Let's build something

I finally got an ICRP!!!

So you know what the heck I’m talking about: An ICRP is and Inter-Cultural Research Project. It’s something that I have to do as a part of the study-abroad program I’m on. Basically, we volunteer somewhere in the community and do academic stuff related to this volunteer work. They’ve changed how the ICRP is done this year (and the new way of doing things is a total mess) so I’m still not entirely sure what I have to do to get the credit.

Anyway, I finally found a place to volunteer at; it’s called Proyecto salisiendo chicos de la calle (Getting kids off the street project). I’m not entirely sure what I’ll be doing yet, but I’ll find out tomorrow since that will be my first day on the job. I’m very happy to have secured this volunteer work, since the class that goes along with my ICRP has been asking us where we’re working for the past three weeks and I haven’t been able to give a concrete answer. There’s a major stressor off my shoulders. Also, I now have my schedule set. None of my classes are going to change, and my volunteer hours are going to stay basically the same, so I can finally start getting a real routine down.

Something I’m finding really interesting here in Quito (and Ecuador in general) is the construction of buildings and houses and everything else you can think of. It’s different.

Obviously it was going to be different, but you don’t really think about differences in construction when you think about living in a foreign country. People spend a lot more time telling you about food and customs and manners and the like; there’s much less said about your physical surroundings. I’ve been getting a pretty good view of them now that I’m here though, and even my surroundings in the making. There’s a house/apartment building, being built or remodeled (not sure which) just down the street from my house that I pass every day on the way to and from the bus stop. I kind of like that it’s there because it’s very interesting to see the progression of construction here.

The first thing you need to know about Ecuadorian construction, or high-altitude Ecuadorian city construction, is that everything is made of cement. No, really. EVERYTHING. Sidewalks, streets, walls, houses, even the telephone poles. All cement. These people are geniuses with the stuff. Walls are generally built with cinderblocks, rebar, and probably some poured cement. Then, the whole wall is covered in what I’m going to call cement-plaster. It is cement, but they apply it to the sides of buildings as though it were plaster. If there’s a small part of a wall that looks bad, or needs a small repair, they will sometimes apply cement paint (again, for lack of a better term). Literally, take a paint brush and paint a fine, thin layer of cement onto the wall. Despite all of this wonderful cement work, the sidewalks here are treacherous. Kind of like the sidewalk in the unkempt part of the city where the roots have wreaked havoc on the concrete slabs and they stick up all over the place so that you have to ride your bike in the street so as not to fly over your handlebars when you hit one of the bumps. If you grew up in a city you know what I’m talking about. Here though, the bumps are practically steps. Which isn’t all that illogical because the entirety of Quito is hills, so the steps are there for a reason, but they aren’t the only bumps in the sidewalk. Nothing at street level here is flat, or even properly sloped, so that when it rains, all of the water that has no ground to soak into (since everything is cement) forms lakes and puddles all over the roads and sidewalks. Going home in the rain involves crossing a river and avoiding a pond for me. The main road is the river, and the intersection is the pond.

Of course, cement isn’t the only thing that is different about the construction techniques here. There is a prevalent use of tile outdoors as well. You have not realized how slippery tile is until you have walked across an entire tiles plaza and up and down tiled stairs. I’m surprised those suckers haven’t killed someone. Another thing I’ve noticed is the variety of door latches here. Specifically bathroom stall latches. I don’t think I’ve been in two bathrooms here with the same latches on the doors (ok, that’s an exaggeration, but you get my point).

The geography of the city also makes for some interesting construction stuff. Of course, the houses on the sides of Quito’s steep hills have to somehow be made level, which is quite the feat if you know these hills (think San Francisco). There is a limit to how steep a hill can be before you really can’t build into the side of it though, and that limit is well known here. The edge of the city doesn’t really peter out like you see in the US. It ends. Abruptly. This is most evident at night when you can see an edge to all the lights of the city. There’s city, and there’s dark, without much of a fade region.

I think my favorite things about the construction here are the things they can do because they don’t have winters. For example the USFQ campus is a virtual maze of connected buildings that open to the outdoors in many random places and have open courtyards in the centers and all sorts of other cool things. This is possible because they never have to worry about snow. Or cold. Or ice. Or anything remotely wintery. This is also the reason that all of the buildings here are FULL of windows. Almost all of the outer walls of my house are solid window. It’s gorgeous.

My last structural observation (for now) is the power system. Specifically, the power and telephone lines. The look like this:

And I don’t think I really need to interpret that picture for you, except to say that this is a moderate example of the number of wires they can fit onto a single pole.

Right at Home

Well, opportunities just keep presenting themselves for me to do all sorts of things and I didn’t quite manage to get a post up yesterday. This every day thing may not pan out, but I’ll try to post frequently at least.

Last night, Susie told me that she and Marco were going to go to the farm in the morning and invited me along. Of course I said yes, I like farms, and happen to know a thing or two about them, so this morning we headed out of Quito and into the jungle. Turns out I didn’t actually see the farm. The only way to get there is up a steep muddy path, and there’s nothing there but bulls. I wouldn’t have minded getting my shoes dirty to climb up and see them, but my host mom didn’t want to go up there (apparently she has never actually seen it, crazy) so she and I walked along the deserted Ecuadorian country road and I took pictures of all the jungle plants (I promise I’ll post some pictures soon!). We also drove to another farm that my family is thinking of buying (I think they want to sell the one they have and buy this other one, but I’m not sure). We walked around on that farm to see the lay of the land and observe the cows, banana plants, and cocoa bushes. Real live chocolate in the raw people. I was excited. The cows were as uninteresting as cows usually are, but I had a wonderful time looking at the many plants that were growing in the fields.

These last few weeks, I’ve had a number of small experiences that haven’t made it from my brain into a communicable form yet. Many of them are just things that happen here in Quito and aren’t too surprising, but people’s reactions to them, or the way they happen, bring out the fact that I’m in another culture. Or not, depending on what it was I just witnessed. For example, last week, when I was getting on the bus to go home, a man in the bus station grabbed someone’s purse, or bag, or something, and took off, accompanied by shouts of “Ladron! Ladron!” (Spanish for thief). The security guard managed to take him down before he got out of the station, but I don’t know much else about what happened since my bus had already started leaving and had actually slowed down to see what was going on.

I have also been witness to a transportation technique that is totally logical, but impossible in the US for various reasons, mostly having to do with safety laws. The situation that led to this incidence must have been something like this: a construction crew went to pick up a very large metal pole in their little pick-up truck, and forgot to bring rope. The pole being longer than the truck, there was no good way to just set it in the vehicle. One of the guys must have had a light-bulb go off though, because when I saw this crew, two of them were standing in the bed of the truck holding onto the pole. Neither end was secured nor in the bed of the truck. If those guys had let go, that pole would have been a gonner. But really, humans make for very intelligent ropes. I just hope they weren’t going far, because ropes have a longer stamina.

Something that has been happening to me frequently is what I have dubbed “memory in translation.” I’ll hear someone say something in Spanish and remember it in English. Clearly my host mother, who speaks no English whatsoever, did not tell me that we were going to be doing “such and such” in English, but, for the life of me, I can’t remember how to say “such and such” in Spanish. It is a strange phenomenon that happens when you can understand more of a language than you can speak.

I’ve also taken to using the word “bueno” constantly (translation: good). I haven’t yet figured out other ways of saying “yes, I understand” or “sure” or “cool” or “great” when someone says something to me. So everyone must think I just have a good opinion of everything. Which is fine I suppose, but I really need to expand that part of my vocabulary.

Hope you all are having a great weekend!

A difference of risk

Last night, we had the opportunity, as a group, to go on a tour of the historical center of Quito. I have been told this area isn’t the safest place to go at night in a small group, but with a large group on an organized tour, we were fine. That meant I could have my camera out and take as many pictures of the beautifully lit up buildings as I wanted. We got to hear some interesting stories about historic Quito and got a full tour of the cathedral.

The tour of the cathedral really brought out the contrast between the safety precautions in the US and the (nearly non-existent) safety precautions here. We were able to go up onto the roof of the cathedral and, from there, climb up onto the actual domed part of the roof to look out over the city. Probably not the safest thing in the world. Not dangerous, but if a person were to slip, the fall back onto the roof would hurt. It was wonderful to be able to go up and climb around on the roof, but I know it would never be allowed in the US. There would be too much fear of a lawsuit.

Rules and restrictions like that are much more lax here in general. I feel less like I could get in trouble for climbing up on something or going into an area that might be a little more dangerous than solid ground. People here expect you to know your limits and stay within them. If you think you can do something, no one is going to stop you because if you overestimated your abilities, it’s your fault, not theirs. To me, this is a good thing. I think people in the US are a little too afraid of risk. Sure, if I’m climbing a ladder, or a silk, I’m increasing my chances of hurting myself than if I stayed on the ground, but I enjoy being in the air enough that I’m willing to take that risk. As long as I am careful, I’m going to be fine, and I will take responsibility for that. Being able to take that responsibility is something I value and all the restrictions and “don’t do this or that’s” in the US take that away.

Just some of my thoughts. I’ll put up a link for pictures of the historic center tomorrow, they aren’t up yet!

Birdy!

This little birdy suprised my Mafera (my host sister-in-law) the other morning. He's a baby bird that had probably recently left the nest because he couldn't fly very well and had some wonky baby feathers still. She left the house to get into her car and saw him sitting on the hood. Apparently he startled her so much she had to come get me to scare him off of the car and into the lawn. He could fly a little, but not very high and not very far and he didn't really try until I was practically touching him. He may have scared Mafera but i though he was cute!

This guy.

Mannequin I saw in Puyo. This exists. The store appeared to carry "punk" clothing. Lots of black t-shirts with various symbols, logos, band names, and sayings on them. So I guess this guy really fits in. I just got quite the kick out of his existence and thought I would share.

Also, pictures from Arajuno: here.

Tell me a story...

I have quite the story to tell you all, but first: I’m thinking about changing my blog updates a little. What with school and homework and such, I’m only really getting time to write once a week, but I don’t want to keep you all waiting on the edges of your seats to read more. So, what do you all say to a long post or two every week and I will try to post a picture or something like that every day I have access to my computer and internet? I’m going to give it a shot this week and see how it works out; you all let me know what you think!

Now for the interesting stuff.

My oral literature of Ecuador class requires me to do a large investigation to collect a story or two or a few from someone. Generally speaking, this means we have to go somewhere outside of Quito and find someone who knows some traditional stories that have been passed down from generation to generation. We are doing this project in groups of three, and one of the other two girls in my group is from the Oriente (the part of Ecuador on the Amazon side of the Andes). This last weekend, we started our project. Emanuela and I travelled back to Diana’s home town with her, leaving after classes finished on Friday. We first went by bus to the main station in southern Quito, then from there we took a 5-hour bus ride to Puyo, an actual city in the middle of the amozonian jungle of Ecuador. We couldn’t finish the trip to Diana’s hometown that night because it was too late, so we stayed in a hotel in Puyo. The trip there was an adventure in and of itself. Nearly the entire ride to Puyo, we watched Jackie Chan dibbed in Spanish. We made it through 3 whole movies on the trip, broken up only by the young man who got on the bus to give us a speech about his life and try to sell us lollipops. Our morning in Puyo was also interesting. We stopped at a restaurant for breakfast and then walked to a couple of stores where Diana bought decorations and other things for a fiesta her family was putting on that evening (more on that later). We even had to stop and pick up a giant cake for this fiesta, one that wouldn’t fit in any of the boxes the bakery had. Diana had to go looking for a bigger box so that the cake wouldn’t be ruined on the bus to Arajuno, her town. Since it had been dark on the ride into Puyo the night before, I was surprised by the jungle-y-ness we encountered as soon as we left Puyo. It was quite the green and verdant forest out there, and the road was one I don’t think any bus driver in the US would ever want to take a bus down. Particularly not on a 2 hour journey.

When we arrived in Arajuno, we all walked over to Diana’s house and met the family. I don’t know exactly how old Diana is, but none-the-less, we got to meet her 3-year-old daughter, her mother, and practically her entire extended family. She served us chicha, a drink made from yucca that tastes a little strange, and made us feel welcome in the house. I was very grateful that I wasn’t the only one from outside of the family who was there. Emanuela was also great to have around because she was nearly as much of a foreigner as I was in this town, but speaks the language perfectly. I generally figured if I didn’t know what was going on I could ask her and she could actually explain it to me, instead of just giving me some general information and expecting me to figure out the rest. Once we were fully introduced to the family, we went in search of a hotel room to stay in. Turns out, there’s rooms above one of the few little stores in the town, so we got a room, dropped off our stuff, and went to help set up for the party.

This was going to be a party of epic proportions, because it was the 15^th birthday of Diana’s littlest sister. 15^th birthdays here are a big deal. They call them quinciñeras. It’s kind of like sweet 16, but a bigger deal. We were setting up the community’s dance hall (that was basically what it was) for hours, blowing up balloons, hanging streamers, and generally making the place look festive. Meanwhile, one of the sisters (I think) was trying to teach all the teenaged cousins how to waltz so that the birthday girl could have a special choreographed dance. Emanuela and I started dancing around to the waltz they were playing just for the heck of it and I was teaching her the little I know about waltzing that comes from being a white American. Of course, the sister saw me dancing and enlisted my help in teaching everyone else since apparently no one there actually knew how to dance to a waltz. As an attempt at a break, Emanuela and I went back to the hotel, but the entire building was locked up so that we couldn’t get in and the neighbors said the owners were at Mass. Go figure. Apparently small town hotels here aren’t the most reliable for staying open all the time. Once everyone was totally exhausted and sweaty back at the dance hall (the oriente is HOT) Diana arrived with a bucket full of fresh-squeezed juice. A bucket. Not, a jug, or something that I would usually expect to see food in, but a black plastic pail. After everyone had had some to drink, out of the two cups that Diana brought with the pail, we hopped on the back of the motorcycle-wagon (basically a tricycle with the back half functioning as a wagon) and headed back to her house for lunch. Post lunch, we were invited to go to the river and swim. Neither Emanuela nor I had brought a swimsuit, but we went anyway to see what it was like. What it was like was beautiful, but the bugs were out and I am still suffering from the many bug bites I got on my legs.

When we got back from the river, it was basically time for the fiesta. We arrived at the hall about an hour after the set time for the beginning of the party, but we were still there an hour before the festivities actually began. These people definitely run on Ecua-time. The birthday girl had set out a whole program of things that were going to happen during the fiesta. There was an entrance for the birthday girl, a welcome, a couple of speeches, a couple of dances, and more. Some of the things were borrowed directly from wedding parties. For example, they did the whole garter thing and the throwing of the bouquet, which for me seemed a little strange to be doing at a 15-year-old’s birthday party. The birthday girl also had to “kill” the cake by biting into it without using a fork or knife. Which meant she was going to get frosting all over her face. Not only that, but one of her brothers of cousins or uncles pushed her face even further into the cake and she got frosting everywhere. Everyone but me seemed to be expecting it though, so I guess that’s normal? One of the “events” of the night that I found very interesting was a baptism. I guess in the catholic tradition here, children are baptized at birth and at confirmation. Well, Karina (the birthday girl) got baptized a third time for various reasons I didn’t fully understand. The baptism was one of the times that the mixing of the Spanish culture with the indigenous culture was most evident to me. Karina’s uncle was the baptizer, and he was dressed in an embroidered shirt that was clearly of indigenous origin, with I think a rosary around his neck. During the short ceremony, he asked for the favor of God, Jesus, and Pachamama, the mother earth figure in the indigenous religion that existed before the Spanish Conquest. The night was full of contrasts and mixed cultures. A quinciñera is a completely non-indegenous thing, but this indigenous family had one, and did it their own way. One of the things that was very noticeable for me was the prevalent use of Quichua. Many of the speeches that were made during the night were totally incomprehensible to me because they were said in this language. I also really enjoyed observing the culture of these people, mixed or not. Unlike my family here in Quito, Diana’s family doesn’t always give a kiss on the cheek as a greeting, they used a pseudo-handshake sometimes instead. Which was handy since there were so many of them. I also enjoyed watching all of the little kids running around. They clearly were unable to sit still for the hour and a half of planned events for the fiesta before the eating and dancing began. But no one seemed too concerned with them. The kids just sort of ran around chasing after balloons and each other and getting in everyone’s way. None of the kids needed their parents to give them something to do, they all just kept themselves busy, even the tiny ones. There was one boy who might have been about four, who had been given the task of looking after what I assume was his younger brother, a little kid who couldn’t have been any more than two, if that. He had a ball sticking ribbons in the back of his brother’s shirt so that the little one was toddling around looking like he had a tail made of streamers. The kids also kept returning to the cake to steal frosting until there were a number of little holes in the side of the cake that weren’t quite as sweet as they had been before. Where I sat for most of the night, there were a few young girls sitting next to me who took a great interest in the gringa and clung to me the whole night. They helped me braid my hair to get it out of the way and kept dressing me up with ribbons that the little boys would later rip off and throw around the room. When the cake was served a food fight broke out among the cousins. No one was given untensils to eat the cake with (a typical thing here), so the cousins started touching their sticky frosting-y fingers to each other’s faces. And no one seemed to mind much that they were getting frosting all over the place. This sort of fits with what I noticed there about dirt and cleanliness. I’ve always needed to be clean or I feel really uncomfortable, but out there in the oriente, I think they have a harder time staying clean since it’s often very rainy and muddy and water to clean with isn’t as easy to access as it is in the city. People just don’t mind being a little dirty, whether the dirt is from the ground, or food related, or whatever. They aren’t bothered by it.

At about 1 or 2 o’clock in the morning, we decided we had had enough dancing and were walked back to the hotel by one of Diana’s many cousins. Fortunately, the hotel was open this time and we went upstairs and crashed. Breakfast the next morning was at Diana’s where we were served eggs and fried yucca. But not until after we finally got around to our class project. Diana introduced us to one of her aunts who told us two traditional Quichua stories (but in Spanish). One was about the creation of the moon, the other about three monsters who were captured but will return at the end of the world. This story was interesting to hear because the aunt clearly believed that the end of the world would happen basically as it says in the Bible and God will save all believers, but she also believed that those who were not saved would be killed by these three monsters. I will try to post the stories in more detail once we have them transcribed from the tape we recorded them on. And in English, since I don’t think the Spanish versions would do much for most of you.

Post-stories and breakfast and general goodbyes, at about 10 am, we got on the bus back to Puyo where we caught the next bus to back to Quito, arriving at about 7pm. After that we had to take another bus to where Emanuela’s parents picked the two of us up and were kind enough to drop me off at my house. The trip took about 11 hours in total, with a fair amount of confusion on my part. But I got home safely and I had an amazing time, and I think that’s what matters.

The weekend was definitely an experience, and one I don’t think I would ever be able to repeat, though I wouldn’t mind doing it all again.