A januca to remember

On the first night of januca, I had planned a holiday party to share the tradition with people in my town. Unfortunately, I had to let all my friends know that instead of a januca party, I would be having dengue.

In this picture, dengue is winning.



But in the course of the next eight days, I made quite the recovery. So much so that I was frying latkes for the eighth night.

You think that's bad

"I've seen this. I've done this. You don't want this."

-Zohan Dvir

In the U.S., the mildly obscure but extremely common sickness that most people can relate to would be chicken pox.

Everybody has an experience with those little red dots, unless you were born in the 90s and received the vaccine. Although most of us were too young to really remember our chicken pox, it is something that most of us have suffered through.

In my town, people don't get chicken pox.

Instead, the semi-obscure, fully miserable disease that nearly everyone can relate to is dengue fever. (After last week's bout ... "I can relate")

Now, I would only compare dengue fever to chicken box in its commonality — nothing else!

Dengue fever is a tropical, mosquito-transmitted illness that has also been referred to as Broken Back Disease. I don't really like that nomenclature because it puts too much emphasis on one symptom — you get the notion that a chiropractor could help you with dengue.

That name disrespects the disease and its other symptoms. And you don't want to disrespect dengue. It can hurt you a lot of ways.

• Pounding headaches
• Paralyzing back pains
• Rusty joints
• Really, really, really high fever
• Chills
• Fainting
• Nausea
• Diarrhea
• Sore throat
• Rash

And this doesn't include the most irritating and often overlooked symptom: It makes everything you eat taste like chalk. And if something already tastes bad (like a rehydration solution), it will taste that much worse.

Oh, and there is no medicine that can cure dengue.

You can't do anything except take whatever punishment the disease decides to inflict upon you. And it lasts for at least a week — sometimes more.

So when you mention dengue to someone in town, they exhale and make a face that says "I feel really, really bad for that person. I know exactly what they are going through, and I do not envy them at all."

---

Last Monday night, my body felt like it was about to break down. The back pains and aching legs were followed by sleeplessness, lightheadedness, and a low-grade fever. At one point, I woke up on my bathroom floor. The next day, I rested most of the day and the symptoms weren't that bad. I didn't really think this was some sort of tropical disease. I pinned it on a combination of exhaustion, malaria medicine, and not eating enough on Monday.

But then I had another miserable night: my back felt as if it had been run over by a tractor and I cycled between baking-like-a-toasted-cheeser and shivering.

The following day, I felt fresh (I have no idea how that could happen because I slept all of seven minutes the night before, but it did). Feeling fine and with a really low fever, I thought I could maybe get some work done.

Mistake.

If there is one thing you do not want to do when you have dengue is challenge dengue. Best advice: submission.

Luckily, I realized my mistake early on and went right back to bed. By the third day, the fever was still there. My friend, a recent dengue survivor, said that I should call the Peace Corps med staff and explain my symptoms. (For the record, on the second day of my symptoms, she was convinced I had dengue)

So I did that. And the blood test looked like a probable case of dengue.

Continue submission.

Now let me explain what I mean by submission. You lie down on your bed. You can't really move because it hurts. If you overcome the sore joints and the pain that it takes to move, you can't really stand up because you'll probably faint. And did I say you have to keep hydrating and nourishing yourself while thinking that any food that goes into your body has a very good chance leaving your body through that same orifice.

In fact, when the medical staff first explained dengue to us during training they said that for ten days you will feel like you want to die, except that you won't. Thanks for the reassurance.

My friend who recently got over the disease described it as "roadkill."

Both are very accurate.

Those are the fact. Do you want to know what it's like to feel like you want to die?

Well, it sucks. And time passes really slowly.

It really makes you appreciate how great it is to have your health. Unfortunately, we only realize this when we are put in such dreadful states. But let me tell you something: be thankful you haven't gone through dengue.

To pass the time, I arrived at a mental state in which I tried to separate my mental being from the physical being. That way, I didn't have to focus on the anguish my body was in. It worked pretty well.

The other thing that helped me pass the time was being delirious. I knew I was being delirious because I would think about things and then say to myself "Ian, you're not thinking clearly." I planned on writing a journal to keep track of my dengue delusions. Then it hurt too much to write, so I had to scrap those plans. I'm sorry you all missed out on Delirious Ian. He's pretty entertaining. And blame it on dengue that you don't have his ramblings.

So what does it take to get over dengue? I've boiled it down to two things: patience and acceptance.

You wake up in the morning and know that all day long you will be in pain. Then you try to sleep at night and are in pain again. Of course, you've also realized that you can't do anything to make it better or go faster.

But eventually, it gets better. One night, your fever feels like it can't get any higher. Then the next morning, you head to the doctor for a blood test and the fever goes away. Congratulations, you are over the hump.

My family likes to use a phrase to describe difficult situations, be it taking a shit in the woods, being stuck out in the wilderness, a tough project for school or work:

"It builds character." (Or for those who speak in Latin tongue "construir carácter")

It's difficult to measure how you have changed. All you know is that you are better prepared to face other situations.

Dengue is definitely a character-building episode — one that I hope you never get to experience.

And I'm doing everything I can to make sure I don't get it again. They say the second round of dengue is worse than the first.

Thank you very much to everybody who posted a comment on the previous post or passed his or her messages through my family. I have been bedridden for nearly a week, but my family read them to me over the phone. It means a lot to have that kind of support group helping me through this character-building experience.

Ian has dengue fever.

I have dengue fever. It sucks. But I am recovering and will be back soon to blog about it.

Great fruit name

There are two kinds of guaba fruit that are common by me.

One of them is called vine guaba because the pits and fruit grow in a something that looks like a vine.

The other kind is called machete.

While the fruit is difficult to open, the name derives from its shape rather than the tool needed to open it.

It is a pretty decent fruit. The edible portion is gummy, and the pit looks like a cockroach.

A head scratcher

No, I don't have lice. Well, not yet at least.

Many times in Ecuadorian society, I have found myself speechless in response to certain actions or comments.

I had one of those yesterday in my living room.

I had some of the kids from the newspaper over to my house to celebrate the launch of their second edition.

By "celebrate the launch," I also mean "fold" because our newspapers don't come pre-folded. Part of the festivities involved baking oatmeal raising cookies and the other part involved folding 1500 copies of the newspaper. But since the folding takes more than the half hour it takes to make the cookies, one must provide some snacks throughout the afternoon.

I got them some plums and chocolate-covered bananas. They were delicious. Then, they finished eating and faced the question: what should I do with my garbage?

(Prepare to scratch your head)

There are a few options they could have opted for here.

• One would have been taking their waste and putting in the garbage bag in my kitchen.
• Another could have been throwing the pits into my neighbor's chicken yard.
• Another would have been to put the organic waste in the compost pile.
• Another would have been wrapping the garbage in a some newspaper paper and lighting it on fire.
• One more would be to take the pits and sticks and throw them on my floor.

There are probably a few other things they could have done with their waste, but these are the primary options that I can think of.

What do you think they chose to do?

Well, if you chose "turn my living room into a landfill," then you should get some sort of prize.

They just decided to drop their waste on my floor, which meant that the neighborhood ants and cockroaches were attracted by the fresh food and made for a horrible situation.

(Scratch your head and think)

AREvista (Segunda Ediciòn)

So when the kids made their first newspaper last month, they didn`t really understand what it would take to put together a monthly newsletter.

A lot of people even doubted that they could turn around and put together a new edition within a month.

Well they did.

You can find the next edition of the newspaper by clicking here.

The Interns

In Ecuador, high school seniors have to complete an internship to graduate. They do it to get a real-life experience.

Last week, two interns showed up in our office with 520 hours of service to complete.

In my time at the municipality, I have seen a few of these interns come and go. And the majority of their work has been, how do I say this correctly, the bitch work that the people in the offices have to get done but don't want to do. They have to organize filing cabinets, staple receipts, clean cabinets, etc.

But as soon as I saw the youth in my office, my mind flashed to a Seinfeld episode.

(Kramer just finished explaining an idea for a restaurant above the Chrysler Building)
Kramer: Of course it's a good idea. I conceived this whole project two years ago
....
Kramer: You see, I come up with these things. I know they're gold, but nothing happens. Do you know why?
....
Kramer: No time. It's all these menial tasks. Laundry, grocery shopping, coming in here and talking to you. Do you have any idea how much time I waste in this apartment?
Jerry: I could ballpark it.
(Elaine enters)
Kramer: Here you go. Now, she comes in. My whole day is shot.

Now, we just have to shift the scene from Kramer's world into my world in Ecuador (both ridiculous worlds, just in different ways). There are so many projects that I want to get started or maintain, but there is so little time (only 24 hours in the day, and I have to spend part of that time eating fruit).

How can I possibly get all that I want to get accomplished if I only have 24 hours in the day?

Simply put, I can't.

Enter the two interns.

Hi, this is Darren from Mr. Kramer's offices. Mr. Kramer would like to schedule a lunch with you at Monk's Coffee Shop.

Just like NYU was enthusiastic about its kids getting some real-world experience in the case of Darren at Kramerica Industries, the local high school has similarly high hopes. So they have placed two students in my office.

OK, so Señor Robinson won't be using the interns to schedule his almuerzos, but they can get some great experience in some of our other projects.

In one week in our office, they have written a few articles for the newspaper, assisted with the design, learned the importance of saving your documents (especially when there is ever-present risk of power blackouts), and developed sales experience.

Next week, I see them helping launch a recycling program, assisting in newspaper distribution, and working in the nursery.

I don't foresee the interns doing the glamorous work that Darren did at Kramerica, like laundry, mending chicken wire, or having high tea with a Señor Newman. But I still see this as a productive experience for them.

Only about 950 hours of cumulative intern time left...

A Traditional Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving just isn't what it used to be: Lions football, shopping, drinking, movies, family.

That is not what the holiday is about.

In my understanding of Thanksgiving, the pilgrims killed turkeys and cooked pumpkin pie with the native Americans at Plymouth Rock as a goodwill gesture, a cultural exchange.

So in my first Thanksgiving outside of the States, I decided to hearken back to the holiday's roots. I could have gone up to Quito and eaten a traditional Thanksgiving, with the Lions losing in the background, and a movie in the afternoon. But, as I said, I wanted an even more traditional Thanksgiving.

So ... seventeen volunteers from my training group converged on a small jungle town south of Macas for a campo Thanksgiving.

My friend's original plan was to raise turkeys himself and then kill them. But he didn't quite plan far enough ahead. Fortunately, his neighbor had turkeys. Unfortunately, I didn't get into town in time for the slaughter. Rumor has it that it was what you would expect. There was no certified shokhet in town, so I did not partake in the turkey consumption.

But seeing as I don't really come from a big turkey-eating family, I didn't really feel left out. You see, my mom is a vegetarian and the rest of my family was never really into turkey. So instead of an actual turkey on Thanksgiving, we eat pizza in the shape of a turkey. I was going to make this for my friends but realized the ridiculous quantity of food that was going to be served and decided that pizza can wait.

I rolled into town at 5:45 AM on Thursday and almost immediately started to help in the kitchen. Special thanks to: my mom for shipping me a pie crust and pie filling and Ecuadorian Customs for not giving me a hard time.

Throughout the morning, we continued cooking as volunteers slowly filtered into town. By noon, the entire crew had amassed, and we headed off to a tourist complex for the meal. There was still quite a bit of prep work to be done, so the afternoon was passed by the grill. By about 5:00 PM everything was ready. I could describe it or just show you the images.



And in the spirit of the first Thanksgiving, we shared the event with some Ecuadorians in the cultural exchange that Peace Corps promotes. It was a great opportunity to let them participate in one of our country's great traditions: the food coma.

We went around the table, explaining what we were thankful for on this Thanksgiving. The common theme was being thankful for the opportunity and experience that we have and that we should think about this every day, not just on Thanksgiving. People were also thankful for their families (Peace Corps and actual).

By about 8:00, I was out.

The next day, we visited a Shuar community near the town. The Shuar are an indiginous group that lives in the Ecuadorian jungle. You might have heard of them from head-shrinking fame. After taking a stroll through the woods with some members from the tribe, we sat down to a traditional Shuar lunch — chicha (some type of fermented beverage that is very common in the sierra and jungle), meat-of-what-used-to-be-a-furry-animal, yucca, and tea.

Then after lunch, some of the kids from the community put on a little dance number. It felt uncomfortably touristy and Peace Corps volunteers don't really like to feel that touristy.



But whatever.

It was a Thanksgiving story with Native Americans — just like at Plymouth Rock.

After another day of hanging out in the jungle, I hauled overnight back to my site to start my traditional post-Thanksgiving diet of six mangos per day.

Please aim away

Is it too much to ask that I can walk down the street without getting peed on?

All I want to do is be able to pass through town without the risk of someone urinating on me.

But around here, apparently, that is too much to ask.

Like most places in the developing world, the sewage system in my town isn't always reliable. Sometimes there is no water. Sometimes you can't find a reliable public toilet.

So if you have to go and you don't have anywhere to go, you should just cozy up to a wall, out of sight, and write your name.

That would make sense, right?

That's not the way kids are taught in my town.

Two days ago, I was walking down the main street in town. I looked to my left and saw a kid, with his pants down, aiming toward the street. I looked behind the child and saw that his mom was holding her son in place so that he pees into the street

She was helping him aim and giving him guidance on where he should point his stream. Unfortunately, that stream was on my intended walking path. I got out of the way, but this isn't the first time I have come across such a situation.

I shouldn't have to watch out for people peeing in the streets or on the sidewalks.

I don't exactly know the specific health risks of living in an open-air septic pit, but they do exist. I just know that there are no public health benefits to having urine in the street.

That is why I have decided to start the "Aim Away" campaign in which we will teach parents and youth the benefits of pointing away from the street.

Even though the kids are committing the act, the mentality that it is acceptable to pee in the middle of the street starts with the parents. That is why we will hold workshops, some that might even last several days, to show people how and where to pee.

I understand the convenience of peeing in public. What I don't understand is why they teach their kids to do it in the middle of the street when it takes three seconds to turn around, go to the wall, and do it there. And I guarantee they have three seconds to spare because, in this society, someone is considered on time even if they are half an hour late.

Really, all I want is to be able to walk down the street without having to worry about a urine stream or splash getting on my pants or shoes.

---

Oh, and Happy Thanksgiving.

Se llama kugel

As I have mentioned in my previous posts, I have high expectations for the world of kugel in global development.

Here is my first bit of proof.

Taking my example and recipe, one of my friends in town made her first kugel.

It was based on the pecan noodle kugel with a banana twist. It had received rave reviews at the previous three shabbat dinners at my home and the locals wanted to try their hand at the kugel craft.

I did not know when she planned on making the kugel. All I know is that she was planning on making one. So I walk into her house and her three-year-old son is eating kugel at the kitchen table.

Ian: Hola Pierro.
Pierro: Hola Ian.
Ian: What are you eating?
Pierro: Se llama kugel. (It's called kugel)

Top six greatest moments of my life, being taught by an Ecuadorian toddler how to pronounce kugel.

Two great kugel-related posts in three days.

Well, aren't you lucky?

Yes, you are.

I doubt that it will be three in four days. But if the kugel revolution takes off as planned ... you might just get your wish.

How to connect a canoe to a truck

Well, if you think that you knew how to secure a canoe to a truck, let me tell you another way to do it.

A much faster way to do it.

Step 1: Using a short rope, tie one end of the canoe to a stick wedged between the cab and the bed (loop, swoop, and pull method works best)

Step 2: Because the canoe is so long, you won't be able to close the lift gate So just let it hang.

Step 3: Now comes the most important part. You are going to need to put some weight on the canoe so it doesn't move around. Look for the heaviest person in your party and place them ``securely`` at the front end of the canoe and have him/her stand in the bow of the boat.

Step 4: Drive, preferably on bumpy, rut-filled roads or the Panamerican Hwy.

Step 5: Pray.

It's only four steps.

So easy.

One kugel can change the world

Some might think they have the solution for how to improve the quality of life in the developing world.

Mohammad Yunis won the Nobel Peace Prize for microfinance.

Sustainable agriculture is all the rage these days.

Others believe that education is the key.

Every one of these might fill a piece of the puzzle, but I have found out what they are all missing.

Kugel.

Through this most traditional of Jewish foods, I believe that we can drastically improve living conditions in the developing world, tikun olam if you will.

Every Friday night, I cook shabbat dinner at my house. I invite some of my friends from the community over so that they can share in my favorite part of the week. It is quickly becoming their favorite part of the week.

Every week, we cook something different, but there are a few staples: challah and kugel. Even though I cook ample portions, there are rarely leftovers of either dish.

Last week, my friends told me that he thinks people in town would love the Pecan Noodle Kugel with banana and probably pay for it.

As a Peace Corps volunteer, I am not allowed to make money. But that comment got me thinking:

What group am I involved in that could use the kugel as a fundraiser?

And what is the group that I have been working the most lately?

The community newsletter.

Soon, I will teach the staff how to make the kugel so that we can increase the sustainability of the newspaper project. I still have to do a cost analysis of the whole endeavor and figure out all of the logistics, but the seed has been planted.

So what are the benefits to society of having more kugels? How exactly will this repair the world, in other words?

1. Quality of life - There have been scientific studies that prove people who eat kugel are happier.

2. Food security - Kugels are very easy to make and can occasionally be not unhealthy. It's at least more nutritious than rice.

3. Micro business - Someone could take this project and open up a kugel-only bakery/restaurant/cafe.

4. Cultural awareness - You expand people's understanding of other cultures.

5. Creativity - I like to think of kugel as the canvas, not the painting. There are infinite possibilities of the kugel. And in a culture that doesn't foster creativity very well, people cane express themselves through kugel.

Well, that is just five of the possible benefits to humanity of kugel promotion.

To make a long story short, within ten years I expect to win the Nobel Prize for kugel. I think they should make it a new category, alongside medicine, physics, peace, and economics.

You might be thinking "Ian, you are pretty much just promoting a bake sale. And why are you restricting it to kugel when there are so many other things that you could also include?"

Valid point, but if I made that clear earlier, the rest of the post wouldn't have been as outstanding.

Hangover day

Thursday was neither a holiday, nor did it carry any civic significance.

Yet, there was no work in city hall.

There high schools were out.

The schools didn't have class.

Even the pre-school was closed.

Thursday was officially hangover day in my town.

With the fiestas finishing with the big bash Wednesday night, all of these institutions decided to close down for the day to allow their employees to recover from a long night (and early morning) of celebrating.

It felt like a Sunday morning on a university campus. Except that it was a Thursday, and the entire town was dead.

In the U.S., we don't really have the officially sanctioned hangover days. The nights of big partying come the night before holidays, so that people don't lose a day of work. You have New Year's Eve and pre-Thanksgiving bar night. But the day after the Super Bowl everybody is expected to be at work on time. The Tuesday after civic holidays aren't treated any differently. But here, we got the day off.

I'm not complaining about having the day off of work, which I didn't really take because I went to Machala to take care of some errands, but I'm just confused by the reasoning for this day off and the message it is passing on to the society and how this mentality, in some way, might explain a lot about the society in which I live.

I could really go on an on about my opposition to these types of vacation days, but to save space I'll just say that I don't agree with the policy and leave it at that.

That's not part of the routine

For the last two weeks, my town has been in fiesta mode.

You can find the schedule of the fiestas by reading this excellent publication, which was put together by some of the local youth, but that's besides the point of this post.

The fiestas end on the anniversary of our town's founding. In the morning, they mark the event with a giant parade.

The parade is giant in many ways. First, the entire town comes out for it — plus most of the neighboring town. Second, it lasts six hours.

Six hours.

It started at 9:00 a.m. and lasted until 3:00 p.m.

And it's not like there was much variety in the groups that marched. The pattern was typically high school war band playing the same melody followed by a group of students marching followed by an elementary school followed by a group of citizens walking followed by another high school war band playing the same melody.

I contend that Arenillas needs a bobsled team.

While the people who were watching the parade started to lose enthusiasm for what was going on and began milling about after a while, likewise the parade participants were also beginning to lose interest.

Look at this photo of a group of high school professors in the parade. Notice anything odd.



Luckily, with the help of computer technology, I can zoom in and point out ridiculousness.



But he wasn't the only one to take more interest in the news than the parade, a parade in which they were marching. Numerous people broke formation to buy a newspaper during the route.

Taking a load off

About a month ago, I realized that my neighbor's compost pile was lacking carbon.

I could have simply resorted to any of the convenient carbon sources that I encounter daily: dry leaves, rice shells, wood ash.

But I didn't.

I decided to contribute a little bit of myself to his pile.

After nearly eight months of growing my hair out into an outstanding Jewfro, it was time to get that mop under control.

Actually, it was more of a realization.

I can't think of a single experience that pushed me over the edge. I think a culmination of months of kids yelling "Michael Jackson" every time I walked down the street. Plus there was the time the little girl called me ugly. Plus there was the hair blocking my sight. And the weight.

So ... I decided to look for a barber.

The thing about me and my hair is that we don't trust anyone. The same woman cut my hair for more than fifteen years (I don't really remember when I started going there). A few times, I tried other places, out of convenience, but it just wasn't the same. Then, she moved to another state, and I had to face reality. My hair and I had to become more trusting ... which would be great practice for the Peace Corps.

I went to Coach and Four in Ann Arbor. They didn't really do a great job, but the atmosphere was great. I don't know if they had seen my quality of afro for thirty years, so I forgave them. Then, I went to a Russian guy, in his basement. He gave me the shortest haircut of my life, and probably the cheapest. Then I left for the Peace Corps — prepared to grow it out for two years if I couldn't find a half-decent barber.

Well, the verdict about my town is that there is no decent, let alone half-decent barbershop.

The other volunteer in town got her hair cut and was unhappy to say the least. Her haircut was so bad that even I noticed. Then, when another volunteer was in town visiting, they both decided to give it a shot. It couldn't be worse than the local butcher.

I'll let the following photo essay describe the experience

1. Not the most pleasant experience of my life



2. I need 350cc of Soul Glo, stat.



3. From this, I then shaved down to a mustache, which has since been eliminated to maintain my good standing in the community.



4. My kitchen floor



5. That is no dead animal in the compost pile



During the actual haircut, the stylists found tons of organic matter (nothing that was moving), which should pan out really well for the compost. It was mostly just twigs and leaves. I told me neighbor that I was adding my hair to his compost and he was totally stoked.

Some of my Peace Corps friends thought I should plant some seeds in there and see what happens. That would be a bit ridiculous and require me to sleep sitting up and spent a lot of time in the sun. I like a ridiculous experience as much as the next guy, but that would have pushed the line.

The next morning, I had to teach in the high school. When I walked into class, some of the students gave me a standing ovation.

AREvista

In this town of 17,000 people, there is no community newsletter.

Well, that was until last week - when a group of twenty high school students decided to do something about that.

With the technical assistance of a two Peace Corps and a municipal employee, the kids put published the first edition of AREvista.

You can find a pdf copy of the newspaper by clicking on the link.

AREvista

If you any comments on what the youth can do better for the December edition, consider this a place where you can pass your message to them - until the paper has its own website.

Procrastination doesn`t translate

There is no word in Spanish for procrastination.

Now there might well be a word for it.

But the people in my town are not aware of it.

I have asked around and explained the idea to several of them. The general response is: that`s the way we do things.

Which is very obvious, now, in the height of the local fiesta season.

A major part of the local fiestas are the big ferias where the people show off what they have been doing all year - or what they whipped up in the last week to show off what they say they have been doing all year.

So people have been rushing together to put their things together. Last week, some farmers wanted me to whip together some organic compost really quickly, some school directors wanted my groups to change the world overnight, and someone who I had never talked to approached me about helping out.

To say the least, this town has a do it at the last minute culture.

Tis the season

October 30th, I was walking down the street when I looked in the window of one of the homes.

They were putting up the Christmas tree.

I looked at my calendar to make sure I wasn´t a month behind.

I wasn´t.

That was an actual Christmas tree (well, a plastic one), with Christmas ornaments adorning a house in my neighborhood.

A couple of days later, another neighbor had their lights going.

I´m excited to see how the holiday season goes in Ecuador, but I wasn´t quite ready for the holiday season in October 30. I mean, you still have Halloween, Dia de Los Muertos, and the town´s fiestas before you even sniff the middle of November.

All of those would seem like logical moments from which you could then move forward into the holiday season. But then again, every day I learn more and more about the culture in which I´m living.

You decide

Two points of view on why there have been turning on and off the power recently.

The first comes from someone at city hall.

Many people base their judgment of whether or not the mayor is doing a good job on whether or not the fiestas go off without a hitch.

To ensure that there will be power at tonight´s Miss Arenillas beauty pageant, he has instituded a program of roving blackouts.

Their logic being that if the mayor can´t even get the lights to work during the party, then he must not know what he is doing. But if he can turn the lights and sound on, then he has things under control and is doing a good job.

The second perspective comes from the Xinhua news agency:

The Ecuadorian government on Thursday announced a plan to ration electricity for two hours a day because the country's major dams have recorded low levels of water due to a prolonged drought.

The Paute-Molino central hydropower station on the Paute River generates about 35 percent of the electricity consumed in Ecuador.

The water volume in the river is now below its historical minimum, said Electricity and Renewable Energy Minister Esteban Albornoz.

Albornoz said priority would be given to the production sectors and residential zones would have the rationing of two hours daily till the problem was solved.

The drought has affected Colombia, which exports electricity to Ecuador, and has reduced its supply, Albornoz added.

You can decide which solution you want. The mayor better hope that if its option number two, that the power doesn´t go out during the pageant or Wednesday´s dances.

Fruit Ripener

If you go to the market and the fruit isn't quite as ripe as you would hope for, I learned an easy way to speed up the process

Now, it could be that everybody already knows this but I don't really spend much time allowing fruit ripen. I'm of the "Oh, there's fruit and I want to eat it right now" school.

Anyway, I went to the store down the street and asked about what fruit they have in stock. The woman told me that her husband brought some mangos from the farm, but they're not quite ready.

I said that's fine. I can let them sit out to mature or just eat them green

Curious person: You can eat mangos green?
Ian: They're not as good as a well-matured mango but the kids love them. In fact, there are little mango carts that wait outside the high school toward the end of school day. My issue with the cart mango is that they put salt and lime on it, and I think that ruins that glory of the mango flavor.

Then the woman told me that ripening would take several days, which I knew but was willing to be a patient. She told me I could wrap the fruit in newspaper and it would be ready soon.

Then I asked how tightly the fruit needed to be wrapped. She said it depended on how soon you want the fruit to ripen. If you aren't in a rush wrap loosely. If you want the fruit for tomorrow, you're going to want to make sure that thing is nice and tight.

Apparently, this will also work for banana products.

Perhaps you and the whole world already know about this ripening trip and that I have always been privileged to procure with perfect produce. (How about that alliteration)

To update you on the situation:

One day into the ripening process, the fruits are not quite ready to eat. There may end up being some truth to this process, just not overnight results like I wanted.

Halloween Costume

Ecuador doesn`t really do Halloween.

But that shouldn`t stop a Peace Corps Volunteer from enjoying this tradition.

I had my costume all planned out.

I was going to be a Bonice salesman. This is a topic that merits its own blog post, but Bonice salesman are everywhere in Ecuador, selling their freeze pops and flavored yogurts. They sell for 25 cents and are very popular.

The salesman`s uniform had a hilarious polar bear on it. The uniform also includes a fanny pack. Here is an example of what Bonice guy looks like but he wasn`t wearing his full uniform at the top, so you don`t get the full effect.



I asked the Bonice salesman at the local high school if I could borrow his uniform for the night. First, he didn`t understand me and told me that he could get me a job as Bonice salesman if I wanted (if this whole Peace Corps thing falls through, I have a fallback). Then I clarified what I was asking for, and he agreed to meet me at 3 p.m. in from of the high school.

He wasn`t there. And I gave him the full hora ecuatoriana.

Had to start thinking fast. The people were going to come over, the kugel wasn`t made yet, and I hadn`t even though about the mango crisp. Now, I have to get a new Halloween costume. I had settled on the Bonice guy costume my third week in Ecuador. Other costume ideas were so far away from my frame of thought that I was in a bit of a panic.

OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG

Costume inventory in my wardrobe: Ridiculous adidas tank top
Costume inventory on my person: facial hair (hair cut happened in the last two weeks that will be recapped soon)

Question: How can I combine these two things to make the most ridiculous costume possible in the time allowed?

Answer: I shaved down to a mustache and went as an adidas ad.



Impossible is nothing.

For 23 years, people doubted my ability to grow a mustache. While it might not be so full, it is there (even with a gap in the middle that my father says never really fills in).

Plus, I`m wearing a tanktop, which I never wear.

But Ian, how did you get this all done and cook at the same time?

Multitasking.

That was direct

So I just came from a community meeting. We are working on starting another community bank.

On my way out of the meeting, we´ll pick up the dialogue.

Little girl: Good evening

Ian: Good evening. How are you?

Little girl: Good. You are ugly.

Ian: Come again.

Little girl: You are ugly.

Ian: Why?

Little girl: You have a lot of hair.

Well, I guess that settles it.

I will be ugly until I can find a reliable barber down here. And judging by the other volunteer who lives nearby´s recent haircut experience, I will be ugly for a little while longer.

I will give her some credit for her manners, though. She did address me in the ´´usted´´ form, instead of the informal ´tu.´

My first rodeo

When I received my site assiginment, someone said the coast was kind of like the wild west.

I didn’t really understand why.

Last week, the next town over was celebrating its annual fiestas, and part of the order of events included a rodeo.

I had never been to a rodeo before, so I really didn’t need any further motivation to get me out there.

Well, the rodeo ring was dug into a valley with rows for seats carved into the hillside in the middle of the country. There was no electricity into this site. They spent forty minutes trying to start a generator to power the one-speaker sound system.




There were plenty of horses (I never realized how many horses are involved in rodeos), a few bulls, a few cowboys, a beer tent, and some vendors.

Let’s focus on the vendors.

The first guy who came past was selling bags of raisins. Ten cents a bag. Three for twenty-five cents.

This was the first time that I have ever seen a raisin vendor at any event. I did see him make one sale, so he obviously knows what the people want (or at least one person).

There was also the bread salesman, scaling mountains to sell his variety of salty and sweet breads.



You also have Bonice guy. Bonice is a popular popsicle brand in Ecuador that sells for ten cents a piece. There are kind of like freeze pops. The Bonice vendors are everywhere in Ecuador, easily recognized by the hilarious carton polar bear on their pants, along with their matching polar bear fanny pack and shirt. Obviously, Bonice guy was at the rodeo, too.




When the stadium is in the wilderness, carved into the hill, it is easy to take picture that make it look like the person is really in the middle of nowhere.

And, like any Ecuadorian event, you have the beer tent.

Now, the question is, after consuming all of those raisins, loafs of bread, freeze pops, and bottles of beer, where does one go to relieve themselves?

Up the hill of course. What is this gravity you speak of?



The action in the ring was fun. They never did a full-fledged bull-riding thing. I guess they weren’t equipped. So they did a half-fledged bucking-bronco thing, which was very fun.

They also had the rodeo clowns, whose pants kept falling down. The fans thought that was the funniest thing ever.

It was a lot of fun.

Seeing as cowboys and rodeos aren’t typical of the Ecuadorian coast, I still don’t understand why someone would describe this region as the Old West.

Crazy Cows

With my town being in fiesta mode last week, there are a few activities that are required to be officially classified as a “fiesta.”

First, you have to have the beauty pageant.

Second, during said pageant, you have to thank the mayor sixty-four times for his attendance.

Third, you need some sort of procession or parade.

Fourth, you need to have the pyrotechnic cow.

Fifth, and I would say most importantly, you must dress a child up in a pyrotechnic cow costume, light the pyrotechnics, and then have him run through a crowd of people.

This activity is called vaca loca.





The people here know that it is a very dangerous activity. I would actually like to know how many vaca loca-related casualties there have been. But because it’s such an integral part of the fiestas here, it will be difficult to get rid of it.

After they elect the queen, they light the cow costume on fire. The kid then runs through the large crowd of people that came out to watch the pageant. He starts running, the pyrotechnics start twirling, sparks start shooting, kids shout, some cry, everybody scrams, and then the cow runs after the fleeing people to start the cycle over again.

Now, I know what you are thinking?

A pyrotechnic cow costumer, this would be a great idea for next year’s Franklin Labor Day Parade.

Hmmmmmm...

My town was celebrating fiestas last week.

I went to the central square to watch the kids' night program, when I was approached by a youngster from the community. I’ll let the dialogue do all the talking and explaining.

Ten-year old: You are from the United States?

Ian: Yes.

Ten-year old: Is it true that people do not sleep in your country?

Ian: Come again.

Ten-year old: In your country, do people sleep?

Ian: Yes. (Almost speechless)

What is the most difficult thing I have ever done?

Well, it’s a tough question to answer.

Mostly because it’s difficult to think of everything that I have done in my life.

Difficult might not be the word I’m looking for here.

I think nerve-racking fits better.

I never quite understood the value of having someone to talk to during an important sports game until tonight.

Tigers-Twins Tiebreaker.

OK, well, I thought I could do it on my own.

I was wrong.

It also doesn’t really help that this is just the second Tigers game I have watched this year.

I got a little help from my landlord during the first six innings. But béisbol isn’t really a game that Ecuadorians get behind. I spent most of that time explaining the rules. For example, when I wanted to break down Leyland's or Gardenhire’s strategy, what could I do? Who could I talk to? I tried my landlord’s wife during the first couple of innings. I would put that adventure on its own on the list of difficult things I’ve attempted (and not suceeded at).

I lost both of them at about the seventh inning, which is probably when I needed them most.

I don’t really need to tell you how many heart-wrenching or exciting situations there were to break down.

• You start with Porcello getting into trouble in the third.
• You get men on the corners in the ninth with no outs. And then Randy Marsh calls, what I would argue, a really, really, really obvious ball on one of the best contact hitters in baseball. I would have preferred Stan's father. "This is America, isn't it?"
• You have ESPN Deportes announcers who are in love with Orlando Cabrera and appear to be rooting against the Tigers.
• You have Miguel Cabrera getting things going with a double and a home run to give Porcello a little help early on.
• You include the Tigers’ bullpen.
• You have Cabrera swinging at the first pitch in the 10th and grounding out.
• You include the Tigers getting the go-ahead run.
• You have Brandon Inge, coming up big with the leather and the bat.
• You have Ryan Rayburn’s dramatic turn-around from allowing the game-tying run to initiating the game-extending double play.
• You have the ground ball up the middle with one out in the 10th that looked like it could have been a game-ending double play.
• You have Gerald Laird being awesome, but only once.
• [Who knew that Aubrey Huff was even on the Tigers?]
• Then Miguel Cabrera draws a walk in the 12th, and Don Kelly singles to left. Cabrera lumbers to third (I reserve use of “lumber” for very few players. Cecil would be another.). Then Inge appears to get hit by a pitch.
• Maybe Gerald Laird can be awesome again? I would say he is about due for a hit … and then he strikes out. What kind of momentum can the Twins carry from that?
• How many innings can Rodney go?

In every single one of these instances, there was a comment I needed to make to the other person who ordinarily would have been in the room. Luckily, I stayed in contact with one of the other volunteers throughout the game. He’s a Padres fan, but more than that, he is a sports fan and understands how someone must feel, watching the most important game of the season and not having anybody to talk to.

Would it have been better if I had just read about the game on the Internet?

Hell no!

This is part of having being a real fan and following your team any way you can.

Today, this meant bumming cable from your landlord in southern Ecuador while the mangos ripen outside and the tamale salesman is hawking his product just around the corner (when what you really want is an humita salesman) and you're nearly starving but cannot get off the sofa for 4 1/2 hours. Why? Because My Tigers!

The Spirit of Huaqillas

Huaquillas is the border town about 20 minutes away from my site.

Like any Latin American border town, it is pretty shady, contains an exciting street market where you can find anything you can think of, and is full of border town services.

There include a thriving contraband trade, merchants trying to smuggle good through customs, pick-pockets who escape to the other side of the border (no need to pass through customs, you just have to cross a bridge over Huaquillas’/Aguas Verdes’ version of the Los Angeles River, and you are in Peru), and money changers.

Your standard Huaqillas money changer sits on a plastic chair near the main taxi stand. He wears a pastel colored, button-down, short-sleeve shirt. Hair is normally slicked back or combed over, depending on hair line status. He may or may not have a pen in his ear. On his lap, he place a plain black or brown brief case, partially opened. In one hand, he has a calculator, in the other a wad of cash.

There isn’t just one or two of these guys, more like a batallion — lined up along the street to exchange your bills.

Now, I have not needed to support this sector of the economy because I can’t leave the country. But I can’t stroll through the market without noticing their presence.

So two days ago, I was looking for muffin tins in the market’s backstalls a block from the money changers — that is where they keep the cooking supplies (bootleg DVDs, stolen appliances, knock-off Armani, and three-dollar polo shirts are in the front stalls). Then I saw something that I thought was a mirage.

In front of me was this …



The Cambista Statue

What I like about this statue is its accuracy. If you look on the guy’s forearm, you will see what appears to be a tattoo. So as cartoonish as the guy may look, the uniform, build, and tattoo artwork is dead-on.

Instead of escaping its place as a border town that thrives on the border economy, Huaquillas has embraced it. The only issue with this statue is that it’s one block off the main strip so few people know it exists.

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I haven’t been in Huaqillas during futbol season yet, but I imagine that when Comerical Huaqillas or Huaqillas F.C. makes it to the championship game that the Spirit of Huaqillas proudly sports the hometown colors.

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I am hoping that this post will be the first in a series about Ecuador’s outstanding statues — a calendar, perhaps…..

Which holiday were we celebrating?

Yom Kippur, sukkot, Tu B’Shevat and Purim: All in One

I didn’t have, what you would call, your typical Yom Kippur.

(Yom Kippur means “Day of Atonement.” It is considered the holiest day of the Jewish year, and one traditionally spends all day in synagogue or watching the Jazz Singer. This was my first Yom Kippur away from home.)

It started with an Ian-led Kol Nidre services. Although we put together just ten percent of a minyan, the shul surpassed its all-time attendance record. The entire local Jewish community was thrilled.

There are several downsides to not being able to spend the holiday with a community. But let me tell you one bonus, services don’t take very long.

You see, without the necessary ten people to have a full prayer service, it is my understanding that about an hour and a half of each servies can’t be performed. (I’m no expert in halakhah, but without a minyan you don’t do a repitition of the Amidah, thereby chopping more than four hours of Yom Kippur services.)

So I breezed through services, although it was obvious that the chazzan had no really practiced most of the prayers since last Yom Kippur. My Kol Nidre might have been a bit off rhythm, I didn’t have an inspirational sermon to share with myself, and the dress code might have been a bit lax (hey, you try doing services without A/C), but I did what I could.

In the morning, I couldn’t get right to services because I had promised my time to the high school across the street from my house. We split the class into groups. With some of the students we planted fruit trees in a mini nursery we started at the high school.

With the other group we harvested cilantro and lettuce from the garden. The students then decided to sell it to their fellow students to generate funds to support the garden. Cilantro went for ten cents per bunch, and the lettuce for fifteen cents per bunch. Overall, the girls made $3.90. Everyone was happy.

Some of the girls also planted pineapple, which is really easy. All you do is stick the leafy end of the pineapple plant in the ground. Then, after eighteen months, you have fruit. In the meantime, you get a really cool-looking plant that need minimal watering. We planted the pineapples around the path to the garden in the school.

After teaching at the high school and watering the garden at the nursery, I got back home just in time for the start of shaharit (the morning service). Although we were pushing on 11:00, the chazzan was patient and waited for himself to arrive before beginning.

Well, I stormed through shaharit and mussaf and was out of shul by 1:00. I went to go water the community garden with the kids from the neighborhood, attended a youth group meeting, and then went home for the study session.

Unfortunately, I didn’t put anything together for myself to study, and I didn’t have a copy of the Jazz Singer. So, in this season of pennant races, I thought it was only right that I would watch Major League.

After the movie, it was time for minchah (the afternoon service).

Then I went down the street for the parade.

Parade?

Yes, parade.

You see, my town is in a state of fiesta right now. And all week long, they are celebrating. The party kicked off with a parade, organized by the municipality, on Monday afternoon. All of my coworkers were walking at the front of the parade.

They encouraged me to join them, but I was beginning to feel the effects of the fast. So I just watched.

There were drum corps, youth on stilts, indigenous dance troupes, motor-taxi parades, and candidates for the Queen of the Fiestas Patronales. Everyone was happy.


Then I went home, did neilah, and broke my fast with some bread, babaco, sweet potato, cold rice, and boiled bananas.

Definitely a Yom Kippur to remember.

Room for Improvement

Tuesday afternoon, the gym teacher at one of the high schools in town asked me if I would referee a soccer match.

The high school is in the middle of athletic competitions between the different grades. Each grade has a girls’ basketball and a male soccer team. They play against the other grades.

The school makes a big deal about this. Every team gets their own jerseys, and there is a special schedule (some schools cancel classes for the week)

I can only imagine how this would have gone over at my high school.

What is this rosh chodesh? It’s like it happens every month.

Considering how much people care about these games, I was kind of surprised when the gym teacher asked me to referee an actual game of consequence.

I mean, why would I be a suitable candidate to referee this game?

But then I looked at him, and he was pretty exhausted. Plus, he looked like he wanted to laugh a bit. That is where I come in.

As a North American, I don’t really know too much about what the responsibilities and standard practice is for a soccer referee. Franklin Baseball umping didn´t prepare me for this. Where am I supposed to stand? Do I blow the whistle every time is goes out of bounds? How do we decide who starts with the ball?

I know that it is commonplace in club soccer for the ref to wrapped up in some kind of match-fixing scandal. Is someone going to offer me a bag of mangos to call it in their favor?

I also don’t really know if I’m supposed to call a foul every time I see a kid flopping on the ground, or if I should let them play a bit. Well, as you may know, I am kind of bitter about all the flopping that occurs in soccer. So you might guess that I was a bit lax when it comes to blowing the whistle. One might even wonder whether or not I had actually swallowed the whistle. If it’s bleeding, that means you fell on the ground. If it’s black and blue or I can see bone, then there might have possibly been a foul.



I probably should have explained this policy to them before the game, because they were flopping all over the place. And, well, I didn’t see the need to blow the whistle.

So after about eight minutes on mute, the gym teacher was fed up with the silence and decided he should take over.

He called to the bullpen and finished the game for me. He said that I will get another chance. Thursday, they have basketball games. I will be sure to explain my “let the players decide the game, not the refs” policy.

Eight minutes wasn’t bad for the first time. We’ll improve next time (Can I make a “that’s what she said” joke? I noticed this when reading over the blog again, so I didn’t write it in real time

Liberated

When I finish reading a book, I typically add it to the “Reading List” on the right column and leave it unmentioned in other places on this blog.

That is enough for most books. But sometimes there is a story behind the story.

I would put my most recent conquest in the literary world in that category of book-reading experiences that deserve more than the title on the sidebar.

I have just finished reading “Liberators,” a history book by a former Parliament member about seven men most influential in the liberation of Latin America.

Last summer, I decided that if I was going to be backpacking through South America, that I might as well learn about the history of the countries I’m visiting. So I went to Borders on Liberty St. and bought what I thought would be a fascinating, can’t-stop-once-you-start book about South America’s liberation.

Before I give you a month-by-month timelime of my progress through the book, I have to tell you that the story of Latin American independence is one of the most remarkable I have read. The tactics and charisma of the Libertadores made for a worthwhile read.

Especially for someone living in Latin America for two years, it is pretty useful to know about the national history. Imagine living in the United States and not knowing about the Founding Fathers’ impact on the nation’s formation.

And now the timeline.

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For the first eight weeks of my journey, I spent bus rides marveling at the countryside or moving through “One Hundred Years of Solitude.” Then, on the bus ride between Sao Paolo and Parati, I finally finished.

That means I finished fifty percent of my reading material for the summer (If I were to have read fifty percent of the assigned reading in my time at Michigan, well that would have been a significant improvement upon what I actually did. )

The only book standing in my way: Liberators.

It is full of detail, which makes processing all of the information quite difficult. I started reading the book on at rainy day at Ilha Grande. I told one of the other hostel guests that he could read the book when I finished (I wonder if he still wants it). So I got off to a strong start — maybe sixty pages in the first day.

Then the sun came out. Then I left the island and headed to Rio. For some reason, I found Brazilians much more interesting than Francisco de Miranda’s failed attempts at liberating Venezuela.

Then I got to Rio and brought the book with me to the beach almost every day. But every time I went to the beach, I found a nice group of Brazilians who was willing to help me with my Portuguese. Progress stalled. In fact the bookmark that I have been using for over a year is the map I got from the Rio tourist information booth when I was looking for places to learn samba or capoeira.



So I managed to get about 100 pages done before the end of my summer and returned home with a resolve to finish the book.

Then came covering Michigan football for the Daily. Then came school.

Combined progress over those four months: 8-11 pages.

So I graduated and took the book with me on my roadtrip through the South. Obvious opportunity to knock out a good chuck of the book.

Wrong. I read three paragraphs over the 3,000-mile ride and didn’t sleep once. (I did manage to drive us off the road in Paoli, Indiana, though.)

Between the end of the roadtrip and my departure for the Peace Corps I had a couple of weeks. Plenty of time to knock out a good portion of the book. I should be extra motivated to learn about South America if I am going to spend the next two years there, right?

Well, Tony Soprano got in the way. I watched the entire series; no book progress made.

I read a couple pages of the book the night before leaving for the Peace Corps with all intentions of bringing the book with me. Well, somehow, it got knocked under the bed the next morning, and I kind of left it behind.

Five months later, my brothers came down to visit me and brought the book with them. I was in the middle of another book at the time, but put Liberators next in the queue.

When I finished the other book, I picked up from where I left off in “Liberators” and realized that I have no idea what is going on. I decided to start from the beginning and re-read the first 146 pages.

Between rides to and from Machala, the town where I’m working on the community bank, and sixteen hours on the bus last weekend, I can confidently say that I am free of this burden.

The battle lasted more than 15 months. Sometimes, it appeared the two sides were at a stalemate. Even when I was reading the book, it was so dense with information that I couldn’t go more than 15 pages without falling asleep.

But I marched on — kind of like how Bolivar marched across the supposedly unpassable Andes to surprise the Royalist forces.

This book had no idea who it was dealing with – much like how the Spanish navy in Lima had no idea that Lord Cochrane attacked with such a small force.

And then, tonight, I can declare myself free from the oppression of this book — much like Dom Pedro’s Cry of Yrapringa.

Frank “el Tanque”

If “Old School” were made in Ecaudor, I’m pretty sure I have found my Will Ferrell.

He lives down there street.

And, let me clarify my previous statement (actually two statements ago, but who’s counting). I have not actually met him.

His legend has travelled through the neighborhood.

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Now, I spent a shade under half a decade at college.

And while I didn’t actually drink, I witnessed my share of drunken exploits and heard of countless others.

[Here is where I would put the list, but I’m not going to embarrass you like that. Just know that I started to write said list, but deleted it because, well, 'tis the season of reflection and I try to be a nice guy...]

So I thought I was prepared in being able to listen to a drunken escapade story without rolling over laughing and peeing my pants.

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I’ll set the scene.

Sunday night.

I am shooting the shit with my landlord.

We are talking about some of our neighbors when the subject changes to someone in town who I don’t know yet.

Then my landlord’s wife chimes in.

Landlord’s wife: Remember that time when he rode around naked on his donkey.

Landlord: Yeah, that was pretty funny.

Ian: Wait. Did I understand that correctly? Naked donkey riding?

Landlord: Yeah, he was a little over-served and started riding his donkey through town.

Ian: Just in the neighborhood?

Landlord: No all over town. It took a lot of us to contain him.

Ian: A lot of us? You had to stop the naked man riding his donkey?

Landlord: Yeah, he hasn’t been able to live that one down.

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Now, before going on, reflect on the story you just read.

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Well, if he ever lives that one down, I want someone to give me a detailed account of what he exactly he did to live that down (preferably in video form so he can become a YouTube legend).

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Continue reflecting.

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"Estamos desnudos y montando el burro. Woooooo. Vamos al parque central. Y despues vamos al gimnasio. Todos estan viniendo en sus burros."

Shana Tova

First off, I would like to wish each and every one of you a shana tova u’metukah (A happy and sweet New Year).

This is my first Rosh Hashanah away from home. Even though I wasn’t with my family, I spent the holiday with 20 of my closest friends in this hemisphere.

Last week, I had a Reconnect meeting with some of the other volunteers in my training group. Then, we all decided to go to Riobamba for the weekend to catch up with most of the rest of my training group.

I wasn’t with my actual family, but with my Peace Corps family.

In the words of the immortal Buzz McCallister: OK. Enough of this gooey show of emotion. All right, everyone. Let´s dig in.

Riobamba is a town in the Sierra. It has a reputation for being very cold and being very high (in altitude). It is surrounded by four volcanoes. One of the volcanoes, Chimborazo, is the closest place to the sun of anywhere on Earth. The city has a pretty colonial center, although not nearly as big as Cuenca or Quito. It is famous for the Nariz del Diablo train that leaves from a station in downtown Riobamba, although it is frequently out of order or out of season.

During my South American adventure last summer, I spent the night in Riobamba as I traveled from Baños to Cuenca. I didn’t actually see daylight in Riobamba that time because our bus got in at 10:00 PM and left at 5:00 AM.

I brought my mahzor with me and did my own thing in the hotel while the rest of my friends recovered from a night out. Then in the afternoon, I went to a river in town for tashlikh and invited whoever wanted to share in the experience to join (Tashlikh is ceremony that you do by a flowing body of water. You throw some piece of food into the water, traditionally bread crumbs, as part of the process of repentance).

After musaf (I'll ask for new chazzan next year), I spent the rest of the morning procuring apples and honey. This took me to an organic farmer’s market and then to a store that specializes in supporting small farmers (the size of the farm, not the people).

I had Chinese food for lunch. Nothing says Rosh Hashanah like Vegetable Lo Mein. I hadn’t had chifa ("Chinese food") since getting to Ecuador.

After resting for a bit, we went down to the river. The thing about Riobamba is that there isn't a big river that runs through town. The woman at our hostel said there was a small river about a kilometer away. If that didn’t work out, we would have to settle for the man-made paddleboat pond in the children’s park or, if we really wanted flowing water, the shower.

We set off for the river. We asked some people for directions. Before showing us the way, they gave us the “I have no idea why you would want to go to the river. It’s kind of dirty” look. Following the standard rule of asking five people for directions before actually arriving, we were able to find the river.

From afar it looks pretty pleasant.



Right on the outskirts of town, surrounded by mountains, trees, and some farmland. Well, if you want to keep that image of the river, don’t click on the image to see it in full size. It´s not exactly the mighty Huron or the mightier Franklin branch of the Rouge River.

Either way, it’s a flowing body of water.

I explained to my friends that throwing the breadcrumbs in the river doesn’t actually cleanse your sin palette. It is a personal event, part of the process of repentance. That you are thinking about your actions from the previous year and how you can improve in the upcoming one.



Hooray, floating bread crumbs.

Then I broke out the apples and honey.



You might not be able to see it in this picture, but a certain overly-excited Ian did manage to get honey all over his shirt and pants.



Hemispheres might change, but some things don’t.

There are no pineapples in Piñas

Even though my town has a reputation for its fertile soil, it doesn’t really grow a variety of vegetables here. I like to joke that you can grow anything but apples down here.

It’s just that nobody really takes advantage of these possibilities.

It is mostly banana, cocoa, corn, or fruit trees. Hence, there isn’t much demand for the vegetable seeds in the agriculture stores.

So Saturday afternoon, I got back from visiting a farm and didn’t really have any plans for the rest of the day. My friend saw me on the street and asked me if I wanted to go to Piñas, which is about two hours from here, where the stores carry a large selection of vegetable seeds.

The town is located at about 1,500 meters above sea level and is situated on a mountainside. It is at the altitude of a cloud forest, which means that nearly every day is foggy.

Also, the city is much more developed than my town. It is pretty common in Ecuador that the towns that are more in the sierra (mountains) are more developed and better organized. So Piñas, being in the transitional zone between coast and sierra, could also be described as being in the transitional zone in terms of development, as well.

It was a great change of pace.

At first, we searched for the seed store. Relying on my friends who had been there before, I just went along for the ride. Our search was fruitless. All of the seed stores were closed. Although the search could also be described as fruitful, I guess, because the seed stores are located near the produce market. Either way, disheartened, we continued with our day.

We spent the afternoon climbing the up the stairs of the hilly pueblo. The town is full of staircases, which always make for fun wandering through cities. We passed by an orchid garden that was Peace Corps volunteer’s project in 2003. Only a few of the flowers were in blossom, but it was very cool to see the impact that a Peace Corps volunteer has left behind.

Then we went to a restaurant in town that is apparently a community institution. They had really good humitas (mashed up corn in log form) and coffee (Actual coffee. I don’t really like coffee, but this was pretty good.). We stuck around to eat another humita, which turned out to be the best decision we made all day.

As we were leaving the restaurant, my friend recognized the owner of one of the seed stores. We went with him to his shop, and I had a field day.

Then, as we were leaving the seed store, I received a text message that said Michigan beat Notre Dame, and everyone was happy. (Obviously, I wore my Michigan jersey yesterday.)

Overall, a pretty outstanding trip, and I will definitely be making my way back toward Piñas.