Why not run a half marathon? Despite the elevation (9000 feet above sea level) and very little training, it seemed like an excellent opportunity. While surrounded by hundreds of other competitors, I could explore the streets of Quito while trying to burn the 12371237 pounds of rice that I consume on a daily basis (Yes. We occasionally eat rice at breakfast, lunch, and dinner). It would be perfect. Maybe I would even run a decent time. After all, as my experiences in the past few weeks have shown, anything can happen in Ecuador.
And it most certainly did.
Shortly before 5:30 AM, all the competitors in the marathon had assembled in Plaza San Francisco, a magnificant square buried deep in the historical district. Although the race would start momentarily, most competitors still seemed drowsy. After all, the sun wouldn't even rise for another hour. A wake-up call was definitely needed.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by a loud bang and a splash of color across the darkened sky. Someone had decided to launch fireworks to motivate competitors prior to the race. While the fifteen minute display of massive fireworks was incredibly risky (the fireworks were launched from a cardboard box next to an overflowing trashcan about 10 feet from marathon competitors), it just might have been the best secret psych ever.
Once the marathon competitors had begun their race, another PCV and I began searching for a ride to Parque La Carolina, located about 6 kilometers away. Despite assurances that the trolebus would be open in the pre-dawn hours on a Sunday morning, we soon discovered that our preferred means of transportation would not be bringing us to the park where the half marathon would begin about two hours later.
Taxi? Unfortunately, we couldn't find any taxis rocking orange licenses plates (meaning that they are governmentally-licensed and, therefore, much safer), so we asked race organizers if they knew a number for a taxi. Failure. But also success because we ultimately hitched a ride with race organizers bringing porter potties from Plaza San Francisco to Parque La Carolina. Not the classiest way to arrive at the start, but definitely memorable.
And, most importantly, the race. The half marathon consisted of a loop through northern Quito. While this is a newer part of the city and it isn't particularly interesting in terms of its architecture, the trek was still an adventure. Along the way, a full military band serenaded runners, reggaeton-blasted from various speakers, and far too many fans eagerly took pictures of the “gringuita.” Slightly awkward. Moreover, the looped course allowed me to chatter with other competitors and learn a bit about running in Ecuador. Well, try to learn. It's still a struggle to speak in Spanish as my lungs ached and searched for oxygen in the thin Ecuadorian air.
27.7.11
7.7.11
Santo Domingo, Hair Dye, and Pickpockets
After spending three weeks within the middle class enclave of Tumbaco, the PCTs of omnibus 106 finally ventured outside the valley to explore more of Ecuador. For our first technical trip, those in the TEFL program traveled to Santo Domingo de las Tsatchilas (AKA Santo Domingo de los Colorados).
The three hour journey to Santo Domingo, a town of about 200,000 people, is stunning. Beginning in the highlands of southern Quito, we trekked through the Andes mountains before plummeting down towards sea level and lush tropical vegetation. Along the way, we passed waterfalls, dramatic ledges, and trees reminiscent to those in Dr. Seuss's The Lorax. The temperature also spiked dramatically as the dry warmth of the sierra gave way to the tropical humidity of the coast. It wasn't, unfortunately, quite as hot as I would have liked...there's something simply wonderful about 100+ degree heat.
Upon arriving in Santo Domingo, we were greeted at the terminal by Maria Dolores, our program manager, and whisked to the hotel through the city's bustling streets. Our hotel was located in the heart of the city, amid panaderias, anarchic streets with too many taxis, and pulsating reggaeton beats escaping from the many storefronts.
We didn't have too much time to explore however. We were expected at Colegio Juan Moreno Espinosa momentarily to meet with the English teachers with whom we would work throughout the week. The urban high school is gigantic; approximately 2,500 students attend classes during either the morning, afternoon, or evening. Most live within the city, but some do commute for a couple of hours. It is, after all, a prestigious and public institution.
Throughout the week, we co-taught with the school's English teachers. Most teachers asked us to focus on pronunciation and speaking, although we gave some grammar and vocabulary lessons as well. As a group, we were quite impressed with the student's English skills. While we had learned that about 5,000 English teachers in Ecuador failed basic English tests administered by the Ministry of Education, the teachers demonstrated mastery of the language and the students seemed to be absorbing the material, although there was an admitted focus on grammar rules as opposed to communication (which is the norm within the Ecuadorian educational system). Moreover, I found the students' behavior impressive. Although each class had at least 45 students, the children behaved remarkably well. Had I been in a class of 47 students at the age of fourteen, I most certainly would not have been able to focus as well for the entire period.
In addition to our work within the school, we also ventured to Valle Hermoso, a rural community about 45 minutes outside Santo Domingo on Tuesday. This provided us with the opportunity to view the differences between an urban high school and rural institutions in terms of resources and curriculum.
In the afternoon, we enjoyed a cultural excursion to a Tsatchila community outside of Santo Domingo. Numbering around 1000, the Tsatchila are an indigenous community currently fighting to maintain their language and heritage in the midst of grinding poverty. While visiting with the pueblito, we saw the various ways in which they sustainably use the forest's resources to develop a variety of herbal remedies, the hair dye that inspired the Spanish to call them “Los Colorados” (hence the city's two names: Santo Domingo de las Tsatchilas or Santo Domingo de los Colorados” ), and a fruit dye used to make tattoos lasting for several weeks. When we left, I had a streak of red hair, and the fruit needed to give myself my first new tattoo. More importantly, I had several new 5-8 year-old-friends who had happily taught me Tsatchila words, Tsatchila dance moves, and mastered some numbers in English during our too brief visit.
Given that we spent most of our time either at high schools or on the cultural trip, we did not have much time to explore Santo Domingo independently. Perhaps it was for the best; Santo Domingo is amongst the most dangerous cities in Ecuador. It has recently been wracked by a series of murders currently dominating headline news in Ecuador. Moreover, it is the site of far too many robberies and assaults, as I, unfortunately, learned first hand.
Wednesday morning, Elizabeth and I ventured to a nearby panaderia to purchase some bread and yogurt for breakfast. Without thinking, I absentmindedly stuck a few coins and my cell phone in my pocket before leaving the hotel. As I stood in the panaderia chatting with the owner about her concoctions, two men ran into the open storefront, grabbed my phone out of my pocket, and sprinted across the street. I froze. What just happened?
Luckily, Elizabeth reacted. She ran into the street and began screaming “Socorro, Socorro.” I, too jumped, into action as the entire bustling neighborhood stopped and stared and sprinted across the road without regard for the oncoming traffic (poor choice). Five men also responded to her screams and began chasing the robbers. Realizing that it would not be as easy as anticipated to steal my cell phone, the pickpockets turned, hurled my phone at me, and disappeared into the hoards of pedestrians. Robbery averted. Win. Good thing we did all those 200 meter sprints during TUTF workouts.
Well, kind of. Luckily, no one was hurt in the exchange. As the PC staff (which was incredibly supportive in making sure that I was not too shaken up following the incident) has reminded me numerous times, never chase a pickpocket. While it seems to have lead to the recovery of my phone, it could have ended very differently had the men been violent or armed. A $38 telephone is not worth experiencing the Ecuadorian medical system nor learning firsthand the sad reality that the vast majority of violent crime in this country goes unpunished.
I not too upset by the incident itself. I was too complacent; my phone should not have been in my pocket and I should have been more aware of my surroundings. By virtue of having been born in a middle class family in the United States, I am inherently more priveledged than most around the world and I must recognize that this makes me more vulnerable. While I don't attach too much value to a cell phone (I absentmindedly stuck it in my pocket), there are other individuals for whom a $38 phone is a luxury that could feed a family for several days. Had I been born in another family elsewhere in our world, the situation could have been reversed.
This is not a means of justifying crime and robbery. The vast majority of impoverished individuals across the globe do not engage in criminal activities to survive, rather they demonstrate incredible ingenuity and resourcefulness in the midst of discriminatory social structures. Moreover, I don't even know if the robbers are poor; plenty of affluent individuals engage in criminal activity as well. These thoughts did, however, redirect my anger following the incident. Why rage at nameless thieves when I could redirect my fury at the systems creating poverty and inequality and use this to motivate me in my future endeavors as a PCV?
On the bright side, it was also incredibly heartening to see random pedestrians and vendors abandon their daily endeavors to rush to my aid. It is often said that people living in violent cities such as Santo Domingo become numb to violence, but that wasn't my experience. Rather, I saw a sense of community and social networks that served to minimize crime and create a safer city for all. Following the crime, it seemed as if most of the street including a security officer wandered over to the panaderia to ensure that the gringas really were okay.
On another note, we also had the opportunity to explore the Feria de Santo Domingo. July 3rd is the Feast of Santo Domingo and the entire city turns into a giant celebration as the Saint's Day nears. We consequently spent Thursday evening chomping on “pailas de helado” (dairy-free ice cream made by whipping fruit until it's creamy), empanadas colombianos, and coconut dulces as we wandered through artisan stalls at the local fair while listening to salsa, cumbia, merengue, and bachata music blaring through the loud speakers. And, yes, we know it's super gringa to sing along with Aventura and Marc Antony while dancing in las calles, but there are some parts of our culture we just arn't ready to leave behind.
Our adventure, unfortunately, ended on Friday and we returned to Tumbaco following a long bus ride defined by a driver whose skills were similar to mine at the age of 16 (and I failed the driving test at 17 years-old). Eeek. La noche was tranquila; I spent time catching up with other PCTs who had traveled to other parts of Ecuador with their respective programs and relaxing with la familia.
On Saturday, I once again ventured outside Tumbaco with Elizabeth and Lori; we went to Quito to explore the nearby city. We began by searching for Lori's former neighbors (she lived in Quito for a few months while in college). As they didn't have emails nor cell phones, we simply went to the neighborhood and looked for the shop. Unfortunately, they have since retired, but we did find a gigantic market that dwarves La Vega in Santiago. Best find of the day: Quinoa pancakes. We also found our inner tourists and took the teleferico to the observation decks atop Pinchincha. At 4,100 meters, the oxygen was a bit scarce, but the views plentiful. We watched the clouds creep over the city, a rainbow appear over the mariscal, and finally figured out where Tumbaco is in relation to the incredibly long and narrow city of about 2,000,000 people.
I'll post pictures this time on Picasa/Facebook. Promise.
The three hour journey to Santo Domingo, a town of about 200,000 people, is stunning. Beginning in the highlands of southern Quito, we trekked through the Andes mountains before plummeting down towards sea level and lush tropical vegetation. Along the way, we passed waterfalls, dramatic ledges, and trees reminiscent to those in Dr. Seuss's The Lorax. The temperature also spiked dramatically as the dry warmth of the sierra gave way to the tropical humidity of the coast. It wasn't, unfortunately, quite as hot as I would have liked...there's something simply wonderful about 100+ degree heat.
Upon arriving in Santo Domingo, we were greeted at the terminal by Maria Dolores, our program manager, and whisked to the hotel through the city's bustling streets. Our hotel was located in the heart of the city, amid panaderias, anarchic streets with too many taxis, and pulsating reggaeton beats escaping from the many storefronts.
We didn't have too much time to explore however. We were expected at Colegio Juan Moreno Espinosa momentarily to meet with the English teachers with whom we would work throughout the week. The urban high school is gigantic; approximately 2,500 students attend classes during either the morning, afternoon, or evening. Most live within the city, but some do commute for a couple of hours. It is, after all, a prestigious and public institution.
Throughout the week, we co-taught with the school's English teachers. Most teachers asked us to focus on pronunciation and speaking, although we gave some grammar and vocabulary lessons as well. As a group, we were quite impressed with the student's English skills. While we had learned that about 5,000 English teachers in Ecuador failed basic English tests administered by the Ministry of Education, the teachers demonstrated mastery of the language and the students seemed to be absorbing the material, although there was an admitted focus on grammar rules as opposed to communication (which is the norm within the Ecuadorian educational system). Moreover, I found the students' behavior impressive. Although each class had at least 45 students, the children behaved remarkably well. Had I been in a class of 47 students at the age of fourteen, I most certainly would not have been able to focus as well for the entire period.
In addition to our work within the school, we also ventured to Valle Hermoso, a rural community about 45 minutes outside Santo Domingo on Tuesday. This provided us with the opportunity to view the differences between an urban high school and rural institutions in terms of resources and curriculum.
In the afternoon, we enjoyed a cultural excursion to a Tsatchila community outside of Santo Domingo. Numbering around 1000, the Tsatchila are an indigenous community currently fighting to maintain their language and heritage in the midst of grinding poverty. While visiting with the pueblito, we saw the various ways in which they sustainably use the forest's resources to develop a variety of herbal remedies, the hair dye that inspired the Spanish to call them “Los Colorados” (hence the city's two names: Santo Domingo de las Tsatchilas or Santo Domingo de los Colorados” ), and a fruit dye used to make tattoos lasting for several weeks. When we left, I had a streak of red hair, and the fruit needed to give myself my first new tattoo. More importantly, I had several new 5-8 year-old-friends who had happily taught me Tsatchila words, Tsatchila dance moves, and mastered some numbers in English during our too brief visit.
Given that we spent most of our time either at high schools or on the cultural trip, we did not have much time to explore Santo Domingo independently. Perhaps it was for the best; Santo Domingo is amongst the most dangerous cities in Ecuador. It has recently been wracked by a series of murders currently dominating headline news in Ecuador. Moreover, it is the site of far too many robberies and assaults, as I, unfortunately, learned first hand.
Wednesday morning, Elizabeth and I ventured to a nearby panaderia to purchase some bread and yogurt for breakfast. Without thinking, I absentmindedly stuck a few coins and my cell phone in my pocket before leaving the hotel. As I stood in the panaderia chatting with the owner about her concoctions, two men ran into the open storefront, grabbed my phone out of my pocket, and sprinted across the street. I froze. What just happened?
Luckily, Elizabeth reacted. She ran into the street and began screaming “Socorro, Socorro.” I, too jumped, into action as the entire bustling neighborhood stopped and stared and sprinted across the road without regard for the oncoming traffic (poor choice). Five men also responded to her screams and began chasing the robbers. Realizing that it would not be as easy as anticipated to steal my cell phone, the pickpockets turned, hurled my phone at me, and disappeared into the hoards of pedestrians. Robbery averted. Win. Good thing we did all those 200 meter sprints during TUTF workouts.
Well, kind of. Luckily, no one was hurt in the exchange. As the PC staff (which was incredibly supportive in making sure that I was not too shaken up following the incident) has reminded me numerous times, never chase a pickpocket. While it seems to have lead to the recovery of my phone, it could have ended very differently had the men been violent or armed. A $38 telephone is not worth experiencing the Ecuadorian medical system nor learning firsthand the sad reality that the vast majority of violent crime in this country goes unpunished.
I not too upset by the incident itself. I was too complacent; my phone should not have been in my pocket and I should have been more aware of my surroundings. By virtue of having been born in a middle class family in the United States, I am inherently more priveledged than most around the world and I must recognize that this makes me more vulnerable. While I don't attach too much value to a cell phone (I absentmindedly stuck it in my pocket), there are other individuals for whom a $38 phone is a luxury that could feed a family for several days. Had I been born in another family elsewhere in our world, the situation could have been reversed.
This is not a means of justifying crime and robbery. The vast majority of impoverished individuals across the globe do not engage in criminal activities to survive, rather they demonstrate incredible ingenuity and resourcefulness in the midst of discriminatory social structures. Moreover, I don't even know if the robbers are poor; plenty of affluent individuals engage in criminal activity as well. These thoughts did, however, redirect my anger following the incident. Why rage at nameless thieves when I could redirect my fury at the systems creating poverty and inequality and use this to motivate me in my future endeavors as a PCV?
On the bright side, it was also incredibly heartening to see random pedestrians and vendors abandon their daily endeavors to rush to my aid. It is often said that people living in violent cities such as Santo Domingo become numb to violence, but that wasn't my experience. Rather, I saw a sense of community and social networks that served to minimize crime and create a safer city for all. Following the crime, it seemed as if most of the street including a security officer wandered over to the panaderia to ensure that the gringas really were okay.
On another note, we also had the opportunity to explore the Feria de Santo Domingo. July 3rd is the Feast of Santo Domingo and the entire city turns into a giant celebration as the Saint's Day nears. We consequently spent Thursday evening chomping on “pailas de helado” (dairy-free ice cream made by whipping fruit until it's creamy), empanadas colombianos, and coconut dulces as we wandered through artisan stalls at the local fair while listening to salsa, cumbia, merengue, and bachata music blaring through the loud speakers. And, yes, we know it's super gringa to sing along with Aventura and Marc Antony while dancing in las calles, but there are some parts of our culture we just arn't ready to leave behind.
Our adventure, unfortunately, ended on Friday and we returned to Tumbaco following a long bus ride defined by a driver whose skills were similar to mine at the age of 16 (and I failed the driving test at 17 years-old). Eeek. La noche was tranquila; I spent time catching up with other PCTs who had traveled to other parts of Ecuador with their respective programs and relaxing with la familia.
On Saturday, I once again ventured outside Tumbaco with Elizabeth and Lori; we went to Quito to explore the nearby city. We began by searching for Lori's former neighbors (she lived in Quito for a few months while in college). As they didn't have emails nor cell phones, we simply went to the neighborhood and looked for the shop. Unfortunately, they have since retired, but we did find a gigantic market that dwarves La Vega in Santiago. Best find of the day: Quinoa pancakes. We also found our inner tourists and took the teleferico to the observation decks atop Pinchincha. At 4,100 meters, the oxygen was a bit scarce, but the views plentiful. We watched the clouds creep over the city, a rainbow appear over the mariscal, and finally figured out where Tumbaco is in relation to the incredibly long and narrow city of about 2,000,000 people.
I'll post pictures this time on Picasa/Facebook. Promise.
26.6.11
I live here?
Before Omnibus 106 departed for Ecuador, the PC warned us that the first few months would be filled with an intensive pre-service training program. Not an exaggeration. From Monday-Friday, we're in the training center from 8:00-5:00 perfecting our Spanish, memorizing security procedures, and learning to temporarily self-medicate until help arrives if our poops suddenly contain 6 foot worms or maggots begin growing under our skin (I wish I was kidding). We also engage in various supplementary projects ranging from running life-skills classes in local schools to planting tire gardens and basil around the training center.
Despite the intensive program, I still look around in awe about 198731897 per day and think “I get to live here.” Whether meandering through a local canyon during our lunch break, jogging along the ciclovia as the mist rises from the valley in the early AM, our sampling still-unknown fruits from local vendor, Ecuador still proves enchanting. Do I really get to live here?
Some highlights from the past few weeks:
Mascarilla:For my cultural trip, I had the opportunity to spend a night in Mascarilla, an Afro-Ecuadorian community of about 1200 people located in Imbabura about 4 hours north of Quito. While I enjoyed creating traditional masks, chewing on sugar cane,and learning to dance Bindo (I'm almost as good at it as I am at salsa...which is to say I need more than a little practice), the time spent just playing sports, drawing, and teaching community kids to use my camara proved truly unforgettable and clinched my desire to work in a small town.
I also loved staying with my host family...minus briefly believing that I was about to be kidnapped when someone began pounding on the unlocked front door that was 3 feet away from my bed at 3 AM. Apparently they weren't looking for me though. They just wanted one of the eight month old twins, which the mother promptly gave them. WTF?
On a more serious note, it was an interesting look at race and ethnicity in an Ecuadorian context. Ecuador boasts one of the strongest indigenous movements in Latin America, yet indigenous communities remain significantly poorer than the majority of their mestizo counterparts. The Afro-Ecuadorian community does not have an particularly strong advocacy organizations according to our hosts, and consequently remains one of the poorest and most marginalized demographics in the country. Our hosts told us of nearby Afro-Ecuadorian communities in which the majority of residents work on sugar cane farms for only a few dollars per day.
While numbers and anecdotes are certainly upsetting, it was a simple children's game that truly bothered me. The rules are essentially the same as those of “Sharks and Minnows,” but before the minnows ran across the street, the kids chanted the following:
Sharks: “Who wants to play with the Black Man”
Minnows: “No one wants to play with the Black Man”
Sharks: “Why not?”
Minnows: “Because he's black.”
Sharks: “What does he eat?”
Minnows: “Meat.”
Sharks:”What does he drink?”
Minnows: “Blood.”
Regardless of the community, this chant is disturbing. Yet, the children (all of whom were Afro-Ecuadorian) continued chanting it. In fact, they loved it. How do you address this form of institutionalized racism? The kids may not really pay attention to the words, but what ideas are they internalizing?
Racism is certainly not a uniquely Ecuadorian phenomenon. It exists in nearly every country around the world and needs to be addressed. But where to start? With social systems and structures or simple childrens' rhymes?
Iloa: Tumbaco, our lovely home during training, is surrounded by numerous mountains and hills including Iloa. Last Sunday, some PCTs and I decided to venture to the first cross and enjoy the view. Having enjoyed the trip, we decided to continue onto the summit after an old man assured us it was only 30 minutes further down the path. Well, we must have missed a turn because about 5 hour, 1 massive sunburn, 12389 bug bites, 1 charging horse, and innumerable stunning views later, we finally passed another cross and arrived in the town of El Tingo. Worth the trek? Of course.
To the Torres del Paine crew, reunion in the Ecuadorian Andes?
Deportes: Spending nine hours per day in the training center just isn't enough. So why not stay for a few more hours and perfect our ultimate frisbee and american football skills (I promise that I'll catch the ball/frisbee someday) or challenge the Ecuadorian staff to a soccer game? Deportes are actually one of my favorite parts of the week, especially when we walk home under the stars and the lights of Quito twinkle in the distance after a pseudo-intense game in which the score never matters and the last goal always wins.
PACA Projects: As a means of understanding the needs of a community, PCVs use numerous PACA tools to assess the town's perceptions of their own needs. For our first major assignment, we had to go to the nearby town of Pifo and put the tools into practice. In itself, this would be an awesome opportunity to explore a small town and enjoy the sunshine, but it was completely overshadowed by the town's guest: President Rafael Correa. As part of his current administration, he travels to a different small community each weekend and gives a speech. We just happened to be in Pifo on the same day so I had the opportunity to hear him speak and enjoy free bread and juice “gracias al presidente.”
Julian's Baptism: Yesterday, we baptized my 1.5 year old host nephew. The ceremony differed from the US in that it wasn't a mass. Rather, about a dozen people of all ages and their families assembled in the church just to be baptized. My family gave my the all-important role of paparazzi; I had to creep around the church and get the perfect shot. Much more challenging than it seems given that every other family had about 12 photographers also jockeying for positions. Added to my slight discomfort being the paparazzi (although it was clearly culturally-appropriate since EVERYONE was doing it), this made for an interesting ceremony.
Afterwards, we returned home y celebramos. It was my first large Ecuadorian family shindig and it brought back memories of Paraguay in that we ate crazy amounts of food and everyone shared a cup. At first the communal cup thing made me a bit wary of germs especially given the medical lectures about germs and diseases and whatnot. But I've decided I really like it. Whenever asked to “serve,” I had to walk around and pour everyone a glassa and chat with them as they chugged it. This gave me an excellent opportunity to learn names, meet my Ecuadorian family, and otherwise bond with everyone there.
Host Familia: Maybe I'm just lucky, but I seem to have won the host family lottery once again. Although I'm not home nearly as often as I would like, I definitely enjoy our meals together. Sometimes we chat; sometimes we watch telenovelas that make “Donde esta Elisa” seem realistic (is that possible); sometimes we watch the Ecuadorian “Deal or No Deal.” The show itself follows a similar format, except its sponsored by the omnipresent food company Nestle. Rather than pick numbered suitcases, contestants choose suitcases labeled as Nestle products (i.e. I'll take the Nescafe). Commercialization much?
I only wish we didn't follow such as Ecuadorian sleep schedule. We're all in bed sleeping (or trying to sleep thanks to the wonderful melofloquine-produced sleep disturbance currently disrupting my life) by 10.00 and up and about before 6.00 AM. Who would have thought I could function on this schedule a few months ago?
La Comida: Fruit. Tropical fruit. Amazing. Some other interesting cultural experiences...I ordered a corn on the cob from a vendor near the church. After grilling it, the man proceeded to douse it in mayonnaise. Uh? Maybe I'll just have a fried plaintain or twelve next time. On the bright side, I recently made a deal with the women who sells empanadas by the plaza. When we return from our tech trips, she'll teach me to make empanadas if I teach her English. I cannot wait. Hungry anyone?
With so much food, it's a good thing I've found my running crew. Unoffically-captained by the “Conejo Viejo” who has run upwards of 20 marathons and served as a PCV in Paraguay in the 70s, the five man team meets in the wee hours of the morning to jog through the valley. Starts everyday off right...especially since we have nescafe instead of folgers in our cup(s). (Although omnibus 106 does have a coffee club designed to satiate all of our real coffee withdrawal, at least while we're still at the training center).
Pictures will once again be posted on Facebook and Picasa.
Hay los vidrios (mi despedida preferida en este momento)!
Love,
Christy
Despite the intensive program, I still look around in awe about 198731897 per day and think “I get to live here.” Whether meandering through a local canyon during our lunch break, jogging along the ciclovia as the mist rises from the valley in the early AM, our sampling still-unknown fruits from local vendor, Ecuador still proves enchanting. Do I really get to live here?
Some highlights from the past few weeks:
Mascarilla:For my cultural trip, I had the opportunity to spend a night in Mascarilla, an Afro-Ecuadorian community of about 1200 people located in Imbabura about 4 hours north of Quito. While I enjoyed creating traditional masks, chewing on sugar cane,and learning to dance Bindo (I'm almost as good at it as I am at salsa...which is to say I need more than a little practice), the time spent just playing sports, drawing, and teaching community kids to use my camara proved truly unforgettable and clinched my desire to work in a small town.
I also loved staying with my host family...minus briefly believing that I was about to be kidnapped when someone began pounding on the unlocked front door that was 3 feet away from my bed at 3 AM. Apparently they weren't looking for me though. They just wanted one of the eight month old twins, which the mother promptly gave them. WTF?
On a more serious note, it was an interesting look at race and ethnicity in an Ecuadorian context. Ecuador boasts one of the strongest indigenous movements in Latin America, yet indigenous communities remain significantly poorer than the majority of their mestizo counterparts. The Afro-Ecuadorian community does not have an particularly strong advocacy organizations according to our hosts, and consequently remains one of the poorest and most marginalized demographics in the country. Our hosts told us of nearby Afro-Ecuadorian communities in which the majority of residents work on sugar cane farms for only a few dollars per day.
While numbers and anecdotes are certainly upsetting, it was a simple children's game that truly bothered me. The rules are essentially the same as those of “Sharks and Minnows,” but before the minnows ran across the street, the kids chanted the following:
Sharks: “Who wants to play with the Black Man”
Minnows: “No one wants to play with the Black Man”
Sharks: “Why not?”
Minnows: “Because he's black.”
Sharks: “What does he eat?”
Minnows: “Meat.”
Sharks:”What does he drink?”
Minnows: “Blood.”
Regardless of the community, this chant is disturbing. Yet, the children (all of whom were Afro-Ecuadorian) continued chanting it. In fact, they loved it. How do you address this form of institutionalized racism? The kids may not really pay attention to the words, but what ideas are they internalizing?
Racism is certainly not a uniquely Ecuadorian phenomenon. It exists in nearly every country around the world and needs to be addressed. But where to start? With social systems and structures or simple childrens' rhymes?
Iloa: Tumbaco, our lovely home during training, is surrounded by numerous mountains and hills including Iloa. Last Sunday, some PCTs and I decided to venture to the first cross and enjoy the view. Having enjoyed the trip, we decided to continue onto the summit after an old man assured us it was only 30 minutes further down the path. Well, we must have missed a turn because about 5 hour, 1 massive sunburn, 12389 bug bites, 1 charging horse, and innumerable stunning views later, we finally passed another cross and arrived in the town of El Tingo. Worth the trek? Of course.
To the Torres del Paine crew, reunion in the Ecuadorian Andes?
Deportes: Spending nine hours per day in the training center just isn't enough. So why not stay for a few more hours and perfect our ultimate frisbee and american football skills (I promise that I'll catch the ball/frisbee someday) or challenge the Ecuadorian staff to a soccer game? Deportes are actually one of my favorite parts of the week, especially when we walk home under the stars and the lights of Quito twinkle in the distance after a pseudo-intense game in which the score never matters and the last goal always wins.
PACA Projects: As a means of understanding the needs of a community, PCVs use numerous PACA tools to assess the town's perceptions of their own needs. For our first major assignment, we had to go to the nearby town of Pifo and put the tools into practice. In itself, this would be an awesome opportunity to explore a small town and enjoy the sunshine, but it was completely overshadowed by the town's guest: President Rafael Correa. As part of his current administration, he travels to a different small community each weekend and gives a speech. We just happened to be in Pifo on the same day so I had the opportunity to hear him speak and enjoy free bread and juice “gracias al presidente.”
Julian's Baptism: Yesterday, we baptized my 1.5 year old host nephew. The ceremony differed from the US in that it wasn't a mass. Rather, about a dozen people of all ages and their families assembled in the church just to be baptized. My family gave my the all-important role of paparazzi; I had to creep around the church and get the perfect shot. Much more challenging than it seems given that every other family had about 12 photographers also jockeying for positions. Added to my slight discomfort being the paparazzi (although it was clearly culturally-appropriate since EVERYONE was doing it), this made for an interesting ceremony.
Afterwards, we returned home y celebramos. It was my first large Ecuadorian family shindig and it brought back memories of Paraguay in that we ate crazy amounts of food and everyone shared a cup. At first the communal cup thing made me a bit wary of germs especially given the medical lectures about germs and diseases and whatnot. But I've decided I really like it. Whenever asked to “serve,” I had to walk around and pour everyone a glassa and chat with them as they chugged it. This gave me an excellent opportunity to learn names, meet my Ecuadorian family, and otherwise bond with everyone there.
Host Familia: Maybe I'm just lucky, but I seem to have won the host family lottery once again. Although I'm not home nearly as often as I would like, I definitely enjoy our meals together. Sometimes we chat; sometimes we watch telenovelas that make “Donde esta Elisa” seem realistic (is that possible); sometimes we watch the Ecuadorian “Deal or No Deal.” The show itself follows a similar format, except its sponsored by the omnipresent food company Nestle. Rather than pick numbered suitcases, contestants choose suitcases labeled as Nestle products (i.e. I'll take the Nescafe). Commercialization much?
I only wish we didn't follow such as Ecuadorian sleep schedule. We're all in bed sleeping (or trying to sleep thanks to the wonderful melofloquine-produced sleep disturbance currently disrupting my life) by 10.00 and up and about before 6.00 AM. Who would have thought I could function on this schedule a few months ago?
La Comida: Fruit. Tropical fruit. Amazing. Some other interesting cultural experiences...I ordered a corn on the cob from a vendor near the church. After grilling it, the man proceeded to douse it in mayonnaise. Uh? Maybe I'll just have a fried plaintain or twelve next time. On the bright side, I recently made a deal with the women who sells empanadas by the plaza. When we return from our tech trips, she'll teach me to make empanadas if I teach her English. I cannot wait. Hungry anyone?
With so much food, it's a good thing I've found my running crew. Unoffically-captained by the “Conejo Viejo” who has run upwards of 20 marathons and served as a PCV in Paraguay in the 70s, the five man team meets in the wee hours of the morning to jog through the valley. Starts everyday off right...especially since we have nescafe instead of folgers in our cup(s). (Although omnibus 106 does have a coffee club designed to satiate all of our real coffee withdrawal, at least while we're still at the training center).
Pictures will once again be posted on Facebook and Picasa.
Hay los vidrios (mi despedida preferida en este momento)!
Love,
Christy
7.6.11
Y por fin, llegamos!
We´re here. After waiting for what seemed like an eternity, the 62 members of omnibus 106 (the 106 group of PC volunteers in Ecuador)have arrived in Ecuador and settled in with our host families.
After our staging event (aka orientation) in Philadelphia, we departed from our hotel at 1:30 AM to begin an arduous 16 hour journey to Quito. In theory, it would have been a phenomenal opportunity to catch some zzzzzz´s. Unfortunately, excitement and a bit a apprehension made it impossible to sleep. While I needed rest, it did serve as a great opportunity to celebrate birthdays, bond with my fellow PCTs, and tone my biceps as I lugged too much luggage through some of the airports.
Upon arrival in Quito, PC Ecuador swooped us up and chauffered us to the PC training center in Tumbaco, a upper-middle class suburb outside of Quito. It was, unfortanately, already dark, thus making it impossible to enjoy the scenery.
The next few days could best be described as Tufts-in-Chile orientation week. We lived in dorms rooms on-site, played cards and ultimate frisbee, and attended various charlas conducted by speakers working in areas such as security and training. And we ate. A lot. All the time. Sound familiar?
Before lunch on Saturday, all 62 PCTs were herded on stage in front of the Ecuadorian host families and we were formally introduced to our new familias. I´m living with a mother, her 21-year-old daughter, and her 1 1/2 year old son and I absolutely love it. Although my internal clock has certainly been shaken up a bit. The family goes to bed around 9:00 and awakens around 5:00 everyday. The early bed time is for the best though; training starts at 8:00 each morning and its a bit of a commute.
Leaving with our host families also marked the first time that we were permitted to leave the PC compound. Ecuador is absolutely stunning; green mountains scrape the sky and flowers seemingly dot every tree. And the climate is amazing. Around 70 degrees and sunny every day in spite of what is reported by weather.com.
On Saturday, I spent the day meeting my host familia and exploring Tumbaco. After some intense soccer and volleyball games with my host nephew, we journeyed to the plaza, the fruteria (easily my favorite place in Tumbaco, and the soccer stadium to watch my my host brothers (who live down the street. actually, I think only family even lives on the street) game. Although the hincha wasn´t quite as crazy as that of cola cola, I think we could learn a few songs, paint our faces, and rival cola cola´s mob sometime soon.
After waking up embarrassingly late on Sunday (who knew that breakfast was at 7:00 on Sunday as well), we went on a paseo. My Spanish isn´t up to par and I thought we were merely going to the PC center so I could learn how to get to school, but we actually journeyed to an Andean town nearby - Quiche - to attend mass in the giant cathedral. It was absolutely loco; people were wandering around mid-prayer while police patrolled the crowds. We then meandered through the markets outside the church, listened to an Andean folk singer, and enjoyed a traditional almuerzo. Important note..when offered churros in Ecuador, don´t expect a fluffy pastry. Rather, expect a bag of snails in lemon juice and be expected to suck the snail out of the shell. Delicious but most definately a surprise.
During the week, almost all of our time is spent perfecting our Spanish, learning TEFL techniques, and constructing rooftop gardens at the PC center. I´ll try to update regularly, but I´m also without internet en casa, so I don´t expect to be on the computer too much.
After our staging event (aka orientation) in Philadelphia, we departed from our hotel at 1:30 AM to begin an arduous 16 hour journey to Quito. In theory, it would have been a phenomenal opportunity to catch some zzzzzz´s. Unfortunately, excitement and a bit a apprehension made it impossible to sleep. While I needed rest, it did serve as a great opportunity to celebrate birthdays, bond with my fellow PCTs, and tone my biceps as I lugged too much luggage through some of the airports.
Upon arrival in Quito, PC Ecuador swooped us up and chauffered us to the PC training center in Tumbaco, a upper-middle class suburb outside of Quito. It was, unfortanately, already dark, thus making it impossible to enjoy the scenery.
The next few days could best be described as Tufts-in-Chile orientation week. We lived in dorms rooms on-site, played cards and ultimate frisbee, and attended various charlas conducted by speakers working in areas such as security and training. And we ate. A lot. All the time. Sound familiar?
Before lunch on Saturday, all 62 PCTs were herded on stage in front of the Ecuadorian host families and we were formally introduced to our new familias. I´m living with a mother, her 21-year-old daughter, and her 1 1/2 year old son and I absolutely love it. Although my internal clock has certainly been shaken up a bit. The family goes to bed around 9:00 and awakens around 5:00 everyday. The early bed time is for the best though; training starts at 8:00 each morning and its a bit of a commute.
Leaving with our host families also marked the first time that we were permitted to leave the PC compound. Ecuador is absolutely stunning; green mountains scrape the sky and flowers seemingly dot every tree. And the climate is amazing. Around 70 degrees and sunny every day in spite of what is reported by weather.com.
On Saturday, I spent the day meeting my host familia and exploring Tumbaco. After some intense soccer and volleyball games with my host nephew, we journeyed to the plaza, the fruteria (easily my favorite place in Tumbaco, and the soccer stadium to watch my my host brothers (who live down the street. actually, I think only family even lives on the street) game. Although the hincha wasn´t quite as crazy as that of cola cola, I think we could learn a few songs, paint our faces, and rival cola cola´s mob sometime soon.
After waking up embarrassingly late on Sunday (who knew that breakfast was at 7:00 on Sunday as well), we went on a paseo. My Spanish isn´t up to par and I thought we were merely going to the PC center so I could learn how to get to school, but we actually journeyed to an Andean town nearby - Quiche - to attend mass in the giant cathedral. It was absolutely loco; people were wandering around mid-prayer while police patrolled the crowds. We then meandered through the markets outside the church, listened to an Andean folk singer, and enjoyed a traditional almuerzo. Important note..when offered churros in Ecuador, don´t expect a fluffy pastry. Rather, expect a bag of snails in lemon juice and be expected to suck the snail out of the shell. Delicious but most definately a surprise.
During the week, almost all of our time is spent perfecting our Spanish, learning TEFL techniques, and constructing rooftop gardens at the PC center. I´ll try to update regularly, but I´m also without internet en casa, so I don´t expect to be on the computer too much.
31.5.11
En Números
14 months after submitting the initial application, 8 months after finishing my medical review, and 5 months after receiving my invitation to serve in Ecuador, I leave tomorrow for a 27 month stint as a TEFL volunteer. Por fin.
1 unforgettable senior week and graduation, 2 crammed suitcases, and 1982734912874 good-byes later, estoy lista (well, hopefully).
1 unforgettable senior week and graduation, 2 crammed suitcases, and 1982734912874 good-byes later, estoy lista (well, hopefully).
10.7.10
"How do you measure a year in the life?"
“Five hundrend twenty five thousand
six hundred minutes
Five hundrend twenty five thousand
moments so dear
Five hundrend twenty five thousand
six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year”
-"Seasons of Love:" Rent
The measurement of time is clearly objective. Sixty seconds comprise a minute; sixty minutes comprise an hour and so forth. Yet, the way we perceive the passage of time is entirely dependant on our experiences. An hour spent languishing in a boring science lecture certainly feels significantly longer than one spent laughing with friends over a steaming cup of coffee.
Thus, it seems somewhat inaccurate to state that I have now officially been living in South America for a year. After all, any consider this unit of measurement as being a long stretch of time and I feel as if I only just arrived. Although my perspective, hopes, and dreams have been completely transformed by the abroad experience, I would not even blink if someone suggested that I had actually just boarded the plane a few weeks ago.
Units of time, therefore, seem like a rather frivolous way to quantify this past year. Yet, as an overly-organized individual, I feel the need to neatly categorize it in some manner, so I've turned to the lyrics of “Seasons of Love” as a means of finding the answer (clearly, I cannot deny the influence that the incredibly talented singers from Tufts-in-Chile have had on me).
Could it be in DAYLIGHTS? From the 19 hour days we enjoyed while trekking through Torres del Paine to the agonizing sunburns resulting from the powerful sun in Paraguay, the light of day always brought adventure.
Or in SUNSETS? The setting sun did not, however, signify much as the nights similarly brought much laughter as I my two left feet struggled to dance salsa.
Or in MIDNIGHTS? Given that the nightlife in Santiago has barely begun when the clock's hands meet at the twelve, I often watched the day technically begin while chatting with friends about topics such as the mysterious lack of a “linea 3” on the metro and the sociological reasons behind just about any phenomenon ranging from the lack of social mobility in Chile and the United States to our choices regarding who to date/marry.
Or in CUPS OF COFFEE? While these conversations never proved dull, I certainly needed to inhale coffee in order to study for my classes, from which I often gained insight into both the designated topic and Chilean culture.
Or in INCHES? Unfortunately, as a student interested in a variety of fields and enrolled in an interdisciplinary major, my class selection generally involved spending too much time crammed into the metro traveling between campuses. The opportunity to study at the different campuses was, however, in itself advantageous as I saw the very different attitudes and beliefs held by the majority of students within various departments at the same university and between the student bodies at two of the largest universities in the city.
Or in MILES? Although I oftened complained about the commute to class, these trips were significantly shorter than those necessary to arrive at my various internships revolving around topics as varied as environmental justice, property law, and education. Once again, the time spent in the sweltering metro proved worthwhile however. Without a doubt, the opportunity to conduct English workshops / substitute teach / monitor the computer room at a school for marginalized youth who have been excluded from the mainstream school system proved to be an eye-opening experience that reconfirmed my hopes to someday teach abroad regardless of the constant obstacles faced in the classroom and drastically changed my perceptions on education in both Chile and the world. Not to mention the inspiration that I drew from the spirit and resilience of some students at the school.
Or, as a devoted runner, maybe I should define miles in terms of the miles of roads explored as I ran in both the stifling heat of Paraguay and the frigid Andean air near Las Trancas.
Or in LAUGHTER? While I would love to measure a year in laughter, the amount of time spent laughing at my own blunders would be impossible to calculate. Who knew that “estar en rajas” does not necessarily mean go to sleep due to exhaustion? I certainly didn't.
Or in STRIFE? Luckily, I barely ever needed to raise my voice, let alone fight with anyone in Chile or Paraguay. Paraguay has, after all, been affectionately dubbed the land of friends.
Should I choose one of these terms to describe my year? No. Each of the concepts accurately describes a portion of my experience this past year, but none of them actually embody it as a whole.
Infive hundrend twenty five thousand
six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life
How about LOVE?
Given the importance of family in South America, many question how I can spend a year away from my parents. While I miss them, the answer is simple; I have found the love and support of innumerable other individuals who have made this year absolutely unforgettable. From my incredible Chilean host family who has treated me like a daughter ever since our first meeting at Laurita's baptism to my Paraguayan co-workers who adopted me over the holidays, I have never lacked the love of a pseudo-family.
And, if the language barriers proved overwhelming, the Tufts-in-Chile crew really did turn into a family as Katrina recently noted. While I am sure we will continue to spend time debating mundane philosophical topics,baking (250+) cookies, or showing off on the dance floor in Boston, I already miss your smiling faces.
Not to mention the countless other friends that I've made along the way. Whether playing soccer, checking out photo exhibits, chugging (too many) cups of coffee, bringing Mexican food to Chile, etc., these individuals have made this past year absolutely incredible. While I may not see some of them again, they will always stand out in my memories of my time spent in Chile and Paraguay.
So. Given the number of people who have impacted my life, I think it's fair to say that the only way to measure the year is to....
MEASURE IN LOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE.
24.6.10
Chi-Chi-Chi. Le-Le-Le. VIVA CHILE!
When the semester first began, the entirety of Chile stopped momentarily to mourn the victims of the terremoto that shook in the nation in late February. Now, as the semester rolls to a close, the country is once again collectively pausing. This time, however, it is a much more joyous occasion: the World Cup. As Chile is in Group H, "La Roja" (as the squad is affectionately known in Chile) has only played two games and has won both.
Even more interesting than the 1-0 wins versus both Honduras and Switzerland is the raucous environment that consumes the center of the city on gameday. Hundreds congregate at La Moneda to watch the game on a big screen. Actually, watch is a bit of an understatement; in addition to watching, everyone screams, sings, jumps, etc. It almost constitutes a workout.
Moments after the final whistle blows, all begin marching towards Plaza Italia, or the center of the city. Not only do the hoards from La Moneda make their way to the square, but those from all corners of the expansive metropolis join them. Once in the plaza, it's a celebration that gradually devolves to mob violence and destruction; the damange to the city after the win against Switzerland was surprisingly widespread. What will happen if the revelers leave the game angry?
Although it often doesn't seem like it, life does go on away from the pitch. We study; we dance; we chatter; we laugh. We also have to begin the dreaded process of saying good-bye to the city, friends, and Chilean families we have come to know and love. Whether joking with the six other Tufts students at the official "despedida" last weekend or handing in a final paper in a class that has challenged and amused all semester, our time is here is all too quickly coming too a close. Last December, the semester students complained that it seemed as if their time in Chile had only just begun. Well, seven months later, I honestly feel the same.
Even more interesting than the 1-0 wins versus both Honduras and Switzerland is the raucous environment that consumes the center of the city on gameday. Hundreds congregate at La Moneda to watch the game on a big screen. Actually, watch is a bit of an understatement; in addition to watching, everyone screams, sings, jumps, etc. It almost constitutes a workout.
Moments after the final whistle blows, all begin marching towards Plaza Italia, or the center of the city. Not only do the hoards from La Moneda make their way to the square, but those from all corners of the expansive metropolis join them. Once in the plaza, it's a celebration that gradually devolves to mob violence and destruction; the damange to the city after the win against Switzerland was surprisingly widespread. What will happen if the revelers leave the game angry?
Although it often doesn't seem like it, life does go on away from the pitch. We study; we dance; we chatter; we laugh. We also have to begin the dreaded process of saying good-bye to the city, friends, and Chilean families we have come to know and love. Whether joking with the six other Tufts students at the official "despedida" last weekend or handing in a final paper in a class that has challenged and amused all semester, our time is here is all too quickly coming too a close. Last December, the semester students complained that it seemed as if their time in Chile had only just begun. Well, seven months later, I honestly feel the same.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)