Waiting!

Wow, another post??

I´m here in Quito enjoying nearly boiling hot, skin-beating showers and delicious American-style bagels. 

The day was not totally perfect like that.

Yesterday was the breaking point.  I paid my host half a month´s rent ($35) because I was fairly sure I would move soon.  She at first smiled and said thanks and then...counted.  She asked where the other half was, and I explained why it was so.  She argued I had to pay for the previous month, and suddenly things got pretty ugly.  So ugly that I had to call my program manager to have her explain that I pay for the month in advance - always had.  So my host agreed but hasn´t talked to me at all since.

I went upstairs and immediately began packing.  That was it.  I´m DEFINITELY moving to Pucará!

This morning woke up super early to drag my heaviest bag (the one loaded with Peace Corps books and climbing magazines...of course...) and my travel bag downstairs to catch the 7 a.m. bus, but the 7 a.m. bus didn´t come.  Another one about 7:30 got me to Riobamba.  Took a taxi to the terminal (who was using a meter!  shocking.  Fares are always $1 wherever you go, so he raced to get me there when the meter struck $1 on the dot) and got a bus to Quito. 

That´s where we leave the ´good day´ part to return to later.

Going from south Quito to north Quito is not fun.  It usually requires using trolebuses which are often packed.  Thankfully, mine were not so bad.  Except I got on the wrong one, pretty much three times.  Ecuador PCVs out there, don´t laugh.  I´m terrible at cities.  Two mess ups were easy.  One not so much.  That was the one when I realized I needed to be on the blue line, not the green line.  So I thought I could get off at one closely-located stop and walk to the other line.  Hah!  Apparently I still have much learning to do about Ecuador.  I did, however, find that stop and get on the right bus, sweaty, tired, annoyed.

And back to ´good day´!

I dumped my ton of books at the hostal and walked to the Peace Corps office.  Had a great talk with my program manager about changing sites and all the details, got some paperwork signed, saw the doctors about the previously mentioned disease, and left feeling pretty good.  And it was 5 p.m. which means... BAGELS!  Mister Bagel, that wonderful RPCV-owned joint near Parque Carolina.  I was told it would close at 6 so I took a taxi that overcharged me and didn´t even go the whole way.  Horray!  But I got my bagels.  Lots of delicious bagels.  And walked back.

So... until next week!  It´s a busy next few days...

After Reconnect

I felt really good during our first in-service training, called Reconnect. My counterpart and I developed some good ideas to start our first project and it seemed we could start on that immediately when we returned home. I enjoyed seeing all my old friends from training, and spent a week living in my old training house with my Tumbaco family that I missed a lot. It was warm, comfortable, and I was surrounded by people I knew and who knew me. At the end of the week, another volunteer and I attempted to climb Cotopaxi and although we didn't summit, and though it was cold and I felt not so great, after the climb I felt fine and wished I was back on it.

On each of the rides back to my site I met someone really friendly and fascinating. On a Quito trolley I met a woman named Flor who asked me a bunch of questions about my ice ax lashed to my bag. On the bus to Riobamba I sat next to a man who loved to laugh and joke - it started when I sat down and took out a ball of yarn to begin knitting some socks. I saw him quizzically watching me and I said in Spanish with a sort of smirk, "Why not?" We talked off and on the entire 3.5 hours and pretty soon he invited me to visit some of the remote Quichua communities he lives by on the slopes of Chimborazo. We'll see if I end up going or not but their festivals sound like a lot of fun... having not lost as many traditions as my own community has.

At the Dolorosa bus station I was buying Cheetos (yes!! Real Cheetos, puffy and delicious and everything!) when my host Maria snuck up on me from behind and poked me with both hands on each side of my stomach. I'd never seen her do anything so impish and to me it was hilarious, especially because she'd just found out how incredibly ticklish I am.

Our bus left in an hour and I'd brought out the beginnings of my knitted sock again to work on. A girl sat in front of us on the pseudo-seat and stared at my work, entranced. Halfway to Pungala she spoke up and asked what I was making, and our conversation continued. A woman I'd met on another bus ride also from Pungala sat next to her with her baby tied on her back and told the first girl all about me - it was incredible what she remembered. I realized again at that moment that I'm no longer usually gawked at, and if I am, there's usually someone around to jump in and explain that I'm not exactly a foreigner anymore... that I live out there in the campo with them too. It's comforting to know that little by little, I'm blending in. Word is spreading.

But now back in site, I felt a little drained. I had all these hopes and ideas but I still wasn't exactly sure how to accomplish them... it's a catch 22 in Peace Corps: you want to do stuff (especially to feel useful and not be bored all the time), but you can only do what your community wants to do. And showing them what you can do and what you want to do is sometimes tricky, especially when you're trying to do something they really don't want to do and are too polite to tell you.

Back here on my first day, I did the usual: made alfredo, knit, read a bit, washed clothes, went for a nice hike up and over the mountain. When I got back, I put a pot of water on to boil and heard a clang on the door. It was Ivan, the son of the (former?) school director who served as his dad's substitute last school year. He launched into a very enthusiastic speech about how he wanted to work on the eco-club with me during the summer but he was too busy building houses, how now he wants to really create this club, the ideas he has for it (backpacking to El Placer and bringing in other Volunteers to help [hint hint, he actually said this, come visit!!!], planting gardens, learning eco-tourism English, drawing, etc.), what more we can do for the community such as technological instruction (he went to school for journalism like me), arts, music (reviving traditional Ecuadorian folk music), etc. I'm pretty sure my jaw was dropped the whole time. Maybe not. But just hearing him talk so excitedly made me really excited too. And the funniest part was when he said, "I've been thinking, and my dad told me I should talk with you, that here you are in the community and we're not even using you." YES. Yes! Use me! That is exactly why I'm here. I told him I would write out my ideas and give them to him soon.

So things keep getting better. "Development work is slow," is the mantra. And it's true. Especially in an indigenous community like mine. You have to get trust, prove you're there to stay a while, get out walking even if you're not walking anywhere in particular (answering the obligatory "?Adonde va?" is tricky), talk to people, go to meetings, visit the school, help with farmwork, learn some Quichua, and then maybe you're in.

And it all falls down

See, we´re all bipolar.

I´m having an awful week. But the good news is, this is happening a lot less frequently.

I think it all began a few days ago when I came home and my host immediately burst in tears telling me her son almost died in a motorcycle crash. Unconscious, he was assumed dead and people robbed him of his valuables including his phone. Thankfully though, he wasn´t, and is recovering. Being able to walk and talk sounded positive to me, but my host was still frantic. It was crushing to listen to her weep as she reminded me her son is her only child who still visits and takes care of her. This among so many other problems has been a hard personal burden on me - that night she came up to talk to me as she so often does, but it´s always negative. She doesn´t have enough money, she can´t take care of all her animals alone, her family has left her, etc. I´m having a very, very difficult time dealing with all this.

And the next day, I found out someone I know in my community (keep in mind my community is only about 500 people) was beaten. I didn´t know the details but it sounded bad, and it might have been rape. I told PC Ecuador because the situation might have been dangerous for me, and they started investigating the event, including making a call to my host. My host has said a number of times that she´s scared now, though when I first came to site she said it was 100% safe. But after attending a meeting (entirely in Quichua, which I don´t speak) and talking a little more to my host, it seems she may have been assaulted by someone she knew...that it probably means it´s not a danger for me.

I´m not sure if all the stress I´m feeling is manifesting itself in illness, but I had a terrible time sleeping last night and woke up feeling less than ideal. Ojala I don´t get sick - if I do, it will be the fourth time in six months. Not good.

But continuing with randomness, I thought I should mention a couple positive notes:

1. I bought a ticket home to visit my family, 19 December 2011 to 3 January 2012. That´ll be in Cary, Illinois, so see you then!

2. After service, I´m fairly certain I´m going to Nepal, possibly India and China, to do the Annapurna Circuit if it still exists in 2013. I´m learning Nepali...very slowly...so maybe by then I´ll know a few words and phrases comfortably. Anyone want to go?

3. Still thinking.

Four months in Ecuador

It's been a while, I know. Here I am, celebrating month four in site as a Peace Corps volunteer in Ecuador. Part of why I haven't written in a while is... I'm convinced volunteers are bipolar unless they get lucky with a 100% compatible site and are 100% culturally adapted.

I'm not, which is normal. I have Americanness that will never go away no matter how much I learn about Andean cultures, no matter how fluently I communicate in Spanish or Quichua, no matter anything...I will alway stick out. The idea, however, is to adapt and learn as much as possible in order to function efficiently in a foreign society. The magic word is 'integrate'. It doesn't necessary mean donning a heavy black wool skirt and hard wide-brimmed white hat (I live in a culture where dress codes aren't rigid; instead they're used a social identity), but it definitely means meeting people and making friends.

In four months I've already had my share of tiny victories and big disappointments. It's a testament to the fact that my community will move along when it wants to, and do what it wants to do - they're not on my schedule, I'm on theirs. The other day I was sitting on my steps thinking to myself that I'm not doing anything, and after being here a third of a year, I couldn't see myself doing anything much in the future. I was struggling to get a counterpart to come with me to the Reconnect workshop in Quito in September. My Ministerio friends were waiting for weeks on an answer if one of them could go, but when my community heard about that, they insisted someone who actually lived in the community should go. I fully agreed, and the secretary immediately volunteered...until I told her it was for three days. No one else stepped forward despite me reinforcing the fact that it was fully paid for.

My program directors called me three times asking if someone was going yet...and, frustrated, I kept having to say no.

About two weeks ago I noticed that something was extremely different. I didn't want to jump to conclusions by saying the seasons flopped in a single day, but now I'm not so cautious. One day, the sun came out and it just felt...warmer. I went up to the roof and soaked it in for maybe an hour until clouds came in and, each time one passed in front of the sun, it felt like the temperature plummeted 5 degrees or so. I also noticed the position of the sun rising above the mountains and setting down the valley. It seemed almost instant that we had more sunlight.

During most of May, June, and July we had about two very patchy days of chilly sun, and a lot of rain and wind. Suddenly, for the next two weeks, we had mostly sunny skies (with, of course, copious cloudcover especially in the afternoon). One of these lovely days I used to get to the top of Torre, meaning "Tower", the mountain I live on. I gleefully found it was 14,200 feet high, 4,000 feet above my community. But clouds stretched beyond and covered up the active Sangay volcano. And today, we woke to a completely blue sky, the first I'd seen in many months. It was dazzling!

My host left for the day and I spent my time enjoying the sun. I made (real) coffee from Jipijapa, thanks to Caroline, and a huge plate of naan bread that I devoured cross-legged on my cement balcony glassing over El Torre's beautiful grassy folds that sit above the worked land, too thin and steep for farming and dangerous for grazing (stories of horses tumbling down the mountain aren't all that uncommon). I juggled between a Spanish verb workbook, Nepali practice, and Three Cups of Tea which my parents sent me in a package that miraculously arrived two days before my birthday, over two months after they sent it. I'm really enjoying Three Cups of Tea, even more than Stones for Schools, because it covers the part of Mortenson's inital cultural adaptation, mistakes, and surprises that are different than my own but very relative. I've been getting back into reading after spending the last couple of months semi-obsessed with watching the extremely limited movie selection on my computer. I opened up my PC for Kindle program and, on a curious whim based on alphabetical organization, I started reading George Bush's "Decision Points". If I'm still in a political mood, I plan on following it with "The Audacity of Hope," "The Revolution: A Manifesto," "Bush At War," "Obama's Wars," "End the Fed," "Fiasco," "My Life," and "We Who Dared to Say No to War". So long as my computer doesn't quit me, I have a fountain of literature to choose from.

Around 3 p.m. when the wind picked up and clouds began rolling in, I went out to get some surveys done. I wanted to check on my garden first - the peas I planted months ago are finally blooming, and the radishes are maturing a lightning speed. A week ago, I took a bite of the first successful veggie I ever grew, an extremely peppery radish. I was disappointed to see that someone dug up all the school's carrots, even though they weren't yet as big as they could have been. I went around pulling up a few that remained to give to Moo and brought them home.

I could have stayed in, but I felt I had to get a least a couple surveys done so I went back out. Along the way, I met two men sitting on the low church wall talking and waiting for the bus. One was an employee at the Oficina Tecnica for Parque Nacional Sangay, and another was someone I knew of but didn't actually know, the father of the school director (my counterpart on paper, but he was seriously injured a couple months ago and I haven't seen him since). He asked the usual "Para donde?" which is almost as confusing as the also common "De viene?" Just out for a walk, I responded. And suddenly he launched into comparing the two mountains surrounding us as two towers (being named "El Torre"), like Twin Towers that won't fall...he was using them as a sort of bizarre allegory to say the towers here wouldn't fail the community if they used them for tourism.

I was really, really confused. But he continued: They have this Centro de Interpretacion (of resources, not language) that the community is trying to open and use, but it's no where near being ready. I already knew about it, but wasn't aware that some people have strong desires to see this center be further developed and finally opened. Was I going somewhere in a hurry, he asked. Of course not...so we three wandered down to the site of the Interpretation Center. And I saw it in a different light, having finally been introduced to the grounds by someone extremely enthusiastic about its potential. His enthusiasm was infectous. We followed a level, twisting path that I realized was wide and level enough for a car and connected to the main road. My tourguide explained his vision for lining the small road with native trees growing in the electric company's vivero nearby. The flat grassy area would serve as a parking space. A large, glisteningly new satellite dish sits fenced in outside the Center, ready to work but so far it's been useless. This man and others I've spoken with would love to see the Center stocked with computers hooked to the internet for community use. Peering into the Center for the first time, I was shocked. It's shining, brand-new. It's got sealed wood flooring and white walls, unfinished interpretive exhibits, maps and signs. My guide listed all kinds of adventurous outdoors activities for visitors to enjoy while supplimenting the income of community residents who might like to help. "There, there, and there," he said, pointing out what he hoped would be the three future sites of tourist cabins nearby.

"Hagamos!" he said, "Let's do this!", taking my hand with more relieved enthusiasm than anything else. "Trabajemos!" "Let's work together!" With our combined talents, we could finally get the Center up and running, he said. Is this maybe, finally, really, why I'm here? Have I found my main project and my counterpart? I invited him to the workshop in Quito, half expecting him to say it was too long to be away from work in the community. But surprisingly, he just responded by shaking my hand, a definitive "yes." As we walked back to the road, I told him, "I'm here to serve your community and I would love to work with you. I want to see this Interpretation Center working." He patted me hard on the back, saying to both me and the Ministerio man, "We're going to do this." The Ministerio man said his organization was still investigating if he could go to the workshop too. And I didn't say he couldn't anymore - if the three of us went together, it would be even more helpful because it appears to be a joint project.

I went home floating, thrilled that after all the dead ends and searching, maybe my career in the Peace Corps was starting. I went back to the balcony to read with the last rays of the evening and, instead of way down valley like two weeks before, a thunderstorm rolled comfortingly overhead. My host brought us up two bowls of popcorn and as I focused on talking with her, a chicken jumped into the bowl in my lap. My neighbor waved to us going up his house's steps and, with a big smile, just heard him say "Cristinita!"

I realized I hadn't been called 'gringita' in my community in months.

Are the tables turning?

Maybe...things are getting better. Or this is temporary. Either way, I'm actually having a great week - it's the best I've felt so far in site. I'll detail today, Thursday:

My host spent the night in Riobamba and asked me to do a bunch of chores for her which I don't mind doing so long as she doesn't complain about me not doing them right. I got up at 6:20 a.m., a little earlier than usual, and got garlic naan started. While the dough rose, I gave grass ("yerba") to the cuyes (guinea pigs) and rabbits and took some up for Moo who bangs against the cage door until I do so.

I don't know what's happened to me, but suddenly I like soup. If you don't recall, I eat soup about two times a day, every day. It's a very old custom in the Sierra...they've been boiling food since pre-Hispanic times. Because we're in Austral winter and it's so icy cold here every day, I'm beginning to look forward to the hot, liquidy meal. So this morning, I prepped lunch like my host does. I minced carrots, chopped up "white carrots" (parsnips), and added "white onions" (green onions in the States). Put in some oil, salt, and a ton of my spices from home including ginger, curry, tumeric, garam masala, and garlic. It smelled incredible!

After enjoying my garlic naan with a cup of white chocolate chai from New Mexico (thanks Becca!!), I got started on laundry. Sure, it was drizzling rain and icy cold outside, but I really had to wash a load. And it took me about two hours doing everything by hand. In the end, my railing was completely filled with sopping wet clothes that may never get dry, but at least they're clean.

Knit for a little while and ate my fantastic lunch!

Yesterday in Riobamba, my host handed me a box of lettuce seedlings when I got on the bus home. She'd stay behind, but she asked me to plant them in the finca if the weather was good enough. But the rain continued all day, drizzling off and on until around 3, right when I had decided to make naan yet again and drink more tea. I gobbled the meal down and rushed to get ready to take advantage of the weather window. But right when I was about to go, clouds rolled in and it started raining again. I figured I might as well go - got to get myself out more anyway.

There's a steep mud path around the corner of my house that leads up to what I call the "high road," another road that parallels the main road through town. Because it had been raining all night and all morning, apparently pretty significantly, the mud path was extra muddy. It was actually ridiculously muddy. Mud came up to my ankles but luckily I had the foresight to buy and bring Xtra Tufs...dozens of people have told me they want my boots. It's the insulation that makes them special here. Icy, wet mud does nothing to me except make one giant slip 'n slide down a mountain. Step by cautious step I made my way up. I imagined falling and sliding all they way back down to my house, and imagined that might actually be possible. A few folks stopped to chat with me, including a neighbor who loves to constantly tell me I need an Ecuadorian boyfriend.

Without falling, I made it to the top and continued on down the flat high road, stopping to talk now and then with people passing by. Generally though, the high road is sparsely populated and makes for a beautiful, thoughtful walk. The view is incredible of both the surrounding mountains and the town below with people working on their farmlands in between. Further down the high road, there are no more houses (there weren't many before), just forest and grazing land. It's so steep, even the livestock has an issue existing on the slopes. A couple weeks ago, a horse lost its balance and tumbled all the way down to the high road where its skeleton now lies.

Halfway there, eucalyptus trees begin lining the path. The mountainside of the road is an irrigation ditch babbling with clear water. From up there, you can hear the Rio Alao rushing below, a constant whoosing, roaring sound that fills the valley.

It takes about a half hour to reach my host's plot of land. There's a tiny wood bridge over the irrigation channel that leads up a short, steep path to the locked gate. Beyond is a narrow, long strip of extremely steep land that begins with a grassy field. As you ascend, you come across old fields that once hosted choclo (a type of corn). Keep going up, and you pass some potatoes about ready for harvesting. Keep going up, and footing gets increasingly difficult. Pass a cleared field ready to be tilled, and finally, you'll reach the bit of land we had just readied for planting. It's so steep, the dirt is literally falling off of it. A couple days ago, we planted cabbage, cauliflower, and lettuce seedlings along with carrot seeds. There was a bit of space left, so my host wanted to fill it with the lettuce seedlings. So I got to work, poking holes and sticking the 50 seedlings in them.

The weather kept clearing up as I continued, and when I finished, I was stunned at the view. Up valley, a rainbow formed. Wisps of clouds clung to the mountains which always makes them look so much bigger. Patches of blue sky appeared, and gray storm clouds could be seen many miles down valley.

Going downhill is so much trickier. If I fell, really fell, I would end up like the horse. I slipped a few times in the slick grass, but I held on tight to the blades when I did. I hated to leave that perch and the view, but I met a lot of really nice people on the way back. One of them was the president of the community, always a friendly face. I've been wanting to meet up with him for ages to talk but we hadn't been able to until that chance encounter. I asked if I could speak at the next meeting, so hopefully that will happen. On the way down the mud slip 'n slide, about halfway down, a couple working on their garden stopped me to chat.

My host still wasn't back. I fed all the animals again and heated up the soup and tea. When I finished eating, she arrived - and called me "Cristinita," always a good sign. She was delighted that I had cooked, and especially that there was dinner for her. I'm not sure I've ever seen her so happy, actually, and she gushed over the soup - said it was delicious about five times. Between the ready made meal, feeding the animals, and planting the lettuce, she was extraordinarily happy. She talked to me for over an hour, reflecting on a 20-year-old story of when she had cancer and how it was treated.

When she went to bed and I went upstairs, I noticed the night sky was actually perfectly clear. Eager to see some Perseids, I brought up my sleeping bag and flashlight to the roof where I thought I had the best chance of blocking out the town's lights. The Milky Way bridged the north and south sides of the valley wall, and uncountable numbers of stars filled the sky. I brought out my SLR and balanced it pointing up on a couple pieces of wood. Each open shutter attempt took an aching 70 seconds. The D300 doesn't have a remote shutter control like the D60, one of its major flaws, and I don't have its shutter cable, so I sat there each time holding the shutter open as still as I could. Despite the shakiness and light artifacts from the town, I took one of my best night sky photos ever:

So...that's a good day.