8AM
Well, the bad news is that I'm all throat-scratchy from my impending cold. But I have wonderful stories to recount from the overnight trip (paseo) that we took with some of the kids from Don Bosco. (This is going to be a long entry, so feel free to not read it all).
Friday morning early, I went with Jordin (the Spaniard, if you remember) and Daniel, my sociologist coworker with square glasses and a humble face and friendly shoulder length curls and a daughter that lives with her mother in another city. Our destination was the other Don
Bosco center, located in the "valley" just outside of Quito. About twenty times the size of our center in the south, this one was a sprawling hacienda (that seemed to have lost a bit of its former colonial glory). Despite the stubble around the edges, there was no denying the breathtaking beauty of the whitewashed stucco, ancient red-tile roofs, and tropical flowers exploding from between the weeds. It consisted of about ten buildings in all, including a church and greenhouse. Walking the grounds with Jordin, I found out that the students at this center are apprentices of woodworking, ceramics, and metal work. It seemed like a gloriously productive concept, until the disgruntled Jordin began to explain how there is no clear directorship--no plan or focus for those working there. As a result professors get disheartened and frustrated, not knowing what their exact goals are with the kids. As he ranted along, it sounded like he was in the market for something like our vista volunteers, "We just need someone who can come, observe the center, and write up a sort of manual-job description, goals for the students and how to accomplish them" (..ahem, sara?).
Then, I got to witness an exhilarating bureaucratic fight as Jordin paced back and forth in the office of the director, exclaiming his ideas and frustrations. Between cigarette inhalations, the slumped, curly chest-haired Italian director (who sometimes kicks his dogs) retorted in an increasingly elevated tone that he was not a bit in agreement. I sat there sort of stupidly and awkwardly trying to put on my best innocent face.
Afterwards, Jordin explained that a director has to do just as much work as those he's directing in order to ensure that his orders are clear and specific. A lazy flick of the wrist and a command doesn't get the job done. (All of this is to say that I had many warm surges of pride and respect for dad).
I know that this one managerial frustration of Jordin's probably seems like a rather dry thing for me to have spent so much time documenting, but in a way the times like this when i've really been able to discuss ideas in Spanish (on the university lawn with Sara, Gabriel, and Esteban, or in the car with Simon Bolivar, discussing pending Ecuadorian socialist reforms, former wars, the monetary switch to the dollar, poverty, and the world bank)--these are the times (along with certain moments with the kids) where I feel most alive--like an expressive human being instead of an onlooker.
Anyway, to get back to my narrative, Jordin, Daniel, and I went to meet the kids at the top of a waterfall-rich mountain. Getting there required half an hour's steep drive up a rural mountain road, constructed with stones by what I understood to be sort of a local work cooperative. On either side of the road, Eucalyptus trees rose and fell upon the hills and valleys. The air grew crisper and, as always in the country, I felt a bit more at home.
The path we took to get to the waterfall was wonderfully unpredictable--steps carved out of the mountain, rickety ladders that paralleled the fall of the river, steep curling paths. WE had a sort of educational botany session, the three of us. For instance, I would point and exclaim "moss," which they would awkwardly attempt before exclaiming "musgo," to which I would follow suit.
We arrived at a small waterfall and wondered where to go next, having been told that the kids were at the big one. I suggested several times that we take the small path that led further down the river to what looked
like a big waterfall (we could see the very top of it peaking out over some trees in
the distance). They thought that because the could see the top of the waterfall high up that we should go up. This entailed several grueling 11,000ft climbs...just to clarify we did not climb 11,ooo fit, but that altitude made even 1 foot a bit taxing.
We finally returned to something akin to a visitor's center, where the kids had also just returned to after romping about in the swimming hole below the waterfall that we would have gotten to had we followed my advise. I was glad, in the end, that it had just been the three of us, because it made for some good bonding time (not to mention the fact that they are two of the few people I can understand well).
We all hung out at the visitor's center for a couple of hours. Karaoke and bare-handed fish catching attempts seemed to be the highlights. I felt sort of lonely during this time because I only knew a few of the kids from the group I had helped with at the center the day before. It is infinitely harder to understand kids' Spanish.
Back at the hacienda, bunk beds were chosen with much excitement and, after a couple of boys said grace for us, we ate another delicious meal--compliments of our center's resident chef. She is an interesting lady--sort of motherly, witch like, and dominatrix-ly all at once. She has two sons in the program, Israel and David, who always ask me questions about the United States that seem to come out of nowhere! For instance, in the middle of a calm, before-bed snack when we were all sleepily chatting about something unrelated, Israel turned to me suddenl
y to ask "Why did the United States lose the war in Vietnam." The next morning, while on the sidelines of our soccer scrimmage, David turned to me and asked "Do you guys do a lot of autopsies in the United States? That one kept me laughing for hours! I should mention that David is my favorite. Maybe 10 or 11 he is rabid for knowledge. He forced me to read him this really complicated book in English about potential theories on the fate of Amelia Earhart (wow! it just occurred to me how fitting her name is!!!). Yesterday, David took me on a tour of his favorite ornamental plants and gave me a rose.
Well, the bad news is that I'm all throat-scratchy from my impending cold. But I have wonderful stories to recount from the overnight trip (paseo) that we took with some of the kids from Don Bosco. (This is going to be a long entry, so feel free to not read it all).
Friday morning early, I went with Jordin (the Spaniard, if you remember) and Daniel, my sociologist coworker with square glasses and a humble face and friendly shoulder length curls and a daughter that lives with her mother in another city. Our destination was the other Don
Bosco center, located in the "valley" just outside of Quito. About twenty times the size of our center in the south, this one was a sprawling hacienda (that seemed to have lost a bit of its former colonial glory). Despite the stubble around the edges, there was no denying the breathtaking beauty of the whitewashed stucco, ancient red-tile roofs, and tropical flowers exploding from between the weeds. It consisted of about ten buildings in all, including a church and greenhouse. Walking the grounds with Jordin, I found out that the students at this center are apprentices of woodworking, ceramics, and metal work. It seemed like a gloriously productive concept, until the disgruntled Jordin began to explain how there is no clear directorship--no plan or focus for those working there. As a result professors get disheartened and frustrated, not knowing what their exact goals are with the kids. As he ranted along, it sounded like he was in the market for something like our vista volunteers, "We just need someone who can come, observe the center, and write up a sort of manual-job description, goals for the students and how to accomplish them" (..ahem, sara?).Then, I got to witness an exhilarating bureaucratic fight as Jordin paced back and forth in the office of the director, exclaiming his ideas and frustrations. Between cigarette inhalations, the slumped, curly chest-haired Italian director (who sometimes kicks his dogs) retorted in an increasingly elevated tone that he was not a bit in agreement. I sat there sort of stupidly and awkwardly trying to put on my best innocent face.
Afterwards, Jordin explained that a director has to do just as much work as those he's directing in order to ensure that his orders are clear and specific. A lazy flick of the wrist and a command doesn't get the job done. (All of this is to say that I had many warm surges of pride and respect for dad).
I know that this one managerial frustration of Jordin's probably seems like a rather dry thing for me to have spent so much time documenting, but in a way the times like this when i've really been able to discuss ideas in Spanish (on the university lawn with Sara, Gabriel, and Esteban, or in the car with Simon Bolivar, discussing pending Ecuadorian socialist reforms, former wars, the monetary switch to the dollar, poverty, and the world bank)--these are the times (along with certain moments with the kids) where I feel most alive--like an expressive human being instead of an onlooker.
Anyway, to get back to my narrative, Jordin, Daniel, and I went to meet the kids at the top of a waterfall-rich mountain. Getting there required half an hour's steep drive up a rural mountain road, constructed with stones by what I understood to be sort of a local work cooperative. On either side of the road, Eucalyptus trees rose and fell upon the hills and valleys. The air grew crisper and, as always in the country, I felt a bit more at home.
The path we took to get to the waterfall was wonderfully unpredictable--steps carved out of the mountain, rickety ladders that paralleled the fall of the river, steep curling paths. WE had a sort of educational botany session, the three of us. For instance, I would point and exclaim "moss," which they would awkwardly attempt before exclaiming "musgo," to which I would follow suit.We arrived at a small waterfall and wondered where to go next, having been told that the kids were at the big one. I suggested several times that we take the small path that led further down the river to what looked
like a big waterfall (we could see the very top of it peaking out over some trees in
the distance). They thought that because the could see the top of the waterfall high up that we should go up. This entailed several grueling 11,000ft climbs...just to clarify we did not climb 11,ooo fit, but that altitude made even 1 foot a bit taxing.We finally returned to something akin to a visitor's center, where the kids had also just returned to after romping about in the swimming hole below the waterfall that we would have gotten to had we followed my advise. I was glad, in the end, that it had just been the three of us, because it made for some good bonding time (not to mention the fact that they are two of the few people I can understand well).
We all hung out at the visitor's center for a couple of hours. Karaoke and bare-handed fish catching attempts seemed to be the highlights. I felt sort of lonely during this time because I only knew a few of the kids from the group I had helped with at the center the day before. It is infinitely harder to understand kids' Spanish.
Back at the hacienda, bunk beds were chosen with much excitement and, after a couple of boys said grace for us, we ate another delicious meal--compliments of our center's resident chef. She is an interesting lady--sort of motherly, witch like, and dominatrix-ly all at once. She has two sons in the program, Israel and David, who always ask me questions about the United States that seem to come out of nowhere! For instance, in the middle of a calm, before-bed snack when we were all sleepily chatting about something unrelated, Israel turned to me suddenl
y to ask "Why did the United States lose the war in Vietnam." The next morning, while on the sidelines of our soccer scrimmage, David turned to me and asked "Do you guys do a lot of autopsies in the United States? That one kept me laughing for hours! I should mention that David is my favorite. Maybe 10 or 11 he is rabid for knowledge. He forced me to read him this really complicated book in English about potential theories on the fate of Amelia Earhart (wow! it just occurred to me how fitting her name is!!!). Yesterday, David took me on a tour of his favorite ornamental plants and gave me a rose. 
Anyway, after dinner, this jovial Italian woman with a rat tail who is the resident volunteer, led a hilarious and raucous scavenger hunt that required cross dressing and singing and leaf gathering galore! The kids loved it and it was a huge success. Then, we all sat around this big fire and chanted silly song-games and told jokes (none of which I understood). Some 
people told fables and we all sang different songs in groups. The rat-tailed Italian played her guitar and sang in her native tongue. OH! I forgot to mention! Two guys and I were the scavenger hunt judges and we decided to announce the winner when everyone was around the fire. I felt like some sort of reality show host. As the fire lit our faces dramatically, my two co-hosts gave speeches in somber voices about how everyone should be proud but (dum dum) there can only be one winner. I was waiting for the over dramatic synthesizers to make their entrance.At about 11, we began a feeble dance party around the fire which quickly dissolved into sleepy faces in the mess hall drinking hot brewed vanilla-tasting tea made from these dried up brown seeds that are evidently some form of sweet pepper. Israel and I exchanged pickup lines in Spanish.
The next morning I played soccer till the altitude got me. We left at two, and I got "home" at 5. I
could barely function from weariness and the arrival of sickness. I tried to sleep at six o'clock but instead lay in bed feeling a bit sad. Everyone in my host family but JuanCarols was gone on an overnight trip to visit family. Eventually, I got up and Juan Carlos and I lounged on Azucena's bed and drank hot flowery lemon tea and watched the Bourne Identity. It was just the coziness I needed, and now here I am this morning feeling much refreshed!
2 comments:
i still don't understand why you couldn't have just come to arizona:
1. we're totally high-altitude. plenty of opportunities to take cute photos in front of mountains, have hilarious i-love-lucy-type baking misadventures and lose your breath playing soccer.
2. everyone speaks spanish all the time, and there's tons of latin culture. i'm looking at garcia's carniceria from my window as a matter of fact.
3. there are plenty of whimsical children who would probably love to ask you about autopsies of vietnam vets.
4. also plenty of stucco villas. and lots of dust.
5. you can get cool ethnic clothes for so cheap here! do i need to remind you of the 25 cent store?
from what i understand, arizona and ecuador are practically the same place! so what gives?!
i'll try not to hold a grudge. te quiero mucho mi mariposita. make like a sponge and soak, soak, soak it all in.
This is my favorite blog and blogger. In my imagination, I am nestling in the Andes myself. I cannot wait for the next installment. What ways will she find to make herself useful? What village is just beyond that next cloud shrouded peak? Can you stand it?
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