About a month ago a friend of mine told me there would be a 10K happening in Ibarra. For some reason, I thought it would be cool to participate. I also thought it would be cool to go at it without running a single mile in preparation. Well ok, not exactly. But I kept making excuses for myself as to why I it would be better not to train:
1. It rained; therefore the ground would be slippery and I might injure myself.
2. I would realize I´m really not a runner and punk out.
3. Jersey Shore was on TV.
I started to convince myself that with positive thinking I can achieve anything. So my training involved imagining myself running the 10K effortlessly in about an hour or less. Then, a few days before the race, I started to eat a lot of bananas to avoid cramping.
The day before the race my friend Jenn and I went to pick up our numbers and confirm that we´d be participating. We took one look at some of the competition and something occurred to us. You see, Ecuadorians in general really don´t exercise. But those who do, and those who would pay $10 to participate in a 10K, would probably go at it with serious intensity. We started to prepare ourselves for the possibility that we might actually come in last.
The big day arrived and I was pumped. I spent the entire morning eating more bananas and stretching. I arrived at the event 20 minutes before it started and well, there were far more people there than I had expected. Not only that, but it was about 90% men, all of whome were running warm up laps, jumping around in place, beating there chests and chanting. I however, not wanting to tire myself out, decided to just do some more stretching.
The gun fired and we started off strong. A nice steady pace, a little Hootie and the Blowfish for inspiration…I was feeling like an athlete.
1k down. 2k down. 3k…….uh oh.
Now granted, we hit a hill. But suddenly I started to feel…not so athletic. I reduced my speed, then reduced it a little more, suddenly I realized the police motorcycle men and ambulance that were picking up the tail were right behind me. Yes yes, I was the tail. So I picked up my speed out of sheer embarrassment. I managed to pass a few people, and regain just a little bit of my pride. 3k down. 4k down. Once again, uh oh. At that point my main focus was to continue moving without passing out or vomiting. At one point, I started to notice that the people were clapping as I ran by. I thought to myself, ¨well that´s nice of them¨. Then I looked to my right, and realized they were cheering for the crippled man who was passing me. Effortlessly. At that point I decided my only goal was to finish. At that moment I started to hear ¨MAMUUUT!¨ And there was Javier, running at me with a bottle of Gatorade, trying to control his laughter. He had tried to convince me it was a bad idea, bless his heart, but of course I didn´t listen. I begged him to stay with me. And like a good boy, he did. All the way till the very end. Even though I was wining like a child, and telling him to shut up anytime he said anything encouraging. Fortunately he found it amusing. And thanks to him I managed to place something in the neighborhood of 593 out of 600, with a time of 1:15:39.
At the end of it all, as disastrous as it was, I felt sort of good about myself. At least I tried and finished. And at least I learned before I attempted a real marathon: running is not for me.
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
¨Que fue, gorda¨...
I remember the first time I heard it. I´m sitting at the dinner table with my host family in Argentina. My host mom puts the plate down in front of me, the portion of food equal to that of my host fathers. ¨Coma mi gordita¨ she says, ever so sweetly. At that moment I suddenly lost my appetite. Tears started to gather in my eyes as I thought to my self...¨did she just call me one of the items off of the Taco Bell menu?¨
It didn´t take me long to figure out that ¨gorda¨ (fat girl) or ¨gordita¨ (little fat girl) are never meant to be offensive, but rather, sweet and caring nicknames used frequently between friends in Latin America. I still wonder what it is about the culture that allows people to speak so casually about ones appearance. And, why we in the states avoid the subject at all costs. Just imagine yourself for a minute, greeting your best friends with:
¨What´s happening skinny!¨ or ¨How´s life fatso?¨
Not only that, but in every conversation there is a reference to your weight. When I was deathly ill with GI problems on a regular basis, I would hear:
¨Wow look at you, you´re thinner. When you first got here you were huge.¨ Or, one of my favorites which came from one of my girls at the Hogar, ¨You´re stomach is smaller, but your butt is still giant. Why is your butt giant?¨
I can honestly say it usually doesn’t offend me anymore. I only say usually because one night I came home after drinking a healthy amount of tequila. Maria Dolores friend was there and said to me, ¨You know, you´re fatter now. Before you were skinnier.¨ Now let me just say, this women is by no means thin. She could stand to loose about 40 pounds. In my drunken frustration I looked at her and said…¨You should talk fatty. And you wanna know WHY I´m fatter….because I finally don´t have diarrhea every other day!¨ Thankfully, I didn´t offend her.
But really, I have gotten used to it. And it´s not just those two words. In Spanish you can add ¨ita/ito¨ to the end of the word as a diminutive. For example, ¨Hola mi niñita chiquitita lindita¨ (Hi my little tiny itty bitty pretty girl!). You can also however, add ¨ota/ote¨ to the end of the word to enhance the size. When I go to the pool with Javier, he will often say…¨Que piernotas grandotas.¨ (What gigantic legs you have). Of course that´s nothing compared to Javier´s main nickname for me...¨Mamut¨
Mamut means Mammoth.
Even now there are times I wish I had been raised as a native Spanish speaker. Then I might be able to truly understand the meaning behind these comments. I might even find them sweet and flattering. Instead, I will always hear the literal translation…¨What´s up fatty¨. And you know, for a long time I thought I wouldn’t miss the weight references one little bit when I go home. But then again, at least in this culture there is no room for you to have unrealistic ideas about the way you look. If you´re fat, people will tell you. And in my case that´s a good motivation to keep working out. Of course it´s not like that would matter. I will always be a Mamut.
It didn´t take me long to figure out that ¨gorda¨ (fat girl) or ¨gordita¨ (little fat girl) are never meant to be offensive, but rather, sweet and caring nicknames used frequently between friends in Latin America. I still wonder what it is about the culture that allows people to speak so casually about ones appearance. And, why we in the states avoid the subject at all costs. Just imagine yourself for a minute, greeting your best friends with:
¨What´s happening skinny!¨ or ¨How´s life fatso?¨
Not only that, but in every conversation there is a reference to your weight. When I was deathly ill with GI problems on a regular basis, I would hear:
¨Wow look at you, you´re thinner. When you first got here you were huge.¨ Or, one of my favorites which came from one of my girls at the Hogar, ¨You´re stomach is smaller, but your butt is still giant. Why is your butt giant?¨
I can honestly say it usually doesn’t offend me anymore. I only say usually because one night I came home after drinking a healthy amount of tequila. Maria Dolores friend was there and said to me, ¨You know, you´re fatter now. Before you were skinnier.¨ Now let me just say, this women is by no means thin. She could stand to loose about 40 pounds. In my drunken frustration I looked at her and said…¨You should talk fatty. And you wanna know WHY I´m fatter….because I finally don´t have diarrhea every other day!¨ Thankfully, I didn´t offend her.
But really, I have gotten used to it. And it´s not just those two words. In Spanish you can add ¨ita/ito¨ to the end of the word as a diminutive. For example, ¨Hola mi niñita chiquitita lindita¨ (Hi my little tiny itty bitty pretty girl!). You can also however, add ¨ota/ote¨ to the end of the word to enhance the size. When I go to the pool with Javier, he will often say…¨Que piernotas grandotas.¨ (What gigantic legs you have). Of course that´s nothing compared to Javier´s main nickname for me...¨Mamut¨
Mamut means Mammoth.
Even now there are times I wish I had been raised as a native Spanish speaker. Then I might be able to truly understand the meaning behind these comments. I might even find them sweet and flattering. Instead, I will always hear the literal translation…¨What´s up fatty¨. And you know, for a long time I thought I wouldn’t miss the weight references one little bit when I go home. But then again, at least in this culture there is no room for you to have unrealistic ideas about the way you look. If you´re fat, people will tell you. And in my case that´s a good motivation to keep working out. Of course it´s not like that would matter. I will always be a Mamut.
Monday, August 23, 2010
No more Ms. Nice Lesley
I´ve come to love the city life, but every now and then it´s nice to get away. There is a place about an hour north west of Ibarra that has become my favorite retreat…Cahuasqui. In my opinion, Cahuasqui should pretty much be one of the natural wonders of the world, becuase it looks like this:
There are three volunteers there, although one of them, Ryan, will be leaving us at the end of the month. This weekend a bunch of us headed to Cahuasqui to join Ryan for the inauguration of a park he has been working on throughout the last year. What was once nothing but dirt and rocks is now a grass soccer field, two volleyball courts and a playground. The inauguration began with what seemed like a two hour long mass. Much like with the wedding I attended, I found myself dozing off. I perked up when the priest started talking about how there are only 144,000 spots in heaven. But he lost me again when he started explaining why the number was 144,000. I´ve never been very good at math. There was also a soccer tournament that day. For entertainment, Ryan planned for us gringos to play a team of 14 year old boys. But knowing how serious Ecuadorians are about their soccer from a very early age, I was intimidated. Although really, it seemed like a lose lose situation for us. If we win, we are the mean gringos who beat a bunch of kids. If we lose, we are the loser gringos who can´t even beat a bunch of 14 year olds. So we tried to go at it light heartedly. The game started off pretty rough for us. By half time we were down 0-2, and I had a variety of grass stains all over my body from being tackled by the little beasts. But you see, when gringos work in teams, there is always a comeback. With ten minutes left in the game we were tied 2-2. The kids were starting to look stressed…and we were unstoppable. I was playing forward…which really just meant I was cherry picking. But it all paid off. I was perfectly placed in front of the goal, Ryan had a throw in, and without moving a muscle the ball bounced off of my head and into the goal. Even with several years of soccer under my belt, I´m pretty sure that´s the only header I have ever scored. Anyway, we were victorious. And we found our victory ever so satisfying.
The rest of our day was spent relaxing…and watching the many men of Cahuasqui (who had begun drinking during mass) stumble around incoherently. One man took a nasty fall…some say they even saw his tooth fly out as he hit the ground. He was laying there on the sidewalk for a good 5 minutes, clearly unconscious. Now in the states, he would be loaded onto a gurney and taken to the hospital where he would have his head examined and his stomach pumped. But in Ecuador a few people just propped him up into the sitting position and continued on their way. Sure enough he came to minutes later, made several attempts to stand, and once he was successful he staggered off down the road…maybe to his house…or maybe to get some bbq chicken. Still, the fact that no one is appalled by the behavior of these men just shows why it can be so hard to educate people about the dangers of alcoholism. There is a cultural experience around every corner.
I have been dealing with a similar struggle at work. Last week I started swimming lessons with the girls. The Psychologist, a new Ecuadorian volunteer and I took them to a pool. We hadn´t been there for 30 seconds when two of the oldest girls started begging me for beer. Now I spend a lot of my time just talking to these girls, the older ones specifically. I try to be their friend, to help them feel better about themselves given all of their issues at home, and reminded them of all they can do with their lives if they stay on the right path. So remembering how many hours I have spent explaining why drinking at the age of 13 is not the best use of their time, I pressed my lips together and gave them my irritated look. By now they know what that means…but of course it doesn’t faze them. They came back five minutes later and tried again. An hour later in the pool I had finally mastered the art of floating with most of the girls…but I noticed a few of them had run off. Then Carmen, a 6 year old, told me they had bought beer. Now thankfully, the other volunteer had caught them and taken it away before they had a chance to drink it. But what amazed me was that someone sold it to them. It´s very obvious they are 12 and 13 years old and immature. But apparently that doesn’t matter as long as you´re making a buck. Even though I have been here for over a year, and fewer things surprise me, every once and a while I find myself shocked and defeated. There is only so much you can do to educate kids when the temptation is always there and available, and many of the adults in their life are a bad example. So after that day I decided no more Ms. Nice Lesley. I looked up some drinking facts to tell teens like, 1. Makes you gain weight - 2. Makes you have bad breath - 3. Makes your skin break out! If that doesnt scare teenage girls, maybe I´ll start bringing pictures of mangled bodies or accidents that have occured as a result of drugs and alcohol. Maybe a picture of a damaged liver. I mean scare tactics tends to work...right? I welcome suggestions.
There are three volunteers there, although one of them, Ryan, will be leaving us at the end of the month. This weekend a bunch of us headed to Cahuasqui to join Ryan for the inauguration of a park he has been working on throughout the last year. What was once nothing but dirt and rocks is now a grass soccer field, two volleyball courts and a playground. The inauguration began with what seemed like a two hour long mass. Much like with the wedding I attended, I found myself dozing off. I perked up when the priest started talking about how there are only 144,000 spots in heaven. But he lost me again when he started explaining why the number was 144,000. I´ve never been very good at math. There was also a soccer tournament that day. For entertainment, Ryan planned for us gringos to play a team of 14 year old boys. But knowing how serious Ecuadorians are about their soccer from a very early age, I was intimidated. Although really, it seemed like a lose lose situation for us. If we win, we are the mean gringos who beat a bunch of kids. If we lose, we are the loser gringos who can´t even beat a bunch of 14 year olds. So we tried to go at it light heartedly. The game started off pretty rough for us. By half time we were down 0-2, and I had a variety of grass stains all over my body from being tackled by the little beasts. But you see, when gringos work in teams, there is always a comeback. With ten minutes left in the game we were tied 2-2. The kids were starting to look stressed…and we were unstoppable. I was playing forward…which really just meant I was cherry picking. But it all paid off. I was perfectly placed in front of the goal, Ryan had a throw in, and without moving a muscle the ball bounced off of my head and into the goal. Even with several years of soccer under my belt, I´m pretty sure that´s the only header I have ever scored. Anyway, we were victorious. And we found our victory ever so satisfying.
The rest of our day was spent relaxing…and watching the many men of Cahuasqui (who had begun drinking during mass) stumble around incoherently. One man took a nasty fall…some say they even saw his tooth fly out as he hit the ground. He was laying there on the sidewalk for a good 5 minutes, clearly unconscious. Now in the states, he would be loaded onto a gurney and taken to the hospital where he would have his head examined and his stomach pumped. But in Ecuador a few people just propped him up into the sitting position and continued on their way. Sure enough he came to minutes later, made several attempts to stand, and once he was successful he staggered off down the road…maybe to his house…or maybe to get some bbq chicken. Still, the fact that no one is appalled by the behavior of these men just shows why it can be so hard to educate people about the dangers of alcoholism. There is a cultural experience around every corner.
I have been dealing with a similar struggle at work. Last week I started swimming lessons with the girls. The Psychologist, a new Ecuadorian volunteer and I took them to a pool. We hadn´t been there for 30 seconds when two of the oldest girls started begging me for beer. Now I spend a lot of my time just talking to these girls, the older ones specifically. I try to be their friend, to help them feel better about themselves given all of their issues at home, and reminded them of all they can do with their lives if they stay on the right path. So remembering how many hours I have spent explaining why drinking at the age of 13 is not the best use of their time, I pressed my lips together and gave them my irritated look. By now they know what that means…but of course it doesn’t faze them. They came back five minutes later and tried again. An hour later in the pool I had finally mastered the art of floating with most of the girls…but I noticed a few of them had run off. Then Carmen, a 6 year old, told me they had bought beer. Now thankfully, the other volunteer had caught them and taken it away before they had a chance to drink it. But what amazed me was that someone sold it to them. It´s very obvious they are 12 and 13 years old and immature. But apparently that doesn’t matter as long as you´re making a buck. Even though I have been here for over a year, and fewer things surprise me, every once and a while I find myself shocked and defeated. There is only so much you can do to educate kids when the temptation is always there and available, and many of the adults in their life are a bad example. So after that day I decided no more Ms. Nice Lesley. I looked up some drinking facts to tell teens like, 1. Makes you gain weight - 2. Makes you have bad breath - 3. Makes your skin break out! If that doesnt scare teenage girls, maybe I´ll start bringing pictures of mangled bodies or accidents that have occured as a result of drugs and alcohol. Maybe a picture of a damaged liver. I mean scare tactics tends to work...right? I welcome suggestions.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Ayy Yay Yay
I guess I´ll just start from the beginning. I´m standing in the airport, it´s almost 9:00 at night, rabbit balloon in hand reading ¨Bienvenidos!¨. The doors open and there they are…all worn out from their first class traveling…aka a lot of eating. We embrace, smile, giggle, and well…it was all down hill from there.
Haaaha. Juuuust kidding. I tickle myself.
The next morning we headed back to the airport for our flight to Guayaquil. Dad had his first experience of culture shock as we were passing through the security check. Instead of looking at what was in the bags, the lady behind the x-ray machine was getting a fierce kiss from her supervisor. Welcome to the land of machismo, where sexual harassment does not exist. The flight to Guayaquil sort of damaged me, because after getting there in 45 minutes, I will never again be able to get on that 12 hour bus ride. We arrived and headed to the bus terminal, which is more like a shopping mall and definitely larger than the airport. We managed to catch a bus to Puerto Lopez immediately, but not before I deserted my poor parents to buy some cheeseburgers. Fortunately, when the man helping us asked ¨donde?¨, all of that studying paid off when Mom understood and said, ¨McDonalds¨. The bus ride was long, but we had nice seats in the front and thankfully, the windows opened. The road out of Guayaquil isn´t exactly the prettiest landscape you´ve ever seen. It´s littered with trash and shacks made out of wood and scrap metal. Since that´s certainly not what the majority of Ecuador looks like, I thought it could only get better for them after that since it was the first time they ever really saw the country in daylight. Once we got to Puerto Lopez we loaded ourselves into a ¨moto-taxi¨ which looks like this…
That´s Brooke, a volunteer on the coast, and she is making that face because once she had a traumatizing accident in one of those bad boys. Of course, I didn´t tell my parents about that incident until later. The highlight of Puerto Lopez was probably the whale watching trip we took out to an island about an hour and a half away from the main land. The boat part of it was nauseating. It was a mixture of the strong smell of gasoline and the fact that the boat was traveling at about 80 miles per hour that made me want to hurl. My parents were just fine…Mom likes the smell of gasoline. Once on the Island we had our own private tour. While the rest of the group took a hike to see some birds, we stole some shells, hung out on the boat, drank beer, snorkeled and watched the boat men catch octopuses. On the way back Brooke and I decided to stand on the top of the boat to avoid feeling sea sick. That really meant us hanging on for dear life as we sped back to the town. The whales of course were beautiful. Puerto Lopez overall was sort of a let down, I think probably because the weather was cloudy and muggy. I was excited to get to Brookes site, Ayangue, and to stay in a really nice hotel.
But of course, it wouldn’t be Ecuador without a little drama. We arrive at the hotel, really the only suitable hotel in the town I might add, and a snotty woman at the front desk basically tells us, ¨Sorry, we´ve got a big family reunion here, there´s no room for you.¨ Now this has happened to me before, but I had never imagined it would happen at a nice hotel like this one. So naturally, I went just a little crazy. After about ten minutes I was getting no where with the evil wench. She had offered us a hostel in the town, and access to the pool and restaurant. So I let the restaurant owner take us down there. The hostel ended up being someone’s house. That´s normal here, but of course for my parents it was ridiculous. So Brooke called the President of her town to see if he could help out. Meanwhile, I continued to tell the restaurant owner that I was going to tell everyone I know NEVER to go there, and I was going to bash it all over the internet. He said the Ecuadorian equivalent of, ¨Shiiiit¨, and got back on the phone. Ten minutes later he comes back relieved because he had managed to work something out. We had our room, and it was a beautiful day for tanning. A few margaritas later we were all loving life…except for Dad, who was asleep in the room as a result of his first experience with GI discomfort. The rest of our time in Ayangue was very relaxing. Thankfully the weather was nicer, and so everyone was happier.
Our trip to the coast was fun overall, but I was excited to get back to the Sierra. We spent a few days in Quito. I think they enjoyed the change of scenery and food and seeing the historical center.
Finally we got to Ibarra, which for me was the most exciting part of the trip since that’s where my life is. We went almost immediately to see the girls, who were very excited to meet the parents. The evil Director nun was on her very best behavior, and met my parents with a polite smile. The most amusing part of the trip came in the wee hours of the next morning. There was a ever so slight knock at my door at 6 in the morning. There stands my mother, nearly weeping, looking a pale white despite her tan. She´s mumbling, walking in circles although she is very clearly awake. ¨I´m so sick…I´m so sick¨. I am an evil person I know, but it took everything in me to keep from laughing. ¨ Ok ok…calm down¨. What I really wanted to say was…¨Yea…welcome to my life.¨ Actually I think I probably did say that. Anyway she rested for several hours and then woke up feeling ok at about 9. Feeling ok of course means not having the urge to let out any bodily fluids, but still you feel like death. I´m pretty sure that both of them knew they would get sick here…I guess they just didn´t realize how dreadful it is. Once again, welcome to my life.
We spent the next week seeing everything that Imbabura has to offer. Pretty towns and lakes, the city of Ibarra, of course. And spending some time with the girls. For the most part they were troopers. They took the bus, ate Cuy, learned to say ¨Buenos Dias¨ to almost everyone. And most importantly, they helped me feel a little bit more like a bad ass for being here. For not only putting up with the little strange things that happen day to day, but finding those things to be normal. Lastly I will say, for those of you willing to leave your comfort zone…I welcome more visitors.
Oh and also...Happy Birthday to Dad...who is 65 today...but can still stag leap like a champ:
Haaaha. Juuuust kidding. I tickle myself.
The next morning we headed back to the airport for our flight to Guayaquil. Dad had his first experience of culture shock as we were passing through the security check. Instead of looking at what was in the bags, the lady behind the x-ray machine was getting a fierce kiss from her supervisor. Welcome to the land of machismo, where sexual harassment does not exist. The flight to Guayaquil sort of damaged me, because after getting there in 45 minutes, I will never again be able to get on that 12 hour bus ride. We arrived and headed to the bus terminal, which is more like a shopping mall and definitely larger than the airport. We managed to catch a bus to Puerto Lopez immediately, but not before I deserted my poor parents to buy some cheeseburgers. Fortunately, when the man helping us asked ¨donde?¨, all of that studying paid off when Mom understood and said, ¨McDonalds¨. The bus ride was long, but we had nice seats in the front and thankfully, the windows opened. The road out of Guayaquil isn´t exactly the prettiest landscape you´ve ever seen. It´s littered with trash and shacks made out of wood and scrap metal. Since that´s certainly not what the majority of Ecuador looks like, I thought it could only get better for them after that since it was the first time they ever really saw the country in daylight. Once we got to Puerto Lopez we loaded ourselves into a ¨moto-taxi¨ which looks like this…
That´s Brooke, a volunteer on the coast, and she is making that face because once she had a traumatizing accident in one of those bad boys. Of course, I didn´t tell my parents about that incident until later. The highlight of Puerto Lopez was probably the whale watching trip we took out to an island about an hour and a half away from the main land. The boat part of it was nauseating. It was a mixture of the strong smell of gasoline and the fact that the boat was traveling at about 80 miles per hour that made me want to hurl. My parents were just fine…Mom likes the smell of gasoline. Once on the Island we had our own private tour. While the rest of the group took a hike to see some birds, we stole some shells, hung out on the boat, drank beer, snorkeled and watched the boat men catch octopuses. On the way back Brooke and I decided to stand on the top of the boat to avoid feeling sea sick. That really meant us hanging on for dear life as we sped back to the town. The whales of course were beautiful. Puerto Lopez overall was sort of a let down, I think probably because the weather was cloudy and muggy. I was excited to get to Brookes site, Ayangue, and to stay in a really nice hotel.
But of course, it wouldn’t be Ecuador without a little drama. We arrive at the hotel, really the only suitable hotel in the town I might add, and a snotty woman at the front desk basically tells us, ¨Sorry, we´ve got a big family reunion here, there´s no room for you.¨ Now this has happened to me before, but I had never imagined it would happen at a nice hotel like this one. So naturally, I went just a little crazy. After about ten minutes I was getting no where with the evil wench. She had offered us a hostel in the town, and access to the pool and restaurant. So I let the restaurant owner take us down there. The hostel ended up being someone’s house. That´s normal here, but of course for my parents it was ridiculous. So Brooke called the President of her town to see if he could help out. Meanwhile, I continued to tell the restaurant owner that I was going to tell everyone I know NEVER to go there, and I was going to bash it all over the internet. He said the Ecuadorian equivalent of, ¨Shiiiit¨, and got back on the phone. Ten minutes later he comes back relieved because he had managed to work something out. We had our room, and it was a beautiful day for tanning. A few margaritas later we were all loving life…except for Dad, who was asleep in the room as a result of his first experience with GI discomfort. The rest of our time in Ayangue was very relaxing. Thankfully the weather was nicer, and so everyone was happier.
Our trip to the coast was fun overall, but I was excited to get back to the Sierra. We spent a few days in Quito. I think they enjoyed the change of scenery and food and seeing the historical center.
Finally we got to Ibarra, which for me was the most exciting part of the trip since that’s where my life is. We went almost immediately to see the girls, who were very excited to meet the parents. The evil Director nun was on her very best behavior, and met my parents with a polite smile. The most amusing part of the trip came in the wee hours of the next morning. There was a ever so slight knock at my door at 6 in the morning. There stands my mother, nearly weeping, looking a pale white despite her tan. She´s mumbling, walking in circles although she is very clearly awake. ¨I´m so sick…I´m so sick¨. I am an evil person I know, but it took everything in me to keep from laughing. ¨ Ok ok…calm down¨. What I really wanted to say was…¨Yea…welcome to my life.¨ Actually I think I probably did say that. Anyway she rested for several hours and then woke up feeling ok at about 9. Feeling ok of course means not having the urge to let out any bodily fluids, but still you feel like death. I´m pretty sure that both of them knew they would get sick here…I guess they just didn´t realize how dreadful it is. Once again, welcome to my life.
We spent the next week seeing everything that Imbabura has to offer. Pretty towns and lakes, the city of Ibarra, of course. And spending some time with the girls. For the most part they were troopers. They took the bus, ate Cuy, learned to say ¨Buenos Dias¨ to almost everyone. And most importantly, they helped me feel a little bit more like a bad ass for being here. For not only putting up with the little strange things that happen day to day, but finding those things to be normal. Lastly I will say, for those of you willing to leave your comfort zone…I welcome more visitors.
Oh and also...Happy Birthday to Dad...who is 65 today...but can still stag leap like a champ:
Monday, June 21, 2010
Eye infections, Ukrainians and the Devil
Let´s start with a little lesson on how much everyone should love and appreciate their eyes. If intestinal problems weren´t fun enough, I got one doozey of an eye infection. I woke up one Friday morning a little swollen and itchy in both my eyes. I called the Peace Corps doctor thinking it was pink eye. She gave me some instructions and I wasn’t too worried. By Saturday, the area around my eyes had tripled in size, my eye balls became a lovely maraschino cherry red, and a gooey mass had developed around my pupil. Sunday was even worse, so Monday I called the doctor back. She had me come to the Office in Quito, where she decided I needed to see the eye doctor. Now I´m speeding through this because I have a lot to cover today, but please believe it was the most uncomfortable I have ever been. Ever. So anyway, Tuesday I came back to Quito and saw the doctor. By this time I was wearing sun glasses everywhere, because if I took them off I would hear children start to cry. The doctor told me it was not pink eye, but an epidemic he has seen over the past 6 months. They are still not sure what germ causes it, but thankfully they did know how to treat it. In the office they put a total of 60 drops in my eyes over a span of 15 minutes, and they sent me home with two kinds of antibiotic drops. Almost immediately I felt more comfortable, but it wasn’t until the following Monday that I looked myself again. I stayed most of the week and a half at home. I couldn’t go to work because it´s highly contagious. And any time I left the house, people would stare. Three complete strangers even came up to me and said, ¨You´re eyes are really swollen and red¨. I did not find it amusing, and responded to all of them by saying, ¨Oh my God, really!? I had no idea! Thank you.¨ and walking away. I saw the doctor again last Friday, he said I´m almost 80% cured, but it is still yet to be determined if this infection and the treatment will have caused permanent damage.
This past weekend I went to my first Ecua Wedding. It was the daughter of Maria Dolores´ cousin, to some Ukrainian man. It was a traditional Catholic wedding, so the ceremony lasted….AN HOUR AND A HALF. I felt sort of like a 5 year old squirming in my seat, so I found ways to amuse myself. There was a bird flying around the top of the church, so I watched it for a while. I looked at all the guests and tried to guess their ages. I started counting the floral arrangements, but lost count somewhere in the 50´s because the lady next to me answered her cell phone. It still amazes me how people do that here, and how I am the only one who finds it rude. Anyway the ceremony ended and we headed to the reception. Maria Dolores was working the crowd so I sat with some friends of hers. It was a very elegant wedding, and the guests were all upper class, except for the Ukrainian groom’s family. The food was the only thing keeping me from falling asleep. After a couple of glasses of wine I was feeling a little more social. Then suddenly, the quiet chatter was interrupted by a giant blonde man. He staggered onto the stage and grabbed the microphone with his left hand, (the nearly empty bottle of vodka occupied his right). In a thick Russian accent ¨No hablo Espanish! No hablo English! Hablo RUUUSO.¨ A friend trying to do damage control came running, and proceeded to translate from Russian to Spanish. ¨In the Ukraine, we don’t drink wine or beer (snarling with disgust)…we drink VODKA.¨…¨I would like to congratulate Ecuador on beating Brazil 9 to 0.¨ (After translating the translator corrected him…Ecuador didn´t make it to the World Cup…the crowd wasn’t happy to be reminded). ¨Everyone congratulate the couple and drink VODKA! VIVA Ukrania!¨ Now, in my opinion, this was the best thing to happen to the party. I was laughing hysterically, until I realized everyone else was gawking with disgust at the scene he was making. I tried to control myself for a minute, but when I noticed the bride also found it entertaining, I continued laughing. The man was eventually removed from the stage, and the polite chatter resumed. I decided then and there that I would much rather go to a Ukrainian wedding.
This morning I awoke to an episode of domestic violence next door. I was somewhat startled at the sound of angry male voices and a woman yelling repeatedly, ¨AYYY YAYAY! AYYY YAYAY!¨ At first I thought she was in labor, so I made my way out onto the balcony to have a looksee. There were a lot of people in the driveway, and an older lady in her night gown was pushing one man away from another man with a broom. From what I could understand, a guy had been abusing his wife, so the wife´s brother was trying to kill him. I went down stairs and found Maria Dolores and Evelyn also watching the commotion from the window. Maria Dolores was on the phone trying to call the police for the second time. Here´s the kicker. The man on the phone told her that all of the police men in Ibarra were in ¨Formacion¨. Formation happens every Monday morning when all of the police men get together, stand in lines and get a talk from the boss. Twenty minutes later I was lured back up to the balcony by more yelling. The man who had been beating his wife was trying to get back through the gate, while a man inside was waving a giant kitchen knife out the front door. Then it turned into a lot of crying and apologizing, a little slapping, and then hugging and kissing. In the end, the police NEVER showed up. Apparently the Monday morning pep talk comes before fighting crime and saving lives. And I actually have a theory that they were all watching the soccer game, but who cares, either way they weren’t doing their job. Thankfully no one seemed to be hurt. But I have to admit I feel just a little less safe now. I´ll be watching my back more carefully now on Monday mornings.
Finally, I´ll leave you with a little something to contemplate. What type of culture must Lesley be living in if the biggest news story of the month, (all over the radio, newspaper, and public television) is how a hospital security guard is possessed by the devil. I kid you not, it´s everywhere. Happy Monday!
This past weekend I went to my first Ecua Wedding. It was the daughter of Maria Dolores´ cousin, to some Ukrainian man. It was a traditional Catholic wedding, so the ceremony lasted….AN HOUR AND A HALF. I felt sort of like a 5 year old squirming in my seat, so I found ways to amuse myself. There was a bird flying around the top of the church, so I watched it for a while. I looked at all the guests and tried to guess their ages. I started counting the floral arrangements, but lost count somewhere in the 50´s because the lady next to me answered her cell phone. It still amazes me how people do that here, and how I am the only one who finds it rude. Anyway the ceremony ended and we headed to the reception. Maria Dolores was working the crowd so I sat with some friends of hers. It was a very elegant wedding, and the guests were all upper class, except for the Ukrainian groom’s family. The food was the only thing keeping me from falling asleep. After a couple of glasses of wine I was feeling a little more social. Then suddenly, the quiet chatter was interrupted by a giant blonde man. He staggered onto the stage and grabbed the microphone with his left hand, (the nearly empty bottle of vodka occupied his right). In a thick Russian accent ¨No hablo Espanish! No hablo English! Hablo RUUUSO.¨ A friend trying to do damage control came running, and proceeded to translate from Russian to Spanish. ¨In the Ukraine, we don’t drink wine or beer (snarling with disgust)…we drink VODKA.¨…¨I would like to congratulate Ecuador on beating Brazil 9 to 0.¨ (After translating the translator corrected him…Ecuador didn´t make it to the World Cup…the crowd wasn’t happy to be reminded). ¨Everyone congratulate the couple and drink VODKA! VIVA Ukrania!¨ Now, in my opinion, this was the best thing to happen to the party. I was laughing hysterically, until I realized everyone else was gawking with disgust at the scene he was making. I tried to control myself for a minute, but when I noticed the bride also found it entertaining, I continued laughing. The man was eventually removed from the stage, and the polite chatter resumed. I decided then and there that I would much rather go to a Ukrainian wedding.
This morning I awoke to an episode of domestic violence next door. I was somewhat startled at the sound of angry male voices and a woman yelling repeatedly, ¨AYYY YAYAY! AYYY YAYAY!¨ At first I thought she was in labor, so I made my way out onto the balcony to have a looksee. There were a lot of people in the driveway, and an older lady in her night gown was pushing one man away from another man with a broom. From what I could understand, a guy had been abusing his wife, so the wife´s brother was trying to kill him. I went down stairs and found Maria Dolores and Evelyn also watching the commotion from the window. Maria Dolores was on the phone trying to call the police for the second time. Here´s the kicker. The man on the phone told her that all of the police men in Ibarra were in ¨Formacion¨. Formation happens every Monday morning when all of the police men get together, stand in lines and get a talk from the boss. Twenty minutes later I was lured back up to the balcony by more yelling. The man who had been beating his wife was trying to get back through the gate, while a man inside was waving a giant kitchen knife out the front door. Then it turned into a lot of crying and apologizing, a little slapping, and then hugging and kissing. In the end, the police NEVER showed up. Apparently the Monday morning pep talk comes before fighting crime and saving lives. And I actually have a theory that they were all watching the soccer game, but who cares, either way they weren’t doing their job. Thankfully no one seemed to be hurt. But I have to admit I feel just a little less safe now. I´ll be watching my back more carefully now on Monday mornings.
Finally, I´ll leave you with a little something to contemplate. What type of culture must Lesley be living in if the biggest news story of the month, (all over the radio, newspaper, and public television) is how a hospital security guard is possessed by the devil. I kid you not, it´s everywhere. Happy Monday!
Monday, May 17, 2010
Brigada
Yesterday I participated in another Medical Brigade in a small indigenous community about 45 minutes away from Ibarra. It was put on by a group of faculty and students from the University of Kentucky, and was covering just about everything from Dental to Physical Therapy.
I spent the first few hours translating for a doctor (and former Peace Corps volunteer from Thailand) named Gill. Since the community is populated by indigenous people, a lot of the time we needed someone to translate from Kichwa to Spanish, and then Spanish to English. Although I´ve heard a lot of Kichwa briefly, it was interesting to listen to it extensively for the first time. It sort of sounds like an Asian language being shouted. Certainly nothing like Spanish. What was interesting about these patients is that many of them could not connect their symptoms with something that they might be doing in their life to cause those symptoms. For example, a man about 55 years old came in complaining of back pain. When we asked him when this pain occurred, he said that it only happens when he is carrying a giant load on his back, and that now he can’t even carry more than 5 bags of anything at one time. Well, imagine that. Another 18 year old boy came in and explained that he gets headaches, dizzy and sometimes even faints….when he doesn’t eat in the morning. Gee. It was a busy morning, and Gill was very kind and helpful with all the patients.
And then there was Dr. Bob. Let’s just say, Dr. Bob introduced a new idea to the top of my list of possible vocations, that is…Dentistry. I was hanging around the Dentist room, I´ll admit, trying to get a look…when he asked me if I wanted to help. ¨Well sure!¨. I suited up in a little dentist surgery robe, mask, gloves and eye ware (¨So no blood squirts into your eyes¨, explained Dr. Bob.) He was working on a 15 year old with an abscess and tooth that needed to be removed. The extent of my help involved holding the patients tongue back and shining the light in his mouth. Other than that I just watched in amazement as Dr. Bob sliced open the side of his gums, dug around trying to find the tooth (which was deep down in there, and removed in two pieces), and then fished out all the remnants of the abscess, four tiny pieces in all. Surprisingly, I was doing ok! I never even felt the urge to vomit, although towards the end as we were sewing up the gaping hole in the kid’s mouth, I started to feel hot flashes and light headed. But I made it through with a new appreciation for Dentistry. When he was finished, the kid looked elated as he stood there smiling with bloody gauze in his mouth. I think he was probably just enjoying the fact he couldn’t feel a thing.
I spent the rest of the afternoon with the Dentists, which aside from Registration and the Pharmacy was arguably the busiest department of the day. I helped Dr. Judy (former Peace Corps volunteer from Grenada), and filled out dental forms as she examined each patient as they came in. Almost everyone needed at least one tooth pulled. One 90 year old had all of the only 6 teeth left on the top of his mouth pulled out…and if it weren’t for lack of time they would have pulled out 3 more on the bottom. I finished the day with a great appreciation for Dentistry. If it weren’t for the science/math part of the education process, I might just take my potential seriously.
It was a great day overall. The group will be back in August for another Brigade and I´m oh so much looking forward to pulling out some teeth. And for my day´s hard work, I received an awesome new bout of diarrhea and stomach cramps! Oh well, I made it 5 months, that’s the record so far.
I spent the first few hours translating for a doctor (and former Peace Corps volunteer from Thailand) named Gill. Since the community is populated by indigenous people, a lot of the time we needed someone to translate from Kichwa to Spanish, and then Spanish to English. Although I´ve heard a lot of Kichwa briefly, it was interesting to listen to it extensively for the first time. It sort of sounds like an Asian language being shouted. Certainly nothing like Spanish. What was interesting about these patients is that many of them could not connect their symptoms with something that they might be doing in their life to cause those symptoms. For example, a man about 55 years old came in complaining of back pain. When we asked him when this pain occurred, he said that it only happens when he is carrying a giant load on his back, and that now he can’t even carry more than 5 bags of anything at one time. Well, imagine that. Another 18 year old boy came in and explained that he gets headaches, dizzy and sometimes even faints….when he doesn’t eat in the morning. Gee. It was a busy morning, and Gill was very kind and helpful with all the patients.
And then there was Dr. Bob. Let’s just say, Dr. Bob introduced a new idea to the top of my list of possible vocations, that is…Dentistry. I was hanging around the Dentist room, I´ll admit, trying to get a look…when he asked me if I wanted to help. ¨Well sure!¨. I suited up in a little dentist surgery robe, mask, gloves and eye ware (¨So no blood squirts into your eyes¨, explained Dr. Bob.) He was working on a 15 year old with an abscess and tooth that needed to be removed. The extent of my help involved holding the patients tongue back and shining the light in his mouth. Other than that I just watched in amazement as Dr. Bob sliced open the side of his gums, dug around trying to find the tooth (which was deep down in there, and removed in two pieces), and then fished out all the remnants of the abscess, four tiny pieces in all. Surprisingly, I was doing ok! I never even felt the urge to vomit, although towards the end as we were sewing up the gaping hole in the kid’s mouth, I started to feel hot flashes and light headed. But I made it through with a new appreciation for Dentistry. When he was finished, the kid looked elated as he stood there smiling with bloody gauze in his mouth. I think he was probably just enjoying the fact he couldn’t feel a thing.
I spent the rest of the afternoon with the Dentists, which aside from Registration and the Pharmacy was arguably the busiest department of the day. I helped Dr. Judy (former Peace Corps volunteer from Grenada), and filled out dental forms as she examined each patient as they came in. Almost everyone needed at least one tooth pulled. One 90 year old had all of the only 6 teeth left on the top of his mouth pulled out…and if it weren’t for lack of time they would have pulled out 3 more on the bottom. I finished the day with a great appreciation for Dentistry. If it weren’t for the science/math part of the education process, I might just take my potential seriously.
It was a great day overall. The group will be back in August for another Brigade and I´m oh so much looking forward to pulling out some teeth. And for my day´s hard work, I received an awesome new bout of diarrhea and stomach cramps! Oh well, I made it 5 months, that’s the record so far.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Karaoke
It occurred to me that I have yet to describe the wondrous Ecuadorian pastime that is, Karaoke. It´s safe to say that a Karaoke bar can be found on at least every other block throughout Ibarra. When I think of Karaoke in the States, I think of a lot of drunk people making a fool of themselves and loving it. No one takes themselves seriously really…bars have open mic night for that. But here, Karaoke is quite the spectacle. It is where you go to prove yourself, to flaunt your talent. Couples sing ballads longingly to each other, or better yet, they sing duets. Groups of single men, well, in a way its like a mating call or ritual as they try to attract all the single women in the room. Because in Ecuador, there is nothing sexier than a man who can rock it on the Karaoke floor. And groups of women go to enjoy themselves, and show their girlfriends whose boss.
Then in walks the group of gringos. I´ll be honest, Karaoke scared me at first. I would sort of just sit and laugh at how serious people take it. But once that initial humor passed, I started to wonder…what could I be like behind the mic? Then, with a healthy amount of my good friend Tequila (which, I have found, brings out the true performer in all of us) I started to experiment. Now by ¨a healthy amount¨, I mean just enough to lose your inhibitions, but certainly not so much that you have blurred vision or are slurring your words. Then you just become the sloppy gringo who doesn’t take it seriously. And you see, that might just make your audience angry.
Now, I might just call myself a seasoned performer. My friends make the usual requests…Queens ¨Bohemian Rhapsody¨ (which I will only perform as a duet with a fellow volunteer), Whitneys ¨I will always love you¨ (a fan favorite for sure) and on occasion, Coolio´s ¨Gangters Paradise¨. But the great thing about Karaoke, is that when you´re feeling extra artistic, you can tackle songs like ¨Call me¨ and ¨Eye of the tiger¨ like a pro. Most of the time the crowd loves us, other times they´re anxiously waiting for their turn to sing. Either way, Karaoke has given me a new found confidence, and a healthy avenue to release the weeks tension and stress. I will most certainly miss it when I´m gone.
Then in walks the group of gringos. I´ll be honest, Karaoke scared me at first. I would sort of just sit and laugh at how serious people take it. But once that initial humor passed, I started to wonder…what could I be like behind the mic? Then, with a healthy amount of my good friend Tequila (which, I have found, brings out the true performer in all of us) I started to experiment. Now by ¨a healthy amount¨, I mean just enough to lose your inhibitions, but certainly not so much that you have blurred vision or are slurring your words. Then you just become the sloppy gringo who doesn’t take it seriously. And you see, that might just make your audience angry.
Now, I might just call myself a seasoned performer. My friends make the usual requests…Queens ¨Bohemian Rhapsody¨ (which I will only perform as a duet with a fellow volunteer), Whitneys ¨I will always love you¨ (a fan favorite for sure) and on occasion, Coolio´s ¨Gangters Paradise¨. But the great thing about Karaoke, is that when you´re feeling extra artistic, you can tackle songs like ¨Call me¨ and ¨Eye of the tiger¨ like a pro. Most of the time the crowd loves us, other times they´re anxiously waiting for their turn to sing. Either way, Karaoke has given me a new found confidence, and a healthy avenue to release the weeks tension and stress. I will most certainly miss it when I´m gone.
Monday, April 5, 2010
La Fanesca
This past week was Semana Santa. It was quite an enlightening experience to be in a Catholic country during this holiday...where no one has school, no one eats meat (unless they are pagans like me), and the most shocking...there are no Easter bunnies or Cadbury eggs...!?!?
The real star of Semana Santa is La Fanesca. A squash based stew containing 12 grains to honor the 12 disciples...corn, peas, green beans, fava beans, lima beans, red beans, white beans, mellocos, chochos...I´m missing three, but I´m guessing they are just three more types of beans. Then usually some tiny flower balls, avocados, sliced plantains, hard boiled eggs and cheese are thrown in the mix. And of course, most variations are made with some type of fish as well.
Fanesca is delicious. Incredible in fact...for the first 4 or 5 spoon fulls. Then you start to feel heavy, bloated, and ready for nap time. But in an attempt to be respectful you power through it and, at least in my case, suffer through poisonous gas for the rest of the week. And as if one bowl of it wasn’t enough, it’s usually followed by a plate of mashed potatoes, tomatoes, more avocado, and more cheese. Then, a bowl of warm rice and raisin milk for desert. Now I know how to eat...but made it absolutely no where near the rice milk. On more than one occasion, sweating profusely, I removed myself from the table...to sit alone...keeled over until the pain passed. Have you ever felt really full? Its nothing compared to Fanesca full. I ate it four times overall throughout the week. I imagine it will take another one to two weeks for my stomach to forgive me. And thankfully, Fanesca only comes around during Semana Santa.
The real star of Semana Santa is La Fanesca. A squash based stew containing 12 grains to honor the 12 disciples...corn, peas, green beans, fava beans, lima beans, red beans, white beans, mellocos, chochos...I´m missing three, but I´m guessing they are just three more types of beans. Then usually some tiny flower balls, avocados, sliced plantains, hard boiled eggs and cheese are thrown in the mix. And of course, most variations are made with some type of fish as well.
Fanesca is delicious. Incredible in fact...for the first 4 or 5 spoon fulls. Then you start to feel heavy, bloated, and ready for nap time. But in an attempt to be respectful you power through it and, at least in my case, suffer through poisonous gas for the rest of the week. And as if one bowl of it wasn’t enough, it’s usually followed by a plate of mashed potatoes, tomatoes, more avocado, and more cheese. Then, a bowl of warm rice and raisin milk for desert. Now I know how to eat...but made it absolutely no where near the rice milk. On more than one occasion, sweating profusely, I removed myself from the table...to sit alone...keeled over until the pain passed. Have you ever felt really full? Its nothing compared to Fanesca full. I ate it four times overall throughout the week. I imagine it will take another one to two weeks for my stomach to forgive me. And thankfully, Fanesca only comes around during Semana Santa.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Drug Lord Lions
The circus is in town. It has been here for nearly a month now. I haven’t seen any carneys, mimes, or freakish clowns. But what I have seen, lets just say, it saddens me deep into my core. Lions people. Real, large, beautiful lions. Trapped in a tiny cage. I realized I have never actually seen a lion up close. At the zoo, at least they have a somewhat large habitat to run around in. And they are usually sleeping anyway. Once I got over the initial shock of how large and stunning lions truly are, I became sad and very very angry! First of all, some of the lions are very clearly drugged. I get that cats sleep like 16 hours a day, but these cats were straight up knocked out. Then, in the other cage, one of the males was obviously having some kind of a claustrophobic fit as it walked from one side of its tiny cage to the other over and over again. One day a few weeks ago, I was walking through downtown Ibarra, and suddenly driving by was a car towing the lion cages behind it. As it passed me, one of the lions lifted its tail and squirted urine straight at me and my friend. I wasn’t angry, I was actually pleased that these lions were acting out! Not like it makes a difference, though. Today, I went to take some pictures, and the lions were feasting on some lovely cows heads. I´m sorry but does it occur to anyone else that the heads of cows don´t really have any meat on them!? For the love of god at least give these poor trapped lions a leg or something fulfilling! I have this strange desire to set them free. Sneak over to the circus late at night and smash the lock on their cages. I think this newfound passion I feel for animal freedom comes from watching Gorillas in the Mist the other day, when poor Sigourney gets macheted to death for trying to save the gorillas! Which is probably why my conscience tells me that setting Lions free in the city of Ibarra might not be the most productive use of my time. If I could write a letter I would. Not that it would make any difference either. But seriously. Look at these pictures and tell me it doesn’t break your heart, just a little...
I see you. I feel your pain.
Longing to be free!
Hang on guys!
Humans are the real peligro.
UPDATE:
Refer to this article if you´re curious how lions made it all the way to Ecuador:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/31/world/americas/31colombia.html
I see you. I feel your pain.
Longing to be free!
Hang on guys!
Humans are the real peligro.
UPDATE:
Refer to this article if you´re curious how lions made it all the way to Ecuador:
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/31/world/americas/31colombia.html
Monday, March 8, 2010
After my visit home, the transition back into Ecuadorian life has been a difficult one. I´ve spent many hours on my bed, staring at the ceiling, contemplating what exactly I am doing with my life. But far more time watching 90210 (by far the best thing I could have brought back with me). Slowly but surely I am working my way out of this phase of depression. In addition to 90210, a vomit free trip to Quito was very helpful. Although, I would not recommend eating Dunkin Donuts, Taco Bell, Sushi and Fridays all in one day. But hey, you do crazy things when you´re feeling low.
It´s been a challenge getting motivated at work as well. I love the girls, but day after day of just helping with English homework doesn´t exactly make you feel like you´re making the most of your experience. Yesterday was International Women’s Day…so I had planned to do a workshop last Sunday on gender roles and stereotypes. I let the director know, gave her a plan, baked brownies. I show up yesterday and she has taken the majority of the girls on a trip for the day. So my charla for 40 ended up being a charla for 10. I made it work. But part of my can´t help but take it personally…even though I know she probably just forgot.
But on a brighter note, besides the KFC in town, on Saturday I found another little getaway that makes me feel like I´m back in the states. Reluctantly, I decided to go to ¨the pool¨ with Javier. Don´t worry Dad….I made sure to ask him if they used chlorine. But I got there and was more than pleasantly surprised to see how nice it was. It was so clean they even made me wear a little swimming cap because I have long hair. Not only was there a pool, but a special section with a sauna, steam room cold tub and hot tub!! We spend about an hour in the steam room, where I sweated out all of the bad energy I had been accumulating. The only down side is all the men in speedos. Quite frankly I don´t really need to know a complete stranger that intimately. But you learn to avert your glance, even though they do not.
And I also have this weekend to look forward too. This Friday is a bbq for the new group of volunteers that came in February. I have a hermanito (little brother) in the group, so I am looking forward to meeting him and the rest of the new blood. Can you believe it´s already been almost 9 months!? I now have better understanding of the pregnancy timeline. Then we are having a girls reunion / sleepover in Jenn´s flea infested apartment. It´s gonna be a party, that´s for sure.
It´s been a challenge getting motivated at work as well. I love the girls, but day after day of just helping with English homework doesn´t exactly make you feel like you´re making the most of your experience. Yesterday was International Women’s Day…so I had planned to do a workshop last Sunday on gender roles and stereotypes. I let the director know, gave her a plan, baked brownies. I show up yesterday and she has taken the majority of the girls on a trip for the day. So my charla for 40 ended up being a charla for 10. I made it work. But part of my can´t help but take it personally…even though I know she probably just forgot.
But on a brighter note, besides the KFC in town, on Saturday I found another little getaway that makes me feel like I´m back in the states. Reluctantly, I decided to go to ¨the pool¨ with Javier. Don´t worry Dad….I made sure to ask him if they used chlorine. But I got there and was more than pleasantly surprised to see how nice it was. It was so clean they even made me wear a little swimming cap because I have long hair. Not only was there a pool, but a special section with a sauna, steam room cold tub and hot tub!! We spend about an hour in the steam room, where I sweated out all of the bad energy I had been accumulating. The only down side is all the men in speedos. Quite frankly I don´t really need to know a complete stranger that intimately. But you learn to avert your glance, even though they do not.
And I also have this weekend to look forward too. This Friday is a bbq for the new group of volunteers that came in February. I have a hermanito (little brother) in the group, so I am looking forward to meeting him and the rest of the new blood. Can you believe it´s already been almost 9 months!? I now have better understanding of the pregnancy timeline. Then we are having a girls reunion / sleepover in Jenn´s flea infested apartment. It´s gonna be a party, that´s for sure.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Time to catch up...
I know, I have been a bad blogger. Forgive me. Since my last post I have been quite a busy little bee…let´s recap.
I enjoyed quite a cultural experience that is New Years in Ecuador. The men dress up in drag and take to the streets for money. Given the machismo in this country I was quite surprised at how much they enjoyed dressing up as women. I came to the conclusion that really the machismo is just a cover up…and that only on New Years can Ecuadorian men be who they really are. It is also the custom to make a large puppet that will be burned at midnight. I saw everything from Michael Jackson (of course) to sponge bob. At our house we burnt my host mom and her brother…it is considered good luck.
After new years I felt excited and motivated to start my only full year in Ecuador. I came to the director of the Hogar with a three month plan, and somehow it ended with her hating me. I really have no desire to go into that situation, let´s just say, she´s psychotic. So she stopped speaking to me…and I started to feel really frustrated. It started to look like I would have to find somewhere else to work. But later that week, my spirits were lifted when I helped out at a medical brigade for people with cleft palates. It was a part of an organization called Operation Hope, and they travel down here every year do to free surgeries. It was a nice learning experience…and I definitely hope to participate in more of those in the future.
After that I headed down south to a city called Rio Bamba for the week. Since we have been in our sites for 5 months, we had a conference called Reconnect with some other volunteers from our group and a few of the Peace Corps staff. We had to do a presentation about our first several months in site...the needs of our communities…and what we plan to do in the future. It was a lot of sitting and eating. But they also helped us plan projects…and I came up with a great idea. Starting in March I want to work with two of the high school girls from the Hogar each month. They will pick a topic like values, goals, self-esteem etc…and I will help them plan a workshop that they will do at the end of the month in front of everyone at the Hogar. After giving the workshop once as kind of a practice run, we will look for organizations or high schools out side of the Hogar where they can give workshop to more of their peers. My hope is that later we can move on to more serious themes like violence, drug and alcohol abuse, sex ed and HIV/AIDS. I came back revived and motivated to make it work at the Hogar…wrote up a project proposal for the Director…and one week later I have still heard nothing. And although she has started speaking to me again, it is only to yell at me about something random. On the bright side…I´ve become super at biting my tongue and smiling. The only thing really keeping me going is the fact that I will taste taco bell and see my people in 10 days. I will worry about the work situation when I get back.
Now for a little comic relief...kind of. This last weekend I decided to go with Javier to Quito for the day. He had some basketball thing, and later we would spend time with his brother, sister in law and their 3 year old son. We got on the bus at 5:30 in the morning. After about ten minutes an old man gets on, I´m thinking in his 70´s, accompanied by a woman probably in her late 50´s. I was in the window seat, Javier in the aisle, and they sat across from us, the older man in the aisle. After about an hour, I notice that they switched seats and the man was now sitting by the window. A few minutes later the real show begins...
I glance over and see that the man has his cheeks puffed out like a blow fish, while the woman starts frantically trying to open the window….but she can´t. Then suddenly I see a slight mist, or rather a squirt, fly into the air. I said, out loud in English,¨Shit Javier…that man is going to vomit.¨ Just then…the man loses control. It was as if he turned on a hose at full strength for a good 5 seconds. Reddish liquid filled with rice (so very Ecuadorian) covers the back of the seat in front of him, and then the floor. At that point I looked away and plugged my ears…all I could think to say was ¨JAVER PICK UP YOUR BAG¨…which was on the floor just inches away from this mans dinner from last night. Then of course…the smell hits. I cannot accurately describe the horror of that smell. Not only are you on an old bus filled with people who do not bathe on a regular basis, but then you add the smell of…well yea. I mean really. Seconds after he had unloaded everything inside of him onto the floor of the bus, the man who takes the bus fee starts making his rounds. I make eye contact and just point to my left…and when he got a glimpse of what had just happened all he could do was shake his head in disgust. I guess on some level I was expecting an emergency mop to be brought back…sanitizing spray…something of that nature. But the bus assistant just brings back a few newspapers. It was at that point I realized we had another hour on the bus before getting to Quito, with no chance of switching seats.
Of course it could have been worse. I could have been that woman with him…her left arm and seat covered with his puke. Or I could have been him…because on more than one occasion I have felt the urge to vomit on the Ecuadorian bus system. Thankfully, I was raised by people who have no sympathy whatsoever for making a mess when vomiting. So I mentally prepare myself for that possibility on a regular basis. I make sure the WINDOW WILL OPEN for goodness sake.
Anyway, at the end of it all when we got off the bus I felt strangely accomplished. If I can make it through an experience like that, I can conquer anything. And so can you.
SEE EVERYBODY ON THE 6TH!!!
I enjoyed quite a cultural experience that is New Years in Ecuador. The men dress up in drag and take to the streets for money. Given the machismo in this country I was quite surprised at how much they enjoyed dressing up as women. I came to the conclusion that really the machismo is just a cover up…and that only on New Years can Ecuadorian men be who they really are. It is also the custom to make a large puppet that will be burned at midnight. I saw everything from Michael Jackson (of course) to sponge bob. At our house we burnt my host mom and her brother…it is considered good luck.
After new years I felt excited and motivated to start my only full year in Ecuador. I came to the director of the Hogar with a three month plan, and somehow it ended with her hating me. I really have no desire to go into that situation, let´s just say, she´s psychotic. So she stopped speaking to me…and I started to feel really frustrated. It started to look like I would have to find somewhere else to work. But later that week, my spirits were lifted when I helped out at a medical brigade for people with cleft palates. It was a part of an organization called Operation Hope, and they travel down here every year do to free surgeries. It was a nice learning experience…and I definitely hope to participate in more of those in the future.
After that I headed down south to a city called Rio Bamba for the week. Since we have been in our sites for 5 months, we had a conference called Reconnect with some other volunteers from our group and a few of the Peace Corps staff. We had to do a presentation about our first several months in site...the needs of our communities…and what we plan to do in the future. It was a lot of sitting and eating. But they also helped us plan projects…and I came up with a great idea. Starting in March I want to work with two of the high school girls from the Hogar each month. They will pick a topic like values, goals, self-esteem etc…and I will help them plan a workshop that they will do at the end of the month in front of everyone at the Hogar. After giving the workshop once as kind of a practice run, we will look for organizations or high schools out side of the Hogar where they can give workshop to more of their peers. My hope is that later we can move on to more serious themes like violence, drug and alcohol abuse, sex ed and HIV/AIDS. I came back revived and motivated to make it work at the Hogar…wrote up a project proposal for the Director…and one week later I have still heard nothing. And although she has started speaking to me again, it is only to yell at me about something random. On the bright side…I´ve become super at biting my tongue and smiling. The only thing really keeping me going is the fact that I will taste taco bell and see my people in 10 days. I will worry about the work situation when I get back.
Now for a little comic relief...kind of. This last weekend I decided to go with Javier to Quito for the day. He had some basketball thing, and later we would spend time with his brother, sister in law and their 3 year old son. We got on the bus at 5:30 in the morning. After about ten minutes an old man gets on, I´m thinking in his 70´s, accompanied by a woman probably in her late 50´s. I was in the window seat, Javier in the aisle, and they sat across from us, the older man in the aisle. After about an hour, I notice that they switched seats and the man was now sitting by the window. A few minutes later the real show begins...
I glance over and see that the man has his cheeks puffed out like a blow fish, while the woman starts frantically trying to open the window….but she can´t. Then suddenly I see a slight mist, or rather a squirt, fly into the air. I said, out loud in English,¨Shit Javier…that man is going to vomit.¨ Just then…the man loses control. It was as if he turned on a hose at full strength for a good 5 seconds. Reddish liquid filled with rice (so very Ecuadorian) covers the back of the seat in front of him, and then the floor. At that point I looked away and plugged my ears…all I could think to say was ¨JAVER PICK UP YOUR BAG¨…which was on the floor just inches away from this mans dinner from last night. Then of course…the smell hits. I cannot accurately describe the horror of that smell. Not only are you on an old bus filled with people who do not bathe on a regular basis, but then you add the smell of…well yea. I mean really. Seconds after he had unloaded everything inside of him onto the floor of the bus, the man who takes the bus fee starts making his rounds. I make eye contact and just point to my left…and when he got a glimpse of what had just happened all he could do was shake his head in disgust. I guess on some level I was expecting an emergency mop to be brought back…sanitizing spray…something of that nature. But the bus assistant just brings back a few newspapers. It was at that point I realized we had another hour on the bus before getting to Quito, with no chance of switching seats.
Of course it could have been worse. I could have been that woman with him…her left arm and seat covered with his puke. Or I could have been him…because on more than one occasion I have felt the urge to vomit on the Ecuadorian bus system. Thankfully, I was raised by people who have no sympathy whatsoever for making a mess when vomiting. So I mentally prepare myself for that possibility on a regular basis. I make sure the WINDOW WILL OPEN for goodness sake.
Anyway, at the end of it all when we got off the bus I felt strangely accomplished. If I can make it through an experience like that, I can conquer anything. And so can you.
SEE EVERYBODY ON THE 6TH!!!
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