato plants bare of all the still green fruits. I was livid, and entirely fed up with the culture of “dame, regalame, dame” (give me, gift me, give me). I lectured them long and hard on their selfishness and inability to work or share together. I reminded them that the produce from the garden is not for any one person, it is for the school, collectively. I called out every bad word in Spanish I could think of and by the end of my tirade 2 of the boys were crying. I was not ashamed of my outburst, not in the least. In a final dramatic flourish I took the green fruits and smashed them on the concrete, to drive home my point – if we can`t all enjoy them, then none of us will. Oh, it was quite a performance. Word quickly spread to the director that “el señor es bien enojado” (the gringo is really pissed off) and as he approached me he smiled and shook my hand, saying something along the lines of “welcome to my world”. He said a few words to the boys, I rubbed a few heads in affection, and went back to work, with helpers. The irony of my own somewhat violent outburst on the heels of the fight in Piqiuicho was not lost on me. I decided not to think about it too much.

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I ran into PC friend Chrystal Smith in Ibarra the other day, and as we were waiting for busses back to our sites we started a list of “phrases we will probably not utter in the US”. Here are a few of them, explanations follow:
1. Hey, get me the cho-cho lady!
2. Sorry, I can`t, I have to stay home and sharpen my machete today.
3. What color was your shit this week?
4. What consistency was your shit this week?
5. I spent 26 dollars this month.
6. Excuse me do you know at what time the bus drivers strike is supposed to be over?
7. It rained last night, do you think the road will be open?
8. This bus has 60 people in it, yet it is exactly the same size as the Gemini space capsule.
9. Well, it`s 60 miles away, so I should be there in about 4 hours.
10. The hell with it, I`m riding on the roof (of the bus)
11. Do you think this chi-cha has been spit in?
12. I`ll have the soup, but please leave out the feet.
13. I`ll have the soup, but please leave out the brains and also the eyes.
14. I wonder how long the newest Constitution will last?
15. 18 avocados for one dollar, not bad.

Explanations:
1. At most bus stops a parade of vendors come tromping aboard selling fritada, pollo seco, mandarinas, and the like. Cho-chos are a favorite snack of toasted corn and beans with lime and salt.
2. Many of us have purchased and learned to use machetes, and a sharp one is very useful. It is amazing what you can do with a machete.
3 & 4. 2 years ago, our first day of PC training, we were warned that our bodily functions would become a major topic of conversation. They weren`t kidding.
5. Rare, but possible.
6. Strikes, especially in the transportation sector, are not uncommon
7. Rain often triggers landslides which close roads
8. Local busses are tiny and crowded, usually SRO. Long distance busses are usually larger and semi-comfortable.
9. Not always the case, but often enough.
10. Sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do.
11. Chi-cha is a liquid refreshment, and in some locales the yucca or whatever else is being used to make it is chewed up and spit back into the pot, the saliva causes it to ferment and gain alcoholic content
12 &13. 2 years later and I still cannot eat soup with miscellaneous body parts floating around in it.
14. Sad, but true. Instability in government is a big reason for many of Ecuadors` ills.
15. Or 30 mandarinas for 1 dollar, or 20 mangos, or 50 bananas . . .

days like this

31 Enero - A long stretch of very good days and weeks came to an abrupt end today. I should have seen it coming; yesterday was just too good, too many things went right.

Yesterday I finally found and bought a dozen mango trees for the school gardens. For a region that grows so many mangos, the trees are surprisingly hard to come by. I had heard rumors of mango trees for sale up in Pimampiro, but had struck out on all my previous visits. Yesterday I decided to try one more time, and as I wandered more or less aimlessly through town I rounded a corner and there before me, sitting on the sidewalk, were 2 boxes of beautiful mango trees – ingertos (grafted) – exactly what I was looking for. I located the owner of the trees and we walked down the street to his little vivero (nursery) tucked away in a courtyard. He had hundreds and hundreds of trees - mangos, avocados, mandarins and more. I asked the price of the grafted mangos, hoping for 3 dollars apiece, and when the owner told me the cost was 4 dollars cada uno I groaned a little but agreed to the deal. I had spent way too much time looking for these trees, quibbling over 12 dollars was not worth it. I normally don`t carry more than a few dollars with me each day, but today had 50 bucks tucked away just in case I got lucky. So I paid the man, and we went off to find someone with a pickup truck who we could hire to haul me and the trees to Piqiuicho and Caldera. The camionetta drivers in Pimampiro are a hard bunch, and the best price we found was 8 dollars, which was still highway robbery. So I hired a guy with a 2 wheeled cart attached to a bicycle and he charged me .50 centavos to carry the load to the bus stop, about 4 blocks away. A bus came in a few minutes, and I loaded the trees (each about 30 inches tall) into a compartment and we headed to Juncal, about 20 minutes down the hill. I met Alexis, one of the older kids from the Piqiuicho school, on the bus, and he agreed to help me unload the trees from our bus and onto the Caldera bus, if one came by. This was the big gamble, because I did not know when or if a bus up to Caldera would show up.

A small crowd gathered as we waited in Juncal, because people here are always curious when they see a gringo carting around a load of trees or plants. As I was explaining about the school gardens, and the donations which enabled me to buy the trees, and all that, I looked up to see a Monte Olivo bus, bound for both Piqiuicho and Caldera, come to a screeching halt to discharge some passengers. I motioned to the ayudante (bus helper) that we needed to load the trees, and in the blink of an eye we were on our way. In Piqiuicho Alexis jumped off and grabbed 3 trees, which is all we have space for in the garden there. I continued up to Caldera, absolutely amazed at how well this was all working out, and congratulating myself for not throwing away 8 bucks on the camionetta. The bus fares came to a grand total of .50 centavos. In Caldera I dropped off the 9 remaining trees at the Escuela de Cuba. Seven of the tress were going to the garden, and I gave the other 2 to Don Homero, the school janitor, to plant in his huerto down the road. I felt a little guilty about the bribe, but Don Homero has been a constant source of help and advice to me, and two mango trees seemed a small price to pay for his assistance and encouragement.

I stayed in Caldera long enough to water the garden, and by the time I was ready to leave the last bus back down to Juncal had already passed. I started hiking out of town, but in just a few minutes a truck loaded with peppers and onions slowed down enough for me to jump on and off we went. Once again, I could not believe my luck.

That was yesterday. Today was a clusterfuck of missed busses and missed connections, a nasty encounter with an unfriendly person, and a day in which my Spanish decided to go on vacation. I will spare all the details, but by 2PM I had had enough, and headed home to take a long nap. I woke up at about 4, made some coffee and poured some honey over an arepa (kind of like corn bread). I was still peeved about the events of earlier in the day, and decided to get out for a short hike up into the mountains, literally just steps outside my door. I had about 2 hours of daylight, so took my binoculars, a book, and a bottle of water. Within 30 minutes I was high above Ambuqui, I sat on a rock for a few minutes and gazed at my little town far below. It seemed so quiet, and so tranquilo, yet all I could think about were all the dramas that were played out here every day, just as they are in small towns everywhere. I thought of other small towns I have lived in, Yellow Springs, Ohio; White Salmon, Washington; Longmont, Colorado, just to name a few, and they all blended into one. One town where people loved, where people fought, where people succeeded or failed, where people drank the day away in public, or more discreetly took a pull every now and again from the bottle hidden in the cupboard. I thought about Edgar Lee Masters` “Spoon River Anthology” and how the scandals and tragedies, the tales of lust and love and of hatred and friendship described in the headstones of the deceased residents could cross cultures and all be applicable here in Ambuqui, one hundred years later and thousands of miles away.

I moved on up into the mountains, and came to a stopping point where the quebrada climbed almost a hundred feet straight up. If I were a bunch of years younger, I might have tried to make my way up, and I may yet try to do so, but not by myself. I found another rock, with another view of the now more distant Ambuqui. I was carrying my current read, “Dead Man`s Walk”, by Larry McMurtry, and ripped off a chapter as the daylight began to fade. It was easy to imagine myself in the shoes of the characters in the novel, there in the dry quebrada with the towering hills covered in cactus and sagebrush. I looked up at the fat crescent moon and though it best to head back down before the light was completely gone. I was happy with my little adventure, and had mostly forgotten about the day`s bad start. On my way down I met an indigenous woman bringing her 3 cows back into town from a day of grazing. She was surprised to see me, and asked where I had been, what had I been doing. I told her I`d just been up in the quebrada, just taking a walk for the fun of it. She shook her head and looked at me like I was crazy. I suppose she trudges up and down these goat trails nearly every day of her life and likely sees no fun in it at all.

Books. “Dead Man`s Walk” will bring me up to 100 novels read during my 2 years of Peace Corps. We are lucky here to have a great network of book trading, so it is pretty easy to keep a fresh supply of books around. Most of my reading is done at night, in the few hours between sunset and bedtime, and some is done on busses, or while waiting for busses. And once in a great while, I will stay home and read the entire day, which is a luxury I think everyone should grant themselves from time to time.

I have read two very good books with a “do-gooder” theme, and would recommend them to anyone who wants to believe that yes, individuals can make a difference in this world of ours. One is “City of Joy” by Dominique LaPierre, which is a story of Calcutta, India; and the other is “Three Cups of Tea” by Greg Mortensen and David Oliver Relin, a contemporary story of one guy`s mission to build schools in the far reaches of Pakistan and Afghanistan. For more Peace Corps related themes, “Living Poor” by Moritz Thomsen is a classic, and his story still rings true, 40 years later. “The Bold Experiment” by Gerard T. Rice is the story of Peace Corps` creation and first few decades, and is very well researched and written.

Tomorrow is the Super Bowl, and although I normally go with the Steelers I have to go this time with Arizona as the sentimental underdog choice. And because Kurt Warner is way too old to be playing as well as he is. I will enjoy the game with some friends in Ibarra, drinking 80 cent Pilseners and eating empanadas, can`t wait.

Well now it seems that today may not have been so bad after all. Just not quite so good as the days before.

Dia a dia

January 20 - It`s a great feeling to walk out the door in the morning with 2 dollars and 90 cents in your pocket knowing that you not only have enough plata for transportation to and from your work but also enough for a great lunch at El Rincon de Sabor in Juncal. Today I got extra lucky and hitched rides both in and out of Caldera, thereby saving 50 centavos in bus fare. Lunch at the Rincon was super-rico today, a sancoche (soup with yucca, platano, and meat - delicious) and pollo en jugo (chicken stew, sort of, on a bed of rice with chopped up beets and half an avocado), for the main plate. Top it off with a glass of fresh tomate de arbol juice, and you got yourself a meal.
It felt good to get back to work today after a grueling (that`s a joke) 6 day trek to various beaches with my friends Shawn Stokes and Maria Ellis. We met in Quito last week for the Peace Corps “Close of Service” conference, a mind numbing day of preparation for entry back into life post PC. PC did treat us all to a very good meal at a fancy restaurant in Quito, and we got to meet our new Country Director, Kathleen Sifer, who seems very honest and very competent. Everyone in my group wishes she had shown up about 2 years ago. It was great to hang out with those of us who remain (we started in Feb 07 with 47 people, we leave in April 09 with 29, I think). On Sunday we hung out as a group in the Mariscal district of Quito, drinking beer, playing pool and cards and watching football playoffs, eating Indian food (at the aptly named “Great Indian Restaurant”) and carousing. On Monday night, after our fancy dinner, we simply hung out at the hotel, chatted, drank beer (the recurring theme) played cards, and generally just enjoyed what will surely be the last time many of us will see one another. I have never been inclined to join very many groups, but I will always be proud to say I was part of Omnibus 97 Peace Corps Ecuador.
Maria, Shawn, and I got out of Quito around noon Tuesday, headed north to Ibarra and Lita. We spent the night in a 3 dollar hostal in Lita, then caught busses (the two busses we took to Rio Verde were the most tranquilo I have ridden in Ecuador – half empty, music not rattling the sheetmetal, and almost all the windows open) to the coast via Calderon and Borbon, places that are way off the Gringo Trail. We arrived at Hostal Pura Vida that afternoon, just outside of Rio Verde, and immediately walked down to the big wide beach. The day was beautiful, and the good weather stayed with us as we meandered down the coast. Next day we were in Sua, with PC friends Kat and Damon, and they took us to a secluded beach that I thought surely must be the most beautiful in Ecuador. Make that one of the most beautiful, because the next day we traveled off the beaten path into Punta Galera to visit another PCV, and she took us to the beach at Tongorachi which required a sweaty and muddy hour long slog to reach but was spectacular and well worth the effort. While there we ran into a local family who had just returned from harvesting sea cucumbers. Sea cucumbers are endangered, and I believe their harvest is illegal in the Galapagos, but I am not sure about the mainland. Nevertheless, we later encountered the same family selling their catch out on the road to a middleman, who we caught a ride with. As we drove away (with a large crate full of sea cucumbers) an official looking truck with official looking people in it pulled in behind us and we started imagining the headlines – “Peace Corps Volunteers arrested, caught redhanded with illegal sea cucumbers”- but apparently there is a system at work here that we are ignorant of (nothing new there) and the official looking truck passed us by with a friendly wave from its official looking occupants.
We stayed that night back up the coast in a seedy hotel in Atacames. I loathe Atacames and hope to never see it again except in passing on my way to somewhere better, which is pretty much anywhere. I do not understand why Rough Guides and Lonely Planet and other travel guides give one drop of ink to a place like Atacames - it is a shit hole that amplifies all that is wrong with Ecuador and all that is wrong with beach towns and beach culture in general. Yuck. Feo. Enough said.
We grabbed an early bus out of purgatory and stop by excruciating stop made our way to Mompiche, the end of the line and our final destination. Mompiche is tiny, a muddy and raw collection of bamboo hostales, concrete bunker-like restaurants, a little peligroso at night, and absolutely beautiful. We had only two nights, and on our second day we walked about an hour to a black sand beach that we all agreed was the most spectacular of them all. We stayed for hours, burned ourselves in the sun, swam in the most crystal clear ocean water I have ever seen, and covered ourselves in the black sand which was cool and soothing. As we walked back to Mompiche we were all hatching ideas about how to buy a few hectares of land adjacent to this incredible beach. On the bus back to civilization the next day I met a French woman who said that 30 years ago Atacames was just like Mompiche is now. I hope as Mompiche grows, as it surely will, it can avoid a similar fate.
We left Mompiche on the early bus, all wishing we could stay a day, a month, a year longer. Shawn and Maria caught a bus for the long trip back down to Fundachamba, which will take forever – or about twenty hours that will seem like forever. I retraced our route back up through Rio Verde, Rocafuerte, Borbon and Lita, and as usual was stunned and awestruck by the diversity and beauty of this tiny little country.
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January 21 – I caught the early bus up to Caldera today because tomorrow is the casa abierta (open house) at the school and I wanted to have all day to work in the garden to tidy it up. I had also promised Anita, the school cook, that I would prepare an ensalada de culantro, rabano y zuqini, (cilantro, radish, and zuchinni salad)all harvested yesterday from the garden. I worked with a few student helpers from 7 `til 9, then went down to the cocina to make the salad, which took me the better part of an hour, since it had to go on 100 plates along with the delicious tuna-noodle-rice thing Anita had whipped up. It is a rare thing to see a man in the kitchen around these parts, so I had to endure some banter from some of the male staff and as well some exaggerated fawning over by several of the women – “ ¿quiere a trabajar in mi cocina, gringo?” - (“hey gringo, wanna come work in my kitchen?”). I think the salad was a hit, all the kids I asked said they liked it – “¡que rico!” – but then again that`s what they say when they smell my arms after I slather bug repellant all over them.
Yesterday the school director told me he would like me to be a calificador during todays election of the schools reinas. I did not know what a calificador was, had no idea what he was talking about, but happily agreed to do so. It turns out that a calificador is a judge, and I was to be one of three for the annual selection of la Reina de la Escuela Cuba, (Queen of the Cuba School) and a couple of less lofty positions along the lines of Miss Most Friendly, Miss Most Sincere, etc. I thought all this had been decided at a different fiesta last month, but no, that was the election for class presidents and officers. (Ecuadoreans frequently joke that the major reason for their countries` poverty and disorganization is the inordinate amount of days given over to fiestas, marches, parades and the like.)
So, I sat down at a plastic table in the middle of the concrete square with my fellow judges, in front of a full house of parents and students, accompanied by last years` school reina as well as the reina of the Canton, and some other reina I was unable to identify. (Ecuador is serious about it`s reinas). With the sun beating down and the moisture from an early drizzle steaming up from the concrete we waited in anticipation as the candidatas finished their preparations. A very large speaker directly behind us blared out a mix of technocumbia and the pop music of Aventura, a NYC based bachatta band idolized throughout Latin America. Suddenly the music switched to some lilting new age instrumental and as if on cue the crowd fell silent. As the candidatas were escorted out by boys half their size I was struck not only by their beauty and bearing, but as well by their fancy dresses. All of the 6 candidates wore exotic creations that must have cost at least a weeks` salary. All the girls did a little dance step, provided correct answers to the “interview questions” and any one of them would have been a great choice to be this years` reina. Yet we had to choose, which was difficult because we knew that 5 girls would be disappointed, and 3 of those 5 would be very disappointed, having won nothing at all. We discussed our options, made our selections, and then I was informed that I would take the microphone and announce the winners. I tried my best to squirm out of this task, to no avail. Mustering up my best Spanish and a little enthusiasm, I announced the second and third place finishers, and then Alishya, one of the other judges, (seeing that I was faltering), came to my rescue, relieving me of the duty to announce the winner. Alishya was way more enthusiastic than I was, and I think the crowd actually understood her local Spanish much better than my stammering gibberish.
After all the hoopla, I looked up at a bulletin board containing 6 student illustrations of the Escuela Cuba. Much to my surprise, and most pleasing to me, one of them contained a representation of the new school garden. That just about made my day, even more than getting to judge the beauty contest.
January 22 - The casa abierta was a success for the school, but a bit of a letdown for me. Only one parent made the short hike up the hill to visit the garden, and Fabian, the school director and all around great guy neglected to mention it during his introductory speech about the days` activities. I am certain this was simply an oversight, not at all intended, but frustrating nonetheless because I had hoped to use this day to secure some parental commitments in helping to maintain the garden, both now and in the future, after I have gone. I mentioned this later to Fabian and he was chagrined and apologetic, and promised me we could arrange another day in February to bring attention to the “huerto escolar”. I have no doubt that he will make it happen, and in the meanwhile the students and I have more time to bring it into tip top shape. Works for me.
On a brighter note, I finally contacted Viviana, a woman in Caldera who raises cuyes – cuyes are guinea pigs that are raised for meat, and are very seldom raised here in this part of the Sierras. They are usually favored by the indigenous and mestizo populations living in higher and cooler climates. Guinea pigs happen to produce some very rich poop, and since I am growing a few beds of alfalfa as a soil improver at the school, I was able to arrange a trade – cuy shit for alfalfa. Viviana is thrilled because alfalfa is great feed for cuyes, and I am happy because animal abono is almost impossible to come by in the Valle de Chota.
Waiting for a ride out of Caldera later today I joined a group of girls playing “jacks”, with 12 pebbles and an old ping pong ball. The game they were playing had some nuances of form and rule that differed from those my Mom taught me, but I asked if I could join them and pretty soon I more or less had the hang of it. We played on a rough concrete surface and there was no telling where the ball may bounce, but that was part of the challenge. We managed about a half an hour of close competition before a truck passed; and as I rode off I was full of thoughts about my late mother, Maitland, who died a few years ago at 69 years of age; and I was also filled with admiration for these kids who have almost nothing, who never complain, and who are always smiling.

Ah, Ecuador

Well it´s been one of those days. I suppose these kind of days can happen anywhere, but perhaps the odds are just a little better here. For the past 6 weeks or so I have been coming into Ibarra most Monday mornings for a couple of hours of language exchange with my friends Wilma and Miguel. Wilma teaches English at one of the local Universities, so we usually spend one hour working on my Spanish, and another hour working on her English, which by the way, is somewhat better than my Spanish. (They own the internet cafe where I am sitting right now, and Miguels´ mom runs the hotel upstairs where I ocassionally spend a night like tonight - cable TV, warm bed, and hot water once in a while, all for 7.50 cada noche). Since I was unable to come to Ibarra yesterday, I came today, Tuesday. We had a particularly long session today, almost 4 hours, so I did not leave the house until almost 2 PM. I walked the 10 blocks back to the center of Ibarra, made a long phone call to my daughters, and then went to pick up some groceries. I loaded up my basket with the usual supply of stuff, then remembered I was falta toothpaste back at home. The "toothpaste section" was in a separate part of the store, behind a long glass counter. An attentive young woman asked how she could help me, and I said I wanted a tube of toothpaste, whatever was the cheapest brand. She grabbed a bright yellow tube of "Kolynos" (.60 centavos) from the shelf and proceeded to write a very long code on a slip of paper. I was instructed to use the slip of paper in order to pay for the tube of toothpaste, and then after paying, I could stand in another line at another window and there I would be able to pick up my 60 cent tube of toothpaste. Weird, I thought. Right next door to the "toothpaste section" is the "booze section". Realizing I was running low on this valuable commodity back at home, I decided to buy a bottle of Ron Abuelo, which IMHO is the best 6 dollar bottle of rum on the planet (trust me, I have done the research.) I made my selection, served by the same young woman, and fully expected to be handed a slip of paper, just as I had been for the toothpaste. But no, she simply handed me the rum, and said "tenga un buen dia", and that was that. Weird, I thought.

I think Ibarra is a wonderful city, it is large enough to have everything from soup to nuts, there is great food on nearly every street corner, the women are pretty and the men are handsome. There are several beautiful parks, and always something new to discover. So, seeing as it was already past 3 PM, I decided to wander the city a little bit before heading back to the bus terminal to return to Ambuqui. I eventually wandered into the terminal just past 5 PM. and was shocked to find a line of at least 150 people waiting for the busses that pass by Ambuqui. Most busses hold 38 to 40 people, and they load up every 15 -20 minutes, the last bus comes at 6:45; so as I did the math things were not looking too good. Nevertheless, I decided to stick it out, after all it would be nice to get home, and I have a full day of work tomorrow. At 6:40, the last bus came, and by this time there were another 40 people behind me. As the bus pulled into it´s slot, everyone broke rank and there was a mad rush to the door. I looked at that mob scene and thought, "someone is going to die in this mess!" I thought for one moment about joining in, and then decided against it. I considered my options, and here I am at Hotel El Ejecutivo. I willcatch a very early bus to Ambuqui in the morning, and am keeping my fingers crossed that the hot water is working here tonight. A hot shower would be a nice treat.

I asked several people in the long line about what was going on, why were there so many people?? Some said "no se" (to hear an Ecuadorean speak the words "no se" is a thing of beauty, because usually they will tell you nearly anyting just to avoid looking as if they do not know). I asked others, and they said " because it´s December 30th", and that seemed as plausible an explanation as any.

Happy New Year all.

(the photo is Anita at the Escuela de Cuba in Caldera dishing out the morning snack of "colada"- a creamy oatmeal drink ¡Que rico!)

Loco por la navidad

The whole of Ecuador is going crazy with Christmas celebrations. In almost every town there are processions full of Josephs, Marys, and Baby Jesus`, complete with burros, wise men, and all the trimmings. The costumes range from the ridiculous to the stunning - our procession here in Ambuqui was closer to stunning, while the one I witnessed yesterday while working up in Mira was somewhat less so, although both did have the requisite burros.

In Ambuqui there has been a 2 week long frenzy of “limpiando” - tidying up the town so all looks good when the procession passes by. Every day, las amas de casa (housewives) are out sweeping the dirt in front of their houses, while the normally shiftless maridos (husbands) are fixing broken windows and touching up a little paint here and there. Piles of dirt, bricks, and stone are moved from one place to another, mangers are built, and here and there in the richer households a few lights are strung. It`s 80+ degrees, dry as a bone and the sun bakes every speck of soil, but somehow it`s beginning to feel a lot like Christmas.

Indoors, many families have taken up what is already a very minimal living space with elaborate representations of Belén (Bethlehem). Packed away in boxes or pots for most of the year, these small models of mangers, the usual cast of holy characters, sheep, cattle and a mossy lichen suddenly appear one day in a prominent part of the house. In some households the traditional Christmas figurines are augmented by plastic racecars, model airplanes, old Barbie dolls and brightly colored fire trucks.

I will likely spend La Nochebuena (Christmas Eve) here in Ambuqui with my friends the Gutierez family. I have decided to install a lock on their front door as a Christmas present. They had a new front door put on the house several months ago, but have not been able to afford the cost of a lock and installation. I bought a lock last week, and will borrow a drill from someone and put it in on the 24^th. I think they will like it.

On the 25^th I`ll bus down to Puyo to visit a few days with Jeremy and Susan King and other PC friends. As our 27 months of Peace Corps service winds down, we will have precious few opportunities for such gatherings before we all disperse to whatever it is that comes next.

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The school gardens are coming together nicely. I am especially pleased with how things are going now in Piquiucho, where we have had a rocky start. I have started showing up after normal school hours (schools here close about noon) and have been surprised and pleased as anywhere from 3 to 10 kids fall in beside me asking if we are going to work in the garden. I feel a little like the Pied Piper, wandering through town with my tools slung over one shoulder and with a box of plants in hand, a trail of kids clutching at my pants leg or belt loop. Once in the garden, anything can happen, but it`s usually good. Earlier this week I was with a handful of the usual kids and a young woman who I did not know showed up. Little Ariana, who is 11, shouted out “that`s Karin, my cousin; she`s pregnant!!” Karin is 14. We stopped gardening, I grabbed a few cookies and mangos to share from my backpack, and we all sat in the little shade we could find and chatted about sex, pregnancy, and babies. It was one of those moments that you never expect, never plan for, yet could be the most useful 30 minutes I have spent here if one or two of those younger kids take heed of Karins` situation and realize they will be better off to avoid a similar fate. Hopefully Karin will have a healthy baby, and without a doubt her family will help her take care of it. More than likely her 19 year old boyfriend will provide little, if any, assistance. I hope she will wait another 10 years or so before having another baby.

In Caldera at la escuela de Cuba I almost always work during school hours, which means catching an early bus that leaves Ibarra at 5:45 and passes by the road to Ambuqui about 6:30. If I miss this bus it normally means an hour and a half of walking, unless I get lucky and hitch a ride on a passing camionetta. The garden here is doing well, but I have decided that it is still too big, so we are going to eliminate about a third of the gardening beds, to make room for some more fruit trees. I like the idea of a huge garden, but in hopes of leaving a more sustainable project I think it is sensible to downsize from the original vision. If the garden succeeds, it can always be enlarged in the future. In January we will have a community meeting to encourage more parental participation, and to lay out a plan for marketing some of the excess produce.

I never imagined at the start of my Peace Corps service that I would become involved in school gardening, but I`m glad I have. It`s a great way to get to know a community, and it opens doors to other opportunities. I have been invited by several fathers to visit their little fincas and to talk with them about farming practices; I get to give impromptu English and science classes in the gardens; with some of the women I get to show how to cook a new dish; and as noted above I occasionally have the opportunity to share a little advice with some of the kids. I head home after each day in the schools pretty happy.

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Our Close of Service conference is scheduled for the middle of January in Quito, although our commitment keeps my particular group here until March/April. I may request a short two or three month extension in order to finish out the school year in Caldera and Piquiucho, but have not decided for sure. Some good friends of mine are getting married in Wilmington NC in May, and I would like to be able to be there with them (the food is gonna be great!), and to visit some of my NC relations as well. My daughter Tia will be traveling in South America this spring and early summer, and I want to spend a month or two on the road with her. I am looking at possibilities for staying in Ecuador for a good while, perhaps working with another foundation, o tal vez even buying a small farm. Of course there are aspects of life back in the States that I miss, and I often find myself particularly missing remodeling and construction work. Some gringos I know here have figured out a nice schedule of spending 3 or 4 months in the States, the rest of the year here. I`ll have to look into that a little bit, I suppose . . .