First of all, tomorrow I leave for Intag for my homestay. I will be living on a remote dairy farm, and will have email access only on Sunday when we go to market. How quaint. Also, my family does not speak a word of English, so it´s full steam ahead. New words on my vocabulary list include- clumsy, flirt, tax, afford, to be fed up, to pull oneself together, sweet, aftertaste, hint, to move away from, to move toward, hoarse, and leak, to name a few. I´m really exited to go, to tell you the truth, although also of course nervous about the unknown. Also I am worried about having to be -on- all the time, socially, and feeling like a guest the whole time. I mean, I can only keep my resteraunt manners on for probably a day and a half and then I´m just going to have to be myself. Poor host family...
Now for the story.
My mother, being the kind, generous, wonderful mother she is, and wanting to take care of me from far away, decided to send me a care package. Excellent! So she got an address from the volunteer coordinator and sent it.
Then she emailed me when it got here. I said, great, I´ll go pick it up on the way home from the rainforest.
So when I get into Quito after an all-night bus trip, (during which they played a Jean Claude Van Dam film called, I kid you not, ¨Sudden Death) I got on the trolley and went to the post office. Upon arriving at the post office, I quickly learn that I have no idea how to say the words post office, pick up a package, or mail. They send me from window to window. Finally I explain that the package has been sent to the foundation´s p.o. box. What´s the number, they ask. I don´t know.
So I walk down the street to an internet cafe and look up Stuart the volunteer coordinator´s number so I can ask him the box number. The internet cost amounts to ten cents. I hand the attendent a 20, the only cash I have on me. He can´t change it, it´s too big. I explain to him that if I go to the bank, they will give me more 20 dollar bills. He tells me to just leave.
So I go next door to the phone cafe and call Stuart and get the box number. The call is 45 cents. I give the attendent a 20. She also cannot change it. I explain it´s all I´ve got. She makes me wait till she can get change. I wait and wait. Finally a very nice man pays for my phonecall so I can leave, which was even nicer than usual because it was a situation where a strange Ecuadorian man was nice to me and was not hitting on me and this is unusual.
So I get back to the post office and they try to give me Stuart´s mail in the box, which he is late for paying for. They want me to give them money and take his mail. I explain I cannot do this, and only want my package. The package is not in the box. They direct me to another window, where a man tells me he cannot find my number, but if I give him the tracking number he can try to find it in the computer.
Back to the internet cafe. But a different one this time because I still only have a 20. I get the tracking number AND change my 20. I´m golden.
I go back and give the man my tracking number. He says, oh this is a UPS number sorry. You have to go to a different post office. I feel a little exasperated but it´s ok. So I ask for the name and address of the new post office I need to go to. He says he does not know the exact name or address but gives me a trolley stop, a few cross streets, and says, ask anyone and they´ll know where it is.
I asked 6 policemen or security guards where this post office was. No one knew. I walked around the block 3 times. This took at least an hour. Finally in desperation I call Stuart. He says the post office has called, they have my package. Wonderful! And they are going to charge 120 dollars for me to pick it up. And then the call drops.
I call my mother and she tells me she wants me to have the package and will pay the fee. She feels really bad about what a fiasco this has become, even though it is by no means her fault. I take the trolley back to the first post office. Keep in mind I slept on a bus and have not showered in almost 48 hours.
I get back to the post office and the attendent assures me the package is not there. I go and call Stuart again. He explains that the package will be at the UPS office, and that I should find it online. I try to, but can´t, so I go home dejected.
That was Monday.
On Wednesday I try again. Stuart has gotten information from the foundation´s office, to whom the package is addressed with attn to me. The UPS guys contacted the FBU office and now Stuart knows where my package is. So I get back on a bus to Quito, and take a 1 dollar taxi to the UPS office.
Hello I am here to pick up my package. The lady get the number, gets a form. That´ll be 120 dollars. I did my homework that morning and looked up several potentially helpful vocabulary words- robbery, tax, package, nightmare, pick up, fee, and afford. I asked her why the package cost so much. She replied, Spanish spanish spanish tax spanish spanish look here spanish spanish spanish package spanish spanish. I said fine and gave her the money. She went to get my package.
She comes back and explains to me that it´s actually going to be 150 dollars. Why? Because the ultimatum for picking it up was two days ago. It´s in the pre-liquidation stage now and so you have to pay extra.
The pre-liquidation stage.
Fuck.
You.
What I actually say is, hey, I didn´t even know the package was here, no one emailed me, no one called me, I didn´t know where to go, I got lost, this isn´t fair, I can´t afford this, it´s not my fault that I´m late picking it up you guys didn´t tell me, I am a volunteer and a student I´m not rich. She says they notified the foundation. Please I say. She goes into the back room to talk to her boss.
And then I pull out the big guns. I focus very hard on how unfair and upsetting this entire situation is. I focus really really hard.
And by the time she comes back into the lobby I am sobbing into my hands. I am weeping shamelessly, loudly, and all the workers in the back poke their heads out to see what´s wrong. People are obviously very embarassed. Maybe they´ll give me my package so that I will leave.
When I pull myself together, the lady says, I´m sorry but that´s how it is.
NO MERCY.
So I take a walk down the street and go to the bank, come back walking up an enourmous hill. As I am walking I think of strategies for getting my package. I consider that since I have now lost all human dignity, I can really do anything. Ideas include refusing to pay and refusing to leave until I get my package. Turning refusal into a hunger strike. Taking off all my clothes and chasing people around the office yelling and jumping around stark naked. Pooping on the couches and the rug in the reception office. All these things strike me as very real possiblities right now. But in reality I decide that it´s not quite worth it. I don´t speak enough Spanish to deal with the police.
So I go and pay the lady 30 more dollars. Thank you she says, you may come back and pick up your package in 5 business days.
Excuse me? I say. Yes she says, 5 days. They have to release it. No, I say. No, I want it now. I want my package now. My voice is officially raised. I can´t come back and get it in 5 days because I´m moving to Intag, I´m going to live there. There is no bus system. It´s far away I can´t just come back to Quito because I AM LEAVING. Well, she says, we don´t have your package here. Well, I tell her, tell me where it is and I´ll go get it right now. You can´t do that. Why not? Spanish spanish spanish paperwork spanish spanish spanish. We have a problem, I tell her. Yes she says. She tells me to give her the address of where I´m staying and they´ll drop it off for free. Fine.
I take a cab back to the bus station. The cabbie tries to charge me 2 dollars. I tell him 1.50 which is more than I payed to get here anyway. No, he says, 2. Fine I say, go. I will only pay 1.5o. Ok, ok, get in, he says. God I am SO sick of people trying to fuck me here! I am so sick of people trying to take advantage of me! I am so sick of arguing and having to be scrappy and cynical and distrusting! I used to be graceful. I used to feel inherant respect for people. I used to go out of my way to be pleasant. And now I´m standing on a curb in industrial Quito telling this cabbie that he can just drive away and find some other customer if hes not going to give me EXACTLY WHAT I WANT.
I get to the bus station and buy some plantain chips and get on the bus. I feel like I´m in that scene in the Big Lebowski after John Goodman smashes the wrong guy´s car, and the Dude, Walter, and Donnie are driving in the Dude´s destroyed car, eating In-And-Out burgers, not having gotten anything out of the kid they think stole their money. I am living that scene.
It occurs to me that there must have been some point along the way where I should have given up. There was some point at which I should have just said, liquidate it, assholes. But I passed that point without seeing it. Yes, I passed it like ships in the night, or rather, like busses on cliffside roads in the night, almost touching but never quite making contact. And after that point there was only the point where I had done too much, worked too hard, to give up. My friend Alex tells me, no Rachel, that´s just your ego. You could have given up at any time. I know, Alex. I know.
Today I got word that my package was already to be picked up, because Stuart was wonderful and pulled some major strings. I have some great books, an incredible sweater Alley felted for me, and lots of chocolate and curry mix. Joy.
So, over and out, going to Intag. Love you guys!
Thursday, July 30, 2009
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Rainforest!
I am back from the rainforest, and it was just the most incredible experience. I don´t really think there´s anything to say about it, except that the food, accomodations, company, flora, fauna, air, guides, and water were all incredible. I swam in a lagoon in the Amazon watching the sunset. But words don´t really do it justice.
I am unfortunatley stuck in this shithole of a town, Lago Agrio, until 11 pm today when the night bus leaves. Because I don´t want to get into Quito at night, and also, I´ve heard that the Quito-Lago Agrio route is full of particularly groutesque peril, and I don´t think I can maintain constant vigillance for 8 hours.
I am going to stop blogging now and actually look for month-long homestay opportunities in the Cuyabeno reserve, where I was. If I find one with families that speak Spanish and not the indigenous language, I might change my homestay location. I love it there that much.
Ok, wish me luck! Over and out.
I am unfortunatley stuck in this shithole of a town, Lago Agrio, until 11 pm today when the night bus leaves. Because I don´t want to get into Quito at night, and also, I´ve heard that the Quito-Lago Agrio route is full of particularly groutesque peril, and I don´t think I can maintain constant vigillance for 8 hours.
I am going to stop blogging now and actually look for month-long homestay opportunities in the Cuyabeno reserve, where I was. If I find one with families that speak Spanish and not the indigenous language, I might change my homestay location. I love it there that much.
Ok, wish me luck! Over and out.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
New Post 3
A week later, this morning I am trying the rainforest a second time. I was convinced the Malarone had made me terribly ill last time. So how was I going to go to the rainforest and not get malaria? Paul, Stuart, and Alex all told me they know tons of people who have gone, including themselves, and not gotten malaria. But it is a malaria zone. Well, they say, if you get it you go to the hospital and they cure it. I'm still not convinced. I don't want to get malaria and die. But I also want to go to the rainforest. And I don't want to get sick from Malarone, because I can't go if I'm that sick.
Finally when I'm feeling better I take another pill. Then the next day I take another. I maybe feel a little lightheaded sometimes, but it's ok. I'm not sick like I was. I take another. Still fine. Then we come to today. Still fine. I am heading back to the rainforest!
I get back on the Quito bus. It's a beautiful day, you can see the entire snowy irridescent peak of mount Cayambe from my backyard. Y'know. Just my yard. And there is fog hanging low around the foothills. I had intened to read on the bus to avoid the constant vigilence of the groutesque peril. Oh yeah, that's what I call the bus rides here. Terrifying cliffside rides. But the world is so beautiful this morning that I'm brave enough to look. I watch my mountain for as long as I can before it dissapears behind new mountains we're driving through. Then I daydream about all the dinner parties I´m going to have this fall.
Quito has redone its bus system. So I get out at Carcelen, and get on a new trolley. I ask the lady next to me if we're near the new station I need to go to. Not yet she says, and I know you, you're from Picalqui too. I sold you the honey a few weeks ago. I hadn't recognized her, but her honey was delicious. Weird that we run into each other in Quito. She helps me get off this trolley and onto another. I need to go into the old town to pay for my tour. I need to take this trolley one stop past my stop, switch lines, and then get off, because the line splits and there are stops you can only get to from one direction or another. I get lost. Then I find the tour office.
I am here a day early, the tour coordinator informs me. This is mortifying. I thought it was the 22nd. Luckily we work it out, and I can take a tour starting tomorrow. My plan had been to continue on from Quito to Lago Agrio, from where the tour departs, stay at a hostel for the night, and start the tour in the morning. Paul convinces me to take a night bus, so I have the whole days in Quito to explore. I leave my backbpack in his office and start off.
The first stop is to buy a bus ticket from this bus place the tour guy gives me directions to. I get lost, then find it. Don't have enough money for a ticket. Have to go to the bank and go back. Buy a ticket.
It's lunch time, so I find the Indian food place Mike and I ate at last time in Quito, and I get food. The server asks me where I´m from. The United States. I love the United States! I have never been there but I want to go! He speaks English, is Pakistani and has moved to help his friend, the resteraunt owner, as a server, because, he explains, Ecuadorians just don´t understand the importance of his business and sometimes just would not come to work. We talk about America, how his brother was a successful businessman there in NYC until he was arrested and deported for being an illegal alien. About how after 9-11 it is very difficult to get a visa. I try to explain to him that I am frustrated with many of my country´s policies about war, oil, agriculture, the environment, but he doesn´t really understand. America is great because it controls the world. Anyway, he is going to go to America someday and prove that country wrong, prove that he can be a successful Pakistani business man.
The conversation moves onto food, how good Indian food is, and I say yes, I am actually trying to learn how to cook Indian food. He invites me to have a cooking lesson in the resteraunt. I make a deal, say, if I come back, can I cook my own dinner as a lesson? Of course I can, he says. So I leave with some time on my hands before dinner. I go to the website for tourism in Quito, and pick out the museam of contemporary art. I get lost on the way there. When I get there, it turns out that the museam is dedicating its first year and a half to the Quiteño revolution, how Ecuador gained its colonial independence. That´s great, very cool parallels between America, France, and Latin America, which I can read in Spanish, but not the art I was looking for. It is nice to do some reading in Spanish, because I´m so much more advanced on paper. Reassuring, because I never read in Spanish, I just talk. I´m starting to feel sick, so I head out for my second choice museum, which has an archaeology exhibit and a gold room that is supposed to be phenomenal.
I head to the museam, get lost on the way. Are you noticing a theme? When I get there, there is an hour until closing. Now, I have never been a huge fan of indigenous art, I´m more of a modern kind of girl. But let me just say I fell completely in love. I don´t know what it is, but it´s so expressive and mystical and just amazing. I plan on going back to the museam, a second time when I have more time and am not feeling so yucky.
So now it´s time for dinner, and raining very lightly. I walk back to the resteraunt, and the owner comes out and greets me. I ask him if I can have my cooking lesson now. He explains to me, as politely as possible, that of course the kitchen is busy and they are cooking for the guests. When he turns away, I walk out. I feel absolutely humiliated. Was the server just hitting on me, hoping I´d come back? Even if he wasn´t, did I seriously and naively believe that some resteraunt chef would let me into his kitchen and give me a cooking lesson? I mean, Ecuador is a friendly place with laxer rules, but I feel really stupid. I go to try and find another resteraunt for dinner. I turn down one because it´s menu is too ridiculously complex and lushly gourmet even for me. The dishes are called things like ¨Your blue suede shoes¨ and other names that have nothing to do with what food is in them. I finally settle on this cafe that is probably the equivilent of Panera in the states, but it has those cool heater things on the sidewalk so you can eat outside even though it´s rather chilly. I had hoped, of course, that I might get a meal wherein I am eating alone and the waiter walks up to me and says, excuse me, that gentleman over there would like to buy you a drink, and I look over and see this incredibly deboniar twenty-four-year-old and you know, the whole shebang. But no, I just feel really crappy and have a mediocre dinner which somehow comes to 12 dollars.
It´s dark, so I plan to take a taxi back to the tour office, where I can wait at the hostel upstairs´s bar until the guy gets back to take me to the bus station for the eleven thirty night bus. I flag a taxi, ask how much it costs. 12 dollars. Now, if I walk, there is a significant chance I might get robbed, but honestly, if a 12 dollar 7 minute taxi ride isn´t robbery, I don´t know what is. So I take the walk. I put on my mean face, which either makes me look really really mean or really really terrified. On my way, I pass by a nice looking tourist looking man studying a map. I stop and ask him in English what he´s looking for. Not that I´m familiar with Quito besides having been lost in it all day. We bend over his map together, tracing where we are, where he needs to go. I give him some advice, he thanks me, we wish each other luck, and we part. I feel a lot better now. It was a lot less exiting than sharing a romantic dinner with a handsome stranger, but it was exactly what I needed.
On the last of the three trolleys I need to take, I realize I have made a mistake in the directions I give him. I feel terrible about that.
I get to the hostel just fine, and end up chatting for a few hours with some other travellers who are very cool. I feel a little sad I´m missing out on the whole traveling thing- people ask me where I´ve been so far and I say oh, Quito and Otavalo. I´m a volunteer. But then this one kid reassures me I´m not missing much. And he´s right- this hostel seems really fun because it seems like college, but I´m not here for more of what I´ve got at home.
When the time to go rolls around, I almost don´t go. I feel sick, but I decide to push through, because it´s now or never. And I know if I was at home, sitting in front of the fireplace with some tea, I wouldn´t feel so bad because I wouldn´t be overanalyzing it. So I get on the bus and I go.
Finally when I'm feeling better I take another pill. Then the next day I take another. I maybe feel a little lightheaded sometimes, but it's ok. I'm not sick like I was. I take another. Still fine. Then we come to today. Still fine. I am heading back to the rainforest!
I get back on the Quito bus. It's a beautiful day, you can see the entire snowy irridescent peak of mount Cayambe from my backyard. Y'know. Just my yard. And there is fog hanging low around the foothills. I had intened to read on the bus to avoid the constant vigilence of the groutesque peril. Oh yeah, that's what I call the bus rides here. Terrifying cliffside rides. But the world is so beautiful this morning that I'm brave enough to look. I watch my mountain for as long as I can before it dissapears behind new mountains we're driving through. Then I daydream about all the dinner parties I´m going to have this fall.
Quito has redone its bus system. So I get out at Carcelen, and get on a new trolley. I ask the lady next to me if we're near the new station I need to go to. Not yet she says, and I know you, you're from Picalqui too. I sold you the honey a few weeks ago. I hadn't recognized her, but her honey was delicious. Weird that we run into each other in Quito. She helps me get off this trolley and onto another. I need to go into the old town to pay for my tour. I need to take this trolley one stop past my stop, switch lines, and then get off, because the line splits and there are stops you can only get to from one direction or another. I get lost. Then I find the tour office.
I am here a day early, the tour coordinator informs me. This is mortifying. I thought it was the 22nd. Luckily we work it out, and I can take a tour starting tomorrow. My plan had been to continue on from Quito to Lago Agrio, from where the tour departs, stay at a hostel for the night, and start the tour in the morning. Paul convinces me to take a night bus, so I have the whole days in Quito to explore. I leave my backbpack in his office and start off.
The first stop is to buy a bus ticket from this bus place the tour guy gives me directions to. I get lost, then find it. Don't have enough money for a ticket. Have to go to the bank and go back. Buy a ticket.
It's lunch time, so I find the Indian food place Mike and I ate at last time in Quito, and I get food. The server asks me where I´m from. The United States. I love the United States! I have never been there but I want to go! He speaks English, is Pakistani and has moved to help his friend, the resteraunt owner, as a server, because, he explains, Ecuadorians just don´t understand the importance of his business and sometimes just would not come to work. We talk about America, how his brother was a successful businessman there in NYC until he was arrested and deported for being an illegal alien. About how after 9-11 it is very difficult to get a visa. I try to explain to him that I am frustrated with many of my country´s policies about war, oil, agriculture, the environment, but he doesn´t really understand. America is great because it controls the world. Anyway, he is going to go to America someday and prove that country wrong, prove that he can be a successful Pakistani business man.
The conversation moves onto food, how good Indian food is, and I say yes, I am actually trying to learn how to cook Indian food. He invites me to have a cooking lesson in the resteraunt. I make a deal, say, if I come back, can I cook my own dinner as a lesson? Of course I can, he says. So I leave with some time on my hands before dinner. I go to the website for tourism in Quito, and pick out the museam of contemporary art. I get lost on the way there. When I get there, it turns out that the museam is dedicating its first year and a half to the Quiteño revolution, how Ecuador gained its colonial independence. That´s great, very cool parallels between America, France, and Latin America, which I can read in Spanish, but not the art I was looking for. It is nice to do some reading in Spanish, because I´m so much more advanced on paper. Reassuring, because I never read in Spanish, I just talk. I´m starting to feel sick, so I head out for my second choice museum, which has an archaeology exhibit and a gold room that is supposed to be phenomenal.
I head to the museam, get lost on the way. Are you noticing a theme? When I get there, there is an hour until closing. Now, I have never been a huge fan of indigenous art, I´m more of a modern kind of girl. But let me just say I fell completely in love. I don´t know what it is, but it´s so expressive and mystical and just amazing. I plan on going back to the museam, a second time when I have more time and am not feeling so yucky.
So now it´s time for dinner, and raining very lightly. I walk back to the resteraunt, and the owner comes out and greets me. I ask him if I can have my cooking lesson now. He explains to me, as politely as possible, that of course the kitchen is busy and they are cooking for the guests. When he turns away, I walk out. I feel absolutely humiliated. Was the server just hitting on me, hoping I´d come back? Even if he wasn´t, did I seriously and naively believe that some resteraunt chef would let me into his kitchen and give me a cooking lesson? I mean, Ecuador is a friendly place with laxer rules, but I feel really stupid. I go to try and find another resteraunt for dinner. I turn down one because it´s menu is too ridiculously complex and lushly gourmet even for me. The dishes are called things like ¨Your blue suede shoes¨ and other names that have nothing to do with what food is in them. I finally settle on this cafe that is probably the equivilent of Panera in the states, but it has those cool heater things on the sidewalk so you can eat outside even though it´s rather chilly. I had hoped, of course, that I might get a meal wherein I am eating alone and the waiter walks up to me and says, excuse me, that gentleman over there would like to buy you a drink, and I look over and see this incredibly deboniar twenty-four-year-old and you know, the whole shebang. But no, I just feel really crappy and have a mediocre dinner which somehow comes to 12 dollars.
It´s dark, so I plan to take a taxi back to the tour office, where I can wait at the hostel upstairs´s bar until the guy gets back to take me to the bus station for the eleven thirty night bus. I flag a taxi, ask how much it costs. 12 dollars. Now, if I walk, there is a significant chance I might get robbed, but honestly, if a 12 dollar 7 minute taxi ride isn´t robbery, I don´t know what is. So I take the walk. I put on my mean face, which either makes me look really really mean or really really terrified. On my way, I pass by a nice looking tourist looking man studying a map. I stop and ask him in English what he´s looking for. Not that I´m familiar with Quito besides having been lost in it all day. We bend over his map together, tracing where we are, where he needs to go. I give him some advice, he thanks me, we wish each other luck, and we part. I feel a lot better now. It was a lot less exiting than sharing a romantic dinner with a handsome stranger, but it was exactly what I needed.
On the last of the three trolleys I need to take, I realize I have made a mistake in the directions I give him. I feel terrible about that.
I get to the hostel just fine, and end up chatting for a few hours with some other travellers who are very cool. I feel a little sad I´m missing out on the whole traveling thing- people ask me where I´ve been so far and I say oh, Quito and Otavalo. I´m a volunteer. But then this one kid reassures me I´m not missing much. And he´s right- this hostel seems really fun because it seems like college, but I´m not here for more of what I´ve got at home.
When the time to go rolls around, I almost don´t go. I feel sick, but I decide to push through, because it´s now or never. And I know if I was at home, sitting in front of the fireplace with some tea, I wouldn´t feel so bad because I wouldn´t be overanalyzing it. So I get on the bus and I go.
New Post 2
So I headed off to the rainforest. I took a Malarone, my anti-malaria tablet, with breakfast. May cause dizziness. I feel a little dizzy, but it's probably psychosimatic I tell myself. Ok.
I get to Quito and transfer buses. Two hours later I get off at Papallacta, a tiny hot springs town nestled in foggy mountains, on the way to the rainforest. My plan is to stop here and spend the night, then continue on to Lago Agrio from there, spend the night, and meet up for the tour in the morning. I get fresh trout- the local specialty- at the hostel resteraunt, and head to the springs. I book a massage at the spa for later, then head to the springs. These are thermal springs, a really nice complex of them, at lots of different depths and temperatures, and cold pools to cool you down. I am delighted, lounging in the most consistently temperatured water I have experienced in Ecuador. Glorious.
The massage was very nice, very relaxing. But I never like massages as much as I think I will. Except for once when I recieved a tandem massage at Kripalu from two massage students. One of the top ten experiences ever.
After the massage I decided to keep pampering myself on my little vacation and eat out at the fancy hotel resteraunts that takes credit card, as did the massage place. I'm tight on cash, but where I can pay with credit card I'm golden, especially as I start work almost as soon as I get back to the states. I order trout carpaccio, a moccachino, fillet mingon, and fried ice cream in an orange glaze and another moccachino for dessert. Glorious.
And then around dessert time I begin to feel extremely ill. Very dizzy, queasy, having trouble focusing. I go back to my hotel, where I pass one of the worst nights of my life. Not only am I sick, I'm scared, because it's a very heady illness. It feels like it's messing with my consciousness, not my body. And I'm alone in the middle of nowhere. And in Ecuador the middle of nowhere means the roads are made of dirt and the hostel's phone is broken. I keep trying to read to calm myself down, and end up throwing up which helps a little. I finally get to sleep really late.
In the morning, I decide to take a shower and find a phone. I need to call someone and have them help me figure out if I should tough this out or if I should reschedule the rainforest. I'm already about 4 hours out, out of 10. But I still feel like shit.
Ok, so shower time before I leave the hostel. I turn on the hot water knob. No water comes out. I put my clothes back on and find the management. Excuse me, the hot water isn't working. No, he says, you have to wait. I say to him, there are two knobs, right? And the one on the left is hot, right? Yes... Well, when I turn the knob on the right, no water falls. Let's take a look he says, but what he is really saying is, Oh my god the stupid gringa can't even make the shower work. Like when you take your computer to the computer store because you can't get it to turn on and the apple genius pushes the on button and your computer boots up. Well, this guy runs the cold water in my room for about 10 minutes. Finally I ask him if I can shower in an empty room. That's what I do. Then I leave the hostel, and go to a phone place. I call my mother's cell phone, because I don't know her home phone number. No answer. I call my dad's work number. No. His cell. No. His house. No. I call Alley's cell. No. I have only two more numbers memorized, thanks to cell phone phonebooks. This is getting desperate. I call Alley's house phone. She picks up and tells me to go back to the farm. I go back. I'll try again next week.
I get to Quito and transfer buses. Two hours later I get off at Papallacta, a tiny hot springs town nestled in foggy mountains, on the way to the rainforest. My plan is to stop here and spend the night, then continue on to Lago Agrio from there, spend the night, and meet up for the tour in the morning. I get fresh trout- the local specialty- at the hostel resteraunt, and head to the springs. I book a massage at the spa for later, then head to the springs. These are thermal springs, a really nice complex of them, at lots of different depths and temperatures, and cold pools to cool you down. I am delighted, lounging in the most consistently temperatured water I have experienced in Ecuador. Glorious.
The massage was very nice, very relaxing. But I never like massages as much as I think I will. Except for once when I recieved a tandem massage at Kripalu from two massage students. One of the top ten experiences ever.
After the massage I decided to keep pampering myself on my little vacation and eat out at the fancy hotel resteraunts that takes credit card, as did the massage place. I'm tight on cash, but where I can pay with credit card I'm golden, especially as I start work almost as soon as I get back to the states. I order trout carpaccio, a moccachino, fillet mingon, and fried ice cream in an orange glaze and another moccachino for dessert. Glorious.
And then around dessert time I begin to feel extremely ill. Very dizzy, queasy, having trouble focusing. I go back to my hotel, where I pass one of the worst nights of my life. Not only am I sick, I'm scared, because it's a very heady illness. It feels like it's messing with my consciousness, not my body. And I'm alone in the middle of nowhere. And in Ecuador the middle of nowhere means the roads are made of dirt and the hostel's phone is broken. I keep trying to read to calm myself down, and end up throwing up which helps a little. I finally get to sleep really late.
In the morning, I decide to take a shower and find a phone. I need to call someone and have them help me figure out if I should tough this out or if I should reschedule the rainforest. I'm already about 4 hours out, out of 10. But I still feel like shit.
Ok, so shower time before I leave the hostel. I turn on the hot water knob. No water comes out. I put my clothes back on and find the management. Excuse me, the hot water isn't working. No, he says, you have to wait. I say to him, there are two knobs, right? And the one on the left is hot, right? Yes... Well, when I turn the knob on the right, no water falls. Let's take a look he says, but what he is really saying is, Oh my god the stupid gringa can't even make the shower work. Like when you take your computer to the computer store because you can't get it to turn on and the apple genius pushes the on button and your computer boots up. Well, this guy runs the cold water in my room for about 10 minutes. Finally I ask him if I can shower in an empty room. That's what I do. Then I leave the hostel, and go to a phone place. I call my mother's cell phone, because I don't know her home phone number. No answer. I call my dad's work number. No. His cell. No. His house. No. I call Alley's cell. No. I have only two more numbers memorized, thanks to cell phone phonebooks. This is getting desperate. I call Alley's house phone. She picks up and tells me to go back to the farm. I go back. I'll try again next week.
New Post 1
I have a little bit of trouble fitting into the culture here, and sometimes I feel like I'm in 6th grade again with the "no one understands me" type of attitude. Paul had his going away party, a big fiesta. Everyone dances with everyone, and every time I tried to sit down, someone asked me to dance. This was fun for about an hour, and then I didn't want to dance anymore, particularly not with my smarmy most frequent partner. And I just got kicked back onto the dance floor. Also I kept refusing drinks after my first cup of puntas and orange juice- puntas being 50% alcohol in content. For those of you who know me, I don't drink, both because I don't like how it makes me feel and alcoholism runs strongly in my family.
Then Iladio asks me to dance. He works on the farm, and his kids are my absolute favorite. So of course I was relieved- here is someone I know, like, who is polite and friendly. We start to talk. By which I mean to say, he begins with this: "So, you don't like Ecuadorians, do you?" WHAT? By which I mean to say, I reply, "Why do you say that? That's not's true, Iladio." He shrugs, doesn't know why it just seems that way. Probably because I have been refusing drinks and dances. They just have no boundaries- I'm not allowed to be politely different and not want to dance or drink. Then he goes on to ask when I'm leaving. Next week. That's too bad, he tells me, because I am the prettiest volunteer that has been here and he miss me and never forget me. This is getting weird. He's 40 and his wife is yards away. Do you have a boyfriend he asks me? No. Why not? I decide to spare him- but mostly myself- my last two relationship stories. I don't know, Iladio, past relationships haven't worked out and I haven't met anyone new. Are you happy with Ruth? Oh yes. And we have kids. After a few more minutes he passes me off to dance with Alex. What's funny is that he wasn't hitting on me. We had a totally appropriate Ecuadorian conversation.
Then Iladio asks me to dance. He works on the farm, and his kids are my absolute favorite. So of course I was relieved- here is someone I know, like, who is polite and friendly. We start to talk. By which I mean to say, he begins with this: "So, you don't like Ecuadorians, do you?" WHAT? By which I mean to say, I reply, "Why do you say that? That's not's true, Iladio." He shrugs, doesn't know why it just seems that way. Probably because I have been refusing drinks and dances. They just have no boundaries- I'm not allowed to be politely different and not want to dance or drink. Then he goes on to ask when I'm leaving. Next week. That's too bad, he tells me, because I am the prettiest volunteer that has been here and he miss me and never forget me. This is getting weird. He's 40 and his wife is yards away. Do you have a boyfriend he asks me? No. Why not? I decide to spare him- but mostly myself- my last two relationship stories. I don't know, Iladio, past relationships haven't worked out and I haven't met anyone new. Are you happy with Ruth? Oh yes. And we have kids. After a few more minutes he passes me off to dance with Alex. What's funny is that he wasn't hitting on me. We had a totally appropriate Ecuadorian conversation.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Reality Checks
Yesterday was a seriously long day. Even though we rebelled and took the afternoon off. Lani, my roomate, and I put on our bikinis and sunbathed on the lawn until it got cloudy. In true lazy-day fashion, when Alex went into town, we had him bring us back two rotisserie chickens which we ate on the lawn. Then little kids and dogs climbed all over us and picked the chickens clean.
Then I went into my room and had some time feeling sensitive. It just occured to me how absolutely heartbreaking the world is sometimes, and everything just felt very painful, some things in my life and also the tradgedies of this generation, with natural disasters and the general anxiety young people have about the future. And I just let myself feel the suffering, like the books I have been reading have told me to do. And it felt very honest.
Just as I was drying my eyes, the Übermench calls out to me, Rachel, were you going to kill the chickens?
What chickens? Is today chicken day?
Yeah, hurry up.
So we go to the chicken coop. He points to one, and I run around like an idiot for about 3 minutes trying to catch it. And then I do. I pick him up, holding my hands over his wings, holding his body against my chest. We go over to the compost heap, because blood is full of nutrients. The chicken breathing perceptably against my body.
He hands me a kitchen knife.
So I just thwack down on the neck once and it´s all over, right?
No, Rachel, you have to saw it off. With strokes. Pull the feathers away so you don´t have to cut through them.
I am horrified. Sawing??? With a stupid kitchen knife? So much adrenaline.
You see, the reason I wanted to do this is because I am a meat-eater. I don´t want to be a vegetarian. But if I am going to be ok with eating meat, I want to be ok with what it means. It means that something alive, the way I am alive, is going to die. So that I can eat it. And if that process is too horrific for me, then I should not be supporting it. Because it´s so easy to be detached from the reality of meat when I walk into Stop & Shop and get a plastic-covered styrofome tray of chicken breasts.
Paul holds the chicken´s calm, really pretty trusting body. I pull the neck long, holding back feathers, the neck across a board. We shuffle around because I hold the knife in my left hand. I work out the contradiction that this chicken is definitely going to die, and that the kindest way to do it is to be aggressive with the knife, to cut hard and fast without hesitation.
And that is what I do. In two strokes it´s over, the severed head and the headless body both freaking out, the neck twitching in the compost, the wings flapping wildly in Paul´s hands. And then it´s still.
We let the blood drain and then carry it to the big kitchen where Lucia and Ruth show me how to clean it. We dip it in boiling water, and then pull all the feathers off, and the foot skin. Then we hold it over the burner so that any little hairs left on the skin burn off.
Then we slit below the neck and pull out the stomach, which is like one of those stress- ball things you can buy at museam giftshops with hard little balls inside. The balls being bits of undigested corn.
Then we cut it open a little above the tail end, and I stick my hands in and rip out all the guts. Careful not to break the dark green pouch the size of a horsepill, the spleen, with its bitter liquid. Iladio cuts open an organ people don´t have, shows me how the chicken decomposes the corn and grass inside this mother-of-pearl shelled box that lives in its belly.
Lucia asks me if I want to clean the ¨tripo¨, the large intestine, and I say no. Then she asks Paul. Now, Ecuadorians are huge jokesters. I am trying to learn. So I joke, no Paul doesn´t want to share the intestine cleaning job, he wants it all himself. And the ladies are laughing, and I´m thrilled. I made a successful joke!
Paul: Do you understand what they´re saying?
Me: Yeah, we´re laughing about how you want to clean shit out of chicken intestines.
Paul: No, Rachel, ¨tripo¨is another word for venereal disease.
Oh. There´s really nothing more humiliating than trying to fit in, especially in a new language, and no matter how hard you try, still being the laughing stock of the crowd. It´s really, really hard.
I excuse myself because I have to make pizza dough for dinner tonight. Everyone takes a job, cutting up and frying veggies, cleaning, picking things from the garden. Simon goes out to light a fire in the stove. And then from the window we see him get up and sprint across the yard to where the kids have lit a fire in a hole. They do this frequently, and unsupervised. Because in Ecuador safety is not a real consideration. Not the way it is in America. After living without a fridge for a month, for example, I eat unrefrigerated leftovers for breakfast. No problem.
Someone is on fire. Simon rips the kid´s burning pants off, brings him into the house, in the bathtub. Runs cold water on his body. Simon has completed 3 years of medical school. He has also just saved a child´s life. Alex and John go to get the parents. He needs to go to the hospital. Patches of his legs, and a huge swath of his back, are burned pink in relief to the brown skin of his body, layers upon layers of which have peeled away in the wounded parts. After the adrenaline wears off, he begins to scream. Where are his parents? I go to see what´s taking them so long. I find his mother in the kitchen. Alex told her, your kid is hurt, his pants were on fire. And she´s still cooking. I run in. He needs to go to the hospital! She looks confused. Hospital! Blank face. Why doesn´t she get it? Alex is better at Spanish than I am. Se quemo! I tell her. And then she gets it. She bolts with me to the volunteer house.
I cannot imagine discovering my child so hurt. She holds him, scolds him, asks God how this could happen. What a nightmare. I get them a glass of water. Someone has gone to get Stuart, whose friend Edwin happens to be visiting with his truck. Every time the kid shrieks I shudder. Alex asks me if I´m alright. I scream at him, No I´m not alright! And then burst into tears, apologize profusely for shouting at him. He´ll be alright, he´s just going to be in the hospital for a little while, he´ll be fine, everyone tells me. I´m not crying because I think he´s going to die, I´m crying because he and his mother are suffering and I can feel it and hear it.
They carry him to the hospital. He´ll be there for 3 weeks. At Ecuadorian hospitals, you have to pre-pay for all medication before it is given. There are not blankets or beds for family to stay in. He is taken from Cayambe to Quito, an hour and a half away. We all hope that at least this will encourage parents to take care of their children better. To watch them. Stuart bans fires made by children on the farm. (The children were playing with fire and a can of gasoline when the accident happened). Stuart has been chided by parents for disciplining their children, telling them not to do things. It´s culturally not done- you do not have authority over other people´s children. Everyone is shaken and grave. But he´ll be fine. He´s lucky.
Today we went to Otavalo, the biggest indigenous market in Ecuador. I got some jewelry and a scarf because I miss having pretty things here. In a few minutes I´m going back for the Ubermench´s going away party. We might go clubbing tonight. In a day or two I´m leaving for a mud bath in some hotsprings, and then to the rainforest for 5 days. Yesterday was really intense, but unlike usually, I haven´t really pondered it and turned it into some parable that signifies a life lesson. Maybe I´m not ready yet. Or maybe I´m becoming no-nonsense, not mulling over things. That´s the way people are here. I think it will stay with me, though. Really I think it will.
Then I went into my room and had some time feeling sensitive. It just occured to me how absolutely heartbreaking the world is sometimes, and everything just felt very painful, some things in my life and also the tradgedies of this generation, with natural disasters and the general anxiety young people have about the future. And I just let myself feel the suffering, like the books I have been reading have told me to do. And it felt very honest.
Just as I was drying my eyes, the Übermench calls out to me, Rachel, were you going to kill the chickens?
What chickens? Is today chicken day?
Yeah, hurry up.
So we go to the chicken coop. He points to one, and I run around like an idiot for about 3 minutes trying to catch it. And then I do. I pick him up, holding my hands over his wings, holding his body against my chest. We go over to the compost heap, because blood is full of nutrients. The chicken breathing perceptably against my body.
He hands me a kitchen knife.
So I just thwack down on the neck once and it´s all over, right?
No, Rachel, you have to saw it off. With strokes. Pull the feathers away so you don´t have to cut through them.
I am horrified. Sawing??? With a stupid kitchen knife? So much adrenaline.
You see, the reason I wanted to do this is because I am a meat-eater. I don´t want to be a vegetarian. But if I am going to be ok with eating meat, I want to be ok with what it means. It means that something alive, the way I am alive, is going to die. So that I can eat it. And if that process is too horrific for me, then I should not be supporting it. Because it´s so easy to be detached from the reality of meat when I walk into Stop & Shop and get a plastic-covered styrofome tray of chicken breasts.
Paul holds the chicken´s calm, really pretty trusting body. I pull the neck long, holding back feathers, the neck across a board. We shuffle around because I hold the knife in my left hand. I work out the contradiction that this chicken is definitely going to die, and that the kindest way to do it is to be aggressive with the knife, to cut hard and fast without hesitation.
And that is what I do. In two strokes it´s over, the severed head and the headless body both freaking out, the neck twitching in the compost, the wings flapping wildly in Paul´s hands. And then it´s still.
We let the blood drain and then carry it to the big kitchen where Lucia and Ruth show me how to clean it. We dip it in boiling water, and then pull all the feathers off, and the foot skin. Then we hold it over the burner so that any little hairs left on the skin burn off.
Then we slit below the neck and pull out the stomach, which is like one of those stress- ball things you can buy at museam giftshops with hard little balls inside. The balls being bits of undigested corn.
Then we cut it open a little above the tail end, and I stick my hands in and rip out all the guts. Careful not to break the dark green pouch the size of a horsepill, the spleen, with its bitter liquid. Iladio cuts open an organ people don´t have, shows me how the chicken decomposes the corn and grass inside this mother-of-pearl shelled box that lives in its belly.
Lucia asks me if I want to clean the ¨tripo¨, the large intestine, and I say no. Then she asks Paul. Now, Ecuadorians are huge jokesters. I am trying to learn. So I joke, no Paul doesn´t want to share the intestine cleaning job, he wants it all himself. And the ladies are laughing, and I´m thrilled. I made a successful joke!
Paul: Do you understand what they´re saying?
Me: Yeah, we´re laughing about how you want to clean shit out of chicken intestines.
Paul: No, Rachel, ¨tripo¨is another word for venereal disease.
Oh. There´s really nothing more humiliating than trying to fit in, especially in a new language, and no matter how hard you try, still being the laughing stock of the crowd. It´s really, really hard.
I excuse myself because I have to make pizza dough for dinner tonight. Everyone takes a job, cutting up and frying veggies, cleaning, picking things from the garden. Simon goes out to light a fire in the stove. And then from the window we see him get up and sprint across the yard to where the kids have lit a fire in a hole. They do this frequently, and unsupervised. Because in Ecuador safety is not a real consideration. Not the way it is in America. After living without a fridge for a month, for example, I eat unrefrigerated leftovers for breakfast. No problem.
Someone is on fire. Simon rips the kid´s burning pants off, brings him into the house, in the bathtub. Runs cold water on his body. Simon has completed 3 years of medical school. He has also just saved a child´s life. Alex and John go to get the parents. He needs to go to the hospital. Patches of his legs, and a huge swath of his back, are burned pink in relief to the brown skin of his body, layers upon layers of which have peeled away in the wounded parts. After the adrenaline wears off, he begins to scream. Where are his parents? I go to see what´s taking them so long. I find his mother in the kitchen. Alex told her, your kid is hurt, his pants were on fire. And she´s still cooking. I run in. He needs to go to the hospital! She looks confused. Hospital! Blank face. Why doesn´t she get it? Alex is better at Spanish than I am. Se quemo! I tell her. And then she gets it. She bolts with me to the volunteer house.
I cannot imagine discovering my child so hurt. She holds him, scolds him, asks God how this could happen. What a nightmare. I get them a glass of water. Someone has gone to get Stuart, whose friend Edwin happens to be visiting with his truck. Every time the kid shrieks I shudder. Alex asks me if I´m alright. I scream at him, No I´m not alright! And then burst into tears, apologize profusely for shouting at him. He´ll be alright, he´s just going to be in the hospital for a little while, he´ll be fine, everyone tells me. I´m not crying because I think he´s going to die, I´m crying because he and his mother are suffering and I can feel it and hear it.
They carry him to the hospital. He´ll be there for 3 weeks. At Ecuadorian hospitals, you have to pre-pay for all medication before it is given. There are not blankets or beds for family to stay in. He is taken from Cayambe to Quito, an hour and a half away. We all hope that at least this will encourage parents to take care of their children better. To watch them. Stuart bans fires made by children on the farm. (The children were playing with fire and a can of gasoline when the accident happened). Stuart has been chided by parents for disciplining their children, telling them not to do things. It´s culturally not done- you do not have authority over other people´s children. Everyone is shaken and grave. But he´ll be fine. He´s lucky.
Today we went to Otavalo, the biggest indigenous market in Ecuador. I got some jewelry and a scarf because I miss having pretty things here. In a few minutes I´m going back for the Ubermench´s going away party. We might go clubbing tonight. In a day or two I´m leaving for a mud bath in some hotsprings, and then to the rainforest for 5 days. Yesterday was really intense, but unlike usually, I haven´t really pondered it and turned it into some parable that signifies a life lesson. Maybe I´m not ready yet. Or maybe I´m becoming no-nonsense, not mulling over things. That´s the way people are here. I think it will stay with me, though. Really I think it will.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
2 things
1. The kids are, as I have mentioned, very friendly here. They go around saying hi to everyone. They have a really hard time pronouncing the name ¨Jack¨. Once, when asking Jack what his name was, another volunteer told the kids, ¨Cocksucker¨. So now the kids run around saying, ¨Hola, Cocksucker¨in their cute little kid Spanish accents. We practically shit ourselves laughing every time.
2. We fired up the oven today! Roasted brocolli for lunch, and banana bread for dessert!
2. We fired up the oven today! Roasted brocolli for lunch, and banana bread for dessert!
Tuesday, July 7, 2009
Granadilla
Granadilla are my new favorite thing to eat. It´s a type of passion fruit that simply doesn´t exist in the US. It´s a hard yellow shell that encases slimy seeds- as a friend of mine put it, it feels like a mouthful of semen. I think that is impolite and vastly underestimates and disrespects the spectacularity of the fruit. Ximena says that the seeds will collect in my appendix. However, that´s ok, because she has vitiated her medical credibility! This is how (dubbed into English):
We are all having lunch. Alex finds a worm on his lettuce leaf.
Rachel: You should eat that worm!
Everyone: Ewwwww!
Stuart: Alex, I´ll give you a beer if you eat that worm.
Alex: Ok! (Eats worm).
Later in the garden...
Ximena: I hope that that worm doesn´t lay eggs in Alex.
Rachel: Why would that happen?
Ximena: Well, worms like to live in the soil because it´s warm, and it´s warm inside of people, so it´s a perfect environment for worms.
Rachel: No, I am sure that it will be digested by stomach acid.
Ximena: I hope so...
Rachel: No, the stomach acid will kill the worm, Ximena. Everything´s going to be fine. (No Donnie, these men are nihilists, there´s nothing to be afraid of).
On another note, some words on my self-made vocabulary list: slip, toilet paper, fasten, stumble, by the way, grid, hang, lampshade, sage, turmeric, overripe, rotton, freeze, glue, stab, goad, perish, hover, slimy, itch, chin, gruff, free, slacken, loosen, untie, bud, trust, gossip, flirt, fuck up, fuck, gut, fail, faint, drip, drench, crave, pillow, lump, crush, scissors, trap, collapse, aftertaste, bony, sullen, numb. There are more words in the world than I ever could have imagined. And they have genders and conjugations.
Also, in case you wanted to know, I´m listening to Britney Spears on Youtube while writing this. With headphones, don´t worry.
We are all having lunch. Alex finds a worm on his lettuce leaf.
Rachel: You should eat that worm!
Everyone: Ewwwww!
Stuart: Alex, I´ll give you a beer if you eat that worm.
Alex: Ok! (Eats worm).
Later in the garden...
Ximena: I hope that that worm doesn´t lay eggs in Alex.
Rachel: Why would that happen?
Ximena: Well, worms like to live in the soil because it´s warm, and it´s warm inside of people, so it´s a perfect environment for worms.
Rachel: No, I am sure that it will be digested by stomach acid.
Ximena: I hope so...
Rachel: No, the stomach acid will kill the worm, Ximena. Everything´s going to be fine. (No Donnie, these men are nihilists, there´s nothing to be afraid of).
On another note, some words on my self-made vocabulary list: slip, toilet paper, fasten, stumble, by the way, grid, hang, lampshade, sage, turmeric, overripe, rotton, freeze, glue, stab, goad, perish, hover, slimy, itch, chin, gruff, free, slacken, loosen, untie, bud, trust, gossip, flirt, fuck up, fuck, gut, fail, faint, drip, drench, crave, pillow, lump, crush, scissors, trap, collapse, aftertaste, bony, sullen, numb. There are more words in the world than I ever could have imagined. And they have genders and conjugations.
Also, in case you wanted to know, I´m listening to Britney Spears on Youtube while writing this. With headphones, don´t worry.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Sorry it´s been so long
Things that have happened:
- Noche San Pedrino- The biggest street festival of the year. The same dancing as before, traditional dress. But this time it´s at night and everyone just keeps giving each other alcohol. I was still feeling sick during the day, just tired (getting over a head cold) and so I slept from 2pm to 9pm. I woke up, thinking I´d have a banana for dinner and go back to sleep, when the Ubermench says, hey you going to the party? Yeah, I´m going to the party. And so we get on a bus with some group who´s staying in the barracks housing on the farm, and who should I run into, but the guy I sat next to on the plane ride here. No joke. So weird. So we get there and there are fireworks and french fries and dancing and dancing. Of course we joined in, adopted by pueblo Rosario Lindo.
It is rude to refuse drinks in this country. I have never been so drunk in my entire life, not even when I was in a Manhattan dive bar making lascivious comments at an ex. Staggering through the streets at 2 am with the other volunteers. And I still didn´t get a hangover. Ha!
-Building the oven- We finally scavenged the metal to build the oven. Oh it is so beautiful. It needs to dry a week, and then we can bake in it. Oh I am in love. So happy. I´ll try to post a picture eventually. I only have shitty disposable film cameras, but my friends took pictures.
-The English Patient- The best book ever. Read it!
-Learning to make fried fish- Lucia, one of the women who lives on the foundation, taught me to make fried fish. You gut them and shave off the scales. Then you puree celery, garlic, onion, cilantro, a red pepper, salt, a little water, and cumin. Cut slashes in the fish´s sides, and cut each one in half. Cover it in the marinade, filling the slashes with the paste. Let sit if there´s time to marinate. When ready to cook, coat in flour and fry in oil in a frying pan. While they were cooking, Lucia and I talked a lot. She had all 5 kids by the time she was my age, hates her husband. I wondered why I deserved such confidence. She told me, don´t marry until you are 35 or 40. Keep your freedom. And all this in Spanish.
-Fainting!- I fainted for the first time last night. I woke up, ate rice pudding, fruit, later had more fruit, some popcorn, then more fruit, then chocolate, then more chocolate, then icecream cake. I took a nap that evening because I felt tired. When I got up, I went into the kitchen where Lani was making dinner. In the middle of a conversation, I felt super faint and dizzy, and the last thing I remember was putting my head on this guy´s shoulder. Then I was sitting on the floor, someone giving me a glass of water and trying to move me to the bed. No, I need to just sit here. No I can´t drink the water yet. I think I¨m going to throw up. And then I slowly began to feel better, ate some french fries, and was fine. Ate a delicious chicken strogenough dinner.
-Giant Spider in the bathroom!- Giant spider. I ran away.
-Freedom day- In honor of fourth of July, we are having Freedom Day at the volunteer house tonight. Everyone has to cook an American food. Which is hard, because there are about 10 of us and there are not that many American foods. I should have volunteered to make Gumbo, but I didn´t think of it until just now, so I´m making apple pie. That´s English, they say. Yeah, well, we´re mongrels, right? Other menu items are salsa, mac and cheese, peanut butter cookies, hush puppies, hamburgers, and coke. Oh boy.
I love you all!!!!
- Noche San Pedrino- The biggest street festival of the year. The same dancing as before, traditional dress. But this time it´s at night and everyone just keeps giving each other alcohol. I was still feeling sick during the day, just tired (getting over a head cold) and so I slept from 2pm to 9pm. I woke up, thinking I´d have a banana for dinner and go back to sleep, when the Ubermench says, hey you going to the party? Yeah, I´m going to the party. And so we get on a bus with some group who´s staying in the barracks housing on the farm, and who should I run into, but the guy I sat next to on the plane ride here. No joke. So weird. So we get there and there are fireworks and french fries and dancing and dancing. Of course we joined in, adopted by pueblo Rosario Lindo.
It is rude to refuse drinks in this country. I have never been so drunk in my entire life, not even when I was in a Manhattan dive bar making lascivious comments at an ex. Staggering through the streets at 2 am with the other volunteers. And I still didn´t get a hangover. Ha!
-Building the oven- We finally scavenged the metal to build the oven. Oh it is so beautiful. It needs to dry a week, and then we can bake in it. Oh I am in love. So happy. I´ll try to post a picture eventually. I only have shitty disposable film cameras, but my friends took pictures.
-The English Patient- The best book ever. Read it!
-Learning to make fried fish- Lucia, one of the women who lives on the foundation, taught me to make fried fish. You gut them and shave off the scales. Then you puree celery, garlic, onion, cilantro, a red pepper, salt, a little water, and cumin. Cut slashes in the fish´s sides, and cut each one in half. Cover it in the marinade, filling the slashes with the paste. Let sit if there´s time to marinate. When ready to cook, coat in flour and fry in oil in a frying pan. While they were cooking, Lucia and I talked a lot. She had all 5 kids by the time she was my age, hates her husband. I wondered why I deserved such confidence. She told me, don´t marry until you are 35 or 40. Keep your freedom. And all this in Spanish.
-Fainting!- I fainted for the first time last night. I woke up, ate rice pudding, fruit, later had more fruit, some popcorn, then more fruit, then chocolate, then more chocolate, then icecream cake. I took a nap that evening because I felt tired. When I got up, I went into the kitchen where Lani was making dinner. In the middle of a conversation, I felt super faint and dizzy, and the last thing I remember was putting my head on this guy´s shoulder. Then I was sitting on the floor, someone giving me a glass of water and trying to move me to the bed. No, I need to just sit here. No I can´t drink the water yet. I think I¨m going to throw up. And then I slowly began to feel better, ate some french fries, and was fine. Ate a delicious chicken strogenough dinner.
-Giant Spider in the bathroom!- Giant spider. I ran away.
-Freedom day- In honor of fourth of July, we are having Freedom Day at the volunteer house tonight. Everyone has to cook an American food. Which is hard, because there are about 10 of us and there are not that many American foods. I should have volunteered to make Gumbo, but I didn´t think of it until just now, so I´m making apple pie. That´s English, they say. Yeah, well, we´re mongrels, right? Other menu items are salsa, mac and cheese, peanut butter cookies, hush puppies, hamburgers, and coke. Oh boy.
I love you all!!!!
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