Sunday, July 6

Greetings once again! Another barrage of entries is on the way...sorry they always come in herds, but it is a rare occurance when I can wrestle the computer away from Sophia for a substantial-enough chunk of time, so I figure I should take advantage. Whenever Azucena sees me at the computer, she gives me a jovial wink and says "ah, ganaste!" translating into "you won [control of the computer from Sophia]"

Sunday, July 6
The park that spreads itself out in the expanse across from my house lets down its hair on the weekends. Blocks upon blocks line themselves with incredible paintings, while the inside invites
vendors, children in fake plastic cars, comedians, artisans, families, and tourists. I went with Juan Carlos and watched two men prance around in the middle of a cackling circle, acting out the manipulative games of flirtatious youth. This farcical comedy had us so entranced that we lost track of time and arrived too late to get into the free theater performance of Snow White. We were told that there would be another performance in a couple of hours, so we went to Ichimbia park to bide our time. It is truly the most gorgeous park I have ever seen. Relatively new and eco friendly, its perched on top of a mountain overlooking Quito in its entirety. The most incredible part of this omniscient perch is how clear the divisions between the north, center, and south are. The north is filled with high-rises, the center with red tile and colonial arches, while the South's sea of low-lying slums sort of swims off into a gray, hazy distance. The park itself is filled with zip-lines, couples, pagodas, winding tree-lined paths, and precariously-perched soccer fields that require an abundance of extra balls to compensate for those that sail off the mountaintop.

Returning to the theater, we somehow snuck in and sort of hid in this mezzanine balcony until the beginning of the show (i still have no idea how we managed that or why). What we thought was going to be another showing of Snow White, turned out to be this interminable youth dance concert that would have made Peter Jackson green with envy. Seriously! Not only was the entire show hours longer than I expected, but the final piece itself had about 40 minutes of faux endings!!! The audience was significantly sparser at the end of the night. That aside, it was the most phenomenal youth dance I have ever seen- in both talent and diversity of dance (from a little kids insect ballet, to several traditional Ecuadorian pieces, to a dance of love and loss set to the Amelie soundtrack that made me cry, to a shockingly accurate michael jackson medley of dances, to the aforementioned french ballet finale.)--keep in mind i've left out about half the program. When we got home, I did some meeting and greeting, dinner, and bed. As seems to be the custom here, there are new waves of extended family to kiss almost every time I walk in the door!!!

Nuestro Paseo July 6

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 suddenly 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!

First Day of Volunteering July 3

10:40 PM
Today (like many days here) was sort of roller-coastery emotion wise. No--that's misleading, because it was a milder spectrum than roller coaster suggests--think of the ups and downs more like the experience of a bug crawling along a camel's back.
Mornings are always nice. I usually wake up to Max-saturated emails. The bus ride to the foundation in the south was successful--I think I'm ready to attempt it alone. From the time I got there till about 2:30 or three, I felt a bit stagnant, especially during lunchtime for staff. This happens often where the combination of eating and not understanding a word of the extra-rapid lunch time chatter puts me in a bit of a lonely, sleepy stupor. Then, in this half-stupor, I suddenly have to concern myself with not looking quite as soggy as I feel. Like I've said before, I don't really mind these bad spells too much. From what I understand they're pretty normal for travelers immersed in a foreign culture and language away from those they love. All in all, I think they're rather healthy. It's good to...what's that sports coach cliché?--"come out of the comfort zone"--in order to be forced to philosophize on happiness, and also to learn how to inspire oneself out of slumps. I certainly appreciate home more than ever-- not just for the "luxuries" or "opportunities"of our country, but just for the very idea of home--of family comfort and deep-root connections and common bonds. It's odd- I've found myself nostalgic for really random things (some of which hardly even pertain to my day-to day life in the states)--like the Washington DC subway system.

Actually, with regards to feeling stagnant today, I take some of it back. From 10:30 to about 12, I worked with a few of the staff kids, and they were great! These really profound ten years olds were talking about injustice and Che Guevara and and wealth disparities and border disputes! After lunch things go t much better. Many more kids came, and as they were doing various crafts, I made a couple of great bonds with some girls who (after class) clutched me by each arm and giddily brought me up on the roof of one of the center's buildings. I drew the face/vase optical illusion and some kids had fun pondering it.

Lovely Antonio, an older man, and one of the many people who has been taking ridiculously good care of me, accompanied me back on the bus. When not being a science professor, he's teaching teachers how to teach science (just like dad!). Back "home" I snuggled in bed with mi madre and the girls and watched some weird cartoon where these dinosaurs did hula dancing. Then Azucena and I drank hot chocolate, talked, and laughed.

Liga Campión!

1:00 AM (The wee hours of July 3)
Dios Mio! I just got into bed after a night of...oh, where to start? Well, I suppose I could start by saying that my arrival in a foreign city seems to be accompanied by historical futbol finals. My streak began with Paris and has now continued, as Quito's team, Liga, competed in the Latin American Cup finals tonight for the first time in history.

I watched the game with my host uncle, JuanCarols, on the top floor of a smoky discotec. The game went into double overtime and then proceeded to penalty shots. By this time, gaggles of half-naked boys were clinging to each other with suspense--beer bottles were breaking everywhere--people were standing and screaming on all available furniture--and then...Liga Won! Fountains of beer spewed into my eyes from all directions--people pounded joyously on my back and leapt me into a frenzied sort of victory mosh. As it turned out, this was nothing compared with what was to follow. Streets jammed so tightly we couldn't move, people bathing themselves with bottle after bottle of beer, running their hands through each others' alcohol-drenched hair. We (the mass) made our way to an open cobblestone area where a huge screen had been set up. About fifty people piled on the stage in front of the screen, screaming, dancing, waving their shirts above their heads, climbing lamp posts. Even the police were jumping up and down giddily. Then, the next hour consisted of this sort of car-horn ritual in which every car in the whole city honked out the rhythm: long-long-short-short-long, short-short-short-long-short long. (I can still hear it as I'm writing from my bed in a much removed area). Many of the cars were laden with 20 people on the roofs, chanting in a sort of glory orgy.

favorite chant:
YO TE DARÉ, TE DARÉ UNA COSA, TE DARÉ UNA COSA
UNA COSA QUE EMPIEZA CON L-CON I-CON G-CON A:
LIGA CAMPIÓN!
YO TE DARÉ, TE DARÉ UNA COSA, TE DARÉ UNA COSA
UNA COSA QUE EMPIEZA CON C--CAMPIÓN!

Quick Morning Thoughts July 2, 2008

Hello my North American loves! Days and emotions and wild activities have passed since I last wrote. I'm going to record portions of my own journal entries here. I'll put the dates they were first written. Excuse the lengthiness.

July 2, 2008 (AM)
All I have to report on this morning is a breakfast and a dream.
Breakfast: fried corn cakes, pan integral (like whole grain), fresh made pineapple juice, and chamomile tea. I sat with Azucena and her brother SIMON BOLIVAR (haha) and watched this weird chain email video clip of sort of slutty faires set to one of the ethereal celine dion songs from titanic. Overlayed were messages about how money can't buy the important things in life, followed by about twenty slides devoted to threatening us with testimonies about the horrors that befell those who didn't send the email to twenty people within the next 24 hours.

Last night I dreamed that June Arthurs and mom got in a fight and this random Rastafarian guy took June's side, saying that mom was "mean." I had to explain to him that he didn't know the whole story. Then, so that things wouldn't be awkward in the car ride back from (Jordan lake, i think?), Jenna and I reminisced about how she used to love farting noises.

The first trial: take it all in

As I am trying to write this there are two little girls and a little dog scrambling for the attention of my lap. Ok. now they've settled for watching me type. But i'm getting ahead of myself...

I think in the last two (full) days that i've been here I've fulfilled the textbook model of the emotional journey of the traveler. First: the blissful shock of exoticism. When I arrived and saw the lights spreading themselves elegantly over the mountain peaks I thought that nothing could be more lovely. That night, comfort and bliss decended as Gabriel, Sara, and I switched flawlessly from english to spanish, laughing our heads off. I slept wonderfully (and evidentally dreamt about action figures--according to sara who was up most of the night listening to me talk in my sleep). Upon opening my eyes to the Andes sloping overhead, I exclaimed groggily to sara "I feel so at peace." Warm milk and bread for breakfast seemed so simple and lovely. When, at the office of Nuevos Horizantes (my volunteer liason) I finally learned about my family and the work I was going to be doing, I was shocked! delighted! at how wonderful it all seems.

So then, after receiving several lengthy (but welcome) speeches in spanish about my seguirdad (security), I headed off with an amiable 42 year old spaniard psychologist named Jordin who works with drogadictos in his home city of Barcelona. He talked my ear off in spanish as we navigated the bus and trolley systems on the way to the Don Bosco center in the south where I will be working. I have been pleasantly surprised at how my spanish has served me; Jordin and I got along well in this new language.

The center seems wonderful. The neighborhood is very poor, as is most of the south of Quito (which I say although it pains me to ever present any evidence that supports Elham's ridiuclous claim!). I didn't get a real chance to observe the center in action because it was a lunch break and everything is in transition now anyway because the children just got out of school. During their school year, the foundation, Don Bosco, provides supplemental education. Now, as the vacation has begun, they are starting something akin to summer camp. In fact, this weekend we are all taking some sort of overnight trip to a mountain. I'm not entirely sure; everything is a lot fuzzier in spanish. Anyway, everyone in the center seems "super chevere." A few of the women there cooked a delicious meal for us- soup, rice, and a dainty smattering of meat and fried plantinas. All the food in Quito is great! Limey and cilantroey and meaty like I like it!

On the way back north from the center, clouds rolled in so Jordin and I waited in the cold, run down street for the late bus and my mood couldn't help dampening. On the bus ride back I felt a bit cold, tired and floating away from familiar ground. Sights seemed sadder to me. But eventually we met back up with Gabriel and Sara and back at Gabriel's house I was able to feel warm and familiar and tweak my perspective and perceptions back into order (i'll avoid regaling you with the conclusions I came to but they are all very comforting and exciting ways of positively looking at my situation).

Today, I met my family and what a perfect situation! The house is in a lovely safe(ish) area near a park and this huge cultural center where there are cheap movies and performances all the time. I think I was meant for this family because the name of mi madre is Azucena, which means Lily. She has a husband named Fabrico who she describes as cuadrado (an adjective I have heard several times to describe someone with a serious demeanor). They have two daughters--sofia and amy--aged four and six, and what little balls of hillarious energy! Azucena is young and lovely and just about the sweetest woman I have ever met. We tried to make a cake together earlier, but its ingredients were a bit questionable. It was made of: predominately margerine, cocoa powder, and a little flour and nuts. It oozed all over the oven and emerged burnt and gloopy. (I got to lick the batter bowl, though, which was probably the equivolent of licking clean a tub of margerine.) After the cake debaucle, we drank tea and sat around chatting comfortably for an hour about beef consumption and only-children and altitude and whether or not women need to have professions and dieting and what kinds of fruit trees I have back at home (this presented some vocabulary challenges). We talked about differences between the coast and the montains and George Bush and a lot about her previous host daughters (one of which wouldn't eat anything but french fries!!! que horror!)

Then I climed out the window onto their (our) overgrown terrace the has a beautiful view of the cloudy mountains. There,I played with their (our) fluffy little dog in the sun and pretended to eat salad with Amy (it was actually clover).

Sara and Gabriel came and got me. We had lunch with Sara's quiteñan mother, Pati, (I had ceviche that turned black from the ink of the squid). Then, we met up with their friend Esteban (who there have been numerous failed attemts to set me up with for about six months). We sat out on the lawn at their university and, of all things, conversation turned to the best way to control the coca/cocaine trade! I remained silent for a long time before attempting a few passionate sentences on my theories about desarrollo alterativo (alternative crop development in the Andes). Then, they began talking about the war in Colombia--the other topic of which I consider myself moderately knowledgeable.

i'm here in my family's house now where, as you may have gathered, we have INTERNET!

Quickly, before this becomes too long, I am going to record a couple of cultural/geographical differences of note:

• Everything is so cheap! Buses- 25cents, Taxis- a couple of dollars, a savory empinada at the trolley station- 60cents (i feel like i'm composing a mastercard commercial).


• toilet paper goes in the trashcan, not the toilet


• no one drinks sink water


• because we're at 9,000 ft (!!!), going up stairs is a bit of a respiratory chore! Not to mention the fact that everything bakes weird at such a high altitude)


• There are tiny markets on every corner, but all of the ones in teh south are behind bars, so we have to call out for a while before someone will emerge from behind a sack of potatoes in the back, for instance.


• I stick out by complexion


• we are constantly kissing each other--even the remotest of strangers. For instance, today in a museum, the archeological curator and I kissed hello. Then, after she said a couple of words to those whom I was with, we kissed goodbye having never exchanged a word ourselves!


• we have to wear sunscreena ll the time even on the cloudiest of days because we're so much closer to the sun at this altitude


• the keyboard is different!

ok, more soon espero!