December 10: A Fairy Tale Plea to the Professors

Date: December 10, 2009

Weather: The same as it was fifteen minutes ago: I still want to be picnicking by the Tomebamba and enjoying the city

Once upon a time, there was a young American girl in a charming South American city. For months, she enjoyed wandering the cobblestone streets and buying the fresh bread that tickled her nose and made her want to bury herself in the piles of it in the panederias.

Her family in this charming little city was of the kindest, gentlest type. Her grandfather bought her ice cream on Sundays and her grandmother called the American her little baby and blessed her before she left every morning. Her mother brought her shoe shopping and peanut butter shopping and bought her delicious chocolate cakes every few days, and her uncle liked to tease her about her love of books and wine.

Every few weeks in the charming little village, the young American girl was whisked from her home, and taken a hundred miles away, where she inspected lichens and talked with crazy, burned-out hippies. She dearly loved this adventurous lifestyle, where she saw the most incredible things she'd every seen.

However, this fairytale has a dilemma, as every decent fairytale is expected to have. The young American girl was being forced by the wicked princes of the land she was visiting to write a book about her adventures by the last day of her journey. The young girl despaired for days. While she would have written about her adventures with the utmost willingness at another time, she was far more concerned with living the adventures at hand and resented deeply being locked away in a tower to finish the book. Her heart ached to be with her family, to eat more bread, to have more adventures. That wretched book prevented her from doing that.

She knew that the book would be wonderful, that it made sense to write it, that the princes would be extremely pleased if she finished it on time. Yet... the rivers and the cobblestone streets called to her. So she decided to do one thing—her only option. She decided to forgo the book and have her own adventures and enjoy life as it came to her.

The princes were dismayed and very upset. But then, in a wink and a flash, a benevolent shaman came to them with a magical potion which showed them the error of their ways until they begged the young American girl for forgiveness for hampering her education and her experiences in the charming land. She accepted their apologies, had wonderful adventures, and went back to her country fulfilled by experience and filled with bread.

And she lived happily ever after.

December 10: Exploring the city a few more times

Date: December 10, 2009

Weather: Sunny, lovely, the perfect weather for walking through the city and enjoying it

My mother loves her job. She's a math professor at a local college and loves it. I'm forever finding scribbled math equations on napkins and scraps of paper, not to mention the piles of notebooks filled with them.

The problem with her job is that, while trying to pay for the three-story house, she's forced to pay 20% in taxes. She feels secure in her job but hate that so much is being taken from her paycheck.

The school receives Correa's little “gifts,” the cheap books that don't prepare the students well enough for her class. Also, she just got her Master's degree on Friday and isn't receiving much of a benefit from it.

December 9: A heart-to-heart with Mama Isa

December 9, 2009

Location: Cuenca

Weather: Nice

It took me over a month to figure out where my host dad has been. One day, the day after Trevor and my 9 month anniversary, I came home from a telephone cabina sobbing my eyes out on Antonia's shoulder, who had the job of explaining to my mother why I was at my wit's end and unable to keep it together.

“Don't cry,” my mom told me. “Men aren't worth it. Don't cry.”

The next day, she asked me if I was better and pulled out a pile of photo albums to show me her past. She showed me her husband who has been gone for six months and who won't return her phone calls or talk to her in over two months. They were only married for six years and had several unsuccessful pregnancies. No wonder she seems like she's dying to become a mother. Her husband is off cavorting around the Oriente while she is stuck at home paying bills and worrying about making ends meet in their enormous house.

It's unfair to my mother to be stuck in the position of having to stay faithful and keep the house running simply because she has a womb. She told me that her husband is stupid and they can't get a divorce (thank you, Catholicism), but she can't do what she wants, either. Gender injustice strikes hardest in marriages, I think. It isn't the catcalls on the streets or the expectation that women are the ones who must cook, clean, and take care of everyone. It's in the marriages held together only by a piece of paper and the disapproving eye of the church.

My mom has to work, take care of her mother, watch her nephew every day, and be a proper woman. She has none of the freedom of a married woman but all of the responsibilities, despite Vincente's absence.

“What do I do with all of his clothes?” She asked, showing me the closets full of suits and shoes and hats.

“Burn it,” I told her.

She laughed and agreed that it was a brilliant idea. “Men are stupid. With the exceptions of Manuel.”

December 1: Foreign Familiarity

The views Antonia and I see on our walk to school every morning

December 1, 2009

Location: My room, Cuenca, 6:20 PM

Weather: Now, it's clouding over and getting dark because the sun will set within a half-hour, but today has been beautiful: sun, blue sky, 80s. It may be the first day of December, but I couldn't ask for a more perfect day.

I hate that we're leaving in a week and a half. Every time I walk through the city, I am reminded just how much I'm in love with it. Instead of going home for lunch, Natalie, Katy, Sara, Mark, Brittany, Kara, and I went to a vegetarian place near El Centro. After Carlos' wife's incredible meals, I've begun to like the idea of vegetarian meals. (It's far better than the dry, tough, sad excuse for steaks they serve here.) It was the only place in the city where I've seen pesto and real spaghetti, and it was absolutely stunning, for only $2.50, too.

Afterward, Kara, Britt, Natalie, and I wandered toward the San Francisco market in search of pirated DVDs and more gifts for our family. On the way back, I stopped and got Mama Isa a bright, cheery sunflower to cheer her up after such a hard week. It was $1, about twice as much as I paid for a bouquet a few weeks ago, but worth it. I walked back to school with Kara, swinging it as we walked.

A cart full of rosy mangoes and another of enormous, glowing strawberries were wheeled past us. We passed an old woman silently carrying a tray piled high with the whipped icing they're so fond of here, decorated with sprinkles and a few pieces of fruit, the sugar cones it's served in jutting from the creamy peaks. A man selling herbal medicines offered his services to us near the Old Cathedral, but we've already seen him around plenty of times. We know where to get a cleansing if we want it.

“If you could, would you live here?” Kara asked.

“Without a doubt,” I answered.

Of course the power shortages aren't convenient, and the current political situation leaves something to be desired, but I've fallen head over heels for this place, even more than I thought I would. I never imagined the hustle and bustle of the city could be so comforting or cheerful. The sounds of the car alarms and sirens barely register anymore because I hear them so much. Even the buses belching black clouds don't bother me any longer. I'm too busy looking at the old buildings, trying to peak through their open doors into the quiet sanctuaries of the courtyards inside of them, drooling over the scent of hot bread from the panaderias, listening to the chatter in Spanish, most of which I can understand now.

My walk to school in the cool mornings shows me the tiny children in their sharp uniforms being walked to school by their parents. Sometimes, the fathers carry their little girls on their shoulders, which makes Antonia and I shoot sidelong smiles at each other, remembering a time when it was us who were taking in a bird's eye's view of the world. On Calle Larga, always after we pass Calle Jerves and the dilapidated church covered with blue-striped tarps (the one that remind me of the Banana in Pajamas) so as not to have chunks of building fall on passersby, we cross paths with a tall officer. His branch of the military is unknown to me, but his blue shirt, navy jacket and pants, tilted black beret, and Rhett Butler mustache suggests that he's better than the police—or at least I believe he's better. He never speaks to us, but he must recognize the gringas he's passed every day for the last two months. He never makes kissing sounds (even when Antonia is wearing the dress that makes cars slow down and old men whistle), catcalls, or even gives a once-over. After I saw him stop to shake hands with a little girl yesterday, I've decided he's a class above the type of officer that stops, whistles, and harasses gringa girls from his police cruiser.

We pass a gap in the buildings around that block and see the mountains in all their glory. The morning mountains are misty and grey-green, not quite awake yet, but when we come home from school, they're blazing with the sun, green as can be. Evening is my favorite, when the entire range reflects the orange sunset and pink clouds have begun settling over them. An hour later, they're sparkling with lights and barely recognizable against the sky. Flat Ohio holds nothing on those mountains.

The familiarity in this city is perhaps my favorite part. The lady at the panaderia on Hermano Miguel and Sucre, one block away from school, knows that when Kyle, Adam, and I come in, we want hot bread. She points to the hottest before we even have to ask. The lady at the chocolate and fruit stand in the mall knows Jessica by name. The man selling Movistar minutes in his cabina at the top of the stairs on Calle Larga knows I'm studying Spanish here and knows I want $6 worth of cell phone minutes every time I come in. Adam gets the same cab driver into the city more often than not, and they strike up conversations together. Antonia and Ashley knows the people at the cell phone store where Marco still works. It's the same place Diego, Adam's host brother, brought me to after my phone was stolen, where I got a used phone for $30 instead of $50. I know Antonia has gotten the same deal from Marco, plus free repairs. Adrien at Zo lets us in either for free or for less than the cover charge because he likes dancing with Ashley, Lizzie, and I. It's quite often that we get free drinks out of the deal as well. We all know the scruffy little dog who has slept outside a clothing store since the first day. I can guarantee that I don't even frequent a place often enough to have the cashier recognize me, let alone cut me a break or know my name. The benefit of familiarity is more than a monetary one for me; it's feeling like this is really home, like I really belong here. I'm not just a gringa and a tourista.

A tiny, wrinkled Ecuadorian man asked me for directions today while I was waiting for Antonia at her gate. I gladly pointed him in the right direction of his house number and he thanked me and went on his way.

That's familiarity.

December 6-8: Murphy's Law

December 6, 2009

Location: The road between Cuenca and Guayaquil, on the way to Montanita

Weather: Clear, hot, sunny, bound to get hotter as we near the coast

I hate this road. It's impossible to sleep on (as our 2AM trip to the Coast can attest) and it's nearly impossibly to write on. Hell, it's nearly impossible to remain at a 90 degree angle. The twists and turns and bumps and sudden stops and the truck currently hurtling toward us head on insure that I'm awake and at the very peak of anxiety. Fortunately, we'll be at the beach in three hours at the very most and there will be no stress whatsoever. Drs. Melampy and Martin, I know your papers are due on Friday. But... I'm going to remember the excitement of seeing one of Ecuador's most popular beaches more than sitting in my room all day typing, stressing, and studying. I think for the first time in my life, I am putting academics second. My GPA doesn't matter as much as the experience. I think that's been one of the most valuable lessons that this trip has taught me: to forget about a 4.0 and just enjoy being here. The things I'll regret most in twenty years are the things I didn't do—not the 4.0.

With five days left in Cuenca (and this hellish drive AGAIN at the end of that time), I am really getting nervous about leaving. My family is family here. They're more of my family than my those who never call and the thirty or so great-somethings I only see at family reunions. Mama Isa gets a kick out of being called “Mama” for the first time in her life—something I know she craves, just from the way she is magnetized to babies and children—and something her jerk of a husband never gave her the chance to become. Tio Manuel dotes on me and teases me and buys me my favorite white wine to go with our dinners and giant fabric hats shaped like mugs of Pilsener. Abuelito asks for me and buys me ice cream on Sundays. Abuelita suffering from Alzheimer's and blindness, is very endearing on her lucid days. “Erikita! Mi guagua!” She says, grinning from ear to ear when I kiss her good morning. Some days I sit on her bed and listen as she warns me of thieves and asks for the fifth time that day when I will be returning to Ecuador. Too soon, I always tell her. The other night, on one of her forgetful evenings, she asked to come dancing and drinking with me. She always blesses me before I leave the house. My maternal grandfather rarely says I love you when I say it to him and these people, with whom I've spent two and a half months, show and say loving things. I am going to miss them so incredibly much. I feel at home here, where I am white and speaking a different language, than I do in most places in the States.

As much as I love this country, I am not blind to its problems. The political issues are obvious, but my experience at the discotheque Velvet made me aware of just how corrupt it can be. Every country can be, everywhere has crime, every population has a percentage of people who should never have been born.

Velvet opened two months ago and is all the rage because of the novelty of a new club and the Plastics who go there. Word was that it was the place to go on Friday, so we went. We thought $6 was a bit steep, so when I struck up a conversation with a man outside who turned out to be the owner, I pushed up my chichis and told him how it was our last week in Ecuador and how we were only poor college students. He let us in for $5. He showed me a card with my name on it that was meant for Adam and I, on which was listed all the things we had to pay for: entrance fee, drinks, food, etc. At the end of the night, we were to pay before leaving. On the surface, the system looks a bit classier because there isn't a lot of cash floating around. It is, in truth, a way to make easy money. Lose the card? $250 fine. Rip it up? Hell to pay.

My feet were hurting and I wanted to get up early to do homework, so Adam and I went to pay. As I was adding up the bill at the counter, I couldn't believe what I saw. Three Coronas were true. One shot of Jose Cuervo was true. One pack of cigarettes was true. But three Cosmopolitans?

“No es verdad,” I told the worker in confusion, pointing at the marks on the paper. “Tuve solo uno.”

“No es mi problema,” he snapped.

I went down the list, explaining how it was all true except for the Cosmos. Talk to the bartenders, he told me. So I did. I found the bartender who had made me my single Cosmo and showed him the marks. “If I had three,” I told him, “I would be on the floor covered in vomit. You did not serve me three drinks.”

“No es mi problema,” he told me snootily.

Adam's drunken rage didn't help. He told the bartender we wouldn't be paying for something we didn't buy and ripped the card up into four pieces. That's when the bouncer showed up with the owner. I shoved Adam out of the way before a fight broke out and went to explain the situation.

“Who ripped up the card?” He demanded in English.

I told him it wasn't important, but he asked repeatedly. I explained the situation, I showed him the marks on the card, I told him as calmly as I could that three Cosmos would mean a passed out gringa on his club floor.

“Maybe your boyfriend drank them. It's not my problem,” he said, leading me to pay. Of course. Because my ex-marine friend really enjoys drinking sugary, pink, girly drinks. The owner didn't think that was so ridiculous. On the way there, I resigned myself to paying $15 in Cosmos instead of $5, and handed him two $10 bills. He handed them and the card to the cashier.

“Your bill comes to $40,” he told me, hand out. I gave him a twenty and went to leave when he stopped me. “$40—not $20.”

I stared at him. “I gave you $20 before in tens and I just gave you another $20. I paid you.”

“You're crazy. You never gave me any money before this. Did I hand him any money? No. See? You owe me $20 more. Just because you're American doesn't mean you can leave without paying. You come here and you don't respect me because I'm from Ecuador and you're from America.”

I think that's when my tears stopped and the hyperventilating started. The cops were going to be called. The owner thought Americans were crooked and rich and had no respect for the people and country I'd grown to love. I don't remember much besides seeing Lizzie in between the black spots in my vision and hearing her and Megan's mom, Diana, trying to calm me down over the roaring in my ears. After what seemed like an entire night, the owner, freaked out beyond belief, told me he'd forgive me the $20 and let Adam go.

“He has to go,” he said smoothly, “but you can stay if you want. I want you to stay.”

I stared at his fat, bald head blankly. This was the same man who had tried to dance with me and I had denied him because I had a boyfriend. It made a lot more sense, all of a sudden. I was still shaking and unable to breathe from the panic attack, but I managed to give him the most scathing look I've been known to posses and tell him that I would never want to stay and that I would spread the word about what happened to all the other gringoes club owners want so much to have in their clubs.

It wasn't until the next day that I found out that almost every single person in our group (20 people all together) had been overcharged, whether they were Ecuadoreans or gringoes. My cousin Leslie told us later that the club has already acquired the dubious honor of being known for screwing people over. A journalist we met at Amauta and later at Zo said he would write a scathing review of the club in the magazine he published for gringoes in Ecuador. Whether he will or not, I don't know, but I made no bones about spreading the word to everyone we met.

I told Adrian, the owner of Zo, about it last night and he said the same thing. It was not the first time he'd heard of something like that happening at Velvet. Adrien runs a good club. It may not be white and swanky and packed with Plastics, but he is honest and fair and gives me free drinks instead of charging me for extras. He pats my cheek and kisses it like I'm a naïve little girl but respects me, still treating me with as much fairness as he ever did.

“I'll miss you,” he told me when I hugged him goodbye. “Come back to my club the day you return to Ecuador.”

So guess who's getting a good online review at all the travel websites?

December 8, 2009
Loction: On the road back from Montanita
Weather: Crummy, cold, rainy

This is what we expected from Montanita:


This is what we got at Montanita:


Making the best of it with my lovely ladies:


Ashley was NOT pleased to have things with eyes in her soup

Antonia didn't mind

Pilsener <3
How many men does it take to change a tire? Four. Three to give advice and watch and one to actually change it.

Our happy bunch:



You know Murphy's Law? It says that everything that can and will go wrong at the worst possible time will indeed go wrong. That's what happened with the side trip that we planned for our last free weekend in Ecuador.

We had some extra money to spend on the trip so Dr. Martin, Dr. Melampy, Adam, Lauren, Sara, Ashley, Antonia, and I decided to go to the coast to spend a few days relaxing before the paper writing frenzy began. What could be better? The sun, the surf, relaxation, a few Pilseners, a nice tan to make everyone jealous when we return bronzed in the middle of December...

That SO didn't happen... None of it.

We should have turned around and gone back when our taxi busted a tire only a half hour outside Cuenca. We all got out to walk around in the sun while the three men looked on and offered suggestions to the taxi driver about the proper way to change a tire. How many men does it take to change a tire? Four, apparently. The girls just stood back and laughed.

I got some reading done for Martin's final paper on The House of the Spirits. It now looks like a very well-loved book. The pages have gotten damp and dog-eared, passages have been underlined and starred, and the spine is creased in multiple places. Generally, I take very good care of my books to the point of making them look like they've never been opened. But this book is incredible and looks like I've spent as much time with it as I have.

We got to the coast and it immediately began raining. It rains often in Ecuador, especially in the morning or early afternoon. Then it generally clears up and it's beautiful and sunny in the evening. No big deal, we thought, we'll wait until it passes.

It never did. Not Saturday, not Sunday. It poured.

The hostel was pretty cool looking, with a hot tub, a pool, and a big cabin overlooking the beach a couple miles away. The hostel owner was an ex-hippie who rambled on about his spiritual journey. "Knowledge is 'no ledge,' man!" He told us. He praised iowaska, or ayahuasca which means "spirit vine" in Quechua, one of the most powerful hallucinogenic drugs known to mankind. It's often used by shamans in rituals where some say that the visions will heal you from any "demons" you may have. He even had some on hand. No, thank you. That's what Zoloft is for.

[Later: Here's an interesting National Geographic article I found on it. Click on the blue, underlined letters to read it.]

The next day, Adam, Antonia, Ashley, and I decided to hike down to the beach and hope the sun cleared up the clouds. We slid down the muddy hillside, trying to avoid cow patties and getting our shoes soaked and muddied beyond all belief, and walked in the rain several miles until we got to the beach. We ate a crab and seafood chowder lunch with some massive bottles of Pilsener to make the day a little bit better. We were wet, freezing, and displeased that it was still raining and misting heavily. Sometimes life is just so ridiculous you have to laugh at yourself.

We made it into the town of Montanita, famous for its surfing community and its young, hippie crowd. Indeed, it lived up to its standards.

At that point, we were so worn out, we got a taxi back to the hostel and soaked in the hot tub for the rest of the evening. Then, we found an unexpected visitor: Sir Palmetto Bug and his merry band of roaches. Ashley dueled Sir Palmetto Bug but he skittered away to fight another day.

Gross. I don't think I've ever been so happy to leave a place.

Pros:
-ocean view room
-$15 out of pocket for the whole trip
-the beach
-the hot tub
-$2 crab lunch
-a small, intimate group
-finding the 200th bird for the Bio list

Cons:
-a hotel owner whose brain cells have obviously been burned away bit by bit (“Knowledge is having 'no ledge,' get it? Ha ha!”)
-rain
-muddy feet from sliding down the path to the beach
-battles with Sir Palmetto Bug and his Merry Band of Buggies who inhabited our rooms
-getting screwed over by a street artisan who tricked us (and by "us" I mean "Adam") into buying nothing

I think I'm ready to go home now.

November 25: This is not a damn train

On a stop in the mountains

Katy and Caitlin

This is a bus on tracks. Pooey.


November 25, 2009
Location: The damn "train"
Weather: Cool, cloudy and sunny

I am not pleased. Rarely am I disappointed on these trips but it's unanimous: we are not pleased. We're on a bus running on a train track. This is not the quaint, old-timey bus we were expecting. This is a bus running along the mostly-boring country side with a very loud, obnoxious guide shouting at us through her microphone and trying to get us to sing. I have slept for most of the trip.

We had been told that this train was one that people used to ride on top of to see the sides. "Used to" is the key verbiage, here. Apparently a couple dumb tourists sat too high when the train was going under a bridge and--whing!--were decapitated. Now, that's prohibited. Now, they've adapted the train to be a one-car bus on wheels.

I'd rather be climbing chimborazo at 20,000 feet.

Fortunately we've had a very pretty stop at a mountain pass that makes it look as if we're miles away from civilization (we are, I suppose...) but we've made the best of it!

November 24: It's the Climb- Chimborazo

Antonia and Ashley dancing to reggaeton :)

Huddling for warmth at the shelter below

Striking the Dr. Melampy pose--in Dr. Melampy's hat :)

Antonia

This is how we all felt

Como te llama? Or alpaca? not sure.


November 24, 2009
Location: Riobamba
Weather: Cold, cloudy

Just like every place is more and more amazing each new place, the hikes are getting progressively harder and longer, though also easier as I get into better shape. By far, by far today's hike was the hardest.

Mount Chimborazo is an extinct volcano that towers about all other peaks on earth. How? No, it's not the highest mountain above sea level in the world, but it is the closes peak to the sun. It reaches 20,565.0 ft! It's the tallest mountain in Ecuador. According to the ever-reliable source of Wikipedia (though this is a well-known fact), "its location along the equatorial bulge makes its summit the farthest point on the Earth's surface from its center" and therefore closest to the sun. Now, we didn't hike all that far. Emily, Paul, Lizzie, and Dr. Martin are going to tomorrow but it cost extra money and I have never been more exhausted physically in my life.

We began on a lower slope of the mountain, where we saw llamas, or alpacas, I don't know. It begins to look sparsely populated with vegetation at that level. The paramo is grassy with drought-resistant plants and very few animals.

It's cold--so cold we bundled into layers of pajama pants and field pants, sweaters, gloves, hats, and parkas. Snow was piled in places at higher levels.

We made it to about 16,000 feet above sea level. At that point, there is a little hut in which you can rest and stay the night if you want to brave the next 4,000 feet. There is relatively little elevation but it is very, very strenuous to walk. The air is so thin, you move only a few steps and feel your lungs burning for air. The normal breaths that you take don't seem to be enough, even though your body is telling you that it should be enough in normal situations. It's rewarding to say that you have made a pretty good hike at 16,000 feet (the highest I've ever been) but I'm beat.

At the top, I asked Dr. Melampy if I could borrow his hat for a photo op. He's always standing with one leg propped up on a rock, or on a step, like he's Captain Morgan. I have teased him about it but I was curious how he would take me blatantly imitating him today. I really, really like the guy. He has been so helpful and kind to me on this trip, even though I thought at first that he was a gruff fellow. As it turns out, he has a dry sense of humor and laughed at me when I struck his pose (see the photo above). I like him very much indeed. :)

The little cabins were perfect for hot tea and hot strawberry soup after we completed our hike. Some of our group even had to forgo the hike altogether because of altitude sickness. Again, I'm thankful that I am never afflicted with that. I'm terribly out of shape in general but my body has responded well to the changes I'm thrust upon it on this trip.

Tomorrow, we set off by train to Riobamba again. We've heard that there were some changes to the train so we shall see...

November 23: Riobamba, Take II

Demolishing Ruffles Cebolla y Crema

Riobamba
A beautiful morning glory


November 23, 2009
Location: Hotel in Riobamba
Weather: Cloudy, cool

I've been here before. I didn't spend so much time here in 2007 but I did see it. It's odd being familiar with a place abroad...

Riobamba is a few hours south of Quito, about two hours north of Cuenca. When I first came to Ecuador, the very first morning in Quito, I was talking with a man in the elevator about the Mount Tungarahua area.

"Ahh... near Banos, the Land of the Flowers and the Gateway to the Jungle!" He exclaimed. "It is lovely."

And so it is. Both visits to the Riobamba/ Banos area have been pretty cool.

The hotel we're staying at is amazingly modern-looking. Our room is in an odd location: right off of a banquet hall. It makes the renters of the hall crazy when we have to get in and out of our room but they'll deal with it. It's the hotel's fault anyway. Our room is two floors, a big open room at the bottom with two beds, and two beds upstairs with a bathroom. Jessica, Antonia, Ashley and I shared the room and spent last night jamming out to reggaeton and techno and spilling Manzana Zhumir all over the place (see the video). Jessica managed to break her bead but we put it back together okay. :) They are a great group of girls. I have so much fun with a lot of people on this trip.

At first, I was really nervous that I was setting out on this trip without knowing anyone else at all going. Now I see that there was nothing to worry about at all. I am making friends that will last a lifetime.

We hiked through the waterfall and mountains of Riobamba and enjoyed the myriad of flowers and plants. I had a lot of flashbacks to the church youth group's mission trip and all the fun we'd had on the same route.

I got to see a lot more of the waterfalls here and was just as amazed at the power as I stood by and got soaked. As with much of this trip, normally I would hate being soaked, my hair frizzy and damp, but this was all part of the experience of Ecuador. No one who was there cared what I looked like because they all looked the same and they were all just as thrilled to be there, being dirty and unkempt. (Well...most of them.)

Banos was full of taffy and pigeons and it a nice break from the hiking. The taffy makers stretched huge ropes of taffy from pegs on the wall, looping it around again and again.

Now, a few Cuba Libres later, I'm ready for bed. More hiking tomorrow!

November 22: Otavalo, the Land of Eternal Bartering

The view from my hotel window
The Shaman
The gourd carver and his wares
The traditional back-strap weaver
Overlooking the marketplace in Otavalo

November 22, 2009
Location: Otavalo, on the bus back to Quito
Weather: Lovely

Every place we go, I think that it couldn't quite get better and ever time we get to a new place, I'm amazed at how different, exciting, and beautiful it is!

Otavalo is a bustling city. We got here the other evening and wandered throughout the city in the last few hours of the evening before it got dark. The Andes surround this city, like they do in Cuenca and it makes me feel at home in their shade. It's so clean and clear in the mountains, it only makes me more sure that I'm a mountain girl at heart.

Jessica's and my room overlooks the mountains and it has running, hot water! :D It's lovely.

We went to find a discoteca but were relatively unsuccessful, since the only one we found was shut down by the police in 5 minutes. So we went back and had Zhumir and coke at the hotel.

Yesterday, we spent a full day shopping. Bartering is a big part of the culture in Ecuador. It's rude to just pay the price that a vendor tells you at first. Both parties enjoy bartering back and forth, trying to get a good deal on a scarf, or a bag, or a piece of artwork. It's an art form, it seems. You can't counter bargain too high or you'll be ripped off. You can't counter bargain too low or you'll offend the artisan. You have to hit the sweet spot where both vendor and purchaser feel like they got the better end of the deal and that takes some time to figure out--and some good Spanish. By the end of the day, I was a whiz!

I wanted to buy a turquoise purse for my mom but it was too high at $12 (I know, right? That's high here). I counter bargained a reasonable amount of $7, but the vendor refused. I knew it was still too high, so I walked away. A minute later, the vendor had found me and said that she would let me buy the bag for $9. I told her $8 and she accepted. See, I want to give the vendors a fair wage. This stuff is actually worth a lot more because it's often home weaved, sewn, and created. But the initial price is generally jacked up higher than normal because I look like a rich gringa. Walking away shows that I'm disinterested by the price and the vendor knows that by letting me walk away, she's losing out on a sell at the end of the day. At the end, everyone winds up happy.

At the end of the day, we went to see a weaver of incredible textiles, whose work sells for up to $700 per blanket. That is a LOT of money in Ecuador. He weaves in the traditional manner, with a loom that loops around his back and a shuttle that is passed manually across his lap. It's a very time consuming process, one which not many Ecuadorians value any longer. Most chose the quick and easy route to weave Otavalo's famous alpaca and wool textiles but the ones that are really worth something are hand-woven.

One of the most fascinating cultural experiences so far was a shamanic cleansing ritual that Narcissa brought a small group of us to see. Adam volunteered to be cleansed. It involved him stripping down to his underwear, being rubbed with candles, eggs, and oil, having aguardiente spat all over him by the shaman, hit with stinging nettles, and finally, having fire breathed over his entire body. This is an odd mixture of Catholic and animist rituals, formed by the Ecuadorian culture to appease both sides, I think. The shaman's house was filled with magic crystals, spears, virgin Mary statues, holy water, and trinkets of all shapes and sizes. He wore a feather headdress to perform the ritual and uttered in a guttural, mumbled Spanish. It was both terrifying and incredible to see. Whether it did anything or not has yet to be seen. This ritual has been filmed for travel shows repeatedly because the shaman is one of the only ones who still does it in a traditional manner. I have had so many once-in-a-lifetime experiences on this trip, it has paid for itself over and over and over again in value.

Things I bought in the market:
-Scarves shot through with silver and gold thread
-Alpaca scarves for friends
-A silver filigree ring
-Filigree earrings for friends
-Jade necklace
-A hand-painted oil on hide painting for my parents
-A hammock for my parents
-A woven purse for my mom
-An "I love Boobies" shirt for my brother (Boobies as in the bird, not the body part)
-An Amazonia shirt for my mom
-2 painted feathers for my grandparents
-Hand-made stationary for family friends
-Carved gourds made into owl Christmas ornaments for work friends and family
-A massive woven bag to carry it all back in

Total cost of everyone's Christmas presents: about $100-$125. Yeah. Believe it.

Spending the day in a lively city: Priceless

November 20: Staying with the "Terrorists" of Junin

November 20
Location: On the road from Junin to Otavalo
Weather: Overcast

The community of Junin was declared by the U.S. a community of "eco-terrorists" because they fought back against the Ascendant Copper Canadian mining company, burned down their camp, rounded them up, and kicked them out.

We just spent the last few days with them and they were nothing but gracious.

It's an interesting predicament... How do you label a group who has taken drastic measures to protect what is theirs? From what it sounds like, they tried to peacefully remove the company, which was backed by a paramilitary group, but was not successful. This was also documented in the same documentary Carlos was in, "The Curse of Copper."

These people are strong. They have bounced back and begun an eco-tourism "hotel" (a massive tree house-looking building) and hikes. They're still struggling to make money this way but they're kicking butt.

The building looks like it's made from bamboo with an open first floor for group meals and a couple rooms, a second floor with rooms, and an open third floor with hammocks. A few people stayed on the roof but I was lucky enough to get a room with Emily, Lizzie, and Ashley. I like to switch up my roommates every now and then to keep everyone from getting sick of each other. It's been working so far! I keep away from the really high maintenance people and bond with new ones every trip!

The food is a little lacking here... mostly rice and bits of vegetables and rice with roles and juice. I pound it down like I'll never see food again AND dig into my secret stash of energy bars and still feel hungry. Someone who shall remain nameless had the gall to send their plate back to the kitchen when we were served spaghetti with a pinkish ketchup-y sauce on top. They wanted it with butter. I thought I was going to slap them across the room for being so rude. You eat what you can here. You can't be picky and it's SO RUDE to do that. I was really upset about that. Another case of the ugly, spoiled American abroad. These people are doing their very best here. Admittedly, Junin wasn't my favorite place, but it was still a great experience, for which I am thankful.

The hike we participated in was very, very long and steep. Some of the group (about 1/3) had to stay back because of altitude sickness. I've been lucky to have escaped motion and altitude sickness altogether here. The hike was led by a group of guides ranging from age 14 to over 60. Wow! We saw where the Ascendant Copper camp was and ate popcorn sitting around one of the remaining buildings. We saw a massive group of waterfalls (Cascada Velo de Novia, Bride of the Girlfriend Waterfall, literally) and bathed in them. Ice cold water be damned, it was refreshing after a strenuous hike. We goofed around and played in the water until we were cold and wanted to head back.

Again, there are so many new plants and insects around every corner, it's hard to imagine the ecological diversity that is here. It's beautiful. So, so beautiful. How could precious metals even come close to the worth of this land?

November 17: Rio Intag Coffee

November 17, 2009
Location: Carlos' Farm, Intag Cloud Forest
Weather: Sunny with clouds, mild again!

This may be the best place since the Galapagos. I'm in love with the food, the land, the experience of being in Intag. It's amazing how this country gets into your blood, like a drug. I feel on top of the world here, stronger and more capable than I've ever felt in America. Part of it must be making my own decisions and choosing my own adventure, if you will. Whatever I do is essentially me, uninhibited by friends or family or keeping up with appearances at home. If I want to stay up until 5 AM, it's on me to wake up and go to class or hike 5 miles the next day.

A bunch of us stayed up and talked by candlelight in the cabin until late, late at night yesterday. We brushed our teeth in the community sink, sat around on a few of the beds and gave each other back massages to work out the knots of the day's hike. It was a night that I think I will cherish for a long, long time in my life. You know those moments in life where you feel at peace with the world and those around you, like you can trust and care about those you're with to such a degree that you bare your soul without inhibitions and walls to protect you? That was last night. Paul, Emily, Jenny, Shannon, Lizzy, Nate, a few others and I talked about why we wanted to go on the trip, what we found here, and what we'll take back with us. We talked about the realities and blessings in life, the challenges and successes we experienced. Maybe it was the ambiance of the night. The cabin was dark except for the glow of a few candles. It seemed as if we were the only ones in the universe except for the night noises outside. Lulls in conversation weren't uncomfortable, they were reassuring and peaceful. Moments like these can't last forever but that's what makes them so special.

Today we toured the Rio Intag Coffee Co-op, where shade grown coffee is dried in the sun, sorted, roasted, bagged, and sent around the world. It provides income for families in town that doesn't rely on outside companies. It's sustainable, too! Students for Fair Trade at B-W gets coffee from the Co-op and sells it at school. It's an impressive process--and the coffee is phenomenal!

We then visited a sugar cane plantation and saw sugar cane squeezed to release its juices. We drank from a clay mug and marveled at how sweet it was. A river nearby looked inviting so we jumped in. Guess what? It was freezing. As per usual! :) It had a surprisingly strong current underneath the waterfall and Mark had a moment of panic as he was caught under. After that, we decided to dry off and hike back with Melampy.

He brought us to an outdoor distillery where they were making aguardiente, a sugar cane alcohol with an insane alcohol proof in this form. Cristal or Zhumir is a flavored form of it that we realllyyy like (especially the green apple and watermelon flavored kind!). We were offered shots of it straight from the distillery. Melampy looked disapproving as we sang a jungle version of LMFAO's "Shots": "If you ain't takin' shots, get the heck out the jungle!" The alcohol tasted horrendous but we ended up with a pretty fun series of pictures!

November 16: "Thank you for your shit." -Carlos Zorilla

Inside the candle-lit cabin
Jenny, Shannon, and I at the freezing waterfall at Carlos'
Lounging in the sun at Carlos' farm


November 16, 2009
Location: Carlos Zorilla's farm, the Intag Cloud Forest
Weather: Warm, sunny, beautiful

Carlos' farm is like something out of a documentary. Well, it is, actually. They made a documentary about him and his efforts to save this beautiful land. I'll explain in a bit.

After our bus ride, we loaded up our bags onto mules and horses and began the couple mile hike to Carlos' farm. Yes, it was so far off the beaten trail, we had to use pack horses. Isn't that awesome? A few of us (including Nance's friend Suki) got lost because we were walking ahead of the group but that was part of the adventure. We eventually broke into the clearing to find several houses spaced out in a clearing and an open-sided shelter where refreshments were waiting for us.

I can tell already that this is going to be a wonderful, wonderful time to eat good food. All of the food is vegetarian, which I can't say I'm too pleased about but what the heck, it's worth a shot. It has all been glorious so far!

A little bit of background on Carlos...

Copper and precious metal mining in Ecuador has been an enormous concern in the last few decades. Foreign companies come in and create huge pit mines to do hard rock mining. This process decimates the land. 250 tons of solid wast material is produced per ounce of gold, it creates acid drainage, it uses a LOT of water, and damage could last for 1000 years! There is a lot of mining in the Azuay province, near Cuenca, which creates environmental and social impacts as a result A lot of violence and dirty dealings are started by reckless mining companies. Canada especially has very lax regulations for mining and everyone and their brother can start a company.

Correa, the president of Ecuador, platformed on anti-mining campaigns but is changing his tune. He thinks Ecuador will be helped by mining but there is no evidence, according to Carlos, and it's all wishful thinking. Correa sees the money brought in by the mining and thinks it will create social help, "development," and "prosperity." Carlos says that development and prosperity is more than just money, it's about sustainability and healthy growth.

Research says that countries like Bolivia and Nigeria, who depend on mining are in worse shape. The more rich in metals and mining, the poorer the country. There is a link between mineral export and an economic dependency on it, which creates poverty in a boom-bust cycle. When the resources are gone, there is no agriculture or tourism to keep the monetary cycle going and the country is impoverished. There is a four times greater chance for a country to have a civil war if the country depends on mining. On top of that, only the elite see benefits of it. In Ecuador, only 5% of the money stays in the country. While the new constitution says that Ecuador must see a 50% rate of monetary retention in the benefits, companies are becoming creative. The World Bank and the IMF have laws and mining legislation to complicate it.

Carlos has begun a coffee co-op and a woman's co-op to create a new way to provide work and income, especially for those who wouldn't traditionally have the opportunity. In this way, he has successfully kept out the mining companies from the Intag area--so far.

He was visited by 19 hired paramilitary officers from a mining company who accused him of false crimes. Finding nothing in his house and property, they planted a gun and drugs on his property to complicate things. He then had to go into hiding for over a month to stay safe. "The Curse of Copper" documentary highlights his personal struggle and how other communities like Junin have fought the foreign companies to keep their land.

What Carlos has started in his own community is a movement that tries to be as sustainable as possible, using little to no electricity, little running water, and sustainable farming practices, as well as eco-tourism and awareness.

His farm is amazing. There are shade grown coffee trees (which help the Rio Intag coffee co-op, which we will see later), vegetables, fruits, and outhouses that provide fertilizer in an ingenious way...

The outhouse next to our cabin stood unobtrusively by our cabin in Carlos Zorilla's back field behind a flush of rose blooms, as if it was attempting to hide itself and be as inoffensive as possible under my scrutinizing gaze. I do not object to freezing showers, a shortage of water, throwing my toilet paper in a receptacle, or going for hours (or days) without electricity. But an outhouse? My experiences with those had been less than pleasant. My father's Amish friends had one when I was little in which I always had to plug my nose to block out the stench, and only used when I was about to pee myself and had no other option. Therefore, I did not use it until Carlos spoke with us later.

“Please put a cup-full of humus in the hole when you're finished using it to prevent the smell,” Carlos instructed us. “You know, I fertilize with that.” Fantastic, I thought. Not only did I need to use an outhouse, but I just ate a meal comprised entirely of vegetables fertilized with previous waste of Seminar in Ecuador students. I was starting to bristle at the idea of that.

“After three years, when the outhouse is filled, I move the building a few feet over, dig up the decomposed waste from the old pit, and leave the first pit to decompose again. Don't worry. I only put that fertilizer on the trees—not in the garden. It's completely safe, but you never want to risk it. So,” Carlos said in a completely dry tone, looking around at all of us, “thank you for your shit.”

That is the moment when I realized I could deal with using an outhouse: its owner had just thanked me for my bodily fluids. That example of recycling is telling of his attitude toward farming. His unhurried attitude purposefully reflects nature's slow pace. His goal is to mimic the forest in sustainable agriculture in the hopes of leaving the land as natural as possible, even while he uses it to his advantage. Carlos Zorilla's model for sustainable agriculture in the Intag Cloud Forest should be emulated elsewhere because it is beneficial for our environment because it eliminates chemical drainage, biodiversity loss, and the decimation of land, and our own future to make the most out of the land by protecting it and being good stewards of it.

He was turned a primitive series of cabins into a beautiful, simplistic life to share with us. We're split into three small cabins, but I'm in the biggest one. There is a loft area, a small kitchen area, and two large rooms with bunk beds. It's lit only by candles and night and has an outhouse and a freezing cold shower house. I love it.

We took a hike all over his beautiful land today--one of the most difficult I've made, but I'm getting into shape in this mountain air! There are so many unusual plant species and bird types and so much green newness it is hard to take in all at once. But I'm really loving it here. We hiked to a waterfall where we all dipped our heads into the icy water. It's not hot here by any means, especially compared to the Amazon, but we worked up quite a sweat getting there. On the way back, Jenny, Shannon, and I stopped at the large waterfall closer to the cabin. We were told we wouldn't need our bikinis on this part of the trip so we didn't bring them. FALSE. We stripped down to our sports bras and underwear and let the icy water pound down on our heads as we splashed and squealed like little children.

Cold water is a recurring motif on this trip and if I were home, I'd be appalled by it. Shower, bathe, and swim in water cold enough to numb my skin? No thanks. But here, it is refreshing, yes, even numbing, but it makes you feel alive. The little needles of ice are piercing your skin and making it glow red but you know that this is the essence of being human. You aren't pampered by hot water, you are facing nature and not shying away from it or trying to tame it. This is really living.

November 15: Red Hot Chili Peppers and Andy Warhol

Inside Warholic Bar
Enjoying margaritas at the Red Hot Chili Pepper!


Shannon, Jenny, and I took a break from the rest of the group to explore Quito--in sanity and peace. The group is wonderful and I really like them but traveling in a herd can be tiresome. Everyone knows you're American when there is 27 of you tromping about the city.

Seafood was the original goal of the evening but we found the Red Hot Chili Peppers bar and restaurant and had to try it. My (extremely touristy) travel guide said it had delicious fajitas and the best margaritas in the city. We bought a whole pitcher and it was as delicious as advertised. The irony of eating at a Mexican restaurant with an American band's name in Ecuador was obvious but it was packed with a whole range of people and we were really enjoying the strawberry margs.

Four glasses of strawberry margaritas, a fajita salad, and hours of laughter later (entailing a comparison between the table's extra virgin olive oil and myself), we met up with Nate, Megan, Antonia, and Ashley to go to No Bar, a discoteca with a lively atmosphere and a bar (despite the name) on which we all danced. Yes, I danced on a bar.

The second bar we went to was the Warholic, where all the walls were covered in pop art and wonderful Andy Warhol prints. It was absolutely genius! I didn't drink a bit, just wandered around taking pictures of the decor. It was one of the coolest bars I've ever been in.

We left the Maple early to take a four-hour bus trip to Intag. I slept for most of it. We're getting close and I'm really excited!

November 14: The Return to Civilization

Mary, looking over Quito

A Mason all-seeing eye in a church




November 14, 2009
Location: Pasada del Maple, Quito
Weather: Sunny! Dry!

Yesterday was relateable to Dante's journey through Hell, just not as educational or as life-changing--just miserable.

Two hours down the Tiputini river, an hour of driving in a chiva, then another several hours on the Napo River. Playing with Spider monkeys in Coca was a nice diversion before our hellish airport ordeal.

One would think that in the Oriente, the most human, scalding part of the country, they would worship air conditioners. No, the airport is au naturale in the elements.

Not much else is worth noting except the incredible stench, fury, and impatience of our group. We all have ups and downs in our group dynamic and this is definitely a down!

Well, I lie. On the return trip on the Tiputini River, we spotted a pink river dolphin. Not much of it, mind you, mostly the lumped head and the cresting back. They are considered magical by the natives of Amazonia and also an aphrodisiac. They aren't very attractive creatures, other than their unusual pink color. Lumpy heads, misshapen bodies, but pale pink and completely unusual in the murky water of the tributary.

We flew into Quito at sunset. Cool, dry air never felt so heavenly. I love Quito. I have ever since I flew into it in 2007 and had my first taste of Ecuador. It's a lovely, lovely city.

Pasada del Maple is a lovely, twisting building, filled to the brim with bright colors and loads of character. It reminds me of the House of the Spirits because I haven't quite figured out the layout yet. It's got passages and hallways that go every which way.

The first thing I did after throwing my filthy clothes in a garbage bag (revolting--positively revolting--and as damp as if I'd just pulled them from the wash), was to jump into the hot, hot shower and dry myself completely for the first time in a week.

Having no clothes but a single pair of underware salvaged from my Amazonian wreckage, and a slightly sweat-stained bra until the boys returned with the extra clothes we'd left here in Quito, I was eager to get the wash done. But then... clean clothes! Perfume! Make up! Being CLEAN! It never did feel so wonderful. I can live with out it, but I prefer personal hygiene.

Dinner was free time to spend however we wanted to. Nine or ten of us found an Italian restaurant two blocks from the hostel. Seven full-sized pizzas later, at 10 PM, we returned to snuggle in our clean, dry beds.

After all this time, none of us have an qualms about lack of clothing around each other. We've all been so filthy and so awkward already, it's nothing. Someone accidentally walked in on me in the shower and the boys have no qualms about walking around in their boxers in our shared bathroom area. No one cares. Therefore, everyone sleeps in their underwear until our clothes are done by the hotel.

This morning, we toured Quito, overlooked the city from its guardian angel, Santa Maria. A church we visited was covered in 110 lbs. of leaf gold. It was magnificently revolting in its grandeur. The next church held hints of its Mason past. Although the Free Masons weren't permitted to meet at all, they used prayer to disguise their meetings. Triangles and all-seeing eyes decorate the Gothic edifice, despite Catholicism's push to eliminate the secret society. The city is so striking. The Spanish influence in the older blocks is absolutely beautiful. We didn't get to go up the Teleferico like I did last time I was here but we had a stunning day to explore the Presidential Palace and the surrounding areas.

Lunch was also free. Shannon, Jenny, Natalie, Kyle, and I went for sushi (my first time) and stocked up on supplies (namely gum and Nutella!).

This present moment finds me back at the Maple, journaling my way through Dr. Martin's final literature class on Wolves' Dream. Quito is dark at 6:30 (now) and my brain is quite finished with existentialism and the reality of truth. I'm a terrible English major. The cool thing about this "class" is that Abdon Ubidia, the author of the book is here discussing it with us. Unfortunately, it's in Spanish and I understand only a fraction of it.

November 30: Politics with Mama Isa

Abuelita

Mama Isa <3


November 30, 2009
Location: Cuenca
Time: 8:25 PM Weather: Cool because we are finally getting much-needed rain! Hopefully the hydroelectric plants will work full-time again.

My host mom and I ate dinner together and talked a lot about our day. She had a terrible day because her mother, who has Alzheimer's and is living with us for two weeks, kept her awake all night. Her hands hurt, her feet hurt, her head hurt. Poor Mama Isa only slept for a half-hour at a time. Abuelita was lucid for the last few days, but I guess she has been a wreck today.

When I returned from lunch to do homework, she was sitting in the kitchen crying. Two of my aunts, my uncle, and my mom were trying to calm her down, but she kept insisting that thieves had stolen her money. Mama said that she had dementia for quite a few years, but it's only been in the last three months that she has gone down hill. She thinks that perhaps it is the result of a long, difficult vacation to the United States. At any rate, Abuelita is only 80, blind, and declining mentally. I can only imagine what Mama Isa has gone through in the last six months with her husband (el hijo de puta), her mom's health in serious decline, and me, on top of it all.

I've decided to write my last American Literature paper on gender roles in The House of Spirits and compare those represented with my family's and my experiences here in Ecuador. I know that gender is such a cliché and unoriginal thing to write about, but both in the novel and in life here, it is undeniably evident that, even in a patriarchal society, the woman has a lot of power.

My mother and two of my aunts are incredibly strong, self-sufficient women. They take care of their ailing mother, their children, their other family, their household chores, they hold good jobs, and they're getting or have their masters degree, all at the same time. It amazes me frequently. They aren't sitting dejectedly on a corner with their hands out simply because their husbands aren't around, or depending on their brothers to provide for them, even though they could. They're making something out of their lives and succeeding in it, despite the machismo running rampant in the culture. After our conversation about Abuelita, we drifted on to politics.

I asked whether or not Mama Isa liked Correa.

“No! Nunca!” She replied emphatically. No, never.

She talked about how he was such close friends with Morales and Chavez, and how he is not doing anything good for the country. My cousin, Wellington (Willie), said that he liked Correa a lot because he gave free books to the schools. He defended him highly because of this. I asked my mom if it was true or not. It's true, she said, but the books the government provides are small, incomplete, and very few. They are inefficient and are resulting in students being unprepared, with a lesser capacity to learn than before. He is controlling what the schools teach by giving them free books. Also, she said that he is controlling the media. Nothing on television or in newspapers is unbiased.

Profesora Tossi said that on December 10, Correa would have a great power over the media. Worse, in my opinion, is the lack of government-funded libraries in the country. Mama said that a previous president opened many libraries with free internet and free rentals. Now, there are very few, and nothing is free. If you can't take it away completely, the next best thing is to make it impossible to afford and obtain. It's a very smart move on Correa's part if he's attempting to dumb down the people of Ecuador. Mama thinks he is following Chavez's and Morales' leads and is heading down the same path. Profesora Tossi thinks that he took away the monetary support, is forcing the libraries into bankruptcy, then will provide funding later on to make it appear as though it was all his doing to supply the people with them. His family comes from a low background, so he automatically has most of their support.

I know from my Orientation class that the Indigenous want nothing to do with him because of his pro-mining stance (especially after his platform against mining), but a lot of the poor and lower-class populations love him. Single women with children get a significant monetary benefit, but she, who works her fingers to the bone at school, gets 20% of her paycheck taken away for taxes. That would be Correa's socialist policies at work. I'm not sure if this is happening already or if he only wants it to happen right now, but Mama said that she and her husband own 60 hectares of land and, since they have no children, Correa wants to take away 40 hectares to give to the poor people. This is land that Mama Isa and her husband worked hard to pay for. Of course she doesn't want it taken away simply because the government deems it unnecessary for two people to own so much.

My teacher filled in the blanks for me about the land situation, today. Profesora Isabel Tossi said that Correa wants proof that every hectare of land is being farmed. If it isn't, he will take it away. “Capitalism isn't very good,” she told me, “but socialism is worse. It only helps the poor.”

We talked a little bit about the U.S.'s political situation and she told me that she thought Obama and Correa were similar: both from humble backgrounds, both a bit socialist, both aiming to increase taxes substantially for social aid, and both have enormous support from the lower classes because of their policies. I found that to be very interesting.

Not a country to support racial equality, I wasn't surprised to hear her add at the end, “Y el es negro!”

I laughed at this. It isn't an insult but a reflection of Ecuador's culture. Blacks are few and far between. Even though our cousin Leti is black and there is a large population in Esmeraldas, they aren't see as being very high on the cultural food chain because there just aren't many of them.

I'm amazed that Mama Isa and I could have this conversation. My limited Spanish slowed us down and I had to look up political words in my dictionary (mi companero) but I could understand it! It shows just how fare I've come in the last 8 weeks.