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.