I'm back!

The best thing about blog writing is it is my memory online. I traveled to Europe for two weeks and wrote this to my family:
Grützi (hello in Swiss-German),

On our red-eye flight, about 7 Orthodox Jews who never sat down and were always talking even when every one was sleeping, throughout our entire flight. The girl next to us wouldn't sit next to Jeremy because he is a man. One was sleeping in the aisle until a stewardess found him. Strange.

So that's it. I'm moving to Switzerland, the land of green mountains, bicycles, no wars ever, high standard of living, international consciousness. It only takes 10 years to become a citizen...ha. So far, my stay has been wonderful. Donat (his name is actually Donat Beer, like "donut beer") and Heidi, our hosts, have taken us to the mountains, taken us biking around town and on paths next to the mountains, and cooked for us and serve us wine every night. Jeremy's dad makes some great friends (that's how we're here...Donat and Jeremy's dad worked together). Donat is a school teacher, and Heidi is a secretary. Donat speaks English well, though he mostly speaks British English, despite living in the US for two years. Heidi speaks English, though not as well, and Jeremy and I quietly laugh at some of the funny things she says. They're both about 60, but act very young, taking us for bike rides, drinking until midnight, that kind of thing.

The Swiss are very friendly, and many will speak to us in English when they figure out we are American. The Swiss typically know so many languages: Swiss German, German, Italian, and English. Some know French too, depending on the part of the country they live. I only know a few expressions in Swiss-German, but it's fine when we're with Heidi and Donate. The streets are very clean, and there are these large fountains with pure mountain water you can drink from all over the city. There are areas that are free from cars, and where there are cars, the cars stop for you immediately if you are a pedestrian trying to cross. I've almost never had to wait for a car to pass by. The Swiss seem to be very critical of the US's politics (Donat gives Jeremy and me passionate history lessons every day), but at the same time like the American people. Switzerland is a direct democracy, and they typically vote 10 times a year on issues that are in their canton, instead of our elected idiots voting for things.

I've fallen in love with Chur, Switzerland, with a population of 37,000 or so and an hour and 15 minutes away from Zurich by train, with mountains surrounding it. Everywhere you look is mountains and well-kept gardens and pale-colored houses, with people constantly greeting one another on the street. People walk and bike to work all the time, and the buses and trains are really nice and quiet. We spend our days walking around, sitting at some cafe outdoors, walking some more, and then going home to something nice Heidi cooked for us, and then drinking and talking all night.

It's so strange being in a country that seems so much better than the US in almost every way (except everything is expensive since the dollar is a lot weaker than the Swiss Franc...just paid 300 dollars each for our train. eck. ). Since I've only visited Ecuador and Mexico, I've made negative comparisons with much of the infrastructure and standard of living, it's quite a change.

We will be leaving for Belgium on Monday and traveling for 10 hours by TGV (literally, train of great velocity) train throughout France. We get to stop for a little bit in Paris.

Belgium

Switzerland


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I have photos and a lovely photo book J made for me, but I cannot recall my exact thoughts like I can of my experience in Ecuador. This little email is all I have of my trip after graduation, and thus my memories are truncated. Even though Ecuador was a year and a half ago, I can summon my thoughts and feelings with such ease due to the writing, editing and rereading process that this blog forced me to do. So, I've decided my blog will continue, but of my life here in Hyde Park and at UIC for my DPT (Doctor of Physical Therapy). I doubt many will read it, and it only may be of interest to those in a similar situation, but because of the possibility people will read, I hold my writing to a higher standard and hopefully will write with more frequency.

Orientation begins tomorrow, and I am excited to leave the world of babysitting and sitting on the couch contemplating my future for a world of textbooks, cadavers, and educated people who share similar interests.

I'm not unhappy with how summer has turned out, just what I did this summer could not keep me happy forever. Summer has been breezy and carefree, with work interspersed just enough to feel like I'm doing something. I've done some reading (for fun!), trained (and still training) for a half-marathon, went out for icecream and dinners with J and his friends and family, and walked around observing Hyde Park's beautiful parks and architecture. It's been exactly how summer should be: make money, travel, read, relax, repeat. Now, starting tomorrow, I finally will begin the 3-year-long journey of physical therapy school, which will certainly have much less relaxation, but will bring me closer to a fulfilling career.

May 15 (late though)

I lazily walk into the kitchen in my pajamas one night:

Mi papá: What a nice life, spending the whole day sleeping.

Yo: No, I was studying, but in bed.

Mi papá: Ahhh…studying Kama Sutra. 

That short conversation summarizes my host dad perfectly.  Every few sentences are punch lines and everyone chuckles but me.  Mi mamá will usually ask me if I understood his joke and either explain it to me, or say, “Good, it’s better you don’t understand.”  I feel uncomfortable around him because most times I don’t get why his words make sense because I don’t understand what he’s saying is a joke, but I think I would still feel uncomfortable (and maybe even more) with him if I could understand what he says.

One night mi hermano hurt his hand badly by horsing around in the house and had to go to the doctor with mi mamá.  He was screaming and crying in agony, the kind of noises one would make if his finger got cut off—more of horror than of pain, and more than a 13-year-old boy would ever be willing to admit.  Mi papá, expecting dinner, came home after mi hermano y mamá had left, but mi hermana was the only one there and dinner hadn’t been started.  He started yelling, “What happened to dinner?” at mi hermana repeatedly, though it was certainly not her fault dinner wasn’t served the second he got home.  Qué machismo was my thought.  When mi hermano returned, mi papá bellowed some very bad words as he whipped both mi hermana and mi hermano with a belt.  Whimpering, the kids shuffled to their beds to cry.

I grew up never being hit in my life and never witnessing it, so it was surprising to see this form of punishment when my life has been so different.  Therefore, in my perspective this is a terrible thing to do when it may not really be as damaging as I perceive it, but my child psychology professor said that hitting children should never be used as a form of punishment because it creates fear and besides, negative reinforcement is not as efficacious as positive reinforcement.  Mis padres don’t ever applaud them for behaving well or encourage them to study.  They usually do their chores when asked, but they still get yelled at once in a while, but last week was the only time I’ve heard them get hit.  It should be mentioned, though, they do a lot more chores than my siblings or I ever did.  I don’t know if hitting children is a SES thing or a cultural thing, but I haven’t heard my friends’ say anything like this about their host families.  Hitting occurs in the U.S. mostly among low SES families, so I imagine it is the same here.  

I can’t believe society has not progressed enough to realize children matter.  Learning and developing human beings deserve love and respect no matter what foolish things they do.  However, abuse of all forms is widespread.  Children who have been abused are more likely to abuse their children, and the cycle perpetuates.  In my world, expecting parents should be interviewed or tested on their knowledge of the child psyche before their baby is born, and if they fail, they should take a child-raising course because really the only way to stop forms of mild abuse is to prevent it.  Child services won’t take a child away from the parents if the kid has a few welts on his behind. 

My friend here in Ecuador said that Ecuador is similar to how the U.S. was in the fifties, and she’s more correct than she probably thinks.  I went to a Mother’s Day performance at the grade school in Lumbisí and in two of the performances the children wore blackface and some had fake big lips dancing unskillfully to traditional dances.  It was unsettling to see something I’d seen in history class on old film in front of my eyes and no one looked the least bit outraged.  What was strange as well was that there were actually Afro-Ecuadorians there who performed traditional dances too.  I didn’t understand why they had to have mestizo children do it when there already were qualified people to represent their own culture.  Apparently, most Ecuadorians don’t see it something as obvious to estadounidenses as blackface is as racist.  I don’t know how Afro-Ecuadorians, 5% of the country, feel about it though.  Ecuador never had the Civil Rights Movement and doesn’t see racism as a problem or even existing probably because Afro-Ecuadorians never stood up like African Americans did in the U.S. or have the same numbers they do in the U.S.  Granted, indigenous Ecuadorians command much more respect than our indigenous people. 

The way blacks are regarded in Ecuador seems to be how Native Americans are treated in the U.S.  Black people in Ecuador are a small percentage, like Native Americans, and indígenas have larger numbers than Native Americans.  Also, the Native Americans never had a movement like the indígenas did.  While I see Ecuador as extremely racist toward blacks, the same can be said about the U.S toward Native Americans.  This is just a thought—and it may be a little insensitive to compare these groups, but it seems that a minority group needs to unite in large enough numbers to protest injustices for repression to be mitigated. 

One night while the group and I were at our program coordinator’s mansion in Cumbayá, (she owns a signed Guayasamín painting fyi) I was sitting with my black friend, her friend, and her mom, who was visiting Ecuador for the week.  All the host moms were cooking humitas, a corn and cheese traditional dish wrapped in a cornhusk, and one host mom kept looking at April’s mom.  April’s mom commented loudly about it, and the mom’s daughter who knew English replied, “She just likes your dress.”  My friend’s mom didn’t believe that and voiced her sentiments amongst our little group, but wanting to be overheard.  The Ecuadorian daughter retorted, “My mom’s not racist” which started a little argument that neither got too heated nor resolved.  It was ironic that Afro-Ecuadorians were performing later that evening at the program coordinator’s house. 

My friend wrote a paper on the different experiences between students of different races studying in Ecuador, and from talking to her, my experience is very different from hers due to race.  We both have gone to the university on weekends to use the internet, but she has only been stopped at the entrance to be questioned.  Kids in Lumbisí ask us questions related to the U.S. or English words only when she’s with me.  Ecuadorians stare at us both, but for separate reasons.  My friend has the ability to blend in more, but blending in as an Afro-Ecuadorian means she’s associated with criminals—better hold on to your stuff.  Me, I can go tanning all I want and never blend in, but at least no one mistakes me for a lower-class citizen.  I’m not condoning racism in the U.S., but from what I can tell, racism is more palpable here.  Ecuadorians aren’t hyper politically correct like most of the U.S., which can be a good and bad thing, but when my friend told me a black student left Ecuador early because he couldn’t handle the racism, I’d take political correctness. 

Living in a developing country is like taking a step back in time; sometimes it’s refreshing, but sometimes it’s not.  I usually glamorize past eras, but looking at a developing country is like peering into a little window to an inchoate U.S., like the easy example of piles of garbage along the highways, litter on the sidewalks, trash on the beach in Ecuador now, which all was the same in the U.S. some years ago.  It’s not a completely true comparison because this is a different culture and things like technology still reach it (so it really couldn’t look like the 50’s), and no country should strive to emulate the U.S., and maybe some things here are even eons better than the U.S. (gasp!)  

For better or worse, living in a different country for four months allows me to see its ugly side, but I’ve seen a lot of physical beauty—last weekend I went to a rose plantation and a hacienda built on ancient Incan ruins.  I have finished classes and taken all my exams, so this week is being spent taking salsa classes, taking informal lessons in Spanish with my friend and a Spanish teacher, pining for Jeremy, glancing at my GRE book, and thinking hard about my last four months.

At an hacienda built on Incan ruins.

 Flower plantation

Update:  Jeremy has arrived, and we’re exploring Centro Historico. 

April 12

I was the madrina for my sector/soccer team in Lumbisí two weeks ago. Holding roses and a soccer ball, I paraded with my sector/soccer team up to the soccer field in the scorching sun. Caked in sunscreen and bug spray, I smiled at the people and my friends who live in Lumbisí. At the end, the madrinas were graded (on what—who knows, but felt very sexist because there were no women on the teams) and three won, and first place was a foreign light-skinned girl (go figure). Mi padre said I wasn’t in the contest for some reason, which is fortunate because I didn’t want to win and because I was the most rubia I probably would’ve. The madrinas are supposed to attend the soccer games of the team they represent, but I’m sure mi padre, who’s on the team I represented, will forgive me for probably never attending a soccer game.

More of Lumbisí...

The universe's best dryer.

More dogs than people, not kidding.

Learning to walk.

These past 10 days have been the most fun and most terrible of my stay here. Fortunately it started out terrible and turned amazing. My two friends, Hannah and Alyssa, and I left for the airport on Wednesday after class for our plane to Lima, Peru. Hannah and I arrived two hours before, but waited for our Alyssa who was taking a midterm for a while before we checked in. Check-in went smoothly, and we arrived at the gate twenty minutes or so before our boarding time. The screen next to the gate said “pre-boarding” and no one was in line. A woman checked our boarding passes and told us to wait until we hear our rows called. About 10 minutes past our leaving time the screen changed to “departed” and I ran up to ask what happened. “Se fue” are the worst Spanish words ever. Our plane left right in front of our eyes. Three intelligent college students managed to miss a plane while being at the gate before boarding time. We must have been in the bathroom when the plane boarded early and the woman who checked our boarding passes didn’t notice we were supposed to be on the plane. After those terrible two words, a woman whisked us off to the office and we eventually paid about $150 to change our flight to 24 hour later after fighting it for an hour in Spanish. They told us the only thing we could do was send a letter, and changing our flights with the same airline was the cheapest option. There was a moment I thought I wasn’t going to Peru. None of us had any extra money so all three of us, crying, called our parents for guidance. It made me realize how we are still not quite independent yet. Hannah and I went home together and the taxi driver ripped us off. He claimed that I didn’t say “el parque” (the park) of Lumbisí, when I clearly did, and he changed the price on us because it was farther than he wanted to drive. We were too upset to argue, though, and with our luck that night…

I could barely sleep because I knew I had to change my connecting flight with another airline the next day, which was the most disastrous and stressful part of this disaster. I spent hours trying to get someone to talk to me, partially with mi padre on the phone, trying to explain the situation. Understanding Spanish on the phone is difficult, but when I got switched to an English speaker (multiple different ones) it was worse. Their English was a few nouns and uncongagated verbs with a poor accent even though I was transferred to “English speakers.” Mi padre was trying to help, but he was making it worse, asking if I wanted frequent flier miles and not understanding that I simply needed to change my flight to the next day. Sometimes he just doesn’t listen to me. He also has never flown with an airline. I thought I was never going to make it to Peru and spent the whole morning in tears because I had lost so much time and money over something so preventable.

However, he somehow got someone to change my flight for free, when it should’ve cost $50. Hannah had to change it for that amount and Alyssa didn’t reserve her flight that morning so she needed a different flight without us, which was the first of many problems of her trip. We did the exact same thing the next day, except we arrived 3 hours early (taking no chances that time). Everything went smoothly, and we planned on camping out in the airport in Lima because our connecting flight was at 5:45am, but after talking to a guard, we decided against it. We slept in a hostel for 3 hours and returned to the airport without our other friend, who was on a flight much later. A taxi driver ripped us off by charging us $30 for an 8-minute ride. He said it’s because he was “official.” He told us 30 when we got into the taxi, which we assumed was in soles, Peru’s currency, which is equivalent to $10, but he meant dollars. We ended up paying a lot of money for a paltry 3 hours of sleep.

Statue or human...or both?

In Cusco.

Flying over Cusco was beautiful with all the mountains. We stayed in a cute hostel, Hospedaje Turistico Recoleta, for $10 a night during our stay. Cusco is annoyingly touristy, but is the most beautiful city to walk through. We visited a few small museums and perused the markets. Recurrently, locals applauded our Spanish ability after only saying a few words. People in tourist towns have rock bottom expectations. We met several tourists who didn’t know any Spanish, and I know if we were the same, we would have been so confused about everything. One night we met up with a bunch of Australian couch-surfers, and a Cusco dweller planned out our entire Sacred Valley day for us. Meeting fellow travelers is delightful; South America attracts all the cool travelers.

We were one of the few people to go to Macchu Pichhu and see the surrounding sites without any guides, which would have been nearly impossible without knowing some Spanish. It was so painless to be a vegetarian in Cusco (and Peru in general) and the food was great. We were still without our friend that day and the next because our friend missed her flight and was stranded in Lima with no money and no phone. My friend and I bought tickets to Machu Picchu and train tickets, but it was a confusing matter because Machu Picchu just opened up a few days before. The train tracks had been destroyed due to mudslides, and no one had the correct information, and according to a couple, who used to work for FEMA, said they were not ready to run the trains because it was chaos and hazardous.

 In Machu Picchu/horror movie

Luckiest llamas.

Before Machu Picchu, we visited the Sacred Valley, seeing two beautiful and very different sites: Pisac and Ollantaytambo. Pisac was quite a hike and not crowed at all (we almost got lost), while Ollantaytambo was the opposite, compact and crowded. We ate a wonderful restaurant http://www.heartscafe.org/ that’s completely non-profit, which was recommended by a wacky retired Texan. We took taxis and buses until we got to our train to Aguas Calientes, where we stayed the night. Our friend couldn’t get the same train as we could so she took the train before us and couldn’t get a returning train. We expected her to be at our hostel waiting for us, but unbeknownst to us, she had seen Machu Picchu and left before we got there so our reservation was given to someone else. She had the wrong number of the hostel and our phones didn’t work in Peru, so we were worried about her. Our train was delayed a couple hours, so we arrived in Aguas Calientes near midnight with no hostel and no friend. We found one with vacancy and slept a few hours and woke up early to take a quick bus up to Machu Picchu. We climbed Waynapicchu, which is supposed to give you this amazing view of Machu Picchu, but it was cloudy. It was surreal and mystical nonetheless, an ancient world in the clouds surrounded by mammoth mountains. The buildings were impressive and the fact that no one knows why Machu Pichhu was built amongst these treacherous mountains makes me want to write trite superlatives and type multiple exclamation points. The train home was annoying because they simply cancelled our train without any sort of announcement. Hannah and I are always paranoid about missing transportation, so we did a good job of getting on the next train after asking half the train station if they were on our train.

Drizzle.  Llovizna en Machu Picchu.

We left the next day for Lima and spent half a day touring the city. Lima is large, busy and loud, but we saw some beautiful parks in the center of the city by a double-decker tourist bus. We left next morning (another complicated affair—gate change without notification, signs, or screens and there was something wrong with Alyssa’s ticket) but we made it to Guayaquil and toured the city. Guayaquil was more noise and chaos, but we walked though some beautiful urban renewal projects: the excellent new boardwalk on the Pacific, the Malecón and an old but completely renovated section of town, Las Peñas. The next day we took a bus to Salinas, probably the nicest family beach in Ecuador. We went during the week during off-season, so the beach was not crowded, and our hostel was close to the water. It was a nice end to a crazy vacation. We all ended up getting burnt, but it was worth the perfect weather and water, but as for food, I had a nice long black hair in my lunch. I’m not picky about food, but it has to be food. Hygiene and service in restaurants in Ecuador is not what it is in the states. The waiter just smiled awkwardly and didn’t do anything until I took a look at the bill and told the waiter I wasn’t going to pay for my meal. Mi mamá said she found a bug in her meal once and told the waiter, but no one did anything.

We then took a two-hour bus to Guayaquil and an 8-hour night bus. It’s common for long-distance buses to get stopped during the night for checks. The first time police stopped our bus and had us all get out and they searched our bags. At 2 am, two policemen got on dressed in camouflage (police usually look like the military), and out of everyone in the bus, only checked Hannah’s and my passport and censo. I’m assuming it’s because we look the most foreign, and it was definitely discriminatory. If I were a minority in the U.S, I would be outraged if that happened, but because I’m in Ecuador, I guess have to go by their rules. I’m not going to argue with men in camo and big guns.

General thoughts. I feel much older and wiser after this trip. I hate the feeling of everyone trying to take advantage of me in Latin American countries. I think about my whiteness a lot. I hate the catcalls, whistles, words, and kissy noises I get for being a young woman. It was stressful not being with anyone older and more responsible, and I wish we had more time in each place so every day didn’t feel like the goal was to not miss transportation. Once I have enough money saved, I want to some serious traveling, like all the 30-somethings we met who took a year off to travel. None were American. I love how helpful fellow travelers and locals were. Losing money won’t ruin a trip. Tourist places are touristy for a reason.

March 25

Last weekend I hung out with mi familia, and I went to an Ecuadorian concert with mis padres.  It was near the teleférico in this large building, with thousands of middle-aged Ecuadorians.  It was a promotional concert run by the company that gave my host dad a loan.  It was free, but it was so obviously promotional, it was annoying.  We clapped for the businessmen of the company and listened for our numbers to be called to win a toaster or insurance.  The concert included an Elvis Presley impersonator, a popular Ecuadorian singer, and an Ecuadorian band, but the other stuff in between was a bummer.  We stayed until 1 am, and I was almost falling asleep on the shoulder de mi mamá.  We danced a little and drank some free rum, but I kept laughing to myself that I was sitting between my host parents amongst a thousand forty year old Ecuadorians at some concert put on by an insurance/ loan company. 

Mi mamá, mi hermana y yo en el estadio

I

 Innovative

I played a little basketball and soccer with my family Saturday, and stayed in the rest of the weekend due to stomach problems.  For about a month now, my stomach has not been quite right.  The annoying part is I don’t know the cause.  I have never had stomachaches unless I had the flu back in the U.S., and here it’s every other day.  It’s not bad enough to see a doctor, but it’s uncomfortable.  It seems my stomach does not like Ecuadorian food or the bacteria on it.  What I’m looking forward to most when I get back to the U.S. is a healthy stomach.  Hopefully before then my stomach will adjust.    

My friends and I finally got our Peru plans straightened out, and we are all flying instead of taking a 24-hour bus (thank goodness).  We’ll fly from Quito into Lima on Wed the 31st, then Cusco, back to Lima, to Guayaquil, and a $6 bus from Guayaquil to Quito before classes start on the 12^th of April.  I’m excited to see another Latin American country and of course, Machu Pichhu.  Guayaquil should be interesting too, because then I will have stayed in the three largest cities in Ecuador.  (Haven’t done that in the U.S. yet). 

Jeremy and I are also arranging our plans as well.  He will arrive the last day of final exams week, May 14th.  We booked a cruise on a small motor-sailor yacht in the Galapagos. We’ll be in Quito for two days, go on our cruise for five, fly to Guayaquil, take a bus to the beach (probably Montañita, which is known for its young crowd and excellent surf), and bus to a touristy town called Baños, with outdoor adventures (horsebackriding, rafting, canyoning, biking) and hot springs.  Then we’ll stay with mi familia for a couple days, and then fly back to the states.  I almost feel guilty at how amazing this sounds. 

Mi familia y los vecinos (the neighbors) have started a new exercise routine.  Three times a week we go jogging at the stadium, run up the steps, do jumping jacks, and crunches.  We hopped the fence the first time to the nice soccer field, with the best césped (grass) in Lumbisí.  The weather is perfect for exercising at night.  Lying on the crisp grass gazing at the stars as I do crunches while laughing with mi familia is wonderful.  Two dogs, little kids, and four women (one of them blonde) running around must have been quite a sight. La hermana de mi papá is on a soccer team and is the one leading our “exercise group.”  She’s so unlike most twenty somethings in Lumbisí because she isn’t married with two kids.  She likes to go salsa dancing, play basketball and soccer.  She laughs easily and has a mind of her own.  She didn’t go to college, and she works at a company in Quito. 

Mi mamá told me how she and mi papá met.  Mi mamá lived in Ibarra, where mi papá sold miscellaneous household items.  She was only 18 and he was 26 (if I remember correctly) when they married.  She moved in with him and his grandparents in Lumbisí while they built their house (a process of 5 years because they had little money).  After a year of marriage they had their first child.  She told me how lonely she felt without her mom and her brothers and sisters, especially after she had her first baby.  I cannot imagine that instead of going to college at 18, getting married and having a baby.  However, 18 isn’t all that young to get married in Ecuador, especially for people of low SES.  Mi mamá told me she knows a lot of teenagers with babies, probably because Ecuador has one of the highest teen pregnancy rates in Latin America.         

I’ve been thinking how much I am going to miss my host family after I leave.  I’ve heard international students talk about how they feel like they’re just renting a room with their host family.  I describe my experience with a sense of pride:  “Oh, you know, yesterday I helped my host mom feed the chanchos, the week before we picked beans from their farm and then ate them for dinner, I played basketball and soccer at the public courts with my family and the people of Lumbisí, I made ice cream and baked a cake with my host mom, we have a little cute kitten, I went exercising last night with my family and the neighbors, I walk to the next house over to buy candy at my grandma’s store, I have a host mom who makes sure I never go hungry for a second, I went to a concert with my host parents…”

All students I’ve met except for the students in my program live in Quito, which is a slightly homogenous experience, so whenever I tell students where I live they’re either surprised or jealous.  Most families with host students are upper class in Quito and many families have maids that cook and clean, while my family owns pigs.  I’m not overly fond of the traffic, noise, and pollution of Quito either, and a gated neighborhood in Cumbayá sounds like a bore, so I’ll happily take the stray dogs and cornfields. 

March 15

I went out again with the group with my Ecuadorian quasi-friends last week to a party at this guy’s apartment.  Everyone seemed happy I was there and I was the only international student.  One guy stood on top of the coffee table reciting poetry by heart.  Some of the people reminded me of my friends back home.  One girl is president of the Human Rights Club on campus.  Another guy had a stencil art book and a book of famous quotations about peace on his desk of his apartment.  His bookshelves were full intelligent books in English.  I loved speaking and hearing only Spanish with people my age and attempting to dance salsa (three guys were fighting to dance with me), but I was being uncomfortably hit on by one of the guys in the group the entire night.  He kept forcibly pushing my face toward his so he could kiss me even though I repeatedly told him no in every form I knew how, but everyone was drinking but me so I couldn’t really get anyone to tell him to stop.  All I wanted was to have fun and be accepted by the group so I didn’t really cause a fuss about it, but when thinking about it on the drive home I felt angry and upset.    

I wish guys would leave me alone in this country. Machismo is alive and well, and because of my estadounidense appearance, it’s hard for me to avoid it.  International girls at the school also have a reputation for being easy, so that doesn’t help either.  Another annoying part was that a few people from the group got sick from drinking, which reminded me of how much I hate my age group when it comes to alcohol.  I don’t understand how people get sick on a regular basis from alcohol and everyone thinks it’s normal.  The Ecuadorians who have lived on college campuses say that Ecuadorians drink way more than people from the U.S., which I’m not sure is true for every college campus because U of I has a huge drinking problem, so I hope Ecuadorians aren’t worse.     

March 2

Last week, I showed up at a Campus Life event at my school.  The purpose of the events is to integrate Ecuadorian students and extranjeros.  I showed up for the last five minutes of some band playing and I was invited to go drinking afterwards.  I happened to be the only foreign student there, and I was elated at how easy it was to hang out with some Ecuadorians without extranjeros.  At the first bar, a drunk guy I never saw before kept telling me how he loved me, how beautiful my eyes were, etc.  He kept asking, “Do you trust me?” over and over.  It was uncomfortable, but soon my gang said we all had to leave.  They left because they saw how uncomfortable I was, for which I was grateful.  One of the guys said he kept leaning forward towards me as I was leaning back away from him.  He said he was worried I’d lean back too far and finally hit the wall. 

The group of eight or so people I was with all spoke nearly fluent or fluent English, but they spoke Spanish together.  It was difficult to understand the jokes and the topics they were talking about, but it felt good to finally be the only gringa.  If I’m with Ecuadorians from school, it’s usually with my U.S. friends too, so we usually speak in English.  However, I still ended up talking a lot with a guy in English, who said it was actually easier for him to talk in English because he had gone to U.S. schools all his life, although his parents are Ecuadorian.  He’s gay and it was interesting to hear his perspective of what it’s like in Ecuador (not good).  He also lived in different parts of Europe and he could compare his experiences.  Later a girl drove me home, which was nice of her.  Everyone was so welcoming that I was sad that I’d have to wait two weeks to hang out with them again because the Campus Life events are every other week. 

The next night I went out to La Mariscal with mi tía (aunt), primo, y otro chico.  We went to this discoteca, but I’ve been having stomach problems so drinking and dancing wasn’t too fun.  Eventually we left around 2 am and el celular de mi tía was robbed.  Some "negros" (black people, or Afroecuadorians as they were described) just pulled the cell phone out from my friend’s pocket.  He was carrying it for mi tía, and it was his third time being robbed of a cell phone.  He had a bunch of cash in his pocket that fortunately wasn’t robbed though. 

This past weekend I climbed la montaña Rumiñaui con mi clase de Andinismo.  It was grueling, but mesmerizing.  Sleeping did not go well because I couldn’t get my feet warm no matter how many layers I put on at various intervals during the night.  Our real climb was the second day, and I was the only one not to finish the climb.  We had just made it up the black sandy mountain and then we needed to climb up the vertical rocky part with our harnesses and ropes, which did not sound appealing as I was trying to catch my breath and sweating even though it was forty degrees.  I would have loved to do it another time, but I didn’t want to be the one who slowed everyone down.  Disappointed, but thankful for the respite, I napped and took photos while everyone climbed for an hour.

The climb down was exhilarating.  Since the mountain was sandy, I hopped and ran down the entire mountain.  Our hike was accompanied by the aroma of mint, due to the wild mint plants growing in the mountains.  The trip was wonderful.  I just wish I were more in shape.  My host dad says he’s going to run twice a week at 5:30 am and he wants me to accompany him.  I told him “voy a ver” (I’m going to see)…maybe if he decides on a later time. 

Tonight I hung out a bit with Kaye and Hannah and heard about the new gossip about people in our program.  Later mi papá told me that although I’m pretty, I’m not photogenic.  He asked me why that is as he tried to take pictures of me.  This is on top of a few days ago when he asked, “What’s that?” while laughing and pointing to a pimple on my forehead.  Mi papá doesn’t help my confidence much.  However, he helped me on my ensayo (essay) de la película, Maria Llena Eres de Gracia, so he’s not all bad.  The movie is about a pregnant girl from Columbia who becomes a drug mule and smuggles drugs into the U.S.  Mis padres tonight were telling me how much my Spanish has improved, which made me feel good.  I’m so used to getting a grade or some kind of tangible way of telling how good I am at something.  In Spanish class, I got all A’s, but there’s no grade after dinner table conversation.  I wish I could have taken a test on day one and one now so I can see my improvement.  Sometimes I feel great about my Spanish, and other times I feel that it is painfully inadequate.  It all depends on the situation, noise level, and patience the speaker has.  It’s much easier if the speaker is talking to me because he or she usually slows down and gets clues from my face if I don’t understand something. 

Language learning is not easy.  I’m afraid that at the end of five months I’m still going to be in limbo—not a beginner but not fluent.  I figured that five months would be enough for fluency, being able to talk with anyone about anything in any situation.  I’m definitely not close yet.  I can usually express anything I want, albeit in a grammatically incorrect or convoluted way, and when it’s noisy I can’t understand much.  I don’t know how much time it will take until I can call myself fluent.  I don’t want to leave Ecuador at an intermediate level…I want to be able to read Spanish language books at the same level as English language books I read and enjoy Spanish language movies like I enjoy English language ones.  I want to be confident speaking about anything in Spanish, which may take more time than I thought. 

Note: Comments are appreciated!

Feb. 18

Even after the culture talk I’d received at the university orientation about how Ecuadorians are unpunctual and always canceling plans, I didn’t notice the that aspect of the culture much. However, I got my first taste of desultory planning from mi familia this past weekend. They told me that we were going to visit la mamá de mi mamá for a couple days in Ibarra, two hours away. As of Thursday, we were leaving on Saturday. As of Friday, it was Sunday. As of Sunday morning, it was at 11 am. As of 2 pm, it was Monday. As of 2:15 pm it was in an hour. Even worse, I was always the last to know of a change in plans for this trip. Since mostly everyone was gone this weekend, I didn’t really have to deal with people being annoyed at “my” constant change of plans, so while it was annoying, I wasn’t upset about it.

This long weekend was Carnival, something like Ecuador’s equivalent to Marti Gras. It has the same principle—you’re supposed to party, be loud, and do crazy things before Ash Wednesday, the beginning of Lent, but without beads, breasts, or mountains of food. Here, the way to have innocuous fun is to dump water on your friends or ingenuous strangers, and spray espuma (foam) all over them. Last week one of my classmates sprayed blue espuma in my Andinismo teacher’s face. I wish I could see more of that at U of I.

Everyone flocks to the beaches for the long weekend (no school or work on Monday and Tuesday.) Mostly all of the international students I know partied at the beach this weekend. Going to the beach means going to unwind for me, but it can’t be if everyone in Ecuador is at the coast celebrating until 3 am. I also didn’t like the idea of speaking English with my friends most of the time. Instead, being the studious person I am, I spent all day studying the GRE, avoiding going outside because mis hermanos couldn’t wait to douse me with water. April, another girl in Lumbisí, and I endeavored to go to the party in the park that night, but we were too early for the fun. Instead, we ended up talking and I realized that Matt, my friend from college, lived with her family for two weeks. What a surprise it was seeing his face in one of the pictures in her family’s dining room.

A side-note on the GRE—don’t study it while you’re in an exciting foreign country while trying to learn another language. Studying for a test months away, which theoretically I could get a good score on and not even have to study, feels ridiculous. GRE verbal knowledge feels particularly useless, when the vocabulary words are so esoteric, in Ecuador and the U.S. Only my fear of not getting into physical therapy school is fueling my studying. (Pardon the use of GRE words.)

My GRE study guide writes this: “Too many people think of standardized tests as cruel exercises in futility, as the oppressive instruments of a faceless societal machine. People who think this way usually don’t do very well on these tests.” However, usually the people who think that way do so because they’re not good at them. I may be one of those people.

We ended up leaving around 4, and in Ecuadorian style, mi hermano y hermana rode in the truck bed with pillows and blankets as if it were a real bed. Squished up front, I rode with mi papá, mamá, y hermanito. On the way we stopped for biscocho, which are like crusty, buttery bread sticks, just as the program and I did when we went to Otavalo. The town we stopped in is famous for their biscochos; nearly every restaurant makes them. We then stopped in another town that was like a market and carnival rolled into one (minus the rides) and we visited with la hermana de mi mamá, who works at a clothing store. The clothing was tacky, but it seemed popular. They had models walking up and down a runway modeling their clothes outside their store window. Mi papá filmed that, and a lingerie mini-fashion show with his cell phone, which made me feel slightly uncomfortable. My poor hermanos were told to guard the car, and we ended up leaving them for at least an hour. They faithfully stayed in the car the entire time, but were justifiably angry when we got back. Mi hermanito was particularly ornery (which continued through the next few days). However, sometimes I felt his parents could easily placate him. It was almost as if they were asking for it. For instance, he wanted un globo (balloon) and when he started crying his parents said they’d get one for him, but they never did. It would have cost them five cents for some peace, or they could have told him no outright. He’d have a tantrum for a few minutes, but that would be it. Anyway, he ended up peeing in the middle of the street. He continued throwing tantrums and hitting his mom the rest of the way to Ibarra.

We made it to the finca (farm) where mi abuelo y abuela (grandparents) live. The house they live in, with one or two grandchildren (I think), is the one of the smallest house I’ve seen with only a kitchen, a bathroom, two bedrooms, and no common indoor area. Made of sloppy brick and a tin roof, each room had a door that led outside. I thought that living in Lumbisí was different, but this was a shock; I couldn’t imagine my friends and family back home feeling comfortable in such a small, untidy, old house with so many people.

That night I ended up talking with one of the primos (cousins) who is about my age. He was eager to talk with me and practice his English. Wanting to know everything about me, he kept asking, “qué más?” (what more [to talk about]?), which was teetering on irksome and flattering.
I slept in a bedroom accompanied by at least 30 flies. I kept imagining flies feasting on the crust in the corners of my eyes, so I found it hard to close them. As usual, various noises of the human and non-human variety woke me up at 7 am, and ate a fairly typical breakfast of an omelet, bread, pancake (kind of), and a sweet oatmeal drink, but the best food was to come.

What the house was lacking was made up by the impressive variety of vegetables and fruit on the farm. Avocados, potatoes, limes, lemons, white carrots, orange-limes (invention of la abuela), blackberries, raspberries, mandarin oranges, oranges, and several interesting fruits that aren’t grown in the U.S. were available for any hungry guest. Mi hermana y primo showed me the grounds in the morning. As we walked, we ate whichever delightful fruit was nearby. Picked straight from the trees, I ate almost a dozen types of fruit. However, as I was reveling in being a vegetarian, the family smoked a whole chancho hanging from a tree. I saw a family member cut the pig head and mi mamá pull apart the bloody meat from the bones. For most the day, mi familia munched on dark brown bits of chancho. When the family members slowly discovered I’m vegetarian, I got incredulous expressions and “Why? But this is so tasty” and “What do you eat?” and “I’m sorry” the entire day.

That night we drank the national beer, Pilsner, which is pretty good for beer and danced outside to traditional songs on the guitar played by an old man with leathery skin (not sure of his relation). It was nice dancing with everyone and not having to fend off unwanted advances. They thought it was funny that it was unlawful for me to drink in the states. One of the uncles said that he heard that Obama is worse than Bush because Obama isn’t following through with what he’s been saying. I told him, yeah, he hasn’t, but I don’t think that deems him worse than Bush, and I don’t think we could get worse than Bush. Maybe the uncle has been watching FOX en español.

Early next morning, I helped pick avocados, lemons, and limes. I finally ascertained that limones are most definitely limes and limas are lemons. The limones sort of appear like lemons because they’re usually a bit yellow so I began to question if lemons could possibly be ripe limes here (clearly not true). I’m still confused though because the lemons we picked were really mild tasting; I could easily eat the lemon whole. After playing some Guitar Hero and watching Norbert with los primos, we headed to the hot springs, which because of the minerals and warmth, are medicinal and supposedly can cure all kinds of ailments.

The ride there was the most entertainment of the trip. About 10 people rode in the truck bed, moving targets for the people on the streets to throw bombas de agua (water balloons) and buckets of water on them. The occupants’ armor was a plastic sheet and their ammunition were bombas de agua y espuma. I couldn’t stop laughing whenever the kids would gleefully scream when kids and adults alike attacked them with water. I, again, rode in the front and kept rolling my window up whenever we saw suspicious groups of kids on the side of the street. The hot springs were surprisingly touristy, crowded, and similar to a water park, but I seemed to be the only estadounidense.

The pools were a lifeguard’s worst nightmare. Naked babies, people swimming in their underwear, and adults diving into 5 ft. deep water were just some of the things that would never fly at the water park I worked as a lifeguard a couple summers ago. No lifeguards were present, and I saw an ambulance leaving as we were entering, which caused me to wonder how many accidents occur. The only “rule” people followed was bathing before and after swimming. Everyone lathered on soap and shampoo, whereas at the pools in the states most people don’t bother to bathe or simply stand under the showerhead for a moment.

After a few hours we headed home, but stopped to get some sugar cane juice that was pressed by a donkey. The juice tasted too sweet, but I enjoyed watching my family members ride the donkey. At that point, I knew my efforts to get home in time to get my homework done before my class the next day were in vain. I kept hinting to mis padres that I needed to get home to do my homework, and they seemed as if they understood, but we still ended up getting home at 10 pm. I also had no idea we were staying for three days (neither did mi familia) or else I would’ve gotten my homework done before we left.

Packed full of avocadoes, lemons, limes, my family, and some live chickens, we drove up and down the mountains in drizzle and fog, passing cars like it was nothing on our way home. Mi padre told me that when he was younger he used to make the drive in an hour, half the time it takes him now. Thank goodness he drives slower now, but we still passed dozens of cars on the one lane highway. He was the only one wearing a seatbelt, and everyone except me y mi hermano were in the back of the truck, with nothing stopping them from flying out of the back.

I rescheduled my work with the physical therapist to do my homework in the morning, but when I got to school my teacher sent me an email saying that it was canceled. So much for all that worrying. As I was walking home from the bus, a little girl ask me to spell Barack Obama, which is another piece of evidence of my incontrovertible estadounidense appearance. Despite the infestation of flies and not getting back home to do my homework, I am glad I didn’t go to the beach like all of my friends did. I spoke all Spanish for 4 days straight, explored an edible paradise, learned a little bit what life looks like as a poor farmer, celebrated Carnival, and saw what an Ecuadorian vacation spot is like.