In Zamora, the first days of January not only mark the beginning of a new year, but also the start of the rainy seasons. For the past month, I have been brutally roused from my dreams by the sound of torrential downpours beating on the tin roof of my apartment nearly every morning. The rains continue until mid-morning when the sun temporarily emerges and the temperature soars. For a moment, we enjoy magnificent views of the already verdent hillsides that are now scarred by long swathes of reddish mud from the frequent landslides and the sparkling blue skies until storm clouds gather once again and the cycle continues.
Despite of the onslaught of rain, life in Zamora has resumed its rhythm. Much of my week is spent in the high school learning about education, Ecuador, and the intricacies of the English language. In terms of the educational system, I am becoming increasingly vexed by many of the structural problems found in Ecuador and beyond. For example, in each grade level, there are several classes—denoted as A,B,C and so forth—that remain the same until students specialize in their fourth year. Once I began teaching in the colegio, I almost immediately noticed that the students in A tended to behave better than those in other classes and receive higher grades. I was told that it had to do with previous scholastic performance, but I have since learned that this is not the case. Rather, classes are formed as students matriculate in the colegio. At first, this seems somewhat fair; it's first come, first serve after all. Yet, it creates classrooms in which the parents prioritized enrollment in the colegio—often indicating that they highly value education-- and classrooms in which the parents lagged behind for whatever reason. I suspect that the majority still value education; they just lack the time and resources necessary to enroll their children promptly. Unfortunately, this may suggest that they also do not have the time and resources needed to support heir children throughout the year. Thus, the colegio has classes with deeply involved parents who even organize impromptu mingas to paint the classroom and others in which no parents arrived for mandatory meetings with the directors of each class. Given the importance of parental involvement in education, this obviously creates a chasm between the classes with some overflowing with involved parents and others with very few if any active guardians. An inbalance—much like that created by the introduction of charter schools in the United States—consequently forms between the classes.
And, without question, all of the students in the colegio should have access to the same resources and support networks. Those with parents deeply involved in the school are not necessarily smarter; after all, on a recent test taken by all of my students in octavo (seventh grade), 8C had a higher class average than my other octavo classes in spite of their reputation as a mischievous bunch that barely ever studied. And the students in all classes – A, B, C, D, and E continue to impress me. Some—who are only twelve years old—work shining shoes, selling produce, and collecting bus fare for hours after school in order to help their families. Others live without parents who immigrated to Spain years ago. In some cases, they are not even living with relatives. One fourteen-year-old recently revealed that he lives with his seventeen-year-old brother with no adult supervision—they cook, they clean, and they survive without much help while their parents work across the Atlantic.
Apart from teaching past tense verbs and learning about the challenges facing my students, I have recently begun another project at the high school. As a means of demonstrating the value of recycling and eventually decorating the school, we recently planted oodles of flowers in pots made from recycled tires. Eventually, we would like to plant vegetables—a healthier snack than almost anything currently available to students during break (salchipapas anyone?)--and create a garden of sorts that addresses various issues simultaneously including trash management and nutrition.
Yet, while I often feel as if I live in the colegio, life procedes beyond its gates as well. Babies are born— many, many, many babies considering that 1/10 Ecuadorian women is pregnant or nursing at any given time—, adults marry, and the elderly die. Recently, I've had the opportunity to experience the latter two events.
Last weekend, an Ecuadorian friend married and I attended the wedding. The ceremony was scheduled to begin at 7:00, but, in typical Ecuadorian fashion, even the priest arrived late. At 7:30, the bride finally waltzed down the aisle and the ceremony began. It was surprisingly similar to a wedding in the United States; apart from the language, the only notable difference occurred when the newlyweds were tied together with a rope and left así for the remainder of the mass. I later discovered that this is not, however, an Ecuadorian tradition nor a Zamoreñan tradition; it was just the couple's crazy idea. Following the ceremony, there was a reception in a rather ritzy hosteria in the countryside. After gourging ourselves on impossibly delicious food and cake, the dancing began and proceeded until nearly all men under the age of thirty had jumped into the pool and, unfortunately, succeeded in throwing the gringa in as well. Luckily, it is never cold in Zamora-Chinchipe.
Only a few days after the wedding, Zamorans awoke to much more depressing news. The father of the colegio's rector, essentially the principal, had passed away after a short, intense battle with cancer. According to Ecuadorian tradition, the body remained in the home until it was buried the following day with friends and family watching over it. Thus, the staff of the colegio went to the home on Monday afternoon and accompanied the rector and his family for a bit. The following day, classes were also cancelled and we attended the funeral. Although Ecuador is predominantly Catholic, the family is evangelical. Thus, a ceremony—which about half the city attended—was held outside. Although it appeared solomn near the family, the other areas proved a bit raucious. Vendors were even selling shaved ice along the fringes of the crowd. After the ceremony, the family carried the coffin the the cementary, which was about ½ from the house and the amassed crowd trailed behind, blocking the roads. Once we finally arrived, the coffin was placed within on its shelf as bodies are generally not buried in the ground in South America and the crowd dispersed.
28.1.12
15.1.12
Quémala, Quémala
“Burn it. Burn it.” Seconds after the chant erupted amongst the assembled family members, the pile of large dolls had been doused in gasoline and set afire. As the dolls roasted, children and adults alike began jumping over the inferno and dancing in the streets. The dolls, representing the bad of the past year, were burning and optimism about the good to come in 2012 had set in throughout Zamora.
Although the coming of the New Year is celebrated across the globe, traditions obviously vary significantly depending local culture and beliefs. In Ecuador, the night begins sedately before erupting into to wild party lasting well past dawn.
Rather than spending New Year's eve surrounded by gringos, I decided to return to Zamora amongst my Ecuadorian friends and neighbors. Unsurprisingly, given the importance of family in Ecuador, the early evening was generally spent surrounded by relatives. I did not, however, spend it alone although my entire family resides in the northern hemisphere as another teacher in the colegio generously invited Will and I to have dinner with his family.
Following the meal, we meandered through Zamora looking at the elaborate displays of “año viejos” or male dolls representing the bad of 2011. The paper maché creations were beautiful; not only did they often caricature unpopular politicians, but they often held signs with witty statements decrying political and personal decisions made during the past year. Although I enjoyed seeing the dolls, it was somewhat bittersweet knowing that the artwork would be set aflame only a few hours later at midnight.
In spite of the clear and breezy night in the jungle, not all was tranquilo in Zamora. According to Ecuadorian tradition, the widows of the año viejo lurked in the streets seeking help. This belief manifests itself as dozens of adolescent boys dressing in women's clothing and blocking roads while begging for money. On almost every road in town, groups of men in women's attire had strung ropes to stop cars who they then subsequently bothered until they received a few coins. It was, to put it mildly, a truly odd sight.
After wandering through almost the entirety of Zamora, Will and I joined our friend Mayra and her family to watch as they burned their año viejos and celebrated the beginning of 2012. We watched as the dolls burned in the street and joined the family as they danced to salsa and cumbia music as the clock struck midnight. By 1:30, we had all shifted down towards the riverfront and discotecas where we joined several other friends and danced until dawn. Literally. I left at 5:30 AM and was later informed by several Ecuadorian friends that I had missed out by leaving so early. The party, it seems, did not end until 8:30 AM.
Although the coming of the New Year is celebrated across the globe, traditions obviously vary significantly depending local culture and beliefs. In Ecuador, the night begins sedately before erupting into to wild party lasting well past dawn.
Rather than spending New Year's eve surrounded by gringos, I decided to return to Zamora amongst my Ecuadorian friends and neighbors. Unsurprisingly, given the importance of family in Ecuador, the early evening was generally spent surrounded by relatives. I did not, however, spend it alone although my entire family resides in the northern hemisphere as another teacher in the colegio generously invited Will and I to have dinner with his family.
Following the meal, we meandered through Zamora looking at the elaborate displays of “año viejos” or male dolls representing the bad of 2011. The paper maché creations were beautiful; not only did they often caricature unpopular politicians, but they often held signs with witty statements decrying political and personal decisions made during the past year. Although I enjoyed seeing the dolls, it was somewhat bittersweet knowing that the artwork would be set aflame only a few hours later at midnight.
In spite of the clear and breezy night in the jungle, not all was tranquilo in Zamora. According to Ecuadorian tradition, the widows of the año viejo lurked in the streets seeking help. This belief manifests itself as dozens of adolescent boys dressing in women's clothing and blocking roads while begging for money. On almost every road in town, groups of men in women's attire had strung ropes to stop cars who they then subsequently bothered until they received a few coins. It was, to put it mildly, a truly odd sight.
After wandering through almost the entirety of Zamora, Will and I joined our friend Mayra and her family to watch as they burned their año viejos and celebrated the beginning of 2012. We watched as the dolls burned in the street and joined the family as they danced to salsa and cumbia music as the clock struck midnight. By 1:30, we had all shifted down towards the riverfront and discotecas where we joined several other friends and danced until dawn. Literally. I left at 5:30 AM and was later informed by several Ecuadorian friends that I had missed out by leaving so early. The party, it seems, did not end until 8:30 AM.
1.1.12
Neither HOME nor ALONE: Christmas in Ecuador
Given that the vast majority of Ecuadorians identify as Christian, Christmas is an incredibly important holiday in my new home. Preparations began in mid-November much as they would in the United States. Stores began selling gifts and Christmas swag—my favorite being icicle lights and paper snowmen given that it will never snow in Zamora barring another ice age. Globalization much?
By the start of December, preparations had begun in the colegio. On the final Friday before Christmas, each class was allowed to prepare a Christmas party. This seems relatively benign—students ostensibly only miss one day of classes—but preparations consumed almost the entirety of the month. In reality, most missed almost all classes in whatever subject is given by their head teacher or dirigente.
The parties were, however, a resounding success. Students prepared gigantic meals, traded gifts, danced, and played games. And competed in an enormous cake fight and, somehow, forgot that I am a teacher and covered my in peach and strawberry flavored frosting. I definitely lost round one, but I'm not worried—cake and other such ammunition is available in January as well.
In addition to celebrating with the students, the colegio conducted a Christmas dinner for staff in a stunning restaurant on a hill in nearby Cumbaratza. The food was delightful and included both shrimp and turkey (traditional Christmas fare in Ecuador) as well as far too much chocolate and dessert. The evening ended with a few hours of salsa, merengue, cumbia and my two left feet struggling across the dance floor.
After celebrating with my collegues at the Christmas dinner until nearly 2:00 AM, I raced back to the penthouse to grab my things and begin my trek to Puerto Lopez, the beachside town where I planned to spend the holidays with several of my friends. I had my travel plans arranged down to the minute: 2:30 bus to Loja arriving at 3:50 followed by a 4:00 bus to Cuenca and so forth. Thus, imagine my horror when I discovered that the 2:30 bus to Loja had been cancelled without warning. How would I arrive in Puerto Lopez before nightfall?
The Christmas miracle, obviously. As I stood on the nearly vacant platform in dismay, a cab driver from Loja approached. As he needed to return to Loja, he offered to take four passengers waiting for the non-existant bus for only $5.00 each (the fare between Zamora and Loja usually runs about $30). On a whim, I accepted the offer and somehow arrived ontime to catch my terrifying bus to Loja that may have been both the fastest and most terrifying bus I have taken in Ecuador. Several bus rides later, I finally arrived in Puerto Lopez. After briefly checking into the hostel, I joined my friends on the beach to relax alongside the waves and chat about the absurdities of life in Ecuador.
Christmas day soon arrived and, as the early bird I am, I crawled out of bed long before the others to enjoy a run along the beach and amid the tropical dry forest surrounding the small fishing town. Although interesting to see, tropical dry forest is resoundingly ugly. It consists of dense scrubland and squat leafless trees (that photosynthesize through their greenish-brown bark) and dirt.
By noon, everyone had emerged from our rooms and we ventured to the beach to lounge in the sun, frolic in the waves, and become insanely sunburn in spite of the thick layers of sunscreen applied almost hourly. Gotta love equatorial sun. Too soon, we watched the sunset, enjoyed Christmas dinner, and wandered back to the hotel where we curled up with childhood Christmas movie classics (Love Actually and Home Alone)H, a box of wine, and the hostel owner's pitbull. For a moment, everything was tranquilo.
Suddenly, as we took detailed notes on who has it worse in Home Alone—Merv or Harry—the dog jumped up and sprinted into the underbrush and ate a possum the size of a small cat. As we constantly reitereated throughout the week, that is a no. Then, lusting more blood, he proceeded to attack another smaller dog on the premises. That is definitely a no.
Slightly terrified, we eventually rescued the small dog with the help of the hostel owners and the dogs were removed to the owners' rooms in the complex. And we once again relaxed and debated the level of pain inherent to being blow torched on the head versus stepping on nails and assorted Christmas ornaments.
By 4:00AM, we tumbled into bed absolutely exhausted. Luckily, we did not need to rise particularly early in the morning as we only planned to spend another day lounging in the sun and playing soccer amid the waves.
We did, however, need to arise early on Tuesday as we planned to trek to Isla de la Plata—a nearby island affectionately known as the “Poor Man's Galapagos.” After a lengthy boatride to the island on which I saw a whale, we spent several hours hiking around the barren scrubland and watching the infamous blue footed boobies. Their feet were, I believe, the only thing with any color on the entire island.
Following the hike, we returned to boat and snorkled in the tropical waters. I spotted several sea turtles, oodles of brightly colored fish before a friend noted an eerie dark shadow on the bottom. It was either a shark or a string ray (RIP Steve Irwin). Regardless, I was not about to take any unnecessary chances; it was definately time to return to the boat and head back to the mainland.
Although we had originally planned to return to our sites early Wednesday AM, we decided to delay our return for several hours. As the sun rose behind a thick layer of clouds at 5:45 AM, a friend and I ventured down to the beach to watch local fisherman bringing in their catch and essentially auctioning it off to restaurant owners and vendors. It was absolute mayhem made even better by the big bowl of encebollado (fish and onion soup) that we purchased from a vendor catering to the fishermen.
After loitering for a bit, we returned to the hostel, and went for a run along the beach before scouting out buses for the beginning of our epic trip home which included a man announcing to the bus that he was going to rob us (he didn't), a man essentially yodeling for more than an hour, meeting two former PCVs from Costa Rica in the 1970s now working at a medical clinic in nearby Guadalupe, and far too many crying and screaming babies.
Exhausted after 14 hours crammed onto various buses, I finally arrived in Zamora and lugged my bags back to my penthouse thinking that it was, without a doubt, the best and weirdest Christmas ever.
By the start of December, preparations had begun in the colegio. On the final Friday before Christmas, each class was allowed to prepare a Christmas party. This seems relatively benign—students ostensibly only miss one day of classes—but preparations consumed almost the entirety of the month. In reality, most missed almost all classes in whatever subject is given by their head teacher or dirigente.
The parties were, however, a resounding success. Students prepared gigantic meals, traded gifts, danced, and played games. And competed in an enormous cake fight and, somehow, forgot that I am a teacher and covered my in peach and strawberry flavored frosting. I definitely lost round one, but I'm not worried—cake and other such ammunition is available in January as well.
In addition to celebrating with the students, the colegio conducted a Christmas dinner for staff in a stunning restaurant on a hill in nearby Cumbaratza. The food was delightful and included both shrimp and turkey (traditional Christmas fare in Ecuador) as well as far too much chocolate and dessert. The evening ended with a few hours of salsa, merengue, cumbia and my two left feet struggling across the dance floor.
After celebrating with my collegues at the Christmas dinner until nearly 2:00 AM, I raced back to the penthouse to grab my things and begin my trek to Puerto Lopez, the beachside town where I planned to spend the holidays with several of my friends. I had my travel plans arranged down to the minute: 2:30 bus to Loja arriving at 3:50 followed by a 4:00 bus to Cuenca and so forth. Thus, imagine my horror when I discovered that the 2:30 bus to Loja had been cancelled without warning. How would I arrive in Puerto Lopez before nightfall?
The Christmas miracle, obviously. As I stood on the nearly vacant platform in dismay, a cab driver from Loja approached. As he needed to return to Loja, he offered to take four passengers waiting for the non-existant bus for only $5.00 each (the fare between Zamora and Loja usually runs about $30). On a whim, I accepted the offer and somehow arrived ontime to catch my terrifying bus to Loja that may have been both the fastest and most terrifying bus I have taken in Ecuador. Several bus rides later, I finally arrived in Puerto Lopez. After briefly checking into the hostel, I joined my friends on the beach to relax alongside the waves and chat about the absurdities of life in Ecuador.
Christmas day soon arrived and, as the early bird I am, I crawled out of bed long before the others to enjoy a run along the beach and amid the tropical dry forest surrounding the small fishing town. Although interesting to see, tropical dry forest is resoundingly ugly. It consists of dense scrubland and squat leafless trees (that photosynthesize through their greenish-brown bark) and dirt.
By noon, everyone had emerged from our rooms and we ventured to the beach to lounge in the sun, frolic in the waves, and become insanely sunburn in spite of the thick layers of sunscreen applied almost hourly. Gotta love equatorial sun. Too soon, we watched the sunset, enjoyed Christmas dinner, and wandered back to the hotel where we curled up with childhood Christmas movie classics (Love Actually and Home Alone)H, a box of wine, and the hostel owner's pitbull. For a moment, everything was tranquilo.
Suddenly, as we took detailed notes on who has it worse in Home Alone—Merv or Harry—the dog jumped up and sprinted into the underbrush and ate a possum the size of a small cat. As we constantly reitereated throughout the week, that is a no. Then, lusting more blood, he proceeded to attack another smaller dog on the premises. That is definitely a no.
Slightly terrified, we eventually rescued the small dog with the help of the hostel owners and the dogs were removed to the owners' rooms in the complex. And we once again relaxed and debated the level of pain inherent to being blow torched on the head versus stepping on nails and assorted Christmas ornaments.
By 4:00AM, we tumbled into bed absolutely exhausted. Luckily, we did not need to rise particularly early in the morning as we only planned to spend another day lounging in the sun and playing soccer amid the waves.
We did, however, need to arise early on Tuesday as we planned to trek to Isla de la Plata—a nearby island affectionately known as the “Poor Man's Galapagos.” After a lengthy boatride to the island on which I saw a whale, we spent several hours hiking around the barren scrubland and watching the infamous blue footed boobies. Their feet were, I believe, the only thing with any color on the entire island.
Following the hike, we returned to boat and snorkled in the tropical waters. I spotted several sea turtles, oodles of brightly colored fish before a friend noted an eerie dark shadow on the bottom. It was either a shark or a string ray (RIP Steve Irwin). Regardless, I was not about to take any unnecessary chances; it was definately time to return to the boat and head back to the mainland.
Although we had originally planned to return to our sites early Wednesday AM, we decided to delay our return for several hours. As the sun rose behind a thick layer of clouds at 5:45 AM, a friend and I ventured down to the beach to watch local fisherman bringing in their catch and essentially auctioning it off to restaurant owners and vendors. It was absolute mayhem made even better by the big bowl of encebollado (fish and onion soup) that we purchased from a vendor catering to the fishermen.
After loitering for a bit, we returned to the hostel, and went for a run along the beach before scouting out buses for the beginning of our epic trip home which included a man announcing to the bus that he was going to rob us (he didn't), a man essentially yodeling for more than an hour, meeting two former PCVs from Costa Rica in the 1970s now working at a medical clinic in nearby Guadalupe, and far too many crying and screaming babies.
Exhausted after 14 hours crammed onto various buses, I finally arrived in Zamora and lugged my bags back to my penthouse thinking that it was, without a doubt, the best and weirdest Christmas ever.
30.12.11
Dizzying December Days
While living in the United States, December easily qualified as the most hectic and stressful month of the year. Not only was I on a quest to find the perfect Christmas gifts for my friends and family, but I also needed to study for finals exams, write far too many papers, and try (and fail) to dominate TUXC's annual triple crown. It was absolute madness.
Yet, nothing could prepare me for the month of December in Zamora. It was absolute locura highlighted by the discovery of my perfect new penthouse apartment, too many afternoons spent reiterating the forms to the verb “be” to students attending mandatory recuperation after classes, and some narrow victories in the annual sport's tournament at the colegio.
The “Penthouse”
As a member of Omnibus 106 in Ecuador, I am amongst the final generation of Peace Corps volunteers in Ecuador who will have the opportunity to live without a host family during their service ostensibly due to security concerns although many suspect budget concerns may be the more compelling reason behind the policy switch. Thus, the vast majority of my fellow PCVs and I formally moved into our new dwellings in December.
Given that I enjoy an excellent relationship with my host family, I admittedly put very little effort until December when I had the realization that I needed to move quickly to comply with Peace Corps regulations. Will, a fellow PCV in Zamora, had been searching for months with little success. Few of the vacant apartments in Zamora fulfilled Peace Corps guidelines. Yet, I somehow managed to stumble upon a gem within hours of beginning my search and moved in about a week later.
My apartment, affectionately dubbed the penthouse, sits atop a four story building on a hillside above town. Although I love the kitchenette with windows overlooking banana trees and my spacious bedroom, my favorite feature is an enormous terraza overlooking the entire city and surrounding hillsides. Whenever the sun shines (admittedly a rarity lately as we enter the rainy season), I can lay in my hammock, roast my skin, and emerge myself in a book in spite of the cacophony of reggaeton music and birdcalls rising from Zamora and its surroundings. Heavenly.
And, surprisingly, I'm not actually living entirely alone. Unfortunately, my apartment is also home to far too many cockroaches, lizards, and chickens that have escaped from a neighboring coop. So, in spite of its swanky title, my penthouse is certainly Peace Corps housing after all. And I absolutely love it.
Recuperation
As I scoured the city for affordable furniture and kitchen utensils (a can opener costs $18.00?), I continued working long weeks in the colegio. In fact, the afternoon planning sessions became ever more important as the colegio began a period of mandatory recuperation—afternoon classes for students who had failed during the first quimester. Under new education laws, students cannot fail a year; essentially, they can learn nothing but must be promoted to the next year. The colegio, therefore, wanted to ensure that all students were at least learning something.
Prior to the start of the week, I expected a few kids from each class of roughly 35-40 students to require additional help. Thus, I was quite surprised when seemingly the entire school arrived to attend recuperation. The situation was especially dire in many English classes; in “10D” (ninth grade), only two of 42 students had passed the first quimester. And a passing grade is 14 points on a 20 point scale—which is 70% or the equivalent of a passing grade in the United States.
Why are so many students failing English? I believe their struggles stem from a combination of factors ranging from poor teaching methodology to lack of interest and effort on the part of many of the students. It is, after all, hard to give the students any legitimate reason why they must learn English given that few English-speaking tourists pass through Zamora in spite of the province's efforts to advertise itself as a tourist destination. Moreover, the older students lack the necessary base to complete their schoolwork. Each year, they utilize the next book in a series called “Our World through English.” Logically, the books creators assume that the students have an adequate understanding of the material before proceeding with the next book. This is not, however, how it goes. Rather students who cannot even conjugate the verb “be” in the present tense (part of the second unit in the first book) are somehow expected to master the first conditional in the third book or irregular past participles in the fourth book.
Much of December was, therefore, dedicating to helping students earn passing notes so that they deserve to advance to the following year in June. Hours were spent rehashing personal pronouns and verbs with some success. Many students who dedicated themselves to recuperation saw remarkable improvements in their grades. A student previously earning a whopping 5 points in the first quimester managed to attain a 17 on the final quiz. Another who attained an 8 in classes earned a 20 on the final quiz. Success. Although the events did bring up questions as to why the majority of teachers only offer extra help after students failed the quimester; wouldn't it make more sense to note struggling students earlier and recuperate them before giving them a failing grade in the first place?
El Campeonato de Deportes
As noted in a previous entry, the colegio inaugerated its annual sports tournament with the madrina competition at the end of November. Although competition was briefly interrupted by the recuperation, the high school's staff has been immersed in the event ever since. It consists of three sports—basketball (masculino and femenino), soccer (masculino and femenino), and ecuavolley (masculino). My team, Las Manderinas has faired relatively well and I'm excited to see how we do in our final games in January.
On a brief side note, ecuaovolley in a uniquely Ecuadorian form of volleyball played almost exclusively by men. The three-vs-three competition resembles volleyball in that points are attained when a soccer ball touches the ground on the opponent's side of the net. It differs, however, in that almost all types of hits are legal—a necessary adjustment given the weight of a soccer ball. Moreover, the net is considerably higher in spite of the fact that most Ecuadorians are quite short; I am, in fact, a giant in Zamora as I stand at a towering 5'5.
Regardless, I most likely won't have many opportunities to play ecuavolley. While women are increasingly participating in soccer and basketball competitions, ecuavolley remains an exclusively male activity. Although dozens of men pack into the canchas by the river on a nightly basis and bet sums of money reaching into four digits on the games, I have never seen a woman enter the facility to play nor watch.
Yet, nothing could prepare me for the month of December in Zamora. It was absolute locura highlighted by the discovery of my perfect new penthouse apartment, too many afternoons spent reiterating the forms to the verb “be” to students attending mandatory recuperation after classes, and some narrow victories in the annual sport's tournament at the colegio.
The “Penthouse”
As a member of Omnibus 106 in Ecuador, I am amongst the final generation of Peace Corps volunteers in Ecuador who will have the opportunity to live without a host family during their service ostensibly due to security concerns although many suspect budget concerns may be the more compelling reason behind the policy switch. Thus, the vast majority of my fellow PCVs and I formally moved into our new dwellings in December.
Given that I enjoy an excellent relationship with my host family, I admittedly put very little effort until December when I had the realization that I needed to move quickly to comply with Peace Corps regulations. Will, a fellow PCV in Zamora, had been searching for months with little success. Few of the vacant apartments in Zamora fulfilled Peace Corps guidelines. Yet, I somehow managed to stumble upon a gem within hours of beginning my search and moved in about a week later.
My apartment, affectionately dubbed the penthouse, sits atop a four story building on a hillside above town. Although I love the kitchenette with windows overlooking banana trees and my spacious bedroom, my favorite feature is an enormous terraza overlooking the entire city and surrounding hillsides. Whenever the sun shines (admittedly a rarity lately as we enter the rainy season), I can lay in my hammock, roast my skin, and emerge myself in a book in spite of the cacophony of reggaeton music and birdcalls rising from Zamora and its surroundings. Heavenly.
And, surprisingly, I'm not actually living entirely alone. Unfortunately, my apartment is also home to far too many cockroaches, lizards, and chickens that have escaped from a neighboring coop. So, in spite of its swanky title, my penthouse is certainly Peace Corps housing after all. And I absolutely love it.
Recuperation
As I scoured the city for affordable furniture and kitchen utensils (a can opener costs $18.00?), I continued working long weeks in the colegio. In fact, the afternoon planning sessions became ever more important as the colegio began a period of mandatory recuperation—afternoon classes for students who had failed during the first quimester. Under new education laws, students cannot fail a year; essentially, they can learn nothing but must be promoted to the next year. The colegio, therefore, wanted to ensure that all students were at least learning something.
Prior to the start of the week, I expected a few kids from each class of roughly 35-40 students to require additional help. Thus, I was quite surprised when seemingly the entire school arrived to attend recuperation. The situation was especially dire in many English classes; in “10D” (ninth grade), only two of 42 students had passed the first quimester. And a passing grade is 14 points on a 20 point scale—which is 70% or the equivalent of a passing grade in the United States.
Why are so many students failing English? I believe their struggles stem from a combination of factors ranging from poor teaching methodology to lack of interest and effort on the part of many of the students. It is, after all, hard to give the students any legitimate reason why they must learn English given that few English-speaking tourists pass through Zamora in spite of the province's efforts to advertise itself as a tourist destination. Moreover, the older students lack the necessary base to complete their schoolwork. Each year, they utilize the next book in a series called “Our World through English.” Logically, the books creators assume that the students have an adequate understanding of the material before proceeding with the next book. This is not, however, how it goes. Rather students who cannot even conjugate the verb “be” in the present tense (part of the second unit in the first book) are somehow expected to master the first conditional in the third book or irregular past participles in the fourth book.
Much of December was, therefore, dedicating to helping students earn passing notes so that they deserve to advance to the following year in June. Hours were spent rehashing personal pronouns and verbs with some success. Many students who dedicated themselves to recuperation saw remarkable improvements in their grades. A student previously earning a whopping 5 points in the first quimester managed to attain a 17 on the final quiz. Another who attained an 8 in classes earned a 20 on the final quiz. Success. Although the events did bring up questions as to why the majority of teachers only offer extra help after students failed the quimester; wouldn't it make more sense to note struggling students earlier and recuperate them before giving them a failing grade in the first place?
El Campeonato de Deportes
As noted in a previous entry, the colegio inaugerated its annual sports tournament with the madrina competition at the end of November. Although competition was briefly interrupted by the recuperation, the high school's staff has been immersed in the event ever since. It consists of three sports—basketball (masculino and femenino), soccer (masculino and femenino), and ecuavolley (masculino). My team, Las Manderinas has faired relatively well and I'm excited to see how we do in our final games in January.
On a brief side note, ecuaovolley in a uniquely Ecuadorian form of volleyball played almost exclusively by men. The three-vs-three competition resembles volleyball in that points are attained when a soccer ball touches the ground on the opponent's side of the net. It differs, however, in that almost all types of hits are legal—a necessary adjustment given the weight of a soccer ball. Moreover, the net is considerably higher in spite of the fact that most Ecuadorians are quite short; I am, in fact, a giant in Zamora as I stand at a towering 5'5.
Regardless, I most likely won't have many opportunities to play ecuavolley. While women are increasingly participating in soccer and basketball competitions, ecuavolley remains an exclusively male activity. Although dozens of men pack into the canchas by the river on a nightly basis and bet sums of money reaching into four digits on the games, I have never seen a woman enter the facility to play nor watch.
28.11.11
Madrinas, Munching, Microfinance, and Miles
Had I known what the Madrina contest would entail, I would not have eagerly agreed to participate. I honestly thought that I would leave school at 1:00 with the other teachers, throw on a dress, and strut around with the other madrinas an hour later. Let's just say, I was sorely mistaken.
Upon returning to Colegio “12 de Febrero” following Reconnect, I discovered that the teacher's were about to begin the annual soccer and basketball tournament between professors. Given the importance of celebration and formality in Ecuador, it was unsurprising that it would begin with a large inaugeration in which each of the five teams would select a madrina to compete for the title of Señorita de Deportes.
I agreed to represent the Madrinas on Monday; by Tuesday morning, I realized that my expections were far too low. Not only did I have three days to learn to prance about the Colegio in high heels, but I also had to borrow a very formal dress and wear oodles of make-up. The competition was considered extremely important; the other candidates and I were dismissed from work several hours early to prepare. And, after my sisters spent several hours primping me, I was definitely transformed into a new person; my three-year-old niece didn't even recognize me.
Following the inaugeration, I immediately hopped on a bus to Loja after scraping off about 75% of the makeup to join the rest of the Loja Cluster for Thanksgiving dinner at Sabriga's house. It was a resounding success; whether we were eating too many slices of pie or dancing to Stevie Wonder, we all spent the night laughing and celebrating in spite of the being thousands of miles from our friends, families, and the vast majority of people celebrating such an important United States holiday. I can speak for everyone when I say we all left thankful for having such an awesome and scrumptious Thanksgiving with our pretty awesome cluster.
Still stuffed, I arose far too early Friday morning to head to Colegio. Given how late I arrived in Zamora, I was lucky in that I didn't have to teach. School was cancelled so the teachers and staff could enjoy a giant pig fry. At dawn, the male faculty dragged three 200 pound pigs, head and skin included to the colegio and commenced the long process of preparing the food. As teachers arrived, everyone begin pitching in whether cutting yucca, pealing plantains, and chopping up the animals while chomping on uncooked pig skin (cuero). Yikes. It's as aweful as it sounds; little hairs are still on it. Eventually, most of the work completed, we began playing sports and lounging around under the blazing sun. By 4:00, all were absulutely stuffed, quite sunburnt, and eager to go for a quick dip in the river before reuntiing for Maria Elisa's despedida later that night.
Still exhausted from dancing into the wee hours into the morning, I arose relatively early on Saturday to join a fellow PCV on her trek to Guadalupe, a rural town roughly 45 minutes outside Zamora. The PCV works with a non-profit dedicated to microconsignment, a growing branch of microfinance in which clients are trained to provide necessary health services such as eye glasses and water purification information to their communities. They subsequently host lectures to explain the importance of water treatment, for instance, and sell needed tools and equipment to their neighbors which enables them to help their communities address widespread health concerns while subsequently earning a living for themselves and their families. Interestingly, the non-profit, Soluciones Comunitarias, happens to be operated by Maria Luz and Sarah, two of my housemates while I lived in Paraguay.
After arriving in Guadalupe, my fellow PCV and I began her visit with a local group providing eye glasses, affordable water purification systems, and solar lamps to their communities. As Guadalupe is in the midst of fiestas, they had set up a stand in the feria. Unfortunately, sales were not overwhleming Saturday afternoon, but our visit did allow us to provide some sales tips (i.e. don't leave boxes of material where they can easily be robbed) and explore a charming small town. Moreover, we spent several hours hunched over the crossword found in a local paper. Several hours and one serious sunburn later, we still hadn't finished but we definitely enjoyed an excellent afternoon with some budding local businessmen and women.
Early Sunday morning, I continued exploring the Zamora-Chinchipe, although I decided to venture out on foot by participating in Reto 21x24. What is Reto 21x24? It is a challenge posed by a woman living in Quito dedicated to protecting the Yasuni Reserve from oil exploration and extraction. The immense Amazonian reserve, located deep in the province of Pastaza, is home to significant biodiversity as well as several indigenous groups still engaging in hunting and gethering. It is also, unfortunately, reputed to by the home of significant oil deposits. As oil exploration commences, the wildlife and ecosystem is being destroyed and roads are enabling colonists to squat on the land, thus interrupting the indigenous groups' ways of life. Ecuadorian President Correa has indicated that he will stop oil exploration provided that other nations pay Ecuador the estimated value of the oil as they are preserving the rainforest instead of garnering a profit. This plan, known as Proyecto ITT, has not been well received and threats of continued oil exploration and extraction continue.
Reto 21x24 is a means of protesting oil extraction in the Yasuni reserve. It involved a group run of 21 kilometers (13.1 miles or a half marathon) in each of Ecuador's 24 provinces to raise awareness and money. It is not a race; rather it is a group effort and, on Sunday morning, a small group of about 10-15 athletes united in the Parque Lineal of Zamora to begin the half marathon. Although it was an unbarably hot and hilly route, it was an excellent chance to explore Zamora, the nearby barrio of Tinbara, and many rural corners of the Canton of Zamora that I had yet to explore. Not to mention a great chance to meet runners from throughout Ecuador and support the preservation of one of our Earth's greatest treasures. I will most assuredly be participating in more Reto 21x24 races in other nearby provinces throughout the coming months.
Upon returning to Colegio “12 de Febrero” following Reconnect, I discovered that the teacher's were about to begin the annual soccer and basketball tournament between professors. Given the importance of celebration and formality in Ecuador, it was unsurprising that it would begin with a large inaugeration in which each of the five teams would select a madrina to compete for the title of Señorita de Deportes.
I agreed to represent the Madrinas on Monday; by Tuesday morning, I realized that my expections were far too low. Not only did I have three days to learn to prance about the Colegio in high heels, but I also had to borrow a very formal dress and wear oodles of make-up. The competition was considered extremely important; the other candidates and I were dismissed from work several hours early to prepare. And, after my sisters spent several hours primping me, I was definitely transformed into a new person; my three-year-old niece didn't even recognize me.
Following the inaugeration, I immediately hopped on a bus to Loja after scraping off about 75% of the makeup to join the rest of the Loja Cluster for Thanksgiving dinner at Sabriga's house. It was a resounding success; whether we were eating too many slices of pie or dancing to Stevie Wonder, we all spent the night laughing and celebrating in spite of the being thousands of miles from our friends, families, and the vast majority of people celebrating such an important United States holiday. I can speak for everyone when I say we all left thankful for having such an awesome and scrumptious Thanksgiving with our pretty awesome cluster.
Still stuffed, I arose far too early Friday morning to head to Colegio. Given how late I arrived in Zamora, I was lucky in that I didn't have to teach. School was cancelled so the teachers and staff could enjoy a giant pig fry. At dawn, the male faculty dragged three 200 pound pigs, head and skin included to the colegio and commenced the long process of preparing the food. As teachers arrived, everyone begin pitching in whether cutting yucca, pealing plantains, and chopping up the animals while chomping on uncooked pig skin (cuero). Yikes. It's as aweful as it sounds; little hairs are still on it. Eventually, most of the work completed, we began playing sports and lounging around under the blazing sun. By 4:00, all were absulutely stuffed, quite sunburnt, and eager to go for a quick dip in the river before reuntiing for Maria Elisa's despedida later that night.
Still exhausted from dancing into the wee hours into the morning, I arose relatively early on Saturday to join a fellow PCV on her trek to Guadalupe, a rural town roughly 45 minutes outside Zamora. The PCV works with a non-profit dedicated to microconsignment, a growing branch of microfinance in which clients are trained to provide necessary health services such as eye glasses and water purification information to their communities. They subsequently host lectures to explain the importance of water treatment, for instance, and sell needed tools and equipment to their neighbors which enables them to help their communities address widespread health concerns while subsequently earning a living for themselves and their families. Interestingly, the non-profit, Soluciones Comunitarias, happens to be operated by Maria Luz and Sarah, two of my housemates while I lived in Paraguay.
After arriving in Guadalupe, my fellow PCV and I began her visit with a local group providing eye glasses, affordable water purification systems, and solar lamps to their communities. As Guadalupe is in the midst of fiestas, they had set up a stand in the feria. Unfortunately, sales were not overwhleming Saturday afternoon, but our visit did allow us to provide some sales tips (i.e. don't leave boxes of material where they can easily be robbed) and explore a charming small town. Moreover, we spent several hours hunched over the crossword found in a local paper. Several hours and one serious sunburn later, we still hadn't finished but we definitely enjoyed an excellent afternoon with some budding local businessmen and women.
Early Sunday morning, I continued exploring the Zamora-Chinchipe, although I decided to venture out on foot by participating in Reto 21x24. What is Reto 21x24? It is a challenge posed by a woman living in Quito dedicated to protecting the Yasuni Reserve from oil exploration and extraction. The immense Amazonian reserve, located deep in the province of Pastaza, is home to significant biodiversity as well as several indigenous groups still engaging in hunting and gethering. It is also, unfortunately, reputed to by the home of significant oil deposits. As oil exploration commences, the wildlife and ecosystem is being destroyed and roads are enabling colonists to squat on the land, thus interrupting the indigenous groups' ways of life. Ecuadorian President Correa has indicated that he will stop oil exploration provided that other nations pay Ecuador the estimated value of the oil as they are preserving the rainforest instead of garnering a profit. This plan, known as Proyecto ITT, has not been well received and threats of continued oil exploration and extraction continue.
Reto 21x24 is a means of protesting oil extraction in the Yasuni reserve. It involved a group run of 21 kilometers (13.1 miles or a half marathon) in each of Ecuador's 24 provinces to raise awareness and money. It is not a race; rather it is a group effort and, on Sunday morning, a small group of about 10-15 athletes united in the Parque Lineal of Zamora to begin the half marathon. Although it was an unbarably hot and hilly route, it was an excellent chance to explore Zamora, the nearby barrio of Tinbara, and many rural corners of the Canton of Zamora that I had yet to explore. Not to mention a great chance to meet runners from throughout Ecuador and support the preservation of one of our Earth's greatest treasures. I will most assuredly be participating in more Reto 21x24 races in other nearby provinces throughout the coming months.
27.11.11
Capturing Riobamba
Whenever travelling in South America, my camera is never far from my fingertips. I have, therefore, amassed hundreds of photographs of church steeples and the Andes scraping the sky. Yet, while I love these images, they don't seem to epitomize South America because, quite simply, they always seem to lack people. Although I try to capture the people flooding the public squares and the marketplace, my camara never manages to capture the intangible magic and cultural friction that makes Ecuador such an interesting and excellent home.
Although my photographic inabilities have long plagued me, my struggles were particularly acute when I trekked to Riobamba last weekend. Riobamba (AKA Riobamba), one of the largest and coldest cities in Ecuador, lies 2750 meters in the air. t is surrounded by three snow-capped volcanos in spite of its proximity to the equator. It is, therefore, absolutely stunning.
Yet, its natural wonders are overshadowed by its cultural ones. It boasts a largely indigenous population, many of whom still adorn themselves with tradition clothing and panama hats. Many still speak Kichwa according to a friend living in the city. This creates an interesting juxtaposition with the signs of “modernity” or “westernization” also frequent in the city and it certainly made for many interesting and thought-provoking jaunts through the city although, unfortunately, I struggles to adequately capture the cultural clash on my camara.
Of all the places we visited, which include several churches and an artisan market, my favorite was undoubtedly the livestock market. It can best be described as absolute mayhem. Thousands of people packed into a small space which searching for the best deals on chickens, rabbits, and guinea pigs (a Riobamban delicacy). Meanwhile, the vendors do whatever possible to attract potential buyers whether they do so be screaming or sidling up alongside the customers and whispering about their wares stored in large tweed sacks. They are quite talented; even I almost bought a live guinea pig after all for the discount price of $3.25.
Our trek through Riobamba not only enabled the Loja cluster of Omnibus 106 to discover a delightful Ecuadorian city, but it also allowed us to break up the trip home following reconnect. Every Peace Corps omnibus reunites after spending roughly three months at their sites to discuss their needs assessments and potential projects with fellow PCVs and their counterparts . Moreover, it's a chance to “reconnect” with old friends and laugh about the absurdity that is inherent to Peace Corps service (Absurdistan anyone?).
Following our brief stay in Riobamba, most of the 106ers from Loja relaxed in Cuenca and enjoyed the luxuries inherent to a city oriented around tourism. Es decir, we ate food containing vegetables and spices. Delightful. Before continuing onto our sites and beginning to work once again.
Although my photographic inabilities have long plagued me, my struggles were particularly acute when I trekked to Riobamba last weekend. Riobamba (AKA Riobamba), one of the largest and coldest cities in Ecuador, lies 2750 meters in the air. t is surrounded by three snow-capped volcanos in spite of its proximity to the equator. It is, therefore, absolutely stunning.
Yet, its natural wonders are overshadowed by its cultural ones. It boasts a largely indigenous population, many of whom still adorn themselves with tradition clothing and panama hats. Many still speak Kichwa according to a friend living in the city. This creates an interesting juxtaposition with the signs of “modernity” or “westernization” also frequent in the city and it certainly made for many interesting and thought-provoking jaunts through the city although, unfortunately, I struggles to adequately capture the cultural clash on my camara.
Of all the places we visited, which include several churches and an artisan market, my favorite was undoubtedly the livestock market. It can best be described as absolute mayhem. Thousands of people packed into a small space which searching for the best deals on chickens, rabbits, and guinea pigs (a Riobamban delicacy). Meanwhile, the vendors do whatever possible to attract potential buyers whether they do so be screaming or sidling up alongside the customers and whispering about their wares stored in large tweed sacks. They are quite talented; even I almost bought a live guinea pig after all for the discount price of $3.25.
Our trek through Riobamba not only enabled the Loja cluster of Omnibus 106 to discover a delightful Ecuadorian city, but it also allowed us to break up the trip home following reconnect. Every Peace Corps omnibus reunites after spending roughly three months at their sites to discuss their needs assessments and potential projects with fellow PCVs and their counterparts . Moreover, it's a chance to “reconnect” with old friends and laugh about the absurdity that is inherent to Peace Corps service (Absurdistan anyone?).
Following our brief stay in Riobamba, most of the 106ers from Loja relaxed in Cuenca and enjoyed the luxuries inherent to a city oriented around tourism. Es decir, we ate food containing vegetables and spices. Delightful. Before continuing onto our sites and beginning to work once again.
12.11.11
"Celebrate We Will"
In early October, the entire city of Zamora paused to celebrate the city; likewise, the city and the surrounding province spent the first weeks of November celebrating the province's foundation a mere fifty-eight years ago. Although the official holiday falls on November 10, shenanigans began on November 1st with the annual Pregon. The Pregon is an annual parade featuring thousand high school students and officials of various public institutions dressed in elaborate costumes despite the blazing sunlight and soaring temperatures. For me, it was a great replacement for Halloween. There are very few Halloween celebrations in Zamora—although most are familiar with the Americanized version of the Celtic holiday—but the entire town still seems to dress up as soccer stars, butterflies, or zombies albeit a day later than the American holiday.
Following the Pregon, the town officially opened the giant feria. Not only can visitors buy everything from coconut milk to Saraguro attire, but they can also ride numerous carnival rides and attend raucious free concerts. The rides are admittedly terrifying given the absence of safety regulations in Ecuador and the young—barely adolescent—employees charged with operating them. I recently boarded a ride in which customers are repeatedly twirled upside down in the air. As expected, the attendant secured the safety bars above my sisters and I. He did not, however, remember the do the same for those in the front row and he started the ride. The boys immediately began screaming and, luckily, the attendant stopped the attraction saving the boys from serious injuries if not death. Crisis averted but I'm certainly less willing to jump on a ride and entrust a twelve-year-old with the security after that experience.
In addition to the carnival, there have been numerous free concerts in the fair grounds beginning with a cumbia group on Sunday evening. Monday—known as La Noche de la Juventud-- featured the largest concert of the week: Rata Blanca. After a two year wait (Rata Blanca had been a scheduled guest for the past several years but never arrived due to mining companies refusal to financially-back the event due to conflicts with the provincial government), Zamoranos packed the fair grounds to mosh or moshear to the beat. But, unfortunately, the wait continued for several hours more as, in true Ecuadorian fashion, the concert that was scheduled to begin at 9:00 did not start until 12:00. Following such a late night, the town relaxed on Tuesday before returning to the fair groups on Wednesday for the next concert-a folkloric band known as Hayak.
Finally, after barely sleeping for several nights due to my house's proximity to the fair grounds and the loud concerts lasting nearly until dawn, November 10th arrived. The official anniversary of Zamora-Chinchipe's provincialization was marked by the civic parade in the morning. As a teacher, I once again spent the morning marching through town and slowly being transformed into a lobster thanks to the sun's piercing rays. Given than each high school marches with a band, all staff, and three legions of students (the tallest and best “formed” of the students as selected by the inspectors), it is certainly a long parade. Following the parade, the town relaxed—I trekked to the river with some friends to frolick in the current and snack on some rocks—until the final cumbia and reggaeton concert in the fair.
We're now in the midst of our final spat of vacation prior to resuming a normal schedule. For various reasons, we hae only had 3 ½ days of school in the past few weeks; well, 4 ½ if you count to Saturday of the minga. Theweekend prior to the beginning of festivities, all parents and teachers were required to come to the school and conduct a minga or a community work project. Everyone contributed; some planted gardens, others macheted the soccer field, and others constructed a rear fence out of logs so students cannot sneak out. It was truly impressive to see all come together and work to improve the facilties, although such widespread participation may have been provoked more from the threat of a $5.00 fine than overall goodwill.
In spite of spending a Saturday at the school helping with the minga and playing basketball, the copious vacations have also left much time for exploration including several jaunts in Podocarpus National Park near Loja, Vilcabamba, and Zamora respectively. Interestingly, each respective trek was in an ecologically distinct zone in spite of being only a few hours apart on twisting mountain roads. I must admit, however, that my favorite was that in the tropical forests of Zamora—which proved to be a truly ridiculous adventure when we went in search of the “mirador.” Prior to the hike, we had noted a trail to the mirador. The sign suggested that it was only 800 meters, but that it required 85 minutes. Odd. We decided to skip it and return some other time; unfortunately, a miscommunication with a Belgian friend left us with no other options. We had to climb to the mirador. Legs burning and soaked with sweat, we had literally clawed our way up a steep ascent nearly an hour later only to discover that, in spite of the signs, there was no mirador. We had literally climbed up steep mountain ridge pushing through overgrown vegetation and discovered nothing. After descending, we decided to ask the guard about the trail; he laughed and said something about an area with slightly fewer trees. Classic Ecuador—good times and absurd adventures. And really, really sore legs the following day.
Following the Pregon, the town officially opened the giant feria. Not only can visitors buy everything from coconut milk to Saraguro attire, but they can also ride numerous carnival rides and attend raucious free concerts. The rides are admittedly terrifying given the absence of safety regulations in Ecuador and the young—barely adolescent—employees charged with operating them. I recently boarded a ride in which customers are repeatedly twirled upside down in the air. As expected, the attendant secured the safety bars above my sisters and I. He did not, however, remember the do the same for those in the front row and he started the ride. The boys immediately began screaming and, luckily, the attendant stopped the attraction saving the boys from serious injuries if not death. Crisis averted but I'm certainly less willing to jump on a ride and entrust a twelve-year-old with the security after that experience.
In addition to the carnival, there have been numerous free concerts in the fair grounds beginning with a cumbia group on Sunday evening. Monday—known as La Noche de la Juventud-- featured the largest concert of the week: Rata Blanca. After a two year wait (Rata Blanca had been a scheduled guest for the past several years but never arrived due to mining companies refusal to financially-back the event due to conflicts with the provincial government), Zamoranos packed the fair grounds to mosh or moshear to the beat. But, unfortunately, the wait continued for several hours more as, in true Ecuadorian fashion, the concert that was scheduled to begin at 9:00 did not start until 12:00. Following such a late night, the town relaxed on Tuesday before returning to the fair groups on Wednesday for the next concert-a folkloric band known as Hayak.
Finally, after barely sleeping for several nights due to my house's proximity to the fair grounds and the loud concerts lasting nearly until dawn, November 10th arrived. The official anniversary of Zamora-Chinchipe's provincialization was marked by the civic parade in the morning. As a teacher, I once again spent the morning marching through town and slowly being transformed into a lobster thanks to the sun's piercing rays. Given than each high school marches with a band, all staff, and three legions of students (the tallest and best “formed” of the students as selected by the inspectors), it is certainly a long parade. Following the parade, the town relaxed—I trekked to the river with some friends to frolick in the current and snack on some rocks—until the final cumbia and reggaeton concert in the fair.
We're now in the midst of our final spat of vacation prior to resuming a normal schedule. For various reasons, we hae only had 3 ½ days of school in the past few weeks; well, 4 ½ if you count to Saturday of the minga. Theweekend prior to the beginning of festivities, all parents and teachers were required to come to the school and conduct a minga or a community work project. Everyone contributed; some planted gardens, others macheted the soccer field, and others constructed a rear fence out of logs so students cannot sneak out. It was truly impressive to see all come together and work to improve the facilties, although such widespread participation may have been provoked more from the threat of a $5.00 fine than overall goodwill.
In spite of spending a Saturday at the school helping with the minga and playing basketball, the copious vacations have also left much time for exploration including several jaunts in Podocarpus National Park near Loja, Vilcabamba, and Zamora respectively. Interestingly, each respective trek was in an ecologically distinct zone in spite of being only a few hours apart on twisting mountain roads. I must admit, however, that my favorite was that in the tropical forests of Zamora—which proved to be a truly ridiculous adventure when we went in search of the “mirador.” Prior to the hike, we had noted a trail to the mirador. The sign suggested that it was only 800 meters, but that it required 85 minutes. Odd. We decided to skip it and return some other time; unfortunately, a miscommunication with a Belgian friend left us with no other options. We had to climb to the mirador. Legs burning and soaked with sweat, we had literally clawed our way up a steep ascent nearly an hour later only to discover that, in spite of the signs, there was no mirador. We had literally climbed up steep mountain ridge pushing through overgrown vegetation and discovered nothing. After descending, we decided to ask the guard about the trail; he laughed and said something about an area with slightly fewer trees. Classic Ecuador—good times and absurd adventures. And really, really sore legs the following day.
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