Don't tell me a gringa can't dance

Well, I hope you all are ready for a good long post, because I have a lot to say!

I feel like I’m starting to settle in to the culture and language here. I’ve been able to go out and do things a little and I’m comfortable with it. I’m also getting to know the other Kzoo people here much better than I knew any of them before. It seems strange to talk about Kalamazoo here though, when we are so far away.

Wednesday, Hannah and I met up and walked to the supermarket that’s between our host families’ houses. The main supermarket here is Supermaxi. There are about twenty in the city, I swear. It was interesting to look around the store and see what they sell, and how much it costs. Most imported things (brand names that are the same in the states) are basically US prices. But then there are the foods that are from Ecuador, along with other Ecuadorian products, which are all really cheap. Sadly, chocolate, even the Ecuadorian kind, seems to be expensive no matter what. I had my first experience of someone not being able to make change at the Supermaxi. I paid for a $2 and something item with a five and the lady at the register had to go to a different register to get change. I think she didn’t have any pennies or something like that.

Thursday, we had our international student orientation. There were about 100 international students at the school, and they were doing another orientation the next day. There’s quite a few students from the states here, from Boston University, Boston College (they brought the rivalry with them), Michigan State, and a bunch of other schools across the country. There are a few students from other countries, but they are severely outnumbered. The staff here seem well prepared to be helpful if we need them, so I’m not really worried about anything at the school.

Trying to get home from the school, many of us discovered that the bus system isn’t exactly reliable. One of the connector busses between two of the bus stations many of us use wasn’t running that afternoon. No particular reason we could figure out, it just wasn’t running. So we had to figure out how to get to the next bus station on a different bus. The two bus-station workers we asked about alternatives were extremely vague about where to catch this mysterious bus that apparently went to the station we wanted, so we had no idea what to do. We ended up walking in the general direction that they had pointed until we saw a number of people running to get on a bus that had just pulled up to a stop outside the station. Assuming this was our bus, and per the confirmation of that suspicion by a helpful fellow bus-rider, we got on the over-full bus and eventually made it to our bus station.

After I finally got home, I spent some time getting to know my host family. After dinner, Susie put the radio on to a station with some good dancing music. Eventually, whatever we had been doing devolved into a basic dance lesson in the Kitchen and we spent a good amount of time dancing around to the music. Music which included the Spanish version of “Twist and Shout,” which is called “A Bailar.”

Friday, we got out of class earlier than the other days, so I thought I might try to do something interesting in the city. Adrianna and I decided to meet up and go to the Centro Historico (Historical Center) to see the sights, but the buses weren’t being very cooperative. We asked around and were apparently told to get on the wrong bus. Fortunately we figured it out pretty quickly, so we got OFF the bus and ended up wandering La Prensa (big street that goes near my house) instead of the Centro Historico since it was really too late to go and come back at a decent time. After that, Adrianna took the bus home and I stayed on it to meet up with some other Kzoo students in the Mariscal. The bus was absolutely jammed since it was basically the time of day when everyone is going home from work. I managed to get off at the right stop though, and to the part of town I wanted to be in. The Mariscal is the area of Quito that is geared towards tourists and the party scene. There’s always a bunch of people there, and the streets are lined with clubs and bars. We met up in the very center at a place that had “Gringo” prices on everything and was playing American music. We decided to ditch that and found a place that seemed like it would have a few more locals instead, a club on a street off the Mariscal. There we all got our first instruction in Ecuadorian club dancing from a couple of young Ecuadorian guys who seemed to enjoy dancing with the gringas. At the end of the night (we were all too tired to stay very late) I shared a taxi home, my first Ecuadorian taxi. Apparently no one here knows where anything is. Even taxi drivers. It’s sort of characteristic of people to give faulty or vague directions here, but I thought at least the taxi driver would know where my street was. He didn’t, but I made it home anyway. And I got to see a picture of the taxi driver’s youngest son and here the story of his life, so that was pretty cool.

Yesterday was the biggest day I’ve had so far though. We had our last day of intensive Spanish classes and took the test. No one is entirely sure what the purpose of the test was, but we all took it anyway. After the test, we had some time to kill before we were supposed to meet up to go to lunch, so Emily and I decided to explore Cumbaya and look for a post office. We ended up walking around the block, which took about an hour, including some exploration time, some picture taking time, some stamp-buying time (the lady didn’t have change again), and some “stupid gringas” time (we asked a guard where the post office was and got a blank stare as a response. We said it right too, we looked it up!).

The whole Kalamazoo program then got on a (private) bus and headed out to a restaurant in the “country” (basically that means everyone who lives there can have a yard and maybe a few animals) that is situated on the bank of a river at the bottom of a canyon. The bus couldn’t actually take us all the way to the restaurant because the road was too steep, so we walked down the road. I’m still super excited about all of the plants here, so I was taking pictures the whole way down and the entire rest of the time we were there. (I’ll post some pictures soon, I promise!) The food they served us at the restaurant was wonderful, and it conveniently rained while we were eating so we could walk around once we were done eating. There was a playground next to the restaurant that had some great monkey bars for hanging upside-down, so I was able to reduce my circus cravings for a little while. Most of the group decided to go down to the river to see what it was like for a while. The banks were almost entirely made up of rounded rocks and boulders and the river was crossable in many places if one wasn’t afraid to jump from rock to rock a bit (It was a small river). A number of us decided to cross the river, go downstream a bit, and cross back over, only to continue going downstream exploring even more. We all managed to get up on a big rock in the middle of the river and finally decided we should head back.

We made it back to the restaurant just as everyone was ready to leave, so we hopped in the back of one of our program director’s trucks and went for a ride up the hill. As it started to rain. The further up the hill we got the more people we were trying to cram into the back of the truck, until we finally just started taking backpacks since there was no way we could get any more people into the back of the truck. We all made it back and the bus dropped us off in town were we could all get taxis to go home.

As if that weren’t enough for one day, my family then got all ready to go to my host-brother’s 30^th birthday party. And what a party that was. I have learned that my host-family, at least on my mother’s side, practically looks white, which almost makes the fact that they are speaking Spanish strange to me. When we got to the party, I helped set up a bit while the DJ they had hired played all American music, also strange. Once I found myself with nothing to do, I said so, and was immediately roped into learning, once again, how to dance. Apparently this time however, I had the best teacher I could possibly have. According to Susie. My teacher was my host-brother’s mother-in-law. She put the DJ in line and got him to play some good salsa and merengue music and proceeded to show me exactly what I should be doing with my feet (and legs and hips and shoulders and arms and every other part me). Once I had the hang of salsa, she switched over to teaching me the more traditional dances of Ecuador. So traditional, in fact, that they played what she said was the national song of Ecuador (that could be TYPE of song, I’m not sure) and my host-grandmother got up to dance with all the rest of us. I spent the rest of the night being forced to eat by all the grandmothers if I dared to sit down at their table and dragged back onto my feet every time the song changed by my personal dance instructors (all of the middle-aged women seemed to think I had to dance ALL night and it was their responsibility to make sure I did). By the end of the night I had danced with Susie, Andres, all of my dance instructors, and One of Andres’ friends who turned out to be an Italian who played Spanish guitar extremely well. The party ended with the Italian friend and some relative passing the guitar back and forth, singing boleros (ballads) and other songs. I got to try a completely new type of cake, made from some sort of black corn and chock full of raisins and another unidentified dried fruit. I also experienced, more clearly than before, the typical form of saying hello and goodbye here. Whenever anyone enters or leaves a room, no matter how many people are there, they are required to say hello and kiss everyone on the cheek. It is an absolute necessity. Which means I’ve now kissed the cheek of about 30 people whose names I do not remember, but who are somehow related to my host-family.

Since I’ve been here, I’ve noticed a lot of differences in the way things work here, particularly in the transportation system. First off, one of the surest ways to know you are in another country is to look at the street signs. They are all in a different language, look different, and are often placed in very different places. For example, street signs here are all posted on the outer walls of buildings, along with one way and two way signs. The ones that I noticed right away as different were the no parking signs. They are exactly the same as the ones in the US, except that instead of a crossed our P, they have a crossed out E, because the Spanish word for to park is “estacionar.” Secondly, a ride in a car here would not be good for the health of anyone concerned about the health of their heart. The drivers don’t worry at all about the people behind them, only those in front. If you are in a car behind someone, and they cut you off, it’s not their fault; it’s just your problem. The roads are also much bumpier than in the US (for the most part) so that a smooth ride is totally unheard of. Drivers here use their horns a lot. Not just to yell at someone who did something they don’t like, but also as a way to say, “I’m here, and I’m doing this, so don’t hit me.” Most of what I have noticed has been in relation to the buses however, since I ride 6 of them every day I go to school (it still only costs a dollar though, how great is that?).  Being passed on the street by a bus is a very unpleasant experience here because of the exhaust that spews out from under their sides. Air pollution is pretty rampant here, but it’s still at a bearable level (i.e. you can’t see it hanging in the air). Taking the bus back from Cumbaya, I just imagine the amount of gas that the trip is burning up since the whole ride is steeply uphill. Of course, that means the ride there is really fast and, in a way, kind of fun because it is all downhill. That is not an exaggeration. It is ALL downhill, and it is ALL steep. We drop enough elevation between the bus station and the school that my ears pop going both ways. Another thing that is interesting about the buses, and very different from buses in the US, is the vendors and other people who get on them to sell things or spread some sort of message. There is a man who gets on at one of the corners I go by every day selling caramels and a young boy who gets on selling copies of the paper. There was a man on one of the buses I took recently who had a flute and played it for the entire bus to listen to until we arrived at the station. These people sell or play on the buses for money, but I have also experienced someone getting on the bus to spread some sort of idea or message. On the way to Cumbaya the other day, a man got up to tell the world that he used to be a horrible man, but now he had changed his ways and believed in god. He continued to proclaim the benefits of Christianity and why he was Christian for the entire 20 minute trip to Cumbaya. He hadn’t finished by the time I got off the bus. There are vendors like those on the buses who also sell to people in cars at street lights. Some have a bottle of soapy water and will wash your windshield for you. I’ve even seen a couple of people who juggle amongst the cars and take tips from the people in the cars.

A few other small things I have noticed here are just general uses of common household things, or the existence of certain things that we just don’t have in the US. Here, people don’t seem to be as concerned about refrigeration. We had cheese and bread for a quick dinner last night, and we left the cheese out to use this morning for breakfast. No one here refrigerates eggs. Before they open the bag of mayonnaise, they keep it in the cupboard, not the fridge. I’ve also noticed that everyone here seems to use a lot of salt. If I ask for just a little salt, I get what I consider plenty. If I didn’t specify, I don’t think I would be able to eat anything because of the salt. They put salt on lettuce for a salad instead of dressing. Sugar is also used more I think. My family was nearly shocked when I said I didn’t put sugar in my tea or coffee, they just didn’t get it. I’ve also noticed that frequently a man will walk by and smell strongly of cologne. Apparently it is fashionable to be smell-able from the other side of the room.

Well, I think that is just about it for now. I’m sure that by the end of today I’ll think of more stories to tell, but they will have to wait until next time. My actual classes start tomorrow, so I’ll see what my weekly schedule ends up being. I may not have a lot of time to be writing, but I hope I’ll be able to post at least once a week.

Keep in touch!