Not much of a cat person

Friday night, I went to sleep — peace and calm reigned supreme in my house. There was no noise, nothing to disturb my slumber. And it went this way until about 4:30, when I heard some purring. Well, I tried to ignore it, and instead of getting up and finding out where it was coming from, I decided to toss and turn for the next two and half hours until I got out of bed and made breakfast. I did some figuring and thought that it was my neighbor’s cat who might have gotten locked out or something like that.

Then I started making eggs for breakfast. I went for the peanut butter— the special ingredient in my peanut butter, banana, and chocolate chip omellete, I noticed a tiny little feline on the ground in front of my shelves. This is not normal, I thought.

So after doing a double take and realizing that this wasn’t some half-awake delusion, I thought about my options. Well, if it found its way into my closed kitchen during the middle of the night, there had to be a way for it to get out.

I don’t really like the cats too much. So keeping it was out of the question (And unlike, say, a goat, cat manure isn’t that great for compost). So I put it out on the street (I don’t think we have a humane society down here, and she wasn’t wearing a



Even though there was no chance I kept it, I obviously started thinking of names I would my pet cat. Pet names here are generally unimpressive. There are normally either niño, niña, princesa, or a TV character. American pet names are probably not much more interesting, but compared to some of the names I have come across down here (In one family they have two daughters named Karla, except that one spells it with a “C” and the other with a “K”). I think Khatuli would have been a good name for my cat, if I would have kept it and not put it out on the street.

But because I’m not much of a cat person, I’m not very good at coming up with cat names.

What can I do next?

In my previous blog post, I shared one of the greatest moments of my life — my first lassoing.

Now, a few days later and still relishing in the glory of that momento, i am puzzled by the question of how do I continue from such a grand moment. So where do I go from here? Can anything possibly top what I accomplished when roping that bovine.

Well, I guess I Could do it blind-folded. Or I could lasso in the open range, catching a cow who has fled from the herd Or I could get two at once. Or I could do it with my legs instead of my arms. Or I could do all of these things naked.

Well, I haven’t the opportunity to go back to the farm yet, so you just wait for the photo that will go in the next Team Alex calendar.

In the meantime, I got to thinking about what the hell approaches about the shear outstandingness of pretending to be a cowboy. And then I looked up and saw this hilarious tree, standing in front of me and decided that I will start by showing you a picture of this tree.





You might remember this species of tree, the ceibo, from when the Brothers Robinson ventured into the nature reserve. Well, two weeks later and that tree is in full bloom. Normally, the ceibo looks like it came straight out of a Dr. Seuss book or Tim Burton. When in bloom, it looks like one of those trees, except with cotton balls on the end.



And then I looked just to the right of what I was looping at and I saw a porotillo, another tree that is native to this region, that is also in bloom. RIght now, it has this bright red flowers that almost look like they aren’t real — oh, they real and they’re spectacular (Thanks, Jackie).

I then looked just to the side of the one I was looping at and saw a hualtaco. It is another tree native to the region that is known for being some of the most durable lumber you can find. And for that reason, it is difficult to find any of these hualtaco trees anywhere. It looks like a relative of the ceibo tree. Slightly less hilarious, but obviously with better lumber because there are many more ceibos left standing than hualtacos.


And then I turns to the side of what I was looking at, and I was looking at the same ceibo that I started with. So i had made a full circle, just by admiring that trememdous foliage of this season.

You will also get the Guuyacan, which is another tree known for his good lumber. But right now, it has these awesome yellow leaves that look as if they are disconnected from the tree and simply floating in mid-air.



This is what the dry tropical forest looks like at this time of year. Other than these brightly flowering tree and the equally stunnign orchids, the majority of the forest has dropped their leaves to cope with the dry season — waiting for the wet season, which starts in December, when the entire forest will turn green.

Hello, Mr. Cow

This morning, I had my first experience lasso-ing a cow. It went a little something like this.

Mitch Robbins: You know what just occurred to me? Roping is stupid. This is a cow, not a gazelle, watch. Get off the horse, huh? Ok. And then you walk up to the cow. Look at how good this is working. Then you say "Hi. I'm Bob Vila with 'This Old Herd.' We're going to rope you today." Then you take Mr. Loop and put it around the head of Mr. Cow.

[dismounts and walks up to the cow and puts the loop of lasso around its head]

Mitch Robbins: Now what's wrong with that?

[Curly whistles and cattle takes off running, dragging Mitch helplessly behind it]

Curly: That!

Mitch Robbins: I'M ON VACATIOOOOOOOOOON!

¿Que es eso?

It´s a simple question, really.

``What is that?´´

Last night, while waiting for the community meetin to begin, a little girl walked up to me asked me, ``¿Que es eso?´´

I had no idea what she was referring to. So, I asked her.

¿Que?

She points to my hair.

``It´s my hair.´´

She started laughing.

Obviously, her first experience with the Jewfro.

Anyway, her reaction moved from laughter to fear and finally to intrigue. From the giggles to running away from it to touching it to see if it was indeed authentic hair.

I know my hair is getting large. It has been nearly six months since I last visited a barber. He was Russian, spoke limited English, operated out of his unfurnished basement, and gave me the shortest haircut I can remember. I made a promise to some of my Peace Corps colleagues that I wouldn´t cut my hair until we all came back together for a conference.

I have kept to my promise, and I think the only way to describe my hair is bien grande. I have added the caveat that if the people in my community or in my office are offended by my Jewfro that I will cut it. So far, no one has complained.

In fact, as I found out last night, I can use my big hair to expand the cultural awareness.

Easy there

I sat down to lunch with my host dad last Thursday, and I could tel that something wasn’t right. So I asked him what was wrong.

“Bad hangover.”

“Oh.”

Keep in mind that it is 2:00 p.m. on a Thursday, and that he 65 years old.

When you make an asunto...

Cuando haces asuntos, haces un as de un y tos.

Well, that doesn’t really translate very well.

"When you make an assumption, you make as ass out of u and me" is what I was trying to say.

I was playing ga-ga with the neighborhood kids when one of their older sisters come up and asked me to help her with her English homework. I don’t really like doing this because I feel that I can be more productive and help in more sustainable ways. But I have started my English for Trees program (Ingles para Arborles) in which people promise to plant three trees for every hour of English that I teach. That way, at least the trees will be here when I leave. Now back to my interrupted game of ga-ga.

The girl says that she has English homework due tomorrow. I tell her that I will help her out but that I won’t give her the answers. We discuss what this will entail for a few minutes. I’m holding strong on my “you have to try and translate the words before I help you out because I’m not going to do your homework for you” ground. She is more of the “Do my homework for me so that I don’t have to” camp.

Then she starts complaining about how I’m not helping her. I respond by telling her that I feel I’m helping her more because, instead of just giving her the answers, I’m making her learn the information. Not seeing it this way, she continues to argue. Then the arguing turns into whining, which I don’t need to put up with. She says that she agreed to translate the five pages of English dialogue to Spanish for her group homework because she simply assumed that the North American who lives in her neighborhood, yours truly, would do the work for her.

Bad assumption.

Mas Fiestas

As I mentioned in my previous fiesta-related post, every town/neighborhood has its annual fiestas. They typically coincide with the date of the town/neighborhoods was founded.

For example, the biggest fiestas in my city are November 11 because that is the day my city officially became a city.

Well, the previous fiestas I attended were in the campo. I had yet to attend a fiesta (I repeat fiesta over and over instead of writing parties because fiesta encompasses so much more). That is, until a couple of weeks ago.

Here is a bullet-riddled post of my observations from these fiestas (There has to be a better phrase than bullet-riddled, but I’m not sure that is a more hilarious one).

• Pageantry – If there is one thing that Ecuador and college football have in common, it would be pageantry. If there is another thing, it would be a love of beer. But back to the pageantry.

In the fiestas for this neighborhood, they held three beauty pageants: one to select the reina (queen); one to select the mini reina (mini queen); and one to select Señora Bonita (beauty pageant for the mothers).

And these pageants occupy the majority of the program. The program started at 9:30, and the entire program revolved around giving the beauty queen contestants time to change. If they needed time to change, they would simply throw in a musical act.

Keep in mind that the girls in the beauty pageant are about fifteen years old. So watching the men stare at the contestants when they do the bathing suit contest is, well, uncomfortable. Cultural difference, I guess.

• I’m a security guard at heart – The president of the community told me to get to the fiestas around 8:00 because they wanted to start on time. Thinking that he actually intended to start the fiestas at 8:00, I showed up at 8:00. Well, they didn’t get underway until 9:20.

To occupy myself in this awkward window, I started shmoozing it up with the community security guards who stood around the soccer field to maintain order. There was some great conversation about what they were doing, what I was doing, and what it takes to be a security guard at neighborhood fiestas (very little).

I was able to rely on my experience as an usher at Comerica Park to chat it up with these guys. Although I worked the 2006 World Series, you have no idea what a high-pressure situation is until you are an Ecuadorian security guard put in charge of guarding the beer cooler.

• Thanks, again – Every time a new person came on stage to present or speak or sing or dance or prance, they began by thanking the neighborhood. Then they gave out individual shout outs: thanking the mayor, the city councilmen, the former beauty queens, etc., for their attendance.

The first time I heard this I thought it was nice that they appreciated that these people would use their time to attend these fiestas. But after every single person on the program thanked the same eight people, it became a bit repetitive and, dare I say, disingenuous.

• “Thank you, Prima— I mean La Libertad” – Well, the woman who they brought in to sing a few songs in between beauty pageant sections came on stage and thanked the neighborhood for giving her this opportunity to perform.

The only problem was that she thanked the wrong neighborhood. She tried to correct herself, but everybody realized what happened.

• Does he also do bar mitzvahs? – One of the highlights of the evening was when the neighborhood brought in a singer from the neighboring town to sing a few love ballads (They love their love ballads down here).

So the guy steps on stage and takes the mike. Before continuing with his set, he gives out his phone number if anyone is interested in hiring him for future events, clarifying his cell provider. Keep in mind that no one has heard him sing, yet. So how would they know whether they would like to hire him for their special event if they’ve never heard him before?

Also, if I am going to pay someone for an evening of work, the difference of ten cents in cell phone charges between should be insignificant.

After his set, he gave out the information again.

Guest Bloggers: The Brothers Share Pictures

Guys changing a tire on our bus on the way to the Oriente.


Cuenca is famous for its Panama hats.


Ruby looks nice in the Panama bonnet, I mean Panama hat.


The Brothers Robinson discover the hilarious flora of dry tropical forests.


The people might not be that tall, but their banana leaves are.


Profesor Robinson.


Who is the guy on the far right?


Before Cajas hike. Does anybody understand that map?


Papaya Face Robinson


Machetero Verdadero. He even peels his fruit with a machete.


Pruning cacao trees. Ian is wearing a ridiculous hat.


Yanking yucca


Touring the jungle farm


Our amigo planting the coco plants we brought him


Ian loves dog testicles


From left to right: Pygmy green plums, pygmy red plums, pepino melon, granadilla, chirimoya, babaco


Cuenca fruit market or, as Ian likes to call it, heaven


We blue-screened the whole thing. The wonders of technology. No really, this is Cajas.

Guest Bloggers: The Brothers and the naked Indian

Where did we leave off ... ahh yes, saying adíos in Cuenca. We boarded a 12:30 bus to the Oriente (the jungle!). For the next five and half hours, we switchbacked across, bumped along, and basically hugged a mountain road until we reached the end of a valley. Whew! This included some beautiful scenery, from 1,000 m grass- and jungle-covered cliff faces mere inches from the road to a tunnel cut straight through the mountain (only wide enough for one vehicle at a time). At the bottom of the valley, we continued up between the two rivers for another hour and change until we reached another Peace Corps member's site.

We hopped off the bus in a little jungle village (just one store) and proceeded to meet (for us) or reunite (for Yoni) the PCV (Peace Corp Vounteer) there. After some quick introductions to the youth sitting outside the PCV's house, Yoni began his consultation work right away for the newspaper that the kids had recently started. From article ideas and layout to selling strategies and goals, the youth questioned the newspaperman. And the newspaperman replied with wisdom from his many years of experience. Afterward, we ate a quick dinner of quinoa, eggs, and papa chinos and passed out.

The next morning, we got a tour of the PCV's personal gardens. This included trying a new fruit, huevos de perro (dog balls). Delicious. Imagine a prickly-fuzzy, sweet, but citrus-flavored tomato the size of a golf ball. Apparently, only the PCV, us, and the shuar (local indigenous tribe) eat these.

Speaking of shuar, the PCV asked who went to the bathroom at 6:30. Ruby did. The PCV said that it was a good thing he didn't bump into his shuar neighbor, who showers naked in plain view of the kitchen with his chicha bowl at that hour. That would have been a little awkward, but a real welcome to the jungle.

Afterward, we took the coconut plants that we had been carrying since Friday to be planted at the PCV's host family. Since the PCV's arrival, the host family has basically converted its entire forty-plus acre papaya, cacao, and yucca plantation to organics ... natural fertilizer, companion planting, greenhouse, organic insect repellents, etc. We helped plant the coconuts and then went on a working and walking tour of the plantation.

(Side note: Ian has decided that whenever he is traveling in Ecuador, he is going to carry large plants with him. They make a great conversation starter. Oddly enough, no one asks you anything if you take a chicken or turkey on the bus.)

We learned how to prune branches for ease of harvesting, how to pop papayas off trees and catch — all with one hand, how the yucca grows and can easily be planted (just cut off a branch and stick it under the soil), how cacao beans are readied for market, and lots more. After some shmoozing and sugar cane-munching, we had a delicious, organic, and completely local (from that one farm) vegetarian lunch with the PCV's host family. The local specialty that highlighted the meal were muchillos, essentially a yucca latke filled with cheese and dipped in sugar cane syrup or salt. In Ecuadorian culture, it is disrespectful to turn down food, but his host mom just kept bringing more muchillos.

We needed a long walk after lunch to digest so we explored the rest of the village, including some of the 700 hectares of papaya and yucca plantations there. Along the road, we stopped at a large aquaculture operation that raises tilapia in the jungle. In fact, the owner of this now-large enterprise that also includes swimming pools and zoo, learned aquaculture from two PCVs in a neighboring village in the late 1980s.

We had a brief siesta so as to be ready for the evening's main event and possibly the most-hyped athletic event in town history: gringos v. the village in basketball. To give you a sense of the height differential, think of Space Jam with us being the Monstars. We Globetrotted our way through the game, just to keep it close. Everyone had a great time. At one point, it was nine on four. One of the highlights included Avery rejecting the PCV's host mom. Everyone just stopped and laughed. It should be noted that in Ecuador, basketball is more of a women's sport and volleyball, a men's sport.

After the game, the PCV made spaghetti with fresh marinara sauce from his garden. We followed that with a giant papaya for dessert (see photo to follow).

The next morning, we explored the neighboring village to get another perspective on jungle life and hopped on a bus to begin our fourteen-hour journey back to Yoni's town. We took a slightly different, but equally harrowing, route up the mountainside, mostly along a jungle- and cloud-covered, gravelly (sp?) one-and-a-half lane highway. By midnight, we were back in Yoni's town and exhausted.

Guest Bloggers: The Brothers Encuentra Cuenca

We planned on Ian´s Machala Reality Tour (mail box, DVD store, juice guy, veggie restaurant that serves chicken) to occupy us Friday afternoon. But the bus to Cuenca was boarding as soon as we arrived. Figuring that it would be nice to see the countryside, we bought a few mandarinas and jumped aboard.

Well, that was a good decision.

In the course of three hours, we passed through banana plantations, lush cloud forest, barren mountains, fertile valleys, and pine tree-covered mountains. And we went from sea level to 10,000 feet. Doing all of this while watching the WWE-produced (classic?) The Condemned, starring Steve Austin and company.

We rolled into Cuenca at dusk and quickly headed to our hostel. We dropped our stuff and ate dinner at a local vegetarian restaurant. Great deal and delicious food. This restaurant does not serve chicken.

The next morning, we woke up, picked up some bread for the road, and took a bus to Cajas National Park, which is half an hour outside of Cuenca on the road to Guayaquil. Like any national park, they charge an entrance fee. For Ecuadorians and residents (like Yoni), it costs $1.50 to access the park. For foreigners, it costs $10.00. We weren´t given any maps, and the signs on the first trail we tried led us back to the highway.

We decided to go against the grain and do the exact opposite of what the arrows suggested. Using this strategy, we enjoyed a pleasant, two-and-a-half hour jaunt through the mountainside. Near the end of the path, we came upon four alpaca (Ruby still wants them to be emu and refuses to accept the reality). We did a loop around the laguna near the end of the trail and called it a day for hiking in the wilderness. This was probably a good idea since none of us were acclimated to any altitude above 500 feet, and we were planning on spending the afternoon exploring the hilly (and more than a mile high) city of Cuenca.

We took a bus back to Cuenca and began our search for lunch. Ian wanted to expose his brothers to some comida tipica (typical food) for the region and was set on finding a locro de papas (a potato soup that is often served with cheese and avocado). But after a half hour of searching, our bellies were still empty.

Enter desperation. Enter mercado food court.

Basically, we walked up the aisle of the food stands at the market for something that we could eat. After doing one sivvuv, we found a place offering fried fish. Thinking that whatever diarrhea-causing bacteria that was in the fish would be killed in the frying, we thought that would be a safe option (probably not the best logic, but to give away the end of the story, our stool is still solid).

Afterward we explored the market´s fruit section and picked out a selection of fun-sounding, hilarious-looking, and mostly delicious fruits. We mozied around historic Cuenca for the next two hours. Cuenca is considered a United Nations World Heritage Site because the majority of its colonial center is still intact. We explored this colonial center, marvelled at the churches and other architectural gems, and strolled along the river. We washed our fruit at the hostel and purchase a knife, with which to cut said fruit.

Then, we proceeded to taste the fruits. We understand that photos would really improve this section of the blog post, but you will have to wait for those. We sampled the granadilla, miniature plums, cucumber melon (or pepino, but not to be confused with the regular cucumber that one would find in the vegetable section), chirimoya, and babaco. Overall, we were very pleased.

After a brief siesta and internetting, we began our search for dinner. Thinking we passed a vegetarian Indian restaurant during our stroll, we tried to retrace our steps in search of it. No dice. It was probably closed.

We found a place that offered the traditional soup that Ian wanted us to try. So we went there for the first part of dinner and ate the soup. Everybody liked it.

For the second course, we went to another vegetarian restaurant and enjoyed a two-course meal. Another agreeable experience, which was capped by ice cream. Then we went back to hostel to pass out after our exhausting day.

This morning, we woke up at 7:00 to get a good jump on the day. But we realized that nobody else in all of Cuenca woke up, except to go to church, so we decided to shower. This was Ian´s first hot shower in three months. To quote him, ´´I didn´t want to leave.´´

Then we picked up a variety of breads for breakfast and went to the bus station to pick up tickets for our bus later in the day. Success, and Ian even bought us some humitas (which are warm, corn deliciousness).

We returned to downtown, picked up some fruit, and learned about Panama hats (the industry that Cuenca is famous for, along with ceramic tiles). And that wrapped up our trip to Cuenca.

Everybody enjoyed their experience. Gotta catch a bus. TTYL.

Guest Bloggers: The Brothers Get Settled

So we wake up and start moving around (well, actually, Ian and Ruby start to move, Avery catches as many Z's as he can before the day really begins) when someone knocks on the door.

"¿Quien es?" It's one of Ian's co-workers coming to pick us up for classes. Naturally, now is a perfect time for Ian's landlord to invite us over for some breakfast. At the mention of a breakfast invitation, Ian hops out of the shower, throws on some clothes and beats everyone to the table.

This is Ruby and Avery's first experience with "tomate de arbol" and it is delicious. Apparently, people only consume it in juice form because it is a bitter fruit, but that juice was fantastic...anyone know anything about the bottling and packaging business?

So after trying to explain to his landlord that he needs to go teach a class and is late, Ian and his coworker excuse themselves, leaving Ruby and Avery with this Ecuadorian family that speaks very little (if any) English. While we were able to understand most everything that was being said, it was still difficult for us to string together complex sentences, and after 10 minutes of trying, decided it would be best stick with the basics and go to class.

We helped Ian with his icebreakers and sorted out the seeds that the class brought in for planting in the new school garden. After class, we sat down for some fruit salads with the teacher at the school kiosk. Let's just say that American schools have a lot to learn in the art of school snacks.

From school, we proceeded to check out the nursery. Very cool seeing the garden for real; fortunately the iguana was nowhere to be found. We watered the plants and sprayed the garlic-hot pepper hand-burning mixture around the plants to protect them for the next few days, popped some mangoes off one of nursery's trees, and then bought some coconut trees from a neighboring nursery.

On the way back to Ian's pad, we stopped off for some Brazilian sandwiches (grilled cheese with banana slices and a little cinnamon), which Ian has introduced to some of the local juice vendors in town. After shmoozing with the locals, we packed up our stuff and headed off to Batanes for the weekly meeting of the community bank.

When we got on the bus (there is only one bus to Batanes, and it doesn't even go to Batanes itself), we noticed that the driver's face was all cut up. Apparently, he had been in an accident earlier that day, but was good to go. On the drive, we saw a gas station with a sign "Si, hay diesel." [Cultural Education Necessary: We were not sure if this meant: "yes, we have diesel" or "if there is diesel..." so instead we just laughed, took a picture, and carried on.] Also, while at the gas station, a woman on the bus passed a jerry can out the window with a few dollars to fill it up. Awesome!

So we arrived in Batanes and hung out with about 10 locals before the meeting began (which represents about 1/3 of the households), had our meeting, and then went off to someone's house to spend the night. Later in the evening, the two-year-old decided that his rain boots were bigger and better than Avery's hiking boots and wanted to show off. Then, because he was so clean from his shower, decided it was time to go to work. So while wearing his rain boots and pajamas, he grabbed his machete (yes, he has his own machete), and started walking up the road as if to go to work.

Shortly thereafter, we went to sleep. It was 8:30 PM and we (and the household) were exhausted.

The next morning, we woke up at 4:30, like regular Robinson men, to catch the 5:00 pick-up truck to the 6:00 bus. We made it back to town by 7:00 and went straight to school at 7:10.

Yoni helped another class start a garden. It was the day before vacation, and everybody was excited for the freedom they would experience come afternoon, so they marked the occasion by having Field Day. Each class competes in basketball and soccer against the other classes in the school, round-robin style. They were very excited, and we would have stayed to watch more, but we had an appointment to go for a hike at the eco reserve.

The bus dropped us off at the reserve entrance, which is three kilometers from the reserve´s ecological base. So before going on our three-kilometer hike in the reserve, we had to do a three-kilometer hike to get there (and also to get back to the highway). The reserve is a dry, tropical forest. Only one percent of the world´s dry tropical forests still remains, and this is part of that one percent.

It almost looked as if winter had descended on southern Ecuador because very few trees had any type of foliage. The trees in this ecosystem shed their leaves to survive the dry season. It was almost like walking through a forest in Michigan in the winter, except there were cacti, and we were wearing t-shirts and sweating in the humidity (Coach Blitzer was right). (We will try to post some pictures later)

Afterwards, we took the bus back to town and got ready for our trip up to the mountains.

Guest Bloggers: The Brothers Arrive

After a full day of travel, we touched down in Guayaquil at 10:55 PM, taxied to the gate, went through an initial customs inspection that included a full-body thermal scan for evidence of H1N1 (thankfully, Avery did not bring any from Canada), went through a subsequent customs investigation where Ruby was cited (in writing) for bringing one nectarine into the country, and then into the outstretched arms of Yoni.

Giddy up!

Yoni was only aware that Ruby was coming to visit him. Just as they were about to leave the terminal, Avery nearly pounced on Yoni from behind. What a great surprise. (Thanks to all of you for keeping it a secret.)

Three minutes later, we were on our way to the Central Bus Station in Guayaquil for a 12:35 AM bus back to Yoni's town. We learned that this was probably the safest bus station in the country, but anywhere outside of the station, not advisable after dark. We caught up with each other for about an hour—sharing some stories, gifts, mandelbread, bagels, and baklava—waiting for the bus to arrive.

We got on the 12:35 bus and by 4:10, were dropped off three blocks from Yoni's new apartment. Some of us slept on the bus, others had more trouble because the air conditioning was on so high. Earlier in the day, Yoni had shlepped half of his stuff to the apartment and it was all sitting in a clump in his room. The rest of the apartment was bare. "No hay nada," as he would recall a few times today. We made no fuss about sleeping arrangements since we were all exhausted.

This morning, Yoni went out to go pick up some fruit for breakfast, maqueños and maracuyas. They were más rico. We spent the first part of the morning meeting and hanging out with some of Yoni's coworkers at the office. A little after 10:00 AM, we accompanied him to school for a three-hour environmental education session with eighth grader girls. Yoni likes to begin each class with a rompe hielo (ice breaker) and this morning's questions were: what is your favorite ice cream? and what is one thing that your friends probably don't know about you?. We were able to put together an answer in Spanish without too much difficulty (though it had been a while since either of us had really practiced speaking this idioma). The class then divided into groups, per Yoni's instructions, and went out to the school yard to work on their garden. The class was preparing the grounds for germinating fruit seeds this Friday. Fruit seeds that will likely be brought to class on Friday include (in español): pera, naranja, manzana, limon, frejol, aguacate, uva, sandia, tomate, pimiento, maiz, hava, grosella, guayaba, culantro, chirimoya, mandarina, papaya, guava, badea, melon, yuca, durazno, lima, mango, granadilla, cereza, maracuya, ciruelo y camote.

The next class did the same thing. Afterward, we shared a little snack with the science teacher and Yoni's municipal counterpart. Later, we had a light lunch of pea soup, tuna, and rice. This was good energy for an afternoon of buying some apartment essentials (broom, garbage cans, wash basin, pillows, soap, etc) and moving the rest of Yoni's furniture, unpacking, assembling, and overall, just arranging everything. We finished most of this up by 5:30 and went to help out at the community garden. At first, only a few little kids were there to water the plant beds. Within an hour, about seven adults were watering the beds, transplanting radishes, and preparing new plant beds by breaking up the hard soil. We were really impressed by Yoni and the neighborhood's efforts in establishing this communal garden. The impressive sugar cane fence, rock-bordered walking paths, and saplings just breaking through the soil gave us a real sense of pride in what Yoni was doing (and trying to do) here in Ecuador.

Later, we bought a few items to cook up for dinner and had a nice meal back at Yoni's apartment.

It's awesome spending time with Yoni and just observing him interact with the community. Some highlights from today, in no particular order:

• Seeing the chispita
• Meeting Yoni's home-stay father
• Being introduced to everyone as when I went to the airport last night to pick up one brother, there were two
• Early morning cold shower (it was actually quite refreshing)

Lots more adventuring planned for the next eight days. We'll try to keep you posted.

Disco Disco

´´You Don’t Mess With the Zohan´´ is one of the most popular movies down here.

Most of the Israeli humor gets lost in translation. But I think I know why they like it so much.

Disco breaks.

For some reason, the Ecuadorians love dance breaks.

In everything they do, it’s all about dance breaks.

A couple of weeks ago, I went to the bar with some friends. We were there for an hour, and the music was at a reasonable level. Then the bartender gets on the PA and urges everyone to dance.

Fifteen minutes later, the music is reduced to its original level, the people return to their seats, and the conversation resumes.

Fifteen minutes later, the dance party is called to action for another fifteen-minute interval. And this patter repeated itself all night long until closing time.

But it’s not just in the bar experience.

Bingo night is also mixed up in the whole dance break paradigm.

Between ever game of bingo, there is a ten-minute dance break.

And if people aren’t actually dancing, they are talking about the next fiesta they are going to or asking you whether or not you dance.

At one point, my high-school students, out of nowhere, started demanding that I dance in front of the class. I politely decline.

I would almost say that life down here is one giant dance party, and they take breaks from dancing to do essential activities that allow them to continue dancing later on (eat, drink, work, bath, etc).

Liberator

Now I know what Simon Bolivar felt like.

Bolivar is known as the Liberator in South America for leading the fight for independence throughout much of the continent.

I’m no expert on history, but I can only imagine him galloping triumphantly through the colonial towns of this continent, proclaiming them free from Spanish rule.

I felt a little bit like Bolivar last week.

You see, the soldier who live in the tree nursery do not normally have access to toilet paper. The general rule in there is for them to grab a leaf and take care of business.

Then, I read about a great seed-starting idea about how you can cut toilet paper rolls in half, start plants in the rolls, and then plant the rolls directly in the soil (the cardboard will biodegrade). So I upon sharing this idea with my coworker, we promptly went to the store and bought the soldiers eight rolls of toilet paper.

I triumphantly marched into the tree nursery with the toilet paper rolls hoisted over my head, proclaiming the end of wiping.

Freedom feels so good — and doesn’t carry the risk of rash if you use the wrong kind of leaf.

Should I turn this off?

What is cell phone etiquette?

So, I’m sitting in a farmer’s association meeting last week.

It wasn’t the most interesting meeting of all time. The secretary was reading through the thirty-nine clauses of the organizations constitution, but a necessary meeting nonetheless.

I’m sitting there, trying to pick up what he’s saying but he’s talking quite rapidly, plus I don’t know if they have ever heard of the term acoustics before.

Either way, about an hour into the meeting, I hear an operator’s voice say “The time is 11:43.”

So I turn around to see what’s going on. It turns out a guy sitting two rows back had to reset the time on his phone. And instead of asking his neighbor for the hour, he decided to call the “what time is it?” hotline — on speakerphone.

So as you can tell, people down here use and answer their cell phones in all situation.

In the high schools, the kids are calling and texting during class. Or they have the earphones in their ears and are listening to music. I gave them the John U. Bacon hammer to the ringing cell phone story and frightened them sufficiently — especially because I had a hammer in my backpack (for a community garden but I guess you could say that it served a few purposes).

So, this has taken some getting used to.

This was unexpected

Friday, I was in the middle of a class with my ninth-grade students about how our actions need to match the messages we preach.

There was a knock on the door. (It’s not much of a door. More of a gate.)

Two women were standing in the doorway, one of them was holding a baby.

Now, it’s not uncommon for people in the high schools here to interrupt a teacher in mid-sentence. But normally, it is the high school inspector or another student who needs to talk to one of the students.

I didn’t recognize these people, so I went over to ask them what they wanted. Here is how I think the dialogue translated:

Ian: Good afternoon. What do you want?

Woman in doorway: We want to collaborate.

Ian: Well, I’m kind of in the middle of teaching a class right now. We can talk about this later.

Woman in doorway: We have the permission of the inspector.

Ian: Well, I’m kind of in the middle of a lesson right now.

Woman in doorway: The inspector said we could enter.

Ian, wanting a clarification, told his students to wait a second and went to the director.

Ian: These women say they want to collaborate with me and then asked to walk into my class. What’s the deal?

Inspector: Let them in.

So, I let the women into my class. They give a brief shpiel (I was still coming back from my conversation with the inspector when this was happening, so I don’t really know the content.)

The next thing I notice, they are walking through the class begging my students for money.

Yes, that is right. Panhandling in the classroom.

Maybe I didn’t understand the verb correctly, or maybe the verb “colaborar” means something different than what I think it does.

But this was clearly an experience that I would never expect in an American high school and a clear example of cultural differences.

I wish the woman and child would have stayed and listened to my lesson for the day.

“What kind of world do you want to live in?” as the opening question, followed by “What are you doing to make this world a reality?”

That was followed by a discussion about how our ideals, values, goals, and messages should be followed by actions, because, all too often in society, they are not.

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On the subject of what kind of world we want to live in, I will share with you some of the better responses.

Obviously, a lot of peoples aid they wanted to live in a safe, healthy world, without contamination, violence, or the risk of dying at any moment.

The better responses were the kid who wanted to live in an electronic world, along the lines of Wall-E, and the kid who wanted to party all the time, asking for the local disco to be open seven days a week.

I asked them how they were trying to make this a reality. The girl who wants to live in an electronic world said she was going to stay up to date on electronics news.

The party animal had no good answer. If he’s serious about this, he should stand outside the disco or in some central location in town and promote the idea of party all the time.

I told them that I wanted to live in a world with equal opportunity, where your situation at birth shouldn’t dictate your lot in life, and that people treat their fellow human beings like brothers.

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I miss the panhandlers of Ann Arbor — beggars with a shtick.

There are no harmonica-playing guys here, no local equivalent of Shakey Jake (Templando Jacobo), they only tell you to have a blessed day if you give them money, and there is no “nickel to buy a sandwich guy” (even though a nickel could actually buy you a sandwich).