ecuador- - part two!

after ecuador’s lovely capital city, i bussed it to the market town of latacunga. on the way there, as opposed to the last time, one point five days prior, the robbery was NOT my fault! sure, I nodded off on the bus, but while clutching my bag to my chest for dear life, with the zipper facing me, the wallet deep inside…. and somehow they managed to not just take my wallet, for the wallet was still present, but take $90 worth of bills FROM my wallet and then replace it deep within the confines of my bag! i know i had those bills when i boarded because i paid for my ticket, and remember moving them to get to my change, and i know I didn’t let the bag fall or anything… so how the HELL they got that, i will never know. i was utterly dumbfounded and pretty pissed but the feelings faded quickly cuz there was absolutely nada i could do about it. i just kept telling myself- these people are likely even cheaper than myself, so hopefully they’re making my money proud. still… damn. gotta learn my lesson and wear that super annoying money belt.

i left my backpack at a hostel by simply telling them i’d stay there when i returned, and then ventured off to what i thought was going to be the small town of zumbahua, which was having an enormous market that day. the drive there was stunning with the lovely little patchwork hilltains and winding road, as usual. at zumbahua, due to the market folk influx, the bus became more packed than i have ever experienced (like, you don’t understand, for one- for me to say that is a strong statement because i’ve been on a helluva load of buses, and second- people were climbing over each other’s heads to move, screaming at the people hanging out the bus trying to hold on, all packed in like sardines- everyone’s personal space 100% invaded, it was mayhem- the lady beside me fell asleep while breastfeeding, which was funny) and zumbahua looked pathetic and horrid and the market looked like it was closing up, so i just ducked my head a little from the money collector man and stayed in my seat while locals all yelled, blaming us gringoes for the congestion since we were all going to lake quilotoa. oops.

so i went to lake quilotoa! every tourist on the bus (and actually, I was shocked by the amount of us for such a small place- i rarely ever see tourists on buses) unloaded here, and not one local. this gave me that “erg, tourist trap” feeling, and the fact that every local’s home had been converted into a hostel didn’t make me feel much better, but they still managed to maintain a very quaint, secluded feeling, which was nice. lake quilotoa is a crater lake, formed from an enormous volcanic explosion eons ago, and like most crater lakes, it is absolutely phenomenal. i think it’s probably because of it’s mineral composition and lacking any underwater life that the water can manage to change instantly into a million different shades of blue-green-grey depending on the cloud cover. it was even stunning as a dull grey, with its steep sides and beautiful surrounding, but when the sun revealed itself and it turned to emerald green or deep teal and it began to glitter like fireflies in the eve… the camera started clicking and just would not stop. very peaceful place to be. lovin life.

for some reason, myself and two very open guys just immediately bonded when we got off the bus, so we walked together up the road then ended up splitting a room and spending the following hours together. we hiked down the inside of the crater to the lake. my near-broken sandals in the very steep and oftentimes slippery sand made a mockery of me. i ended up just removing my sandals and hiking (or sliding, some might say) in socks, getting comments all along the way. a young girl followed me the entire time with her horse (to make me pay for a ride) and i told the others she for SURE thinks i’m not going to make it…. but oh, i’ll show her. and that i did.

that eve there were some hilarious dutch people there that were tipsy on some super gross local liquor and needed to return to latacunga that evening and were trying to convince our hostel owner to lend them a mattress for the back of the truck. smart. it was bloody FREEEEEZING. i had FIVE wool blankets and was still a little chilled. for some reason our cabin, and only OUR cabin!, was full of junebug-like beetle things. we didn’t know if they came because of the smell, or the smell came because of them… but our room smelled. normally I would take credit for any smells, but i was upstairs while they were down, which is definitely where it smelled. finally, it’s not me.

in the morning, i accidentally greeted jon with no pants on because i had no idea he was downstairs (eerily quiet), and virgil could be found feeding the bugs, alive or dead, to the chickens at our doorstep. i really had no faith in the survival of the bugs- most had died during the night, and the ones that hadn’t could be found slowly flailing their legs while flipped upside down, looking completely helpless (unless i flipped them over, aching with sympathy), so i didn’t get on his case about feeding living bugs to the delighted chickens. but when i was in the bathroom, i saw one spread open its wings in order to flip itself over (and thus survive) and my whole thinking on the subject changed! it was like another life metaphor for me… something really epic like “even when it looks like you’re super fucked, all you have to do is spread your wings”… i got all philosophical on the toilet.

i forgot my sweater while walking with four others, so i ran back and said i’d catch up. i was actually super glad that happened for two reasons. one: i don’t enjoy group hiking nearly as much as solo, and two: i ended up meeting up with a DIFFERENT, much faster and much more entertaining group anyway, and then passing my former group. the hike was around the crater top, and then descended into a valley, into a canyon, then up the valley and into a village. it was GORGEOUS and a perfectly strenous hike. how glad am i that i left the majority of my pack in latacunga? very, VERY glad. how much did i freak out on the little children on the trail that said what roughly translates to “gimme gimme”? very VERY much freaked out on them. i was so pissed that they’d been degraded to this- these self-sufficient people. not only that, but that all these young children see white people as just money money money and that bothers me. the first and last kids got the brunt of it because at first i was shocked, and later, fed up. the first kid ran up to me and i was all excited to be making contact with a lil kid. so very disappointed. the last kid asked me for it and i started shouting “look at my shoes- they’re worse than yours!” (falling apart, FULL of holes, my socks poking out the front, reeking of mildew, seriously) “i have nothing for you.”

i met the new boy on the top of the crater, right before the descent. they informed me that my bag was wide open and i went into slight-panic mode thinking i’d lost anything remotely important (camera, passport, money is all there is to get remotely upset about). nothing gone, phew. there was one older brit and three swedes my age. the brit was simon, super social, funny guy. then there was gorgeous and quiet joakim, and pierced and quiet and bad-ass gustav, and pierced and hilarious and flamboyant markus- the lovely swedes (seriously, i think this country is brimming with beautiful, beautiful people). they were probably the complete opposite people i would expect to find on a trek, but that just made it more fun, and they were surprisingly fast, so that was a plus. one part of the trail was super cool- i’m not entirely sure if it was natural or somehow carved out of the mountainside, but there was a narrow, 2-foot wide, open-top tunnel for a long ways.. it was neat and harboured crazy echos.

on the way back up the valley we paused for a break in front of a donkey on the hill. it got a little excited about the sudden company in this lonely lonely world, and produced the largest, strangest erection i have ever seen. seriously, it got huge at the bottom so it looked like a big bell hanging from his groins. everyone noticed, and simon was the the first to comment. we laughed then tried to change the subject, but it kept going back to the donkey. “i can’t stop looking!!!” simon kept shouting. i, of course, was hysterical. so we sat there for about ten minutes, staring at it and discussing, until it disappeared, and then so did we.

every local on the trail was so friendly, and i noticed an immediate difference in the town that gathers more tourists than the trail. not nearly as friendly nor welcoming. i bartered for us at two different hostels, we went back and forth three times until mama hilda won out with her charm and her whispers (she would always hold me back and whisper things like “okay make them keep their bags here so you have to come back” “you can have a discount, but shhh, don’t tell anyone else” (and man, she wasn’t lying, we got a 70% discount!) and we’d whisper back and forth about how lazy the boys were for not carrying the gas to heat the showers, even though they wouldn’t be able to understand us anyway, she was so cute). that eve we had a few beers and learned a game from the owner’s husband and played countless rounds of shithead. for some reason the inanity of playing cards has left my mentality and what remains is the strong desire to play and be sociable, while still strongly believing that cards are largely a stupid game of luck. the owner’s husband would let out this exaggerated and hilarious sound of disappointment half the time at which we would all laugh SO hard at the time, and yet afterwards we completely forgot. trust me though- hilAAAaaaarious. twas a good night.

we all decided to walk to sigchos the next day- a BEAUTIFUL walk! the sun threw huge shadows across the mountains in bricks, making them appear very basic, soft, lovely. at one spot, the three boys up front walked past a barking dog. i wasn’t at all worried, and ironically joakim noted that they never bite, so i didn’t even keep my eye on it- like, the ONE time i’m not in the least bit cautious of a yapping dog, and minutes later, i’ve even forgot the dog’s very existence, and it feels the need to remind me by running up and chomping on the back of my thigh. more than anything i was just SHOCKED, while joakim tried to throw small rocks at it and i tried to understand what the hell just happened. my pants were still intact, though covered in a dark slime from the dog’s mouth, so i wasn’t worried- it couldn’t have broken the skin, and I hiked my pants up as high as i could and couldn’t see blood. but later, after a short ride on the milk truck (how cute!), i got off and my leg was hurting a lot so i decided to take another look. the bastard in fact HAD drawn blood. simon kept going off about the facts of rabies and how you can die in days- and not a dignified death either!, and it’s not something to mess around with and you never know- saliva could have gotten into that little bit of bite. at the end of his speech i said, shakily, “yea….. i kinda wanna cry,” my last word cracking, followed by me breaking into tears, completely inconsolable for about ten minutes, til i snapped out of it and realized crying wouldn’t help my rabies heh. what’re the chances of being bitten?! jesus christ. oh well… allllll happens for a reason, right?

in town we waited for a loonnggg time for the bus, my feet were NOT havin it that day and were aching in pain the entire way (i’m sure my shoe quality didn’t help). at the bus terminal were young schoolgirls that simon was disgustingly but hilariously attracted to. what kind of school includes what my friends and i would formerly refer to as “ho boots” in their school uniform?! i don’t blame simon. i copied down his words directly after he said them so as to capture them in their full hilarity: “why is that schoolgirl turning me on?! look at that… that’s sexy! i’d go to jail for something like that. i can’t stop looking… it’s like that donkey penis.” oh, simon. at the restaurant, the boys’ soup contained hooves and thick, transparent pig skin with visible hair follicles before the shaven surface. i was just about sick. i think it was slightly hypocritical of the meat-eaters to not eat it, to be honest- what, too real for you? finally realize you’re eating an animal? but for the girl who doesn’t eat meat because she can correlate a breaded chicken breast with a living, breathing hen… this was just too much.

when we arrived back in latacunga, we stayed at the hostel i left my backpack at previously and i saw the magestic, snow-capped cotopaxi volcano with relatively little cloud cover from the hostel roof, and we ate at chinese. for some reason there are a million chinese restaurants in south america. good for me because they’re oftentimes the only places with vegetarian food. at the restaurant, the boys imitated gustav’s club dancing with hilarity, then gustav showed me the real thing, with a giant grin that made me so happy because one- he was a good dancer, and two- sober gustav RARELY smiles, and he has a nice smile so it’s nice to see it, without intoxicants. they were such fun and lively guys to be around.

the next morn, after my cold chinese food in bed and the boy’s fruit feast, we went off to baños, a town that hilariously translates to “bathrooms”, (though more appropriately, “baths”, for the thermal baths throughout the place). i didn’t hear from maria from ambato regarding volunteering, so i decided to go ahead without that. that REALLY pisses me off- i go out of my way to schedule things around an assumed volunteer position, i e-mail back and forth for weeks, i wait around places, i change plans, stay places too long, all so that i can help out… and my last e-mail is ignored, all contact broken off, no warning or notification that this will be the last e-mail my dear maria will be sending. NOT COOL- extremely inconsiderate. but it all worked out anyway.

after checking in at hostel plantas y blanco, we wandered around the first day looking for bike rentals for the next day. i found my volunteer position in a flyer in the bike store window- roberto from salasaca. all falling into place. i then found our bike rental from alfonzo, a man who later became known to us as luigi (he had a thick black moustache and was jolly like the character from super mario). i loved alfonzo. everytime i would pass by the shop, he’d yell something like “amigita!!” (little female friend!) and hug me or grin wildly and talk forever. i once said “¿mande?,” which is like saying “come again?” and he erupted into even greater happiness that i knew this term. then i told him that i’m glad i could use it here because in colombia it was rude to use it, and at this his eyes lit up further and he confirmed that i had been to colombia- yes- HE’S from colombia!-how did i like it?- loved it, the people- case and point- are phenomenal. and that’s when the friendliest ecuadorian i’d met became a colombian. it all made sense then. oh, colombia. he was also delighted to tell his ecuadorian wife that i had no problems in colombia, yet had been robbed twice thus far in ecuador heh.

every night went more or less the same. we all gravitated to the rooftop lounge area at whatever hour. we had a few beers, or i brought a bottle of rum and would treat everyone while spiking my own tea, then we’d hit the bar lane. half the time one song would come on where the CD would skip and the words “so nasty!….. so nasty!… so nasty!” would repeat innumerable times, sending us into hysterics. then usually we would go to leprechaun (the spanish pronounce it “lay-pray-ch-own”, rhyming with clown) bar to dance and get the free flaming welcome shot, then when it switched to salsa we’d stick around for a bit watching the amazing dancers and maybe dancing a little ourselves before heading to jack rock (they got sued by hard rock, so had to switch) café. here, flamboyant markus and i would always, unsuccessfully, attempt to start a dance floor, before we got tired and played foosball or sat and chatted or got sober and left. they played really good classic 70s rock there, but no one ever danced, not that that stopped us. one night i met segundo (how unfortunate- a name that translates to “second”- forever doomed to mediocrity from the very beginning, never to be first) and we played an intense game of foosball- he was pro-star (i suppose ironically, considering my previous remark rconcerning his name). we became friends that eve, even when his friend yelled at me. on the way to the after-hours bar, he started ranting about how i wouldn’t let guys touch me when I dance- he said it’s rude and inappropriate and pretentious. i told him i have my reasons and defended myself and then he started going off about women that come to ecuador just to have sex with latin men. where did this come from?! it took all my will-power to not laugh in his face because ecuadorians to me aren’t generally the most attractive men, but we ended up agreeing to disagree or something. it was so weird. but everytime i walked by segundo’s shop after that, we talked. it’s nice to not just be another tourist for awhile, to actually know people better.
my last night in baños, a guy came up to me at the bar and said “hi, I’m (whoever, i forget), you’re the one that likes to dance”. in four days i made my mark, it appears.

it’s super annoying when the hostel pulls metal covers down over the windows every night, and you come in at 3:30am (this was an EARLY night), without a flashlight, into your enormous entirely pitch black dormitory. i ran into people’s beds more than once, and after one night of that, i left my flashlight on my bed every night thereafter (but i still, therefore, did not avoid the initial stumbling entrance every eve).

anyway, day two all the boys were too hungover to bike, so we moved that idea to a different day and for that day i took a hike up to the bellavista mirador. a funny weirdo followed me all the way up, making what i knew were excuses about getting his horses and such. i allowed him to follow only because it was an open, popular path and he did not scare me the slightest and i was lacking quirk in my life. he told me he was a massuist and a palm reader and repeatedly tried to read me and fix me. he told me i had very little stress, and then went about relieving my (no) stress. i had to tell him to stop a lot because i thought it was really stupid and he for sure had no idea what he was doing and there was a slight “he’s just thinking of excuses to touch me” undertone. i know it sounds sketchy, but he was seriously 100% harmless and good-natured and always stopped when i told him to, plus he was a tiny little man. hilariously, at one point he told me that by touching my temples he could tell what I’d eaten that morning. he knew i was a vegetarian and he guessed every SINGLE possible vegetarian option without guessing my breakfast. entertaining. he finally left me on my return trip, going to find his horses, so he says. on the walk down i saw kids and in my head prayed they wouldn’t ask for gifts. what they DID ask for was my water, which i was delighted to share with them! i didn’t exactly want them slurping from my bottle (i’ve already got rabies, why add more probs to this poor body?), so i asked them if they by chance had glasses, and they of course held out their hands in cups. we did about six rounds of water, as i watched them slurp gleefully, and when it was too cute to handle, i was on my way again.

i tried to check out the thermal baths, and immediately turned back when i saw the pools of screaming, running, joyful yet anti-peaceful children running amok, and especially when i realized the two warm baths were those that were mud brown. even if natural, i just don’t like water that i can’t see through. i just don’t enjoy time spent in murky waters. call me princesita. again.

the next day we got a ride up the mountain in a truck, as far as it could possibly go before dying, then dismounted in the fog and zoomed down (to the point of terrifying!), and then all the way to a bunch of waterfalls between baños and puyo. i was for sure the last one because the speed was inteeeense. the beginning was not the best place to get my biking legs back on. it was steep, fast, wet and incredibly rocky. it made my ass feel like i’d been bouncing up and down on a gravel driveway for hours and on multiple occasions i felt like i might fly over the front handlebars. luckily it became pavement later on, but my precious bum was already ruined and it killed to bike after awhile.

pailon del diablo falls were gorgeous- narrow, big and dramatic. there was a sign that said “max 5 people” for crossing the bridge and we sat and ate and watched both the falls and the families of 20 stand on the bridge and talk, blatantly ignoring the warning.

i jumped off a bridge! maybe like 100 feet! aaaattached to a harness. not so crazy, but still AWESOME. especially for $5. it was supposed to be twenty, but we knew it could be much less, so i worked my cutesy charm and got it down to six. then he didn’t have change, so i got a 5 back accompanied by a sly wink. it was pretty frickin wicked- i wasn’t really nervous at all, and the 3ish second preliminary freefall was pretty exhilarating. i shrieked really loud and the belgian took three videos of me without me knowing. the boys went on biking while my sorry ass (get it?) joined the belgian at the other waterfalls. i forget its name, but this one was spectacular- one of the most magical falls i’ve ever seen. they fell straight down, without obstacle, and exploded in all directions at the bottom, smoothing out the rock surrounding it and looking similar to the water that sprays lightly beneath a hoovercraft. that doesn’t sound very elegant, but trust me, it was! on top of that, minutes after we sat and began eating my enormous oatmeal coconut cookie, the sun hit the water spray just right and a beautiful rainbow appeared right before us! perfection.

two of the mornings at the hostel i took steam baths. they’re little wooden boxes with holes in the top for your neck that fill up with steam and every 4 minutes (usually longer), you exit the box, get a rhythmic wipe-down with cold water and then re-enter the bath, four times. it’s really great, especially because i didn’t have trouble breathing in these since your head is out of the box. because of the hot-cold interchange, it opens your pores and detoxifies you and apparently because 90% of your heat is lost through your head, something is good about your head being in the colder air during the process. i felt soooo relaxed afterwards and the first time i slept for four hours afterwards and could have slept all day if i hadn’t dragged myself out of bed. i’d really recommend it if you can find it anywhere. the man that worked at the steam bath was really nice and i was always solo in there so we talked a lot and he told me i was very happy and friendly and laughed a lot (surprise!) and that i should never change that. i thought about it, and the truth is- some people just bring the happy out of me. there are many i’m not so joyous around.

so even though I left it for four days and risked sudden death, i finally got ahold of my insurance company and made myself go to a doctor for the whole rabies deal. the doctor was useless, simply sending me to the hospital. there was an english intern at the hospital who sighed after speaking with the doctors, ran his hands through his hair and said “okay, so you think you’re pregnant?”… i was so confused and said “what?!, no.. I’m here because I might have RABIES”, and he clarified that they can’t give the shots to pregnant women. aahhhh… that makes more sense. i felt like an idiot.. but at the same time thought the misunderstanding was pretty funny. then they sent me to a pharmacy because here, you buy your own needles (?!). in canada, the shots cost $1200 in total, for the vaccination and follow-up (after bitten). here, it’s free. i kept meaning to ask why they’re free, but i think a part of me was scared they’d say “oh wait, you weren’t charged?!” and i’d be out a grand or two. so i never got around to asking. as opposed to the bank account, the part of me that did eventually suffer was my poor abdomen. 7 powerful shots in a row in the same area, and then follow-ups- i had two-inch wide welts all over me and it hurt to bend over or, like, exhale. luckily, i had no other side effects. i ended up getting the rest of the shots while i started the volunteer work. one of the times in the pelileo hospital, they took me to the men’s observation room, made me just stand there and lift up my shirt while the three people standing next to me just watched in silence, heads cocked intently to the side, as i was injected, and i burst out laughing at the hilarity of the situation immediately after the needle was out of me. being professional is overrated. another time, the doctor who knew a few lines of english came up and started talking to me. i made him aware that there was an elderly lady with a fat eye and a deep gash below her brow waiting ahead of me and that maybe he should tend to her. he was a little taken aback, but he got to it. aha, whippin out the attitude in the face of injustice.
here in ecuador, it appears to be normal to just walk into other people’s appointments. i would just walk past the office every time and they’d usher me in. one time i stood beside a lady who had sliced the pad of her thumb off with a machete. welcome to ecuador.

the “big night” for baños didn’t end up being a big party at all- just a lotta peach wine and cheesy spanish romance music. i was nonetheless super hungover for my meeting with roberto, the volunteer man, the next day. phenomenal first impression. but luckily he didn’t make a much better one, being an hour and a quarter late and not even knowing he was late. then immediately asking how long i was staying and being very disappointed by my answer and asking the girl i was sitting with if she wanted to come, then tiredly getting us on our way, and not speaking much the entire ride (not that i was either, mostly because all i wanted to do was sleep forever). roberto’s mind seemed preoccupied and i still to this day don’t know if it was. we got off to a rough start, at least from my point of view, but we quickly made up for it. also, until i met him, i assumed he was a middle-aged ecuadorian… i don’t know what led me to think this, but the o added to the finale of his name and the fact that he was in an ecuadorian village, plus segundo told me he knew him and that he was from baños, even when i commented that his english was perfect… just everything led me to believe this. but robertO is actually robert, and he’s a 75-year old white american with, i’m sorry, horrid spanish. but i love him, so it all worked out! i don’t get to practice spanish as much as i would have liked, nor get the same ecuadorian experience i was hoping for, but it’s allll meant to be. we chatted that night over a delicious meal by his helper margarita fabiola, and went to bed by 9 (much needed at the time, but completely opposite from my 3:30am nights in baños). that bed was so cold. it reminded me of dad’s comment regarding the hostel in bogota- why don’t they just turn up the heat? this may not make anyone else laugh, but i told a few others in colombia this and we shared a good laugh- they just don’t DO heating down here, unless the place is small enough for a stove to heat it, and even then it’s rare. you just wear more clothes and blankets.

the days that began in salasaca (i say this because half the days began in ambato, i’ll discuss later), usually began by being awoken at 6-6:30am by the multi-megaphone man (for fifty cents you can make an announcement that covers the entire village of salasaca… and one of the four-megaphone posts is right behind robert’s house) screaming incoherently in a mix of spanish and quichua, we would eat our oatmeal and panela (sugar cane) and then walk the beautiful half hour trip to the school. it is a STUNNING walk- the roads all lined with enormous agave plants, these wispy trees very characteristic of the area, some beautiful and hilarious animals making beautiful and hilarious morning noises, the village folk all walking around, working the field, going to schools, opening shop. i always loved the walk, even when i talked so much while walking at high altitude that i had to stop and take a deep breath up the hills. at times tungurahua volcano was visible and shocking, at other times entirely veiled by clouds or its own smoke. it was like a constantly changing dramatic painting in the sky. i loved it. robert and i always had interesting conversations, morning or night. we think very differently so i think we bring very different perspectives to each other’s thoughts, and we often disagree on a subject or theory, but in a good way. our chats were always very thought-provoking, which i loved.

the kids at katitawa were great. at first i was kinda thinking “ohmigod what am i doing here?” as two of my four classes paid no attention to me and essentially refused to learn anything i taught them, even if they were fully capable, all while wearing their cutesy little faces and hugging me so I couldn’t just hate them and leave. this was incredibly frustrating and at times i fantasized about driving my foot through some smart-ass little faces, i’m not going to lie, but i knew it would get better. and it did. but i TOTALLY respect teachers now and feel guilty for the days i fell asleep in class, or wore the look of boredom unintentionally, or didn’t participate. i don’t think students realize how much they can affect teachers. it is so hard to stand up there and try to get people to learn that have no interest, and i don’t blame them for nervous breakdowns or crying or yelling or any of it because it’s super frustrating. and I was only teaching 2.5 weeks!!

anyway, the children all got better and i think they learned at least a couple things. the first class were four beautiful, wonderful angels who would learn everything i threw at them, would almost always pay attention, all wore beautiful traditional dress, would all greet me in the morning, then high-five me like seven times after class while awkwardly saying in english “see you layy-ter!”, then ask for an arm wrestle while they all knew I would win everytime. they would resist so much that we would spin in circles and i'd tell them "oh, now we´re dancing!!" i loved them and appreciated their angelic attitudes more than they’ll ever know. it was a lovely way to start the day.

then came my… challenges. alex was a complete sweetheart, but he wanted to show off in front of santiago so he’d join him in being a little terror in class, secretly hugging me and climbing onto my lap in between. he and santiago shot isabel looks of hatred i didn’t think were possible in children that age and their actions towards her expressed the same emotion. they were all a little bit miserable, at least towards each other. but we figured something out and they learned a little something, especially isabel who is probably the definition of teacher’s pet. i think i was like her when i was a kid and it makes me cringe with embarrassment, really.

the next class contained jessica, whom is a beautiful and manipulative little thing who would completely ignore me for the first two weeks, and i’d let her because it wasn’t a battle i was prepared to choose (or lose). then she would completely change when the othersd were out of sight and be my best friend... i didn´t understand her. edison, who we think is in love with jessica, would therefore follow suite half the time and not participate either. andy, a total sweetheart that tries to learn, but only by memorization, would at least participate, but get most things wrong because i would switch around an order to see if he actually knew the information and he would just spout off the former list, or “read” a book by simply reciting words he had learned by reading it the last time, hoping to strike gold with one of them. this had hilarious consequences when reading “the adventures of dick and jane”. i knew it would happen, i was just waiting for it. the book is already ridiculous, i swear the authors must be sitting in their studio giggling to themselves regarding the sexual inuendoes in this book, or it’s designed just to keep the parent’s interested as they read this stupid book to their kids. anyway, there are about 200 pages of lines like “oh, sally. oh, oh, oh. come, sally, come. look, look. look at dick.” so that already makes me giggle like a schoolgirl, but then when andy mixes up the words and wakes me from my lull of boredom by saying “spot wants my big dick”, instead of big cookie… i am forced to burst into laughter that confuses the children then just shrug it off, make a serious face and point back at the book while almost crying trying to hold the laughter back. so I’m stupid and immature, but when you’re reading 200 pages of the most boring and repetitive book i have ever encountered, ANYthing’s entertaining, and especially that.

the last class of the day were kids 3-7 years- absolutely adorable and eager to learn and participate and I basked in the love. with me, they learned how to sing “you are my sunshine” fairly well, and how to slow down your voice to mutated-cassette-sounding speeds while singing “head and shoulders, knees and toes” which was so cute and hilarious. even after christmas, they kept singing all the christmas carols they knew since i don’t think they fully made the jingle bells=christmas connection, even after we told them repeatedly. that, or they take as much joy in christmas songs (at whatever time of year) as I do. either/or. at recesses i would push them on the tire swings as alejandro yelled “more gasoline!!”, or spin them in circles until we both walked a little funny, dizzy in the head. they were a little bit like the light of my life. young children are amazing and so incredibly affectionate it kinda makes me want to cry forever with happiness. as much as i know i shouldn´t have favourites, wamari was my favourite- a brother to two of the angels in the first genius class. he would always put his hands in his little pockets of his trousers and walk around with his black or cream tunic overtop and oversized cap with long black hair flowing out from the sides. he’d look up at you with his enormous, but not naïve, eyes and crazy chubby cheeks and mini mouth. when we’d sing he would just stare at me and move his mouth in drastic motions trying to match mine for sounds, then at the end of a line, he’d scream the word, like “silence, silence, silence, SUN-SHIIIINE!!!” and his eyes would light up. so cute. speaking of that song, we were trying to explain the words to the kids in spanish (which was a little difficult when we realized that it’s not even remotely literal, but completely figurative “well kids, see, sunshine means the rays of the sun… but really, it means someone that means a lot to you… and skies are grey, well…. Well, nevermind, just repeat after me…”) when we got to the “how much i love you” part.
“i love you, that means te amo. now repeat: i love you. i love you.”
and pretty soon the entire class was absolutely shrieking “I LOVE YOU!! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU!” at crazy decibels at each other. i was laughing so hard. it doesn’t get much more adorable than that.
mikey doesn’t come to any of my classes because he can’t leave edison(his cousin)’s side except for edison’s english class. mikey has the biggest, dumbest, but cutest, eyes i have ever seen. he looks both piss drunk and slightly cross-eyed. he’s adorable and incredibly sensitive. you can find him rolling around in the dirt on the hill. and I’ve seen him peeing in more places than i care to mention.

on the second day, i took a ride in the “bus”. awesome. just picture 19 students, 2 teachers and myself… in one old-school, bright orange VW van. definition of hectic. i was showered with love and it was great.
all these kid’s games and books bring me back to my childhood HARD! what time is it, mr.wolf? berenstain bears, little critters, where the wild things are? i loved it all!!

one day i spun alex and santiago around and around and they jumped on my back and tackled me and such. by 10:30am that day, my pants contained much more sand that i would have ever cared for. extremely uncomfortable for the remainder of the day. but worth every grain.

in terms of the teachers, there are only two other than robert (who joined me half the time). luis… was quiet. i don’t know if he hated me or if that’s just how he is, but after his polite morning handshake, he tended to completely ignore me and i think I’ve seen him smile just once. that’s okay. i think i just don’t understand him, apparently he’s an absolutely amazing teacher. he’s also hilarious in how he responds to tragedy- whenever someone gets kinda hurt in a funny way, like when alicia kicked darwin in the face when i released her on the tire swing, he just bursts out laughing, in a point-and-laugh childish, but hilarious, kindof way. i like it, it’s so much less serious.
the other teacher is rosa maria, who started the school up all by her very self. i LOVE her! she reminds me a lot of mrs.gailits, my grade 6-8 art teacher. for that fact alone i would probably love her (being the teacher’s pet that I was! and the fact that i really loved mrs.gailits), but on top of that she appears to hold the dignity of the world in her worn face and wise eyes and stern but kind smile and genuine laugh and calm voice and sincere eyes. seriously, every part of her is so… defined. it’s so hard to explain, but she is one of the purest and immediately respected people i have ever met. she was always so kind to me, helping me with all these crazy ecuadorian spanish words and patiently answering all my questions about salasacan culture and bringing me into her home and remembering i’m a vegetarian! i really enjoyed my time spent with rosa maria.

on weekends and on some weeknights, i would go to ambato, a city nearby, and paint the hostel/spa that the foundation owns, and to which all proceeds go. i liked thinking that i was hopefully donating much more to the foundation monetarily in making the hostel look nice than i could ever do so via my bank account. it was super fun and i actually learned a ton about myself, somehow. i learned that i need to see a project all the way through- don’t like seeing it unfinished. i learned that i LOATHE “all talk”- it drives me insane, and i work well with dreamers to make things happen, get things done. i loathe the stagnancy and suspense of “all talk”, no progress, i need to make dreams a reality, stop beautiful ideas from wasting away. i learned that i really only take charge when i decide to, or when no one else is. i’m sorry to my mother and megan, but it’s because you were so clean that i was so messy! Here, i clean up, but only because robert’s slightly messier than i. i also learned that I only fully commit to something when I’m confident i can do it (like painting)- fully knowledgeable. i feel very uncomfortable doing things i don’t know how to do, and enjoy learning the skills to be able to do more. i don’t know why I’m telling you all this. the chances of you giving any little ounce of a shit are very, very slim.

on another note… robert drinks apple cider vinegar (it’s actually shockingly delicious in warm water) and inhales hydrogen peroxide every morning while preaching of its benefits. robert has a glass cabinet of his most prized possessions- a hunchback of notre dame cartoon shampoo bottle, a plate of gold angels resting on the side of an upturned mini-wagon, a silver baseball man and- the piece that had me crying in hysterics- what looks like a super tiny silver-faced prince that has had long brown hair glued to his head and is now wearing a giant gueen’s robe. CRYING, i tell you- it’s the most awkward little doll-like thing i have ever seen. robert and i work well together, i think, because he has a plethora of wonderful ideas, but a little trouble carrying them out, he admitted himself, whereas, as noted earlier, i am to the contrary. robert is a hilarious, good-natured and -energied, cynical, quirky, genuine, well-rounded, intelligent guy with a laugh i love to summon, but he allows himself too often to be used by young ladies because he’s incredibly generous. i made a habit of keeping “robert” quotes, so here are a few that made me laugh really hard at the time, but may or may not translate as well to script:
- re: opera- “i can just sit here and close my eyes, and it puts me to peace”, as his eyes glaze over, blank stare, and his mouth gapes slightly, pauses so long that i wonder if he will continue… and then his brows and shoulders raise in a shrug and he subtly notes with an “i dunno” hand gesture… “and i… can’t understand a word he’s saying.”
- “or we could just, like, mush the furniture?”- myself
“what’s mushing?”- robert
“hmm.. like… dry-brushing? put on paint, rub it off”- myself
“ahh, okay, yea. (a wise nod and thoughtful eyes) we could mush it.”- robert says with a straight face, now sincerely using my stupid word as a technical term.
- “we could have twinkling lights above the fabric, like little stars… and then in the background we could have (he starts singing) twinkle twinkle, little star…”- robert
“even better, have the school come in- all the kids singing!”- myself
“yea, standing in the corner (he imitates them) twinkle twinkle, little star…”- robert
“ah yes, but without us leading them, so it just sounds like “wink-o wink-o i-ll estaaa”- oh how peaceful it would be in this spa!”- myself.
By this point we were both laughing hysterically at the thought, crying with laughter in a small, quiet café in ambato.
- “who uses veneer for an exterior door?! what were they thinking?! i’m going to replace this patch though with brown veneer… maybe in ten years we’ll have to replace it. let’s see, ten years, 85, yea i’ll be gone by then. then someone ELSE will ask “WHY did they use veneer on an exterior door?! what were they thinking??””
- “or maybe i just dreamt that” is a common expression. like about his comment about an experiment where mice raised on sugar water died while mice raised on water alone lived- who dreams about that? also, his remark about how to make his tree tomato stew concoction- a dream may have told him that it needs to be hot whilst eaten. Crazy man.
- i once told roberto that it was great, and rare, to find someone (he) that eats slower than i, and ever since, everytime he finishes before me, either he or i loudly shout “first!!”

my god this is long, and I’m not even halfway there…. So I’m just going to give up for now. but not before, drum roll please, RANDOM ADDITIONS!:

- i think i’m going to have a little culture shock when i return in the form of not seeing so many children in canada. there are so many goddamn kids here. in fact, maternity clothing here isn’t in its own special store- it’s EVERYWHERE because it’s almost more common than normal clothing.
- one night i was writing in the kitchen in salasaca when i realized the silhouette of the agave shoots against the sunset was gorgeous, so i got my camera. RIGHT as i was about to snap the photo, a rooster jumps up onto the wall’s edge directly into the lens’ view, not ten seconds later followed by another. that forced a shocked laugh from me- how random. welcome to salasaca.
- here, my name is how they shorten graciela- to ciela (pronounced shayla) apparently. my name means something diffeent in every country!! how exciting!
- i don’t think being verbally grateful here in salasaca means an awful lot. on top of that, kids are rarely as such anyway. so i began to wonder… if they do not say thank you or look at you with gratitude or anything, does that mean they’re ungrateful? is there a point in giving anything at all? is it appreciated? if you don’t verbalize or show gratitude, do you feel it? if so, do you feel it in a way that matters? do kids have the ability to be grateful like that? (i don’t remember if i was grateful as a child, but probably not) if not, does that mean it’s an entirely learned “skill”? this would explain how the entire culture here is like this. or maybe they do show it and it’s culturally expressed an entirely different way than i’m accustomed to. do you have to realize you’re grateful in order to be thankful? i feel like this is so. but does any of it matter- why do you need to be grateful? being grateful and appreciative is really important to me, but i’m welcome to other points of view on the subject, or other ways of expression… and i’ve obviously thought about this too much.
- “claro” in spanish translates to “clearly” in english, and i LOVE the usage here! they draw it out- claaaaro, as if to say “cleeeaaarly, you tool”. almost a bit rude and pretentious used alone, but here they use it all the time and it makes me laugh- as if everytime they’re insulting me, degrading my intelligence, enhancing my idiocy in one simple word. and that’s okay.
- you can pop corn on a stove in a pot! who knew?! You don’t need a microwave bag or a popcorn maker. i’m an IDIOT. i deserve all the “claro”s latin america sends at me. robert and i eat a lot of popcorn. i told him he eats as much popcorn as i eat but would probably be embarrassed to tell anyone else, and i told him i’m glad to have found someone who eats it as much as i do.
- as you might imagine, it’s shocking and painful to watch the bank account drop as it does while travelling for this period of time, plummeting like it has never plummeted before. but it is still entirely worth it. and I’ve become strangely both more AND less attached to money- this has certainly been the height of my cheapness, this very time in salasaca- i am LITERALLY worrying about mere cents, since my trip to totoras costs 18 cents, so every penny matters. i didn’t think it was possible to become any cheaper than i was before. but at the same time, money has become more “well money’s just money” to me than it was before- i feel that as long as i spend it relatively wisely, enjoy the results, that it’s all worthwhile.

aannndddd I’m off. much, much more to come. i’m sorry.
i love you.
shayla.