As I come to the final stretch in my time here in Ecuador, I have found myself unfortunately, and finally, swamped with work. However, as I have grown tired of reading endless anthropology articles for a paper I am writing, I will take this opportunity to write a blog post about my past weekend. Because despite the increasing homework loads we are all contending with, it does not stop us from having fun.
On Thursday we participated in an IES tradition known as the chiva. A chiva is like an open air bus. Everyone climbs into the back, music blasts, and the bus drives around Quito, passing through some well known spots. We were told to invite whomever we wanted, and so not only was everyone from the program present, so were many peoples' friends, both American and Ecuadorian, that we had made over the course of the semester. My own Ecuadorian friend Adrian was there as well. It was certainly fun on its own, but it was also a good reflection. Very rarely is everyone in the program gathered in one place, so it was good to see everyone. But moreover it was good to see the greater group of all of our friends. At the beginning we only knew each other. Now we knew so many more people.
On Friday I only worked. But on Saturday I went with my anthropology class on a field trip to an indigenous village called Quilotoa. The trip was fun and relaxing. We hiked down to a lagoon in the middle of a collapsed crater. Most people stuck to the path, but my friend Paul and I of course needed to find a shortcut. After finding a couple of shortcuts that only led to a vertical drop, we finally found a way down into the valley that was off the usual path. We beat everyone else down there. At the bottom, we rented a kayak to take around the lake. It was calm, but the valley was beautiful.
The hike back up needless to say was less fun than the trip down. We had the option of renting mules, but of course, being a man, I forwent that option. By the time I reached the top, my lungs were burning, but I had made it.
That night I learned a new card game, which I couldn't begin to spell, and is apparently played mostly in the midwest. Afterwards, we went outside, despite the biting cold, and looked at more stars than I had ever seen. I saw two shooting stars that night.
Sleeping that night was difficult at first. Quilotoa is incredibly cold, and I slept with six layers and a sweatshirt. The next day, we spoke with some of the indigenous about their lives in the village, which supposedly made the trip anthropology related. And afterwards we went home.
We got back into Quito around one. I went home, where I found my family beginning their mother's day lunch. There was more family than I had ever seen. My usual ecuasiblings, their significant others, and my ecuanephew were there. But my ecuaaunt, ecuacousins, and ecuagrandmother we all there as well, only one of whom I had met. My ecuagrandmother's mind was definitely starting to go, and she treated us to some very funny comments, one regarding how one of my ecuasisters needs to start having children because she's running out of time.
Afterwards I called my own mother, and was able to talk to her. We couldn't talk long, but it was okay because I was going to be back in Dallas in less than two weeks.
And it's true. I will be back in Dallas very soon, and my adventure in Ecuador will be over. It's hard to believe it went so quickly. I am so excited about returning home to see everything that is familiar and see everyone I love. But at the same time, I can't help hoping I end up back here in Ecuador one day.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Monday, April 26, 2010
Tena
There are many times I have been closer to death than this weekend. Walking among criminals in Quito, hiking among grizzly bears in Montana, swimming among sharks in Florida are just a few instances in which I was probably in more danger. I know that. However, our perceptions often do not reflect our reality. And this weekend certainly felt like one of the most dangerous of my life.
This weekend, I and a handful of friends went to Tena, a small town just inside the Amazon, to go rafting. My friend Kelly is big into rafting, and she had been telling us how she wanted to go for so long, so she organized a trip, negotiated a low price for us, and recruited those people who were interested. In the end it ended up being myself, her, and our friends Karen and David, and our Swiss friend Daniel. So on Friday afternoon we packed our bags, met in front of La Catolica, and made our way to the bus station. The bus ride to Tena was not especially comfortable (bus rides in Ecuador seldom are) but we arrived in good time.
I had forgotten how uncomfortable the climate was in the Amazon. The climates in the Ecuadorian mainland’s three main regions are all starkly different. The coast is dry and blazing hot, the sierra is dry and cool (though nowhere close to cold), and the Amazon is incredibly humid, heavy, and very warm. Though not the blazing heat of the coast, you still sweat all the time, and a shower does little to help.
When arrived we were greeted by Diego, the person with whom Kelly had been corresponding to coordinate the trip. He took us in his truck to our hostel, at which they had pre-arranged rooms, and was located next door to the rafting center. We were shown to our rooms, girls in one room, guys in another. We went out for a beer and a bite to eat, and then returned to sleep. This can be difficult to do in the Amazon because of the extremely hot humidity that permeates everything. However, we all slept as close to naked as possible on top of the covers, with the fan on full power.
It rained all night, as it often does in the rainforest, and the next morning the rain had brought the temperature down considerably, to a nice feel. We gathered and went downstairs for breakfast. We knew we would be rafting with others, so while we sat and waited for our food, we kept an eye out for other potential rafters. Four American girls sat at another table, who we later found out were rafting with us, and two other people, a guy and a girl, approached us where we were sitting.
“I suppose this is the table for the people who are rafting,” he said with a bit of an accent. We said yes, and invited them to sit. As we learned, they were both from Israel—Benjamin and Inbam were their names. They were incredibly interesting people. They had both served in the Israeli military (as all Israelis must do) and now were traveling all around South America. They had been to Brazil, Argentina, Chile, Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador, and they were finishing in Colombia. They were both very nice, and speaking to them about life in Israel and their opinions on the global affairs that affected their nation was enlightening to say the least.
After breakfast we met our rafting guides, loaded into trucks with the equipment, and drove out to where our rafting would begin. When we arrived, we were given life jackets, helmets, and a safety talk that definitely had us asking ourselves what we had gotten ourselves into. We had two guides, one named Daniel, and another named Danny. I will try to keep these two and our Swiss friend Daniel all straight.
Daniel (the guide) told us about the various things we needed to do to stay safe on the river. He said that if the raft tips, try to grab onto the rope on the side. If you can’t and are floating freely, lay on your back with your legs bent in front of you to protect against rocks, and breathe. There were two things to look out for in the water: washing machines and whirlpools. Washing machines succeeded rocks, and were the points where the water was forced down, spun like a washing machine, and then came up. If we were caught in one we were told to get into the fetal position and let the washing machine spit us out rather than fight it. Whirlpools were, well, whirlpools. If caught in one, we were supposed to just let ourselves get sucked in and spit out downriver. For safety, Diego was in a kayak, and could come pick us up and drag us back to the raft. Diego was a kayaking professional, and never had any trouble on the river. He would accompany us the whole way.
We split into two groups: the four American girls and two Israelis in one raft, the five of us in another. We were with Danny; they were with Daniel. In our raft we also had Diego’s nephew, Ryan, who was around eight or nine years old, and became a fast friend of mine. The rafting went easily at first. We went over some small rapids, and some nice calm patches. We all began to get the feel for the oars and the commands. Everything seemed to be going well. Then we came to one patch that was especially rough.
We began the rafting, going over rapids, until we hit one particularly big wave, and took it sideways. To our horror, the raft flipped upside down, throwing us all into the water with it. I fought to get out from under it, and popped up quickly on the other side. I positioned myself as we were told, but quickly found myself going over some rapids solo. Ryan and David were also with me. The others had managed to get back into the raft. As I went downriver I plucked two oars out of the water, and David had managed to grab an oar himself. We went over a rock or two, and then Diego arrived in his kayak. David grabbed one side, I grabbed the other, and then I reached an oar out to Ryan, calling for him to grab it. We were not out of the rapids yet. We continued down the river, grasping in my left hand an oar that Ryan was clinging to, and in my right hand both another oar and the handle on the kayak that was keeping me somewhat safe. Diego fought to keep us all away from rocks and above water. The ride was rough and difficult, but we finally made it out of the rapids and were able to rejoin the raft.
Our raft did not flip for the rest of the trip. Whenever we came to something that looked like it could flip us, Danny yelled for us to jump inside the raft. By centering the weight within, we escaped flipping. The other raft was not so lucky however. They flipped three more times. The first time they and their oars scatted. We gathered their oars, and even one of their girls. I saw Benjamin drag two girls out of the water by himself. Once we exited that set of rapids, we returned them their oars and their final person. They flipped twice more, but showed increasing skill at scrambling back into the raft.
The day was very fun, and they views were absolutely gorgeous. There are few things in this world as beautiful as the Amazon, and seeing it from a river is incredible. The American girls were unfortunately leaving that night for Quito, but the Israelis were staying for the next day to raft with us again.
That night we all went with Diego back to his house, were we made a small fire and showed him and the Israelis a great American tradition: smores. David and I headed up the smores project. I had brought marshmallows, he had brought chocolate, and the girls had brought crackers (there are no graham crackers in Ecuador that we have found). With that, we showed them the beauty of smores. That night, with a stomach full of smores and muscles aching from the intense rowing, I slept excellently.
The next day was more difficult. The first day had been class 3+ rapids. The next day was class 4+ rapids. Inbal decided not to raft, so it was the five of us and Benjamin, this time with the guide Daniel, rather than Danny. Diego was our safety kayaker once again. We took the river at the beginning, and it was easy, but our plan was to take it to the Misahualli River, which would have the stronger rapids. Indeed the first river was easy, and beautiful. But when we reached the Misahualli, it became much rougher. The first couple of rapids we made easily. But on our first class 4, the raft flipped. We all were scattered, as were the paddles. David, Karen, and I got stuck in front of a washing machine, though not in it, so we swam with all our strength to get away from it. Kelly was not so lucky. She got stuck in one and was under the water for quite a while before popping back out. However, we all got back into the raft and went off again.
However, it was not long before we flipped again. We came to a long stretch of class 4 rapids, and began to take them. We did well at first, but came to a big wave. We hit it hard, and the boat flipped. As it went, I grabbed the side rope, so I remained near the raft. As soon as my head broke water I heard shouting. The guide was climbing on top of the raft to flip it upright while shouting at everyone to get to the left. David and Karen broke for the left. I, not understanding what he was saying, stuck with the raft. He flipped it and jumped in. The danger was we were quickly coming up on some fast and dangerous rapids, and being in the water was not a good idea.
The guide Daniel, our friend Daniel, Kelly and Benjamin had all managed to jump back in, but I was struggling. Just before we hit the rapids, Benjamin reached down, took me by the life jacket, and hauled me into the raft. And just in time. We huddled in the raft as the currents batted us around like a pinball. All I could hear were the rapids and the guide yelling at us to stay in the raft. Suddenly he yelled at us to row. We grabbed oars and began rowing for our lives. We finally reached an easy place and rowed to the side. We were missing Karen and David.
Suddenly, Diego emerged from the rapids on his kayak, towing Karen behind him. He brought her over to us and we pulled her in. She apparently had taken many of the rapids by herself, and had not had fun doing it. But we were still missing David. We rowed upstream a bit, and the guide got out to look for him. All of a sudden, we saw him on the bank of the river on the opposite side. We had been most afraid for him, but he had fared the best of us all. We rowed over, picked him up, and prepared for the next set of rapids, which were immediately before us.
We flipped once more, but were much faster at pulling ourselves back into the raft. After the third time the guide realized what our problem was. He told us if it seemed like we were going to flip we should lean forward to throw our weight to the front of the boat, and we would increase our chances of clearing it. We quickly had a chance to test this out on a string of long class 4 rapids called paranoia. Paranoia was difficult, but we employed his strategy, and effectively cleared them without flipping.
After paranoia, we rowed to the side of the river. The next set of rapids was called Casanova, and was class 6. We could not raft them. So instead, the guides tied the raft to a rope and walked along the side, dragging the raft through the difficult rapids. We had to hike up into the forest and around a cliff side to reach the place where we would get back in. Here was the problem with Casanova: while we skipped most of it, there was one big rapid we still would have to clear in the raft, and flipping was a bad idea because further downriver, before Casanova ended completely, was an incredibly powerful washing machine, one that might now spit you out, or might actually just hold you under the water with the force of the water pressure. That meant if we fell our we would either have to hold desperately to the raft and hope, or make a break for the side and try to hold ourselves there until we could be rescued. Neither was an incredibly appealing option.
We were all incredibly nervous as we slowly boarded the raft. The guide gave us the instructions: we would have to row incredibly hard, and just as we hit the wave, we would have to all get in the raft to try to keep it from flipping. My heart was pounding and my adrenaline was pumping harder that in had yet. We pushed off and began to row. The first challenge was going over the rapid in the right place. If we went over in the wrong place we would smash against some rocks. We came to the right rapid, and here was the hard part. The guide yelled at us to row forward, as the rapid got louder and louder. “In!” he finally yelled. We all jumped in the raft, and hoped.
The raft smashed into the wave, turning up the nose. My heart leapt and I prepared to grab the rope on the side of the boat for our overturning. But, the nose fell back, and the raft was pushed over the wave, staying righted. “Forward!” the guide yelled, and we all scrambled back to our positions, rowing as hard as we possibly could. We cleared the final small rapid, and had reached calm waters.
We all cheered at having cleared the rapid, and breathed a sigh of relief. From then on the rapids were not as bad, and we never overturned again. We finally ended our journey at the port of Misahualli, which ironically enough was the same place we had begun our first journey in the Amazon in February. Then, I had come down to the bank of the river to look at the river. Now I was riding up to the town on the river, and the people on the bank were watching me. We arrived, dragged the boat up, and after eating a hearty and much needed meal, returned to Tena.
The weekend was incredibly fun, though terrifying at times. Our guides were very excellent, and we made some new friends from Israel. This will very possibly be the last big trip I take in Ecuador, and if it is, it will have been one of the greatest, and certainly the most extreme. Not only will it stand out as one of the greatest times in Ecuador, it will stand out forever as one of the greatest adventures in my life.
This weekend, I and a handful of friends went to Tena, a small town just inside the Amazon, to go rafting. My friend Kelly is big into rafting, and she had been telling us how she wanted to go for so long, so she organized a trip, negotiated a low price for us, and recruited those people who were interested. In the end it ended up being myself, her, and our friends Karen and David, and our Swiss friend Daniel. So on Friday afternoon we packed our bags, met in front of La Catolica, and made our way to the bus station. The bus ride to Tena was not especially comfortable (bus rides in Ecuador seldom are) but we arrived in good time.
I had forgotten how uncomfortable the climate was in the Amazon. The climates in the Ecuadorian mainland’s three main regions are all starkly different. The coast is dry and blazing hot, the sierra is dry and cool (though nowhere close to cold), and the Amazon is incredibly humid, heavy, and very warm. Though not the blazing heat of the coast, you still sweat all the time, and a shower does little to help.
When arrived we were greeted by Diego, the person with whom Kelly had been corresponding to coordinate the trip. He took us in his truck to our hostel, at which they had pre-arranged rooms, and was located next door to the rafting center. We were shown to our rooms, girls in one room, guys in another. We went out for a beer and a bite to eat, and then returned to sleep. This can be difficult to do in the Amazon because of the extremely hot humidity that permeates everything. However, we all slept as close to naked as possible on top of the covers, with the fan on full power.
It rained all night, as it often does in the rainforest, and the next morning the rain had brought the temperature down considerably, to a nice feel. We gathered and went downstairs for breakfast. We knew we would be rafting with others, so while we sat and waited for our food, we kept an eye out for other potential rafters. Four American girls sat at another table, who we later found out were rafting with us, and two other people, a guy and a girl, approached us where we were sitting.
“I suppose this is the table for the people who are rafting,” he said with a bit of an accent. We said yes, and invited them to sit. As we learned, they were both from Israel—Benjamin and Inbam were their names. They were incredibly interesting people. They had both served in the Israeli military (as all Israelis must do) and now were traveling all around South America. They had been to Brazil, Argentina, Chile, Peru, Bolivia, Ecuador, and they were finishing in Colombia. They were both very nice, and speaking to them about life in Israel and their opinions on the global affairs that affected their nation was enlightening to say the least.
After breakfast we met our rafting guides, loaded into trucks with the equipment, and drove out to where our rafting would begin. When we arrived, we were given life jackets, helmets, and a safety talk that definitely had us asking ourselves what we had gotten ourselves into. We had two guides, one named Daniel, and another named Danny. I will try to keep these two and our Swiss friend Daniel all straight.
Daniel (the guide) told us about the various things we needed to do to stay safe on the river. He said that if the raft tips, try to grab onto the rope on the side. If you can’t and are floating freely, lay on your back with your legs bent in front of you to protect against rocks, and breathe. There were two things to look out for in the water: washing machines and whirlpools. Washing machines succeeded rocks, and were the points where the water was forced down, spun like a washing machine, and then came up. If we were caught in one we were told to get into the fetal position and let the washing machine spit us out rather than fight it. Whirlpools were, well, whirlpools. If caught in one, we were supposed to just let ourselves get sucked in and spit out downriver. For safety, Diego was in a kayak, and could come pick us up and drag us back to the raft. Diego was a kayaking professional, and never had any trouble on the river. He would accompany us the whole way.
We split into two groups: the four American girls and two Israelis in one raft, the five of us in another. We were with Danny; they were with Daniel. In our raft we also had Diego’s nephew, Ryan, who was around eight or nine years old, and became a fast friend of mine. The rafting went easily at first. We went over some small rapids, and some nice calm patches. We all began to get the feel for the oars and the commands. Everything seemed to be going well. Then we came to one patch that was especially rough.
We began the rafting, going over rapids, until we hit one particularly big wave, and took it sideways. To our horror, the raft flipped upside down, throwing us all into the water with it. I fought to get out from under it, and popped up quickly on the other side. I positioned myself as we were told, but quickly found myself going over some rapids solo. Ryan and David were also with me. The others had managed to get back into the raft. As I went downriver I plucked two oars out of the water, and David had managed to grab an oar himself. We went over a rock or two, and then Diego arrived in his kayak. David grabbed one side, I grabbed the other, and then I reached an oar out to Ryan, calling for him to grab it. We were not out of the rapids yet. We continued down the river, grasping in my left hand an oar that Ryan was clinging to, and in my right hand both another oar and the handle on the kayak that was keeping me somewhat safe. Diego fought to keep us all away from rocks and above water. The ride was rough and difficult, but we finally made it out of the rapids and were able to rejoin the raft.
Our raft did not flip for the rest of the trip. Whenever we came to something that looked like it could flip us, Danny yelled for us to jump inside the raft. By centering the weight within, we escaped flipping. The other raft was not so lucky however. They flipped three more times. The first time they and their oars scatted. We gathered their oars, and even one of their girls. I saw Benjamin drag two girls out of the water by himself. Once we exited that set of rapids, we returned them their oars and their final person. They flipped twice more, but showed increasing skill at scrambling back into the raft.
The day was very fun, and they views were absolutely gorgeous. There are few things in this world as beautiful as the Amazon, and seeing it from a river is incredible. The American girls were unfortunately leaving that night for Quito, but the Israelis were staying for the next day to raft with us again.
That night we all went with Diego back to his house, were we made a small fire and showed him and the Israelis a great American tradition: smores. David and I headed up the smores project. I had brought marshmallows, he had brought chocolate, and the girls had brought crackers (there are no graham crackers in Ecuador that we have found). With that, we showed them the beauty of smores. That night, with a stomach full of smores and muscles aching from the intense rowing, I slept excellently.
The next day was more difficult. The first day had been class 3+ rapids. The next day was class 4+ rapids. Inbal decided not to raft, so it was the five of us and Benjamin, this time with the guide Daniel, rather than Danny. Diego was our safety kayaker once again. We took the river at the beginning, and it was easy, but our plan was to take it to the Misahualli River, which would have the stronger rapids. Indeed the first river was easy, and beautiful. But when we reached the Misahualli, it became much rougher. The first couple of rapids we made easily. But on our first class 4, the raft flipped. We all were scattered, as were the paddles. David, Karen, and I got stuck in front of a washing machine, though not in it, so we swam with all our strength to get away from it. Kelly was not so lucky. She got stuck in one and was under the water for quite a while before popping back out. However, we all got back into the raft and went off again.
However, it was not long before we flipped again. We came to a long stretch of class 4 rapids, and began to take them. We did well at first, but came to a big wave. We hit it hard, and the boat flipped. As it went, I grabbed the side rope, so I remained near the raft. As soon as my head broke water I heard shouting. The guide was climbing on top of the raft to flip it upright while shouting at everyone to get to the left. David and Karen broke for the left. I, not understanding what he was saying, stuck with the raft. He flipped it and jumped in. The danger was we were quickly coming up on some fast and dangerous rapids, and being in the water was not a good idea.
The guide Daniel, our friend Daniel, Kelly and Benjamin had all managed to jump back in, but I was struggling. Just before we hit the rapids, Benjamin reached down, took me by the life jacket, and hauled me into the raft. And just in time. We huddled in the raft as the currents batted us around like a pinball. All I could hear were the rapids and the guide yelling at us to stay in the raft. Suddenly he yelled at us to row. We grabbed oars and began rowing for our lives. We finally reached an easy place and rowed to the side. We were missing Karen and David.
Suddenly, Diego emerged from the rapids on his kayak, towing Karen behind him. He brought her over to us and we pulled her in. She apparently had taken many of the rapids by herself, and had not had fun doing it. But we were still missing David. We rowed upstream a bit, and the guide got out to look for him. All of a sudden, we saw him on the bank of the river on the opposite side. We had been most afraid for him, but he had fared the best of us all. We rowed over, picked him up, and prepared for the next set of rapids, which were immediately before us.
We flipped once more, but were much faster at pulling ourselves back into the raft. After the third time the guide realized what our problem was. He told us if it seemed like we were going to flip we should lean forward to throw our weight to the front of the boat, and we would increase our chances of clearing it. We quickly had a chance to test this out on a string of long class 4 rapids called paranoia. Paranoia was difficult, but we employed his strategy, and effectively cleared them without flipping.
After paranoia, we rowed to the side of the river. The next set of rapids was called Casanova, and was class 6. We could not raft them. So instead, the guides tied the raft to a rope and walked along the side, dragging the raft through the difficult rapids. We had to hike up into the forest and around a cliff side to reach the place where we would get back in. Here was the problem with Casanova: while we skipped most of it, there was one big rapid we still would have to clear in the raft, and flipping was a bad idea because further downriver, before Casanova ended completely, was an incredibly powerful washing machine, one that might now spit you out, or might actually just hold you under the water with the force of the water pressure. That meant if we fell our we would either have to hold desperately to the raft and hope, or make a break for the side and try to hold ourselves there until we could be rescued. Neither was an incredibly appealing option.
We were all incredibly nervous as we slowly boarded the raft. The guide gave us the instructions: we would have to row incredibly hard, and just as we hit the wave, we would have to all get in the raft to try to keep it from flipping. My heart was pounding and my adrenaline was pumping harder that in had yet. We pushed off and began to row. The first challenge was going over the rapid in the right place. If we went over in the wrong place we would smash against some rocks. We came to the right rapid, and here was the hard part. The guide yelled at us to row forward, as the rapid got louder and louder. “In!” he finally yelled. We all jumped in the raft, and hoped.
The raft smashed into the wave, turning up the nose. My heart leapt and I prepared to grab the rope on the side of the boat for our overturning. But, the nose fell back, and the raft was pushed over the wave, staying righted. “Forward!” the guide yelled, and we all scrambled back to our positions, rowing as hard as we possibly could. We cleared the final small rapid, and had reached calm waters.
We all cheered at having cleared the rapid, and breathed a sigh of relief. From then on the rapids were not as bad, and we never overturned again. We finally ended our journey at the port of Misahualli, which ironically enough was the same place we had begun our first journey in the Amazon in February. Then, I had come down to the bank of the river to look at the river. Now I was riding up to the town on the river, and the people on the bank were watching me. We arrived, dragged the boat up, and after eating a hearty and much needed meal, returned to Tena.
The weekend was incredibly fun, though terrifying at times. Our guides were very excellent, and we made some new friends from Israel. This will very possibly be the last big trip I take in Ecuador, and if it is, it will have been one of the greatest, and certainly the most extreme. Not only will it stand out as one of the greatest times in Ecuador, it will stand out forever as one of the greatest adventures in my life.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Cotopaxi
When I first arrived in Ecuador, I heard from many people, both Americans who had visited Ecuador and Ecuadorians, that one of the things I absolutely needed to do was visit the volcano of Cotopaxi. Cotopaxi is the tallest active volcano in Ecuador, and the second tallest volcano, next to Chimborazo. So, some friends and I decided to take a day trip and visit on Saturday.
We went with a general idea of how we would get there, but we really planned little for the actual trip. We decided in advance that we would meet in front of La Catolica, our university, at an incredibly early seven in the morning. It sounded like a good idea on Friday, but on Saturday morning when my alarm went of at six a.m., I felt differently. After eating and packing my bag with two different jackets, I headed off. Those of us who were going were: me, my friends Kelly and Karen, with whom I do most of my traveling, my friends Liz and Emily, and a Swiss guy named Daniel who we had met on Thursday. Once we were all together, we headed off in the direction of the bus called the Trole. The Trole ride was about an hour, and we had to switch buses at one point, but it was fun. I, in my usual self, broke into song, immediately separating the morning people, who found it fun and amusing, from those who are definitely not morning people. Example: Karen joined me in a chorus of "Ring of Fire", while Emily, embarrassed, asked me to stop drawing attention to us.
We arrived at the Quitumbre station, and hopped on a bus to Latacunga, which is just a half-hour south of Cotopaxi. We told the bus driver that we wanted to stop in front of the Cotopaxi national park, and so when we reached it, he dropped us off on the side of the road. In the park, we were met by a man with a truck who told us for ten dollars a person he would drive us to the foot of the volcano, wait for us to climb, and then drive us back. We accepted, and rode in the back of his truck on the long ride to the foot of the volcano. Once there, we climbed up to the first refuge on the mountain. The climb, as most climbs are, was a struggle, especially at first, but we finally reached the refuge. From there, after resting, we went on to the enormous glacier that covers the top of the volcano.
On the mountain, we ran into many Europeans, and a couple of Texans, from Houston, who were in Ecuador for the weekend for a little climbing. It's always nice to speak to Americans. It was extra nice to speak to Texans. I got an update on my home state, accompanied by a twinge of nostalgia. Afterwards, we headed back down the mountain, a significantly easier leg of the overall climb. At the bottom we met our driver and talked to him about our climb. He told us a few interesting facts about Cotopaxi, and then turned and pointed up to the mountain. "You see on the mountain how towards the bottom the ground is black?" he asked in spanish. Yes, we replied. "Above that is red ground, and above that is the glacier." He was right. In between the glacier and the normally colored blackish brown soil was a swath of maroon soil. "That," he told us, "is where, twenty years ago, the glacier was." The glacier has been receding for the past twenty years at an alarming rate, due to the warming global climate, and the red ground marked where it had once been.
We drove next to a lagoon in the park to take some pictures, and after to a museum. I say museum, but that word is a bit of a stretch. It was more like a couple of room with pictures and information of the mountain. But still, it was free. Finally, we drove back to the road. There, we flagged down a bus headed to Quito (this is common practice in Ecuador) and for a dollar got a ride back.
The next day I realized that after climbing the mountain, I had gotten a light sunburn on the back of my neck and on my face. I had not even thought about sunscreen because it was cold on the top of the mountain, but in truth the atmosphere was thin and the sun was on me most of the time, so it makes sense. But later, my ecuamadre pointed out the irony that I had spent five days in the Galapagos islands without getting burned, and then one day on a cold mountain, and I did.
We went with a general idea of how we would get there, but we really planned little for the actual trip. We decided in advance that we would meet in front of La Catolica, our university, at an incredibly early seven in the morning. It sounded like a good idea on Friday, but on Saturday morning when my alarm went of at six a.m., I felt differently. After eating and packing my bag with two different jackets, I headed off. Those of us who were going were: me, my friends Kelly and Karen, with whom I do most of my traveling, my friends Liz and Emily, and a Swiss guy named Daniel who we had met on Thursday. Once we were all together, we headed off in the direction of the bus called the Trole. The Trole ride was about an hour, and we had to switch buses at one point, but it was fun. I, in my usual self, broke into song, immediately separating the morning people, who found it fun and amusing, from those who are definitely not morning people. Example: Karen joined me in a chorus of "Ring of Fire", while Emily, embarrassed, asked me to stop drawing attention to us.
We arrived at the Quitumbre station, and hopped on a bus to Latacunga, which is just a half-hour south of Cotopaxi. We told the bus driver that we wanted to stop in front of the Cotopaxi national park, and so when we reached it, he dropped us off on the side of the road. In the park, we were met by a man with a truck who told us for ten dollars a person he would drive us to the foot of the volcano, wait for us to climb, and then drive us back. We accepted, and rode in the back of his truck on the long ride to the foot of the volcano. Once there, we climbed up to the first refuge on the mountain. The climb, as most climbs are, was a struggle, especially at first, but we finally reached the refuge. From there, after resting, we went on to the enormous glacier that covers the top of the volcano.
On the mountain, we ran into many Europeans, and a couple of Texans, from Houston, who were in Ecuador for the weekend for a little climbing. It's always nice to speak to Americans. It was extra nice to speak to Texans. I got an update on my home state, accompanied by a twinge of nostalgia. Afterwards, we headed back down the mountain, a significantly easier leg of the overall climb. At the bottom we met our driver and talked to him about our climb. He told us a few interesting facts about Cotopaxi, and then turned and pointed up to the mountain. "You see on the mountain how towards the bottom the ground is black?" he asked in spanish. Yes, we replied. "Above that is red ground, and above that is the glacier." He was right. In between the glacier and the normally colored blackish brown soil was a swath of maroon soil. "That," he told us, "is where, twenty years ago, the glacier was." The glacier has been receding for the past twenty years at an alarming rate, due to the warming global climate, and the red ground marked where it had once been.
We drove next to a lagoon in the park to take some pictures, and after to a museum. I say museum, but that word is a bit of a stretch. It was more like a couple of room with pictures and information of the mountain. But still, it was free. Finally, we drove back to the road. There, we flagged down a bus headed to Quito (this is common practice in Ecuador) and for a dollar got a ride back.
The next day I realized that after climbing the mountain, I had gotten a light sunburn on the back of my neck and on my face. I had not even thought about sunscreen because it was cold on the top of the mountain, but in truth the atmosphere was thin and the sun was on me most of the time, so it makes sense. But later, my ecuamadre pointed out the irony that I had spent five days in the Galapagos islands without getting burned, and then one day on a cold mountain, and I did.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Las Islas Galápagos
One of the few places on earth untouched by pre-industrial man. The site of one of humanity's most significant scientific advancements. A land lying directly on the Equator, representing a diverse palette of life found all over the world. The Galapagos Islands. Ecuador commonly is divided into four pieces: the Amazon, the Sierra, which is all the land that lies in the Andean Mountains, and the Coast. But often a fourth piece is added: The Galapagos. It is a popular, yet scarcely visited tourist destination due to the enormously high costs of traveling there and the strict regulations placed on the islands to preserve its natural beauty. So the fact that I had the opportunity to visit is an incredible blessing that I will probably never have again.
On our first day, Holy Thursday, I woke up early and, thanks to the graciousness of my ecuapadre, was driven to the airport early in the morning. We all met, bags in hand, went through security, and boarded the plane. The plane ride was very comfortable, and we acted fairly ridiculous. The plane made a forty-five minute stop in Guayaquil to unload some passengers, and take on a few. During our recess, some of us contemplated playing hide and go seek on the plane (though not seriously) but ultimately rejected the idea. The ride to the islands themselves lasted about an hour and a half, and we finally landed on the tiny island of Baltra, which is just north of Santa Cruz.
As soon as we stepped off the plane, we were hit by a wave of heat that we would then be enduring for the rest of the trip. We waited in line to go through the security check. Afterwards, we grabbed our bags, and met our guides for the first time. All travelers to the Galapagos are required to be accompanied by a guide, both for the security of the tourists, and the protection of the environment. Ours were a tall, skinny man named Ramiro, and a shorter, stouter man named Humberto. They would come to play a very important role in our Galapagos adventure.
Next, we boarded a boat to go to Santa Cruz. The distance was so short between the islands that you could see the other side, but during our very short boat ride we saw some pelicans, and two sea lions, the first of many that we would see during our trip. Once we reached the other side, we got off, and got on a bus to our hotel. We dropped our bags, and went to dinner. Afterwards, we took a bus to a place called Los Gemelos, which is Spanish for the twins. The twins were twin craters in the ground, which were enormous and beautiful. We hiked around, and ended at a swamp. We tried to find tortoises, but could not, so we returned to the hotel. That night, a group of us walked to a karaoke bar, where a group of Ecuadorians was singing, and not well I might add. We wrested the microphone from them, and sang some songs of our own. We traded back and forth for a while, and our English songs attracted the attention of some elderly female American tourist. For our grand finale, we sang “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion, and all the American women joined in. Needless to say, it was epic display of gringo grandiosity.
Despite the hard bed and hot room, I slept like a rock. The next morning we woke early and ate breakfast. Everyone filled their water bottles, purchased medicine for seasickness, as we would be taking a boat ride later that day, and we were off to the famous Charles Darwin Research Station. At the station, we split into two groups, which would be our groups for the rest of the trip. My group was with Humberto, and was named Los Piqueros de Patas Azules, after a famous bird from the Galapagos. The other group, whose guide was Ramiro, was named Los Piqueros de Patas Rojas, which is another famous bird endemic to the Galapagos. On our tour we saw many different kinds of plants, and more interestingly, many different tortoises, including the famous Lonesome George, an iconic turtle who is the last of his species. We saw tortoises up close, tortoises mating, and land iguanas. It was at this time that everyone came to the realization; Los Piqueros de Patas Azules was definitely the better group.
Next, we headed back to the hotel to grab our bags, and then to the dock to board the boats. Each group boarded a different boat, and we were off. The waves were choppy and the boat bounced quite a bit. I had taken the seasickness medicine beforehand, but I felt sick anyway. I found that if I lay down on the floor of the boat, the urge to vomit was not quite as powerful, so I took a nap on the floor of the boat. Finally, after an hour and a half, we arrived at our next island: Isabela. We felt like champions as we chugged into the bay of Isabela in waters that were full of sea lions, small sharks, fish, and various rays. The water was clear as crystal, and we felt like we were in paradise. We got off, boarded a bus, and went to our hotel. We changed into swimsuits, put on our sunscreen, and went for a walk. We explored a part of the town, and ended at the beach, where all of us, the students, the guides, and the program directors, all plunged into the cool water. Many of us in our excitement took up a chorus of Journey's “Don't Stop Believing”, changing some key words to fit our location. We got out, and followed our guides to an underwater Mangrove, where we dove in again to explore. When the sun was setting we got out and headed back to the hotel. After dinner, we were free, and naturally, we went looking for ice cream. We made a visit to the beach and then returned to the hotel for another wonderful sleep.
We rose early again the next morning for breakfast and then changed into hiking clothes. Before I go on, let me describe the island of Isabela a little bit. It is the biggest island in Galapagos. The Galapagos were formed from volcanoes, and where most of them have one volcano, Isabela has five, and the most southern volcano has the second biggest crater in the world. We drove to the foot of a trail on this volcano and from there; we began our hike up to the crater. The day began very hot, but cooled as clouds rolled in. We reached the top of the crater, and could see down into the old volcano, which was covered by volcanic rock and green growth. From there, we hiked around the crater, stopping for lunch at some benches, until we reached the opposite side. Then, we crossed a field of volcanic rock, the site of an old eruption, which was covered in black rock and cactus. We finally stopped at a crest in the mountain, where we overlooked a beautiful view. After taking some pictures, we turned and went back.
We were exhausted, but the day was only half over. On the bus ride back, a group of us (that may or may not have been led by myself) treated the island of Isabela to a full spread of jubilant American songs ranging from “A Whole New World” to “Take Me Home Country Roads” to “Ring of Fire”. We returned to the hotel, applied second layers of sunscreen, changed into bathing suits, and prepared for snorkeling. We each received a mask and pair of flippers, boarded a bus, and drove to the docks. There, we divided into our groups and boarded boats which took us out into a bay. And there, we dove in. The water was filled with absolutely beautiful, and plentiful, fish. There were fish of all different colors. Partway through our swim people started exclaiming about a sea lion that they had seen swimming around. Occasionally I would hear someone shriek in excitement as they declared that they too had seen it. The sea lion in question finally came up to a small beach area, where we all gathered to watch him play. At one point during our swim, one of our guides declared he was going to look for sea turtles, and swam off. In a short time, he began calling to us. I was one of the first to reach him. He had indeed found a turtle, and I came upon it quite suddenly gliding through the water. The animal was beautiful. It swam slowly and gracefully. It controlled where it went with slow beats of its flippers, but also let the waves carry it if they came in. The animal appeared as if it were flying. It was very calm, and made no reaction when I swam up beside it.
Soon the turtle had led us all far out in the bay, and the sun was beginning to set. Our guide told us we should begin heading back, so we began to the swim back to the boats. That night we ate, and I went for a walk with some friends to the beach where we stayed until nearly midnight looking at the incredible display of stars over the ocean.
The next day was the fourth day, Easter, and we were all very happy. Maybe there were divine graces surrounding us, or maybe we were growing so tired from all the activity without proper rest that it was beginning to make us crazy. Whatever the reason, we were all in a good place. After breakfast, we gathered our stuff, including our snorkeling equipment, returned to the docks, and boarded our boats in our respective groups. This boat ride, I chose not to take my seasickness medicine. I felt the same as I had before, so I spent the majority of the boat ride on my back, keeping my stomach from giving the ocean my breakfast.
After about two hours we arrived at our destination: the island of Floreana.
When we arrived, there was a blanket of clouds covering the sky. We waited on the boat until our ride arrived on shore. We got off, leaving our luggage on the boat, and took only what we needed. We got into the back of a pickup truck, which proceeded to drive us to the hiking trail we were going to. On the way, it began to rain, and we sang songs the entire way, slowly getting soaked. A bus full of Ecuadorians came up behind us, laughing and taking pictures of the truck full of gringos singing “Baby Got Back”.
When we arrived at the trail, we were soaked. We set off, encountering giant tortoises, man-made caves, and a big statue of a face made by pirates years ago. Afterwards, we went back, got back into the truck, and returned to the dock. We got back in our boat, which took us out to a bay in Floreana. We met our friends there, and had another round of snorkeling. I spent about half the time swimming, and the other half on a small beach watching two sea lions play with one another. Finally, it was time to go, and we all returned to our boats. This was the one island we were not spending the night on. Instead, we were off to our final destination: San Cristobal.
On this boat ride, I tried a new tactic. The captain, for whatever reason, decided to be far laxer with the rules on this final trip. The boat had a back area to sit in, but the front was sloped, and not meant for people. Nevertheless, he let some girls lie down on the sloped front, and let me sit at the nose. The boat was very bumpy, and more than once my butt came off the boat itself. I gripped the rail in front to keep myself from flying off into the sea, and enjoyed the combination of the beautiful view and the wind on my face. And I found if I sat in the front of the boat, I didn’t feel seasick.
During the boat ride, the captain saw something, and stopped the boat. We all looked out to see what he had seen, and saw a huge spout of water come shooting up from the surface of the ocean. It was a whale! More than once he surfaced for air, and we saw the length of his backside. Finally, he disappeared altogether, but it didn’t matter. We had seen a whale, and that was enough for us.
The second half of the boat ride was wonderful. I could see the silhouette of San Cristobal in the distance, and watched, as it slowly grew closer. At my back was the sunset, which was a beautiful one. Finally we reached San Cristobal and drew into port. The port town was gorgeous, and was my favorite of all the ones we had been to. We took a taxi to the hotel, where we dropped our stuff. We had an hour until dinner, so I went walking around, and came to a playground on the beach, where nearly a hundred sea lions had come ashore to rest. I passed the time talking to people and watching the sea lions until it was time for dinner. After dinner, we walked down the pier, and got ice cream. We considered staying out for longer, but everyone was so exhausted, that we just returned to the hotel to sleep.
The next day was the final day. We took a bus to a trail, where we hiked through forest and mist until we reached a huge lagoon. After admiring it for a while, and taking some pictures, we returned to go to a museum. This was the one part of the trip that no one really wanted to do. Most people felt like going to a museum was a waste of our precious time left in the Galapagos. Thankfully, the museum was closed. So instead we walked down to the beach for some independent exploring. After we had spent the remainder of our time, we got back in our bus, and drove to the airport. We bid farewell to our guides, and boarded our flight. As we took off, we said goodbye to the beautiful islands that we would probably never again have the privilege of visiting.
The trip was incredible, and by far the best one I have taken here in Ecuador. But it was significant for another reason as well. Because for all of us, our trip to the Galapagos was that highlight of our time in Ecuador that was far away, that was near the end. It was always something standing between us and leaving the country. Now that it has passed, we are all realizing how little time we have left in Ecuador, and how close we are to returning home.
On our first day, Holy Thursday, I woke up early and, thanks to the graciousness of my ecuapadre, was driven to the airport early in the morning. We all met, bags in hand, went through security, and boarded the plane. The plane ride was very comfortable, and we acted fairly ridiculous. The plane made a forty-five minute stop in Guayaquil to unload some passengers, and take on a few. During our recess, some of us contemplated playing hide and go seek on the plane (though not seriously) but ultimately rejected the idea. The ride to the islands themselves lasted about an hour and a half, and we finally landed on the tiny island of Baltra, which is just north of Santa Cruz.
As soon as we stepped off the plane, we were hit by a wave of heat that we would then be enduring for the rest of the trip. We waited in line to go through the security check. Afterwards, we grabbed our bags, and met our guides for the first time. All travelers to the Galapagos are required to be accompanied by a guide, both for the security of the tourists, and the protection of the environment. Ours were a tall, skinny man named Ramiro, and a shorter, stouter man named Humberto. They would come to play a very important role in our Galapagos adventure.
Next, we boarded a boat to go to Santa Cruz. The distance was so short between the islands that you could see the other side, but during our very short boat ride we saw some pelicans, and two sea lions, the first of many that we would see during our trip. Once we reached the other side, we got off, and got on a bus to our hotel. We dropped our bags, and went to dinner. Afterwards, we took a bus to a place called Los Gemelos, which is Spanish for the twins. The twins were twin craters in the ground, which were enormous and beautiful. We hiked around, and ended at a swamp. We tried to find tortoises, but could not, so we returned to the hotel. That night, a group of us walked to a karaoke bar, where a group of Ecuadorians was singing, and not well I might add. We wrested the microphone from them, and sang some songs of our own. We traded back and forth for a while, and our English songs attracted the attention of some elderly female American tourist. For our grand finale, we sang “My Heart Will Go On” by Celine Dion, and all the American women joined in. Needless to say, it was epic display of gringo grandiosity.
Despite the hard bed and hot room, I slept like a rock. The next morning we woke early and ate breakfast. Everyone filled their water bottles, purchased medicine for seasickness, as we would be taking a boat ride later that day, and we were off to the famous Charles Darwin Research Station. At the station, we split into two groups, which would be our groups for the rest of the trip. My group was with Humberto, and was named Los Piqueros de Patas Azules, after a famous bird from the Galapagos. The other group, whose guide was Ramiro, was named Los Piqueros de Patas Rojas, which is another famous bird endemic to the Galapagos. On our tour we saw many different kinds of plants, and more interestingly, many different tortoises, including the famous Lonesome George, an iconic turtle who is the last of his species. We saw tortoises up close, tortoises mating, and land iguanas. It was at this time that everyone came to the realization; Los Piqueros de Patas Azules was definitely the better group.
Next, we headed back to the hotel to grab our bags, and then to the dock to board the boats. Each group boarded a different boat, and we were off. The waves were choppy and the boat bounced quite a bit. I had taken the seasickness medicine beforehand, but I felt sick anyway. I found that if I lay down on the floor of the boat, the urge to vomit was not quite as powerful, so I took a nap on the floor of the boat. Finally, after an hour and a half, we arrived at our next island: Isabela. We felt like champions as we chugged into the bay of Isabela in waters that were full of sea lions, small sharks, fish, and various rays. The water was clear as crystal, and we felt like we were in paradise. We got off, boarded a bus, and went to our hotel. We changed into swimsuits, put on our sunscreen, and went for a walk. We explored a part of the town, and ended at the beach, where all of us, the students, the guides, and the program directors, all plunged into the cool water. Many of us in our excitement took up a chorus of Journey's “Don't Stop Believing”, changing some key words to fit our location. We got out, and followed our guides to an underwater Mangrove, where we dove in again to explore. When the sun was setting we got out and headed back to the hotel. After dinner, we were free, and naturally, we went looking for ice cream. We made a visit to the beach and then returned to the hotel for another wonderful sleep.
We rose early again the next morning for breakfast and then changed into hiking clothes. Before I go on, let me describe the island of Isabela a little bit. It is the biggest island in Galapagos. The Galapagos were formed from volcanoes, and where most of them have one volcano, Isabela has five, and the most southern volcano has the second biggest crater in the world. We drove to the foot of a trail on this volcano and from there; we began our hike up to the crater. The day began very hot, but cooled as clouds rolled in. We reached the top of the crater, and could see down into the old volcano, which was covered by volcanic rock and green growth. From there, we hiked around the crater, stopping for lunch at some benches, until we reached the opposite side. Then, we crossed a field of volcanic rock, the site of an old eruption, which was covered in black rock and cactus. We finally stopped at a crest in the mountain, where we overlooked a beautiful view. After taking some pictures, we turned and went back.
We were exhausted, but the day was only half over. On the bus ride back, a group of us (that may or may not have been led by myself) treated the island of Isabela to a full spread of jubilant American songs ranging from “A Whole New World” to “Take Me Home Country Roads” to “Ring of Fire”. We returned to the hotel, applied second layers of sunscreen, changed into bathing suits, and prepared for snorkeling. We each received a mask and pair of flippers, boarded a bus, and drove to the docks. There, we divided into our groups and boarded boats which took us out into a bay. And there, we dove in. The water was filled with absolutely beautiful, and plentiful, fish. There were fish of all different colors. Partway through our swim people started exclaiming about a sea lion that they had seen swimming around. Occasionally I would hear someone shriek in excitement as they declared that they too had seen it. The sea lion in question finally came up to a small beach area, where we all gathered to watch him play. At one point during our swim, one of our guides declared he was going to look for sea turtles, and swam off. In a short time, he began calling to us. I was one of the first to reach him. He had indeed found a turtle, and I came upon it quite suddenly gliding through the water. The animal was beautiful. It swam slowly and gracefully. It controlled where it went with slow beats of its flippers, but also let the waves carry it if they came in. The animal appeared as if it were flying. It was very calm, and made no reaction when I swam up beside it.
Soon the turtle had led us all far out in the bay, and the sun was beginning to set. Our guide told us we should begin heading back, so we began to the swim back to the boats. That night we ate, and I went for a walk with some friends to the beach where we stayed until nearly midnight looking at the incredible display of stars over the ocean.
The next day was the fourth day, Easter, and we were all very happy. Maybe there were divine graces surrounding us, or maybe we were growing so tired from all the activity without proper rest that it was beginning to make us crazy. Whatever the reason, we were all in a good place. After breakfast, we gathered our stuff, including our snorkeling equipment, returned to the docks, and boarded our boats in our respective groups. This boat ride, I chose not to take my seasickness medicine. I felt the same as I had before, so I spent the majority of the boat ride on my back, keeping my stomach from giving the ocean my breakfast.
After about two hours we arrived at our destination: the island of Floreana.
When we arrived, there was a blanket of clouds covering the sky. We waited on the boat until our ride arrived on shore. We got off, leaving our luggage on the boat, and took only what we needed. We got into the back of a pickup truck, which proceeded to drive us to the hiking trail we were going to. On the way, it began to rain, and we sang songs the entire way, slowly getting soaked. A bus full of Ecuadorians came up behind us, laughing and taking pictures of the truck full of gringos singing “Baby Got Back”.
When we arrived at the trail, we were soaked. We set off, encountering giant tortoises, man-made caves, and a big statue of a face made by pirates years ago. Afterwards, we went back, got back into the truck, and returned to the dock. We got back in our boat, which took us out to a bay in Floreana. We met our friends there, and had another round of snorkeling. I spent about half the time swimming, and the other half on a small beach watching two sea lions play with one another. Finally, it was time to go, and we all returned to our boats. This was the one island we were not spending the night on. Instead, we were off to our final destination: San Cristobal.
On this boat ride, I tried a new tactic. The captain, for whatever reason, decided to be far laxer with the rules on this final trip. The boat had a back area to sit in, but the front was sloped, and not meant for people. Nevertheless, he let some girls lie down on the sloped front, and let me sit at the nose. The boat was very bumpy, and more than once my butt came off the boat itself. I gripped the rail in front to keep myself from flying off into the sea, and enjoyed the combination of the beautiful view and the wind on my face. And I found if I sat in the front of the boat, I didn’t feel seasick.
During the boat ride, the captain saw something, and stopped the boat. We all looked out to see what he had seen, and saw a huge spout of water come shooting up from the surface of the ocean. It was a whale! More than once he surfaced for air, and we saw the length of his backside. Finally, he disappeared altogether, but it didn’t matter. We had seen a whale, and that was enough for us.
The second half of the boat ride was wonderful. I could see the silhouette of San Cristobal in the distance, and watched, as it slowly grew closer. At my back was the sunset, which was a beautiful one. Finally we reached San Cristobal and drew into port. The port town was gorgeous, and was my favorite of all the ones we had been to. We took a taxi to the hotel, where we dropped our stuff. We had an hour until dinner, so I went walking around, and came to a playground on the beach, where nearly a hundred sea lions had come ashore to rest. I passed the time talking to people and watching the sea lions until it was time for dinner. After dinner, we walked down the pier, and got ice cream. We considered staying out for longer, but everyone was so exhausted, that we just returned to the hotel to sleep.
The next day was the final day. We took a bus to a trail, where we hiked through forest and mist until we reached a huge lagoon. After admiring it for a while, and taking some pictures, we returned to go to a museum. This was the one part of the trip that no one really wanted to do. Most people felt like going to a museum was a waste of our precious time left in the Galapagos. Thankfully, the museum was closed. So instead we walked down to the beach for some independent exploring. After we had spent the remainder of our time, we got back in our bus, and drove to the airport. We bid farewell to our guides, and boarded our flight. As we took off, we said goodbye to the beautiful islands that we would probably never again have the privilege of visiting.
The trip was incredible, and by far the best one I have taken here in Ecuador. But it was significant for another reason as well. Because for all of us, our trip to the Galapagos was that highlight of our time in Ecuador that was far away, that was near the end. It was always something standing between us and leaving the country. Now that it has passed, we are all realizing how little time we have left in Ecuador, and how close we are to returning home.
Friday, March 26, 2010
A week in Ecuador
My weekends in Ecuador are some of the most exciting I've ever had. I'm almost always traveling somewhere new, trying something exciting, and having some sort of adventure. But I'm definitely not living from weekend to weekend. My weeks are filled as well with my classes, and my volunteering, both of which can prove to be adventure-filled in their own right.
I'm taking five classes: four at IES and one at the university La Catolica. My class at La Catolica is called Biodiversity of the Galapagos, and is about the flora and fauna of the Galapagos Islands. The professor is fun and funny, is a Mac fan (like myself) and always seems to know more about US news than I would expect. The class is an hour and forty minutes, but the last thirty are usually spent watching part of a documentary on the Galapagos, Planet Earth, or some other piece of a documentary pertaining to what we learned. That's good because a day of looking at slides about plants can get boring after a little while. I have a class called Ecuador and Globalization, which is incredibly interesting and mentally stimulating, and usually has my friend Paul, an Economics major, and I discussing some new policy scheme that the Ecuadorian government could try to improve its economic situation. I have an anthropology class which is usually at least moderately interesting, which at best has us debating ethical issues, and at worst teaches us something new about the culture of some indigenous group, which is still interesting. My fourth class is called Indigenous Literature, which is not literature by the indigenous but literature about the indigenous. The class is easy and very interesting. We usually spend our time reading sections of historical writings like the Diaries of Christopher Columbus, Guaman Poma, Bartolome de Las Casas, Padre Gutierrez, and others. It's definitely cool to look at a section of writing by Christopher Columbus and read his description of the new world in its original language. My final class, and my favorite, is my spanish class, in which we do about 40% grammar, and about 60% cultural-related readings. The professor is very intelligent, and has made me think very differently about a number of subjects.
In between and after classes my time is basically taken up by two different volunteering projects. I volunteer about nine to ten hours a week at a place called La Fundación de los Abuelitos y Abuelitas de la Calle. The Foundations is a place where the elderly can go to spend their morning. They get a free breakfast, get to do an art activity, have a prayer service, get a free lunch, and have access to some free healthcare at the on-site clinic, operated by young volunteer doctors and medical students. You never know what a day there is going to consist of. Sometimes I'm painting something, helping build something, or selling bread out of the kiosk on the road right outside (one of the many ways they finance the foundation). Sometimes I'm in the kitchen helping cook lunch, and sometimes I'm helping the Abuelitos with their art activities. It's always very interesting.
The other volunteering project I've undertaken is attempting to teach my ecuamadre and a friend of the family, Luchito, english. My first foray into teaching has been a quite interesting and enlightening one. Usually I make up a lesson a day before class that consists of a Vocabulary section and a Grammar section. The vocabulary is split between vocabulary revolving around a specific theme (like the home, or the office) and the verbs come out of a book of spanish verbs I have. I add about ten new verbs a lesson. The grammar section revolves a new grammatical theme. We usually work a few examples together, and then I give them pre-prepared homework to reinforce the grammar lesson and see the vocab in real sentences.
The experience has definitely taught me a few things. First, all the in-class exercises and homework that I've done in my life I realize now were actually very necessary, as were the exams necessary in forcing me to review and learn the material. Second, there are many strange things about the english language that don't make a lot of sense. For example, the way we make sentences negative is very strange. Usually you add the words "do not" to the sentence. I go becomes I don't go, I run becomes I don't run, and so one. With more complicated sentences the word not gets inserted in strange places. I have come back becomes I have not come back. Why does "not" break up the verb "have come"? It makes no sense! Then there are some things that are very arbitrary in both languages, like prepositions. Why do we do things on friday? Why not in friday, or of friday? And why is my paper on World War 2? I mean, a paper could not be literally on World War 2, but we say that. And there are similar nonsensical preposition choices in Spanish. And then there are things in english that make more sense. For example, a subject always goes before a verb, and an object always comes after. The boy caught the ball. Subject-Verb-Object. But in Spanish it can sometimes be Object-Verb-Subject, and it means the same thing. Sometimes the Object always comes before the verb, sometimes it always comes after, and sometimes they are interchangeable.
There are other great linguistic observations that I have made that I don't need to explain here. But suffice it say with classes and volunteering, my weekends in Ecuador are certainly adventure-filled, but my weeks are not dull either.
I'm taking five classes: four at IES and one at the university La Catolica. My class at La Catolica is called Biodiversity of the Galapagos, and is about the flora and fauna of the Galapagos Islands. The professor is fun and funny, is a Mac fan (like myself) and always seems to know more about US news than I would expect. The class is an hour and forty minutes, but the last thirty are usually spent watching part of a documentary on the Galapagos, Planet Earth, or some other piece of a documentary pertaining to what we learned. That's good because a day of looking at slides about plants can get boring after a little while. I have a class called Ecuador and Globalization, which is incredibly interesting and mentally stimulating, and usually has my friend Paul, an Economics major, and I discussing some new policy scheme that the Ecuadorian government could try to improve its economic situation. I have an anthropology class which is usually at least moderately interesting, which at best has us debating ethical issues, and at worst teaches us something new about the culture of some indigenous group, which is still interesting. My fourth class is called Indigenous Literature, which is not literature by the indigenous but literature about the indigenous. The class is easy and very interesting. We usually spend our time reading sections of historical writings like the Diaries of Christopher Columbus, Guaman Poma, Bartolome de Las Casas, Padre Gutierrez, and others. It's definitely cool to look at a section of writing by Christopher Columbus and read his description of the new world in its original language. My final class, and my favorite, is my spanish class, in which we do about 40% grammar, and about 60% cultural-related readings. The professor is very intelligent, and has made me think very differently about a number of subjects.
In between and after classes my time is basically taken up by two different volunteering projects. I volunteer about nine to ten hours a week at a place called La Fundación de los Abuelitos y Abuelitas de la Calle. The Foundations is a place where the elderly can go to spend their morning. They get a free breakfast, get to do an art activity, have a prayer service, get a free lunch, and have access to some free healthcare at the on-site clinic, operated by young volunteer doctors and medical students. You never know what a day there is going to consist of. Sometimes I'm painting something, helping build something, or selling bread out of the kiosk on the road right outside (one of the many ways they finance the foundation). Sometimes I'm in the kitchen helping cook lunch, and sometimes I'm helping the Abuelitos with their art activities. It's always very interesting.
The other volunteering project I've undertaken is attempting to teach my ecuamadre and a friend of the family, Luchito, english. My first foray into teaching has been a quite interesting and enlightening one. Usually I make up a lesson a day before class that consists of a Vocabulary section and a Grammar section. The vocabulary is split between vocabulary revolving around a specific theme (like the home, or the office) and the verbs come out of a book of spanish verbs I have. I add about ten new verbs a lesson. The grammar section revolves a new grammatical theme. We usually work a few examples together, and then I give them pre-prepared homework to reinforce the grammar lesson and see the vocab in real sentences.
The experience has definitely taught me a few things. First, all the in-class exercises and homework that I've done in my life I realize now were actually very necessary, as were the exams necessary in forcing me to review and learn the material. Second, there are many strange things about the english language that don't make a lot of sense. For example, the way we make sentences negative is very strange. Usually you add the words "do not" to the sentence. I go becomes I don't go, I run becomes I don't run, and so one. With more complicated sentences the word not gets inserted in strange places. I have come back becomes I have not come back. Why does "not" break up the verb "have come"? It makes no sense! Then there are some things that are very arbitrary in both languages, like prepositions. Why do we do things on friday? Why not in friday, or of friday? And why is my paper on World War 2? I mean, a paper could not be literally on World War 2, but we say that. And there are similar nonsensical preposition choices in Spanish. And then there are things in english that make more sense. For example, a subject always goes before a verb, and an object always comes after. The boy caught the ball. Subject-Verb-Object. But in Spanish it can sometimes be Object-Verb-Subject, and it means the same thing. Sometimes the Object always comes before the verb, sometimes it always comes after, and sometimes they are interchangeable.
There are other great linguistic observations that I have made that I don't need to explain here. But suffice it say with classes and volunteering, my weekends in Ecuador are certainly adventure-filled, but my weeks are not dull either.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Riobamba
Would it be repetitive to say I had another great weekend? Thursday night I struggled with a difficult decision: get started on my mountain of work, or go over to a friend's house to watch a movie. Obviously I made the responsible choice. We watched "The Hurt Locker" (which just won the Oscar for Best Picture) at my friend Karen's house, with my friend Kelly, and the three other guys in our program: Paul, David, and Tyler. For once, the guys outnumbered the girls. The movie was very compelling and interesting, and we had a good time. I realized though just how comfortable we had all become here. When I met Karen's ecuapadres, it was not as if I were meeting strangers she was staying with, but her parents. She walked the house as if it were hers, and we spoke of it as if it were hers. When we talked about coming to the house, we spoke of Quito with complete familiarity. And when it was time to go, we said we needed to go home. It's interesting how completely integrated we've become in our lives here. It feels not like I'm in college, nor like I'm on vacation, but like I have some other life, separate from my own, with a new family, new friends, a new house, a new city, a new language, a new culture, and a new country. Philip put his life on hold on January 5th, and Felipe picked up on January 6. It will be very bittersweet to leave Felipe behind and pick back up where Philip left off. It's the same person, but two totally different lives.
On Friday I woke up early and went to La Catolica (my ecuadorian university) to meet up with my friends. My friend Karen tutors an Ecuadorian girl at La Catolica named Adriana, and Adriana lives in Riobamba, which is about three hours south of Quito. She said that any time we want we could come to Riobamba and stay at their house, so we chose this weekend. We met up, and traveled together to the station, where we hopped a bus to Riobamba. The town was similar to Quito, but smaller, quieter, with fewer people and less traffic. It was big enough that it was a city, but small enough to be peaceful and safe. We ate lunch, and went on to her house. That afternoon, we went to a museum for religious artifacts, all of which were Catholic. I don't think everyone was as accustomed as I was to the (sometimes very bloody) images of Christ on the cross. Later, we played an Ecuadorian card game, and then taught our Ecuadorian friends (there was one other Ecuadorian girl with us) the game BS. We ate dinner, and then went out along with Adriana's brother to a club called Señal. The club had open bar until 11 but for only two drinks. One I had heard of: Cuba Libre. It's only rum and coke. The other I hadn't. It was a Placer Colombiano (Colombian pleasure), and it was extremely delicious. I like almost no alcohol drinks, but that one was good.
The next day we woke up early to start the day. We had two objectives: visit the Saturday market in Riobamba, and climb part of Chimborazo, which is the tallest mountain in Ecuador, with a tip that marks the farthest point on earth from the core. We packed our backpacks, and then piled into Adriana's mom's car to go to the market. There are three major markets that happen in Riobamba on Saturday: the fruit and vegetable market, the animal market, and the artisan market. We visited the former two. Unlike Otovalo, the Riobamban market is not touristy at all. We were the only gringoes in sight. The market was more for farmers to sell their products wholesale to other vendors, who then take them out into rural areas as sell them for a profit. While there I got a delicious bag of strawberries for a dollar, and a fresh nectarine for forty cents.
We next went to the animal market, which was a very unique and interesting experience. People were dragging pigs and cows through the streets, carrying piglets around, walking with mules and donkeys, and one guy was even milking a cow on the side of the road. At this market, people come to sell their animals, which are then turned into food. And they do that turning right there on sight. We walked to a slaughterhouse, where I saw the entire system for preparing a pig for shipment to the grocery store. We came upon a pen just outside of the slaughterhouse, in which there were two men, two pigs wandering around, and a dead pig hanging up by his jaw and being hosed down by one of the men with a blowtorch, I suppose to bake the skin so that is more easily removed. The other man was preparing to slaughter another one of the pigs. It was the first time I had ever seen an animal slaughtered. It was fast. The pig clearly had no idea what was coming. The man stood there, knife in hand, and as the pig walked by, he struck in one quick motion, and then stepped back, bloody knife in hand. The pig gave a shriek as the knife slit its throat, and then just stood there as blood poured from its neck. It tried to remain standing, but its legs buckled, and it fell on its side. It lay there, heaving and making noise, fighting for its life. The man grabbed a bucket and began to pour water on it, washing the blood into a sewer. Soon, the pig breathed its last breath. The man dragged it over to its companion, and hung the pig up by its jaw to begin blowtorching it. Inside the slaughterhouse was a conveyor belt of pig carcasses. The workers were systematic and dispassionate as they beheaded them, skinned them, and cut them in half.
Afterwards, we returned to Adriana's house, her mom got out, and her brother got in. We drove to Chimborazo, which is about thirty or forty kilometers from Riobamba (everything is in the metric system here). We drove up to the second refuge, and hiked to the third. The mountain was a little cold where we were, but when you were hiking it was not as cold as when you stood still. It was cloudy, but when the clouds parted and showed us the mountain, the view was incredible. Chimborazo sloped upward, and the majority was covered in snow. In fact, the place where we were was apparently covered in snow only a few years ago. But here, like on every mountain around the world, the snows have been receding rapidly, further proof that the world is warming unnaturally quickly. We took some incredible pictures, and finally reached the refuge, where we went in for some tea. We sat for awhile and warmed ourselves by the fire, and as we did, a group of indigenous Ecuadorians came in. They had been hiking all day. I struck up a conversation with the group and we talked for a good ten to fifteen minutes. There was Luis, who wore a big red poncho, Jose, who I had a hard time understanding, Domingo, who wore no indigenous clothes, but regular jeans, shirt, and jacket, and Marie, and Cecilia, neither of whom spoke to me much. Another group of travelers came in after them, and one of them sat next to me--a youth from Guayaquil named Jose as well. We all had a good conversation about Ecuador, and then left. We descended the mountain with our indigenous friends, talking all the way. When we reached the second refuge, where the cars were parked, they insisted on getting some pictures with us. Luis lent me his red poncho for the pictures. When they left they taught me the Quichua for "Goodbye my friends". All I remember is "Cayacama" which means goodbye. It bothers people sometimes how much I enjoy talking to strangers, one of the many great things I inherited from my father, but I meet very interesting people, have very interesting conversations, and always learn new things. Why do I want to talk to people so much, I am asked. Why wouldn't I want to talk to people?
That night we were exhausted. We went into town for some dinner and ice cream, but then returned to the house. We didn't have the energy to go out. Instead we stayed up and talked. The conversation that night, like the conversation all weekend, was very bilingual. Our Ecuadorian friends undersood most english, and even spoke some. We understood most spanish and spoke quite a bit. So communication was never a problem, but our group conversations were constantly switching for one language to the next.
The next morning, my friends wanted to stay until midday, but I needed to return to Quito, so I left by myself. I got back into Quito in time for lunch, and then began my work. I spent the afternoon and evening, with an hour long exception for mass, glued to the computer, watching the U.S. healthcare debate unfold. No matter how far away I am, I'm still connected to the U.S. news.
We are now firmly past the halfway point of our program. So far, the experience has been phenomenal. Getting to know Ecuador has been the experience of a lifetime. It has been fulfilling and fun to watch myself and all my friends here improve in our Spanish, as we all are able to converse more and more in depth. The other night my ecuapadre and I had a long discussion touching on themes such as where I needed to travel still in Ecuador, what I wanted to do with my future, learning other languages, capitalism, socialism, the Peace Corps, and human nature. I was pleased that I could carry such an in depth conversation (though the actual content of the conversation left my young, idealistic self frustrated). Every day I am reminded of how far I have come in my study of spanish, and every day I am reminded of how far I still have to go.
On Friday I woke up early and went to La Catolica (my ecuadorian university) to meet up with my friends. My friend Karen tutors an Ecuadorian girl at La Catolica named Adriana, and Adriana lives in Riobamba, which is about three hours south of Quito. She said that any time we want we could come to Riobamba and stay at their house, so we chose this weekend. We met up, and traveled together to the station, where we hopped a bus to Riobamba. The town was similar to Quito, but smaller, quieter, with fewer people and less traffic. It was big enough that it was a city, but small enough to be peaceful and safe. We ate lunch, and went on to her house. That afternoon, we went to a museum for religious artifacts, all of which were Catholic. I don't think everyone was as accustomed as I was to the (sometimes very bloody) images of Christ on the cross. Later, we played an Ecuadorian card game, and then taught our Ecuadorian friends (there was one other Ecuadorian girl with us) the game BS. We ate dinner, and then went out along with Adriana's brother to a club called Señal. The club had open bar until 11 but for only two drinks. One I had heard of: Cuba Libre. It's only rum and coke. The other I hadn't. It was a Placer Colombiano (Colombian pleasure), and it was extremely delicious. I like almost no alcohol drinks, but that one was good.
The next day we woke up early to start the day. We had two objectives: visit the Saturday market in Riobamba, and climb part of Chimborazo, which is the tallest mountain in Ecuador, with a tip that marks the farthest point on earth from the core. We packed our backpacks, and then piled into Adriana's mom's car to go to the market. There are three major markets that happen in Riobamba on Saturday: the fruit and vegetable market, the animal market, and the artisan market. We visited the former two. Unlike Otovalo, the Riobamban market is not touristy at all. We were the only gringoes in sight. The market was more for farmers to sell their products wholesale to other vendors, who then take them out into rural areas as sell them for a profit. While there I got a delicious bag of strawberries for a dollar, and a fresh nectarine for forty cents.
We next went to the animal market, which was a very unique and interesting experience. People were dragging pigs and cows through the streets, carrying piglets around, walking with mules and donkeys, and one guy was even milking a cow on the side of the road. At this market, people come to sell their animals, which are then turned into food. And they do that turning right there on sight. We walked to a slaughterhouse, where I saw the entire system for preparing a pig for shipment to the grocery store. We came upon a pen just outside of the slaughterhouse, in which there were two men, two pigs wandering around, and a dead pig hanging up by his jaw and being hosed down by one of the men with a blowtorch, I suppose to bake the skin so that is more easily removed. The other man was preparing to slaughter another one of the pigs. It was the first time I had ever seen an animal slaughtered. It was fast. The pig clearly had no idea what was coming. The man stood there, knife in hand, and as the pig walked by, he struck in one quick motion, and then stepped back, bloody knife in hand. The pig gave a shriek as the knife slit its throat, and then just stood there as blood poured from its neck. It tried to remain standing, but its legs buckled, and it fell on its side. It lay there, heaving and making noise, fighting for its life. The man grabbed a bucket and began to pour water on it, washing the blood into a sewer. Soon, the pig breathed its last breath. The man dragged it over to its companion, and hung the pig up by its jaw to begin blowtorching it. Inside the slaughterhouse was a conveyor belt of pig carcasses. The workers were systematic and dispassionate as they beheaded them, skinned them, and cut them in half.
Afterwards, we returned to Adriana's house, her mom got out, and her brother got in. We drove to Chimborazo, which is about thirty or forty kilometers from Riobamba (everything is in the metric system here). We drove up to the second refuge, and hiked to the third. The mountain was a little cold where we were, but when you were hiking it was not as cold as when you stood still. It was cloudy, but when the clouds parted and showed us the mountain, the view was incredible. Chimborazo sloped upward, and the majority was covered in snow. In fact, the place where we were was apparently covered in snow only a few years ago. But here, like on every mountain around the world, the snows have been receding rapidly, further proof that the world is warming unnaturally quickly. We took some incredible pictures, and finally reached the refuge, where we went in for some tea. We sat for awhile and warmed ourselves by the fire, and as we did, a group of indigenous Ecuadorians came in. They had been hiking all day. I struck up a conversation with the group and we talked for a good ten to fifteen minutes. There was Luis, who wore a big red poncho, Jose, who I had a hard time understanding, Domingo, who wore no indigenous clothes, but regular jeans, shirt, and jacket, and Marie, and Cecilia, neither of whom spoke to me much. Another group of travelers came in after them, and one of them sat next to me--a youth from Guayaquil named Jose as well. We all had a good conversation about Ecuador, and then left. We descended the mountain with our indigenous friends, talking all the way. When we reached the second refuge, where the cars were parked, they insisted on getting some pictures with us. Luis lent me his red poncho for the pictures. When they left they taught me the Quichua for "Goodbye my friends". All I remember is "Cayacama" which means goodbye. It bothers people sometimes how much I enjoy talking to strangers, one of the many great things I inherited from my father, but I meet very interesting people, have very interesting conversations, and always learn new things. Why do I want to talk to people so much, I am asked. Why wouldn't I want to talk to people?
That night we were exhausted. We went into town for some dinner and ice cream, but then returned to the house. We didn't have the energy to go out. Instead we stayed up and talked. The conversation that night, like the conversation all weekend, was very bilingual. Our Ecuadorian friends undersood most english, and even spoke some. We understood most spanish and spoke quite a bit. So communication was never a problem, but our group conversations were constantly switching for one language to the next.
The next morning, my friends wanted to stay until midday, but I needed to return to Quito, so I left by myself. I got back into Quito in time for lunch, and then began my work. I spent the afternoon and evening, with an hour long exception for mass, glued to the computer, watching the U.S. healthcare debate unfold. No matter how far away I am, I'm still connected to the U.S. news.
We are now firmly past the halfway point of our program. So far, the experience has been phenomenal. Getting to know Ecuador has been the experience of a lifetime. It has been fulfilling and fun to watch myself and all my friends here improve in our Spanish, as we all are able to converse more and more in depth. The other night my ecuapadre and I had a long discussion touching on themes such as where I needed to travel still in Ecuador, what I wanted to do with my future, learning other languages, capitalism, socialism, the Peace Corps, and human nature. I was pleased that I could carry such an in depth conversation (though the actual content of the conversation left my young, idealistic self frustrated). Every day I am reminded of how far I have come in my study of spanish, and every day I am reminded of how far I still have to go.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
I love this country
On Friday some friends and I went to the part of Quito known as the Centro Historico, which is basically Old Colonial Quito. We had been before, but we never really had the opportunity to explore it, so we decided to spend Friday doing just that. When we were there, we purchased a huge baguette for eighty cents. It was so big that it wouldn't fit in my backpack, so it stuck out the top like an antenna. We first went to the Presidential Palace for a tour, but found the next one was in an hour and half, at one in the afternoon. We also realized that one of my friends had forgotten all of her IDs back at her house, which is required to enter the Palace. We weren't sure what we were going to do. So, my friend Kelly and I showed our IDs, and the woman put wristbands for the tour on all three of our wrists. I love this country.
With an hour and half until the tour, we decided to head to the Basilica to climb to the top while we waited. The view from the top of the Basilica was beautiful, and provided an excellent view of the city. On our way back down, my friend Karen stopped in the bathroom, while Kelly and I went exploring. When Karen found us again, she was grasping something in her hands. She had found fifty dollars on the bathroom floor. We wanted to try to get it back to the owner, but there was no lost and found in the basilica, and we knew anyone we gave it to would just keep it form themselves. So we kept it. I love this country.
Next, we headed back down to the Presidential Palace. The tour guide met us, and asked us to show him our IDs. We had a lie prepared, in case that asked for Karen's ID a second time. The great thing was, we didn't have to use it: the guard of offered it for us. We said that she had it when she got the wristband, and the guard asked if it was robbed. We said we thought so, and the guard reassured the tour guide that the IDs were checked when they gave out the wristbands, so the tour guide let her in. And so my friend got into the home and administrative center of the Ecuadorian President without identification. I love this country.
Later, we made a stop at one of my stores that sell bootleg movies. The stores are everywhere, and operate legitimately in the sight of police without a problem. I bought three movies for four dollars and fifty cents, one of which was Avatar, which I'm not even sure is out on DVD yet. They also had Alice in Wonderland, which is definitely not on DVD anywhere. I love this country.
Yesterday, I got in the elevator in our building, and while I was in it, the elevator broke. I would go to no floors, and I couldn't open the doors. So, I called my ecuapadres, and my ecuapadre forced the door open with his bare hands. I was only in there for ten minutes. Apparently another woman had been inside for almost two hours. I love this country.
In other words, Ecuador is still awesome. You never know what crazy thing is going to happen to you while you're here. And you never know what your day is going to entail.
With an hour and half until the tour, we decided to head to the Basilica to climb to the top while we waited. The view from the top of the Basilica was beautiful, and provided an excellent view of the city. On our way back down, my friend Karen stopped in the bathroom, while Kelly and I went exploring. When Karen found us again, she was grasping something in her hands. She had found fifty dollars on the bathroom floor. We wanted to try to get it back to the owner, but there was no lost and found in the basilica, and we knew anyone we gave it to would just keep it form themselves. So we kept it. I love this country.
Next, we headed back down to the Presidential Palace. The tour guide met us, and asked us to show him our IDs. We had a lie prepared, in case that asked for Karen's ID a second time. The great thing was, we didn't have to use it: the guard of offered it for us. We said that she had it when she got the wristband, and the guard asked if it was robbed. We said we thought so, and the guard reassured the tour guide that the IDs were checked when they gave out the wristbands, so the tour guide let her in. And so my friend got into the home and administrative center of the Ecuadorian President without identification. I love this country.
Later, we made a stop at one of my stores that sell bootleg movies. The stores are everywhere, and operate legitimately in the sight of police without a problem. I bought three movies for four dollars and fifty cents, one of which was Avatar, which I'm not even sure is out on DVD yet. They also had Alice in Wonderland, which is definitely not on DVD anywhere. I love this country.
Yesterday, I got in the elevator in our building, and while I was in it, the elevator broke. I would go to no floors, and I couldn't open the doors. So, I called my ecuapadres, and my ecuapadre forced the door open with his bare hands. I was only in there for ten minutes. Apparently another woman had been inside for almost two hours. I love this country.
In other words, Ecuador is still awesome. You never know what crazy thing is going to happen to you while you're here. And you never know what your day is going to entail.
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