Snipers. Ambushes. Bombas.
The Water Wars have come to Zamora.
As in most communities throughout South America, the week preceding Ash Wednesday and the beginning of Lent are marked by a period of excess and celebration: Carnival. In Zamora, for instance, the entire city and surrounding barrios are transformed into war zones as both everyone becomes immensed in a gigantic water fight.
At any moment, you are at risk. Water balloons soar off roof tops. Students chase innocent teacher across the city while wielding water guns and balloons. If the water runs out, and it did, the war continues regardless. All simply look for other forms of harmless ammunition ranging from flour and eggs to mud and shaving cream. It is absolute mayhem. Families cruise around in the backs of pickup trucks targeting innocent passerbys; children hide in second story windows searching for unwitting pedestrians.
It is, without a doubt, my new favorite holiday.
Officially, festivites began on Friday (although many starting launching water balloons nearly a week earlier) with a gigantic party in the high school. Some activities were relatively mundane—such as tug-of-war and a three-legged race— and others were absolutely shocking including competitions to name the fattest and thinnest student in the school. Needless to say, comments regarding weight and personal appearance are considered completely appropriate in Ecuador.
Meanwhile, in the midst of the ridiculous competitions, water balloons, eggs, flour, achote, mud, and shaving cream soared through the air. I am still trying to scrub the flour out of my hair.
By Saturday morning, the official start of carnival, peaceful Zamora had been transformed into a war zone. As soon as I left my apartment, I was bombarded by balloons. After a perilous jaunt across town in which I proved unable to avoid sniper fire, I finally made it to my host family's house where I moved onto the offense and joined my young host nephews on the rooftop to launch our own balloons at passerbys unknowingly meandering through our line of fire.
After two intense days of warfare, I decided to temporarily relax on Sunday and allow my clothing to dry as much as possible. Thus, I ventured to Vilcabamba to participate in Reto 21x24 in Loja. This is a series of 21 kilometer (13.1 mile) races being hosted in each of Ecuador's 24 provinces to raise awareness about Yasunà National Park and pending oil explorations that will most likely destroy it.
The run started out well; Unfortunately, as we snaked through the valley, we lost sight of both the runners in front of us and those behind us. Completely lost, we began running in circles until finally finding some other athletes; thus, our 21 kilometer run to protect Yasunà had been transformed into a 25 kilometer odessey.
No complaints though. Cool Sierran temperatures and good company make for a great run. Not too mention some bizarre scenery. As we twisted through the mountains, we passed typical Andean villages and affluent hippie enclaves. Hundreds of hippies from across the globe call Vilcabamba home and many have constructed elaborate homes amid the hills.
Following the race, Elizabeth and I had the opportunity to venture into one such hideaway when a local PCV invited us to his weekly basketball game at the home of an ex-pat. The house was,for lack of a better term, insane. It boasted a full-sized basketball court, two water slides reminiscent of those found in Water Country, and a herd of horses. Yet, in spite of its splendor, the enclave made me somewhat uncomfortable. The mansion was located within a fortified community in which dozens of ex-pats live in extreme luxury. Meanwhile, only a few kilometers outside the gate, many Ecuadorians live in poverty. The ex-pats and the Ecuadorians rarely interact; many of the gringos have lived in Ecuador for years, yet haven't even bothered to learn Spanish..
I don't wish to imply that the ex-pats should not be building lavish homes; they earned their money and, therefore, have the right to spend it as they please. Yet, whydo they live in another country if they barely ever interact with their Ecuadorian neighbors and learn about their culture?
After spending a day in the Sierra—where cool temperatures make the water balloons even less desirable—I ventured towards Yantzaza. Given the soaring temperatures in the jungle town, several PCV friends and I immediately joined the mayhem. Armed with water balloons and buckets of water, we began prowling the streets ambushing other rabblerousers. Hours later, dripping wet, we finally wandered back to a local PCVs house knowing that we had most definitely rocked carnival.
It's just a shame it's a bit cold in the United States in February; otherwise Carnival 2014 would definitely be coming your way.
26.2.12
11.2.12
Stereotypically Peace Corps
Under the scorching mid-morning sun, the other competitors and I lined up in front of the church in El Pangui. After months of training, I was finally going to race in Zamora-Chinchipe. I was, of course, quite excited in spite of the less-than-desirable conditions including muddy and uneven roads and temperatures that soared to well over 100 degrees.
As we stood waiting for the race to begin, roughly 2 ½ hours later than scheduled, the coordinators madde an announcement. Due to the weather conditions, the women's race was being shortened to roughly 7 kilometers as opposed to about 9 kilometers. The men would still run the full route, he explained, but the women, being weaker, could reasonably only be expected to do six loops through the Amazonian city of about 6,000.
This announcement shouldn't have been too surprising; rural Ecuadorian communities are often extremely machista and women are only beginning to enjoy significant athletic opportunities. Moreover, even in the United States, a country that prides itself on gender “equality,” female cross country athletes in the NCAA run less than their male counterparts, Yet, I could not believe it.
There was no time to complain, however. Within seconds, the race had begun and a herd of runners began charging through the town. By the end of the first loop, I had opened a huge gap on the other women and was running with a pack of male runners. For the next five laps, I wove amongst them while listening to spectators commenting on the “impossible”--a woman running amongst the men.
After completing the six laps, I crossed the finish line in first place in the women's competition. To my great annoyance, the race officials chose to comment on my “beautiful eyes” as opposed to my performance in the race when they greeted me after I won. Why comment on my achievements when you can discuss my appearance? After all, in the words of a fellow female PCV, some Ecuadorians seem to believe that women are only here for men's viewing pleasure.
As my anger mounted, I was suddenly swarmed by children and teenagers hoping to congratulate me. Not only did they comment on a job well done, but many mentioned that they could not believe that a woman could run with the men. It was, in seemed, almost unfathomable to them. Yet, they had just seen it. They had to believe it in spite of the machista values and stereotypes that are all too common in many rural communities.
Ultimately, will it matter? Probably not. But, being foolishly optimistic, I like to think that maybe a few of the girls will start training and stop listening to local values that put far too much emphasis on traditional gender roles and not enough emphasis on pursuing your goals and doing what you love whether it falls within traditional male or females spheres.
As we stood waiting for the race to begin, roughly 2 ½ hours later than scheduled, the coordinators madde an announcement. Due to the weather conditions, the women's race was being shortened to roughly 7 kilometers as opposed to about 9 kilometers. The men would still run the full route, he explained, but the women, being weaker, could reasonably only be expected to do six loops through the Amazonian city of about 6,000.
This announcement shouldn't have been too surprising; rural Ecuadorian communities are often extremely machista and women are only beginning to enjoy significant athletic opportunities. Moreover, even in the United States, a country that prides itself on gender “equality,” female cross country athletes in the NCAA run less than their male counterparts, Yet, I could not believe it.
There was no time to complain, however. Within seconds, the race had begun and a herd of runners began charging through the town. By the end of the first loop, I had opened a huge gap on the other women and was running with a pack of male runners. For the next five laps, I wove amongst them while listening to spectators commenting on the “impossible”--a woman running amongst the men.
After completing the six laps, I crossed the finish line in first place in the women's competition. To my great annoyance, the race officials chose to comment on my “beautiful eyes” as opposed to my performance in the race when they greeted me after I won. Why comment on my achievements when you can discuss my appearance? After all, in the words of a fellow female PCV, some Ecuadorians seem to believe that women are only here for men's viewing pleasure.
As my anger mounted, I was suddenly swarmed by children and teenagers hoping to congratulate me. Not only did they comment on a job well done, but many mentioned that they could not believe that a woman could run with the men. It was, in seemed, almost unfathomable to them. Yet, they had just seen it. They had to believe it in spite of the machista values and stereotypes that are all too common in many rural communities.
Ultimately, will it matter? Probably not. But, being foolishly optimistic, I like to think that maybe a few of the girls will start training and stop listening to local values that put far too much emphasis on traditional gender roles and not enough emphasis on pursuing your goals and doing what you love whether it falls within traditional male or females spheres.
10.2.12
Barro, Fango, Lodo and MUD!
Although the Spanish language has far fewer words than the English language, it still has a plethora of terms for mud incluing barro, fango, and lodo. And, following recent trips to Nangaritza and Vilcabamba, I understand why. During the rainy season in Ecuador, everything turns to mud and, it appears, I will neer have white socks again.
As we did not have classes at the end of the first week of February, several PCVs and I trekked to Nanagaritza to spend the night in the rainforest along the Peruvian border. It seemed like it would be a simple trip; catch a bus to Guaysimi in Zamora and hire a camioneta to take us to cabins in the village of Las Orquideas about 1 ½ hours beyond Guaysimi. Yet, our plans were derailed soon after leaving as the rainy season had created new rivers crossing the dirt road. The camioneta we had hired in Guaysimi could not pass. We had no choice but to pay the driver and abandon the truck and continue on foot. Thus, we forded the river on foot (in spite of our reservations after years of dying tragically fording rivers in Oregon Trail), carrying our food, backpacks, guitars, etc. above the swirling water. Although it was a bit nerve wracking to walk through the quickly moving current, we finally made it across and contiinued until we arrived at our cabin and briefy settling in before trekking through the vegetation to a beautiful waterfall.
Early the next morning, we borded a boat on Rio Nangaritza in spite of the pouring rain. For the next couple hours, we cruised past Shuar communities only accessible by canoe en route to El Laberinto de Mil Ilusiones. Upon arriving we began a relatively short hike through knee deep muck and towering rainforest greenery to the caves.
In spite of the muddy uphill trek, it was a worthwhile journey with a rather jarring end. Soon after encountering the caves, we wandered upon a faded warning sign alerting us to a surrounding minefield. Only a couple decades ago, Ecuador and Peru were briefly at war over the province of Zamora-Chinchipe and its immense mineral wealth. During this period, the Ecuadorian government laid minefields along the border (and, presumably, the Peruvian government did the same in its territory). Although the war soon ended, the minefields remain and, according to our local guide, continue to kill. Only last year, a man was killed by a landmine only a few yards from the trail. Given the remote location and impoverished population, I suspect that the fields will never be cleaned—an extremely costly and dangerous process and will continue to leave all at risk. Ironically, Ecuador retained the land and the precious metals beneath it, but, in the process, made the land much more perilous for all. Moreover, most local populations will not benefit from the mines, the largest of which are not even operated by Ecuadorian companies but by the Canadian multinational corporation Kinross.
A few days and about four bars of soap after leaving Nangaritza, I was traveling once again albeit only for a brief interlude. On Superbowl Sunday, I trekked to the village of Vilcabamba, famed for the longevity of its population and the large number of gringos seeking immortality who have moved there. In the morning and afternoon, I once again spent hour sludging through the mud while hiking. Once again worthwhile, although I've had to spend far too much time scrubbing my clothes on my piedra recently. After the hike, we ventured to the lone restaurant showing the Superbowl. A local PCV had persuaded the owner to show the game; as he used to live in Boston, he agreed to open his restaurant which is normally closed on Sunday nights and allow us to watch the madness. It was a great game; until the final minutes when the Patriots lost anyways, and we thus headed back to our sites mourning the loss as we prepared to resume work the next morning.
As we did not have classes at the end of the first week of February, several PCVs and I trekked to Nanagaritza to spend the night in the rainforest along the Peruvian border. It seemed like it would be a simple trip; catch a bus to Guaysimi in Zamora and hire a camioneta to take us to cabins in the village of Las Orquideas about 1 ½ hours beyond Guaysimi. Yet, our plans were derailed soon after leaving as the rainy season had created new rivers crossing the dirt road. The camioneta we had hired in Guaysimi could not pass. We had no choice but to pay the driver and abandon the truck and continue on foot. Thus, we forded the river on foot (in spite of our reservations after years of dying tragically fording rivers in Oregon Trail), carrying our food, backpacks, guitars, etc. above the swirling water. Although it was a bit nerve wracking to walk through the quickly moving current, we finally made it across and contiinued until we arrived at our cabin and briefy settling in before trekking through the vegetation to a beautiful waterfall.
Early the next morning, we borded a boat on Rio Nangaritza in spite of the pouring rain. For the next couple hours, we cruised past Shuar communities only accessible by canoe en route to El Laberinto de Mil Ilusiones. Upon arriving we began a relatively short hike through knee deep muck and towering rainforest greenery to the caves.
In spite of the muddy uphill trek, it was a worthwhile journey with a rather jarring end. Soon after encountering the caves, we wandered upon a faded warning sign alerting us to a surrounding minefield. Only a couple decades ago, Ecuador and Peru were briefly at war over the province of Zamora-Chinchipe and its immense mineral wealth. During this period, the Ecuadorian government laid minefields along the border (and, presumably, the Peruvian government did the same in its territory). Although the war soon ended, the minefields remain and, according to our local guide, continue to kill. Only last year, a man was killed by a landmine only a few yards from the trail. Given the remote location and impoverished population, I suspect that the fields will never be cleaned—an extremely costly and dangerous process and will continue to leave all at risk. Ironically, Ecuador retained the land and the precious metals beneath it, but, in the process, made the land much more perilous for all. Moreover, most local populations will not benefit from the mines, the largest of which are not even operated by Ecuadorian companies but by the Canadian multinational corporation Kinross.
A few days and about four bars of soap after leaving Nangaritza, I was traveling once again albeit only for a brief interlude. On Superbowl Sunday, I trekked to the village of Vilcabamba, famed for the longevity of its population and the large number of gringos seeking immortality who have moved there. In the morning and afternoon, I once again spent hour sludging through the mud while hiking. Once again worthwhile, although I've had to spend far too much time scrubbing my clothes on my piedra recently. After the hike, we ventured to the lone restaurant showing the Superbowl. A local PCV had persuaded the owner to show the game; as he used to live in Boston, he agreed to open his restaurant which is normally closed on Sunday nights and allow us to watch the madness. It was a great game; until the final minutes when the Patriots lost anyways, and we thus headed back to our sites mourning the loss as we prepared to resume work the next morning.
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