Ecuador

Wednesday would have been like any other day had there not been the rarity of the lunar eclipse at night. Cuenca invited all to come and see/participate in the Ceremonia cultural con la energía de la Mama Quilla in Parque de la Madre, another find in Cuenca's cultural to-do-list for the month. I seemed to be the only one to respond to the invitation, however. I showed up to a nearly empty park. In the corner I came upon a circle of these trendy celebrators swaying back and forth in a circle around a fire lit in some "significant design." I knew coming into it that it was not a real ancient tradition, after hearing Lynn, my anthropology teacher denounce it class after class. Ecuadorians have "no identity" from their past. The colonial conquest stole it all away. Everything now is assumed and postulated, and that's what I thought would make this so interesting. So consequently, I was not surprised to find the group of celebrators mostly young social butterflies. But I didn't want to impede on what might be thought as a serious traditional celebration so I walked around the group and found a place to seat myself and furtively observe the following activities. The circle had a long list of planned activities it seemed like, and I came just in time to enjoy it at its climax. When I sat down the group started to break apart and socialize as the list was sought for by the announcer. Finally, he found it. Over the loud speaker he tried to capture the attention of his audience again "Por favor, por favor." He asked the mingling crowd to recreate the circle. They were about to perform a tribal like dance. On came the music, sounding as it came straight from Pure Moods 11. They all started rounding the fire dancing in step to the mystical music of contemporary artists while in the center a man dressed with a flower headdress danced around while hitting his beating his drum in rhythm to the music. The music finally faded and a female announcer explained the significance of this ceremony. "Tonight we celebrate the rebirth of spring and the moon." It was the first night in nearly two weeks that it wasn't pouring down rain. "With the rebirth of spring, we have the opportunity to have our own rebirth." The silence seemed strained to me, but it may have been from my own upwelling of laughter that I had to hold back. The female announcer continued, "we need to begin our new lives the proper way." She asked everyone to show love and affection toward their neighbors, and the audience took a minute to embrace each other fifteen times over. It seemed like it was finally wrapping up. The coordinators of the ceremony passed out popsicles and everyone started to disperse. I really wanted to capture the moment more effectively with my camera than just distance photography, so I finally willed myself over there after encouraging myself that these people are absolutely trendy and out of their minds, they would love to have their picture taken by a gringo foreigner. So I came upon the drummer and the female announcer. Instantly the woman struck up a conversation with me, "why did you not join us?" "Well you have to come in mid March for the next ceremony." I got my pictures and jetted out of there. They were a little too friendly, cult-ish, and insane for me to stick around. After all I had to try and see the lunar eclipse. To my surprise, there it was. In the smallest opening in the clouds. There was already a partial eclipse. It didn't last long, but I thought it was a perfect way to top of the day, like icing on the cake.

This past week I was more or less in repose after the long week of Carnival that came to a screeching hault. I honestly didn't know what to do with myself. I spent the first two days of the week sulking about not having anything to do until I stumbled upon a gold mine. There is a publication every month that sponsors all of the events in Cuenca, music concerts, art shows, you name it. So Wednesday night I took in my first concert here, not realizing how badly I was missing those experiences. The group was from Madagascar, but I was not expecting a lot out of a culturally self indulgent town of 150,000 to bring in good international music. My preconceived notion was reinforced as we walked into the auditorium for the free African concert. Just over twenty people sat in the audience and on stage only a drumkit was set up. Erika, Nick, and I took our seat front and center. Then the concert started only fifteen minutes behind schedule. By then many more people had showed up for the concert. The instrumentation was the drummer, an acoustic guitarist, an electric bass, and the lead singer in the group. He carried with him a bazooka looking instrument made from hallow bamboo that had strings attached around it. His voice was magnificent and his playing equally spectacular. It took me awhile before I realized that he only had one hand, his other hand was deformed, however, he still strummed with the nub and was able to solo at astonishing rates. But it was his emotion and enjoyment of playing that made it all worth while. It was quite a good concert. The best part about it was seeing the upper-class business man grooving to the African beats, especially the man who danced beside me, who was still in his three piece suit. It really made me want to go to Africa. But, I plan to take much more advantage of the culture there is to see here, as most of it is actually free (even if the museums aren't).

That Saturday I braved the constant rain for a much anticipated trip to Ingapirca. Ingapirca is the site of Ecuador's best Incan (and Cañari) ruins. The bus left the station at nine in the morning with already a light drizzle beginning, a poor omen as most of the rain comes much later in the afternoon. We traveled north on the Pan American until we reached Cañar, and then we started the climb up the valley's hills to reach Ingapirca. It was a little anti-climatic. There was just a little reserve no larger than a hectare in size that housed the Incan temple of the sun. We dished out $3 unwillingly after we found out that the last and only bus back from there was in fact the same bus that would be leaving an hour and a half later. The moment we stepped away from the boletería the heavens opened up. It wasn't the hardest of rains, but it reminded me of the tours last semester in Portland that I gave. A steady rain that will unknowingly get you soaked and cold. We bared with the weather, because the views were all the most spectacular because of it. In the background, the hills the surround the ridge in which Ingapirca is located were rapidly changing. The clouds rose up along the sides giving a sensation of being at a very high altitude. The temple itself has been more or less destroyed over the years, just the elliptical base remained formed by perfectly fitted square stones each weight well over a ton. Those rocks were carried over fifteen kilometers from further down the valley where they were mined, but that pales in comparison to the stones that were destined for Cuenca. Those stones were mined around Cuzco, in southern Peru, to create a replica of the Incan temples in the capital. They made it as far as Loja, nearly eighty percent of the way, before abandoning the trek. Loja, to give you some sort of reference is about a five hour drive by bus on a good day. Anyway, the temple itself perched on the edge of its ridge over looking the long corridor that housed the town of Cañar, although we couldn't see it. We finished our tour of the small protected archaeological sight to view the Incan face in the cliffside of an adjacent ridge before having to hustle back and catch the bus. It was a fantastic experience, even only spending less than two hours time. But the rain still continues, and it deterred be from going up to Cajas on Sunday as well. When will the rain cease?

First of all, I have to apologize for how long this entry is going to be. I tried to no avail to break up the stories I have accumulated on my week of personal travel with three others. Ecuador has so much to offer and each day can be written like its own little tall tale.

The four of us, David (having just gotten out of the hospital no more than seven hours earlier), Katie, Nick, and I, on Thursday, took a bus that crossed the entire country of Ecuador, the equator, and some of the largest banana plantations in the world in order to arrive at our destination of Esmeraldas. We inquired about the length of time it would take for such a journey and all the estimates ranged from twelve to thirteen hours. But those were favorable estimates for a week after rains on the Andean slopes that caused more than half of the roads to be closed due to mudslides. It took us seventeen hours. Arriving with the sun directly overhead, beating down on us, encouraged us to quickly find a hotel rather than bake while napping in the park plaza. We stayed the night in the beach town of Esmeraldas called Las Palmas. The scene was more or less as depressing as one can get for an equatorial beach. Esmeraldas is home to the pipeline that traverses over the Andes and down into the Oriente Amazonian rainforest where they pump up more than 50% of the countries revenue in "black gold." The horizon was littered with oil tankers each going to all the different parts of the world. In the actual town of Esmeraldas we explored what seem to be more like a Caribbean town, finding music stores for which to come back to. We also ran into a Tía store for some much need groceries and water, buying our first bundle of Club Social crackers for David's diet. We kept Club Social in business with the amount that we bought over the course of the week. We found nothing better for a weak stomach. The following night, after living the life in our air-conditioned room, we headed southwest along the coast to Atacames. In Atacames, we hopped on the ecotaxi, a motorcycle attached with a carriage in front (to obstruct the vision of the driver), until we arrived at the beach where already the stands bordering the beach were blasting their reggaeton. We had reservation through Narcisa so as to have a place during a very busy Carnival in this French Quarter style party strip but on first look we knew it wasn't worth $15 a night. Inside a barbershop, overlooking a bar without a window, and no toilet seat on the toilet helped convince us to move on and find a different place to stay. After a few rejections because of the high prices, we came upon Hostal Jennifer, which was actually in the guidebook. They gave us a bargain price of $12 a night if we signed for three consecutive nights. We took it for the four hammocks and mildly quieter atmosphere. The rest of the day was spent looking for a bathing suit and some flip-flops and then body surfing on the waves of a beach much more acceptable than that in Las Palmas. Each passing day added hundreds and hundreds of more people arrived at the beach, littering it, literally, with people. We took in one night of the party, and that was all I could really handle. We stopped into our first bar-hut looking for some flavorful mixed drinks but I made the wrong choice. Before thinking it through I had ordered "la cucaracha" for its name, meaning "the cockroach." I was not on the top of my game. I got a bowl of tequila and coco flavor literally on fire. I realized later I was supposed to drink it while on fire, but the surprise of it caused me to blow it out like it was an unintentional fire. It was the strongest drink I've ever tasted, and hope to ever taste. Katie, after seeing my reaction to it, wanted to give it a try and immediately spewed it all over me. Only after a few sips, chased down with David's coke, I gave up on the drink and we danced a little to the reggaeton being played. We chose the right bar to be at because I got myself on Ecuadorian television. Afterwards, we took a little time to try and cool off before trying another place where I chose not to make the same mistake again with guessing at a mixed drink and ordered simply "tropical drink." It tasted like pineapple juice and nothing more. A little upsetting. The culture on the beach was quite interesting indeed. Lots of wandering people without choosing a place to sit and dance perhaps. All of the discobars and things in an actual building were for the most part empty. And without bathrooms, drunken guys lined the surf to relieve themselves. Quite an interesting time. The party never really stopped either. The music only subsided when the sun rose again, but only for a few hours before you could hear the bass beats of reggaeton to call breakfast. The following day, David had a reaction to eggs that he ate for breakfast and his health turned very sour. We got close to taking him to the hospital or finding him a way back to Cuenca. It didn't take long for someone to get sick. That night he got to feeling better but none of us really wanted to take part in the activities over night and spent most of the time lounging in the hammocks sharing stories. I indulged in some ice cream in the bottom half of a pineapple, called piña hawaiiana. I was already missing it by the time I finished.

After wearing ourselves down with the high powered experience of Atacames, we headed south down the coast to arrive eventually at Canoa, a small beach town known for it's large beaches and little population. We got an unexpected treat on the bus rides though. It was probably one of my favorite days on the entire trip. We started on a late morning out of Atacames and caught a bus to Mensaje where we could another bus, and then another to arrive at Perdenales where at last we could get a bus to Canoa. The bus rides drove through scenic seaside vistas where out of the green hills of tropical flora came a beautiful view of the Pacific. But most of the enjoyment hailed from the people that we saw. The first bus had a late blooming drunk. He very well could have been up all night, but he was drunker than ever and carrying a bottle of Pilsener. It didn't take long for him to pass out. No one really made a move to help or punish him, only looks and laughs. When we jumped out to catch the next bus, sir drinks-a-lot got the boot. Our next bus pulled up almost immediately. The town we were in, if you can even called one, was a crossroads that housed no more than ten building, all home to vendors of you name it for the buses that drive through. The driver made a pit stop here so we had plenty of waiting time in the center of the road, enough time for Sir drinks-a-lot to purchase a new bottle of Pilsener to spill when he passes out a second time. But David and I sought the seats up front away from the commotion he was bound to cause. The sight to have on this bus was the ayudante, who took the money, provided the music, and hurried the traffic in and out of the bus. He was lost in the culture of the late eighties and early nineties. We listened to essentially the soundtrack to Rocky. We also heard some "Eye of the Tiger" and "Highway to the Dangerzone." Not only was his musical tastes from the late eighties and early nineties but he looked like he came straight out of Fresh Prince of Bel Air. The white rimmed bug-eyed glasses was just icing on the cake. The bus change to go to Perdenales was even more abrupt than the previous one. We hopped of the bus midway down the street to get into a extended open-air hummer-like bus, more common in the north coast of Ecuador. It was only a 50km drive so we figured it would not take more than an hour and a half but the road conditions pushed back our expectations and it took more like two and a half hours. That's a whopping 13km/hr, that's equivalent to less than 10 miles/hr. The road was more like a jungle four-wheel drive road than a coastal highway. There were small indigenous communities built up every ten minutes or so, each bearing three or four kids looking to celebrate Carnival. Like everywhere in Ecuador, there are speed bumps at the most unnecessary points. Unfortunately they were right in the heart of every little community. Prime position for the kids to hurl buckets of water on to everyone stuck in the bus. I got absolutely soaked by the time we pulled into Perdenales. It didn't really matter because the splash mobile came to greet us. This was true anywhere you were around the time of Carnival, certainly true in Cuenca. There would be a crowd of teenagers in the back of a slow moving pickup truck with a huge vat of water for a large supply of these raids on the innocent. We nearly made it the entire two hour wait without being hit, but on the walk to the the bus station, we were spotted and thoroughly drenched. On the bus we got the best American culture, the movie "the Marine." It was your classic stereotypical American film with action scenes every ten minutes, starting in the first two minutes, with the main character in Iraq, killing hundreds of terrorists in the most absurd ways. I was pretty embarrassed to be sitting there in the bus front row, and secretly hoped that no one paid any attention. The volume shorted out midway on the drive, and possibly the most peculiar thing was to see more than one person concerned about turning it up again. One thing is for sure, Ecuadorians love their absurd action. Here's a quick list of some of the movies I've seen on buses: The Fast and the Furious, The Scorpion King, The Medallion, and the Terminator.

Anyway, we finally got into Canoa in the dark, dusty town. Tired and had no idea where to go, we scoped out the places in the lonely planet guide. Everyone was way over priced for a hut with a mosquito net. What we did find was the best room in Canoa for a mere $8 a night. What a score! The fifth story, right on the beach with a cool breeze looking straight at the setting sun. It was a little like heaven. And what more, but Canoa had pancakes to feed our craving in the morning. The next day we spent the day in the corner of a very pristine beach where crabs still lived in their burrowed holes moving back and forth to their homes with any movement and the surf was spotless. We really were living the life. Everyone was near perfect health. Of course that had to change overnight. I got a little over zealous with the good food that we found here and ordered veggie spaghetti, with uncooked vegetables. The onions, which I was told not to eat before going to the coast, were potent. I woke up at 4 in the morning to unbearable pains in my stomach, throwing up, and diarrhea. It was the most sick I think I have ever felt. I had to get an injection and take some crazy amount of pills just to avoid getting an IV. Phew. The next morning I was able to get out of bed to take the long trip down the coast to Montañita. Montañita is more or less a surfer town, caulk full of gringos. We made a similar fantastic find here as we did in Canoa, we scored an $8 room high in a building over looking the bog/swamp near the ocean, just about the best you could find in this far too ritzy coast town. I had to avoid eating the fantastic international food though. I missed my last chance of getting Pad Thai until I return the states more than likely. And then the following morning, Saturday, we found the best pancake place in the world. Oh I was jealous. Eating beans and rice and snacking on crackers to stave off my hunger was my diet for three days. The next morning I felt 100% and had some of those pancakes to die for. Banana an chocolate. Ohhh so good.

The bus back to Cuenca was pretty uneventful. We passed through Guayaquil, surging with people. The bus depot was a three story high bus stop with over 200 terminals! From there we went up the unbelievably steep Andes, fishtailing the turns in the pouring rain, just missing the possibilities of bus plunge. I was finally able to breath by the time we reached Cajas national park, but then I lost it again. The views were breath-taking. Pristine lakes, mountain peaks showing bare rock cliffs, and not a tree in sight to block the view of the sunset and then moonlit scenery. I have to go back! I would stay weeks or months there if I could. Absolutely beautiful, like nothing I've seen before. I got back into Cuenca at 8:30 on Sunday, only to wake up again less than eleven hours later for school once again.

After a long night of basically torrential downpour, I asked my sister if this was an unusual occurance, and her answer was "the rains come for Carnival." I progressively got better of the course of the week and as I entered the weekend was feeling almost fully back up to speed.

Friday night I made sure of it by sleeping well over twelve hours in the course of naps and sleep. So come Saturday, with nothing to do, I made my way downtown alone on a hope to find something to entertain myself with the absence of half the group on a large camping trip and the other half seemingly sick. I took the fourteen bus, which is the one that takes me from my house to school, on the continued route to find out just where it turns back around to head east again. After thirty minutes I found out that the furthest stop is at a huge market called feria libre. There I heard about a huge clothes market on Wednesdays that I think I will take advantage of on future occasions. But this Saturday, I also wanted to explore the park nearby my house before the rains started. The park is definitely the biggest of Cuenca, spanning the full distance between its two major rivers until they come to an unremarkable juncture when they cross paths. The park however was loaded with people on their weekend, enjoying the multitude of soccer fields, playgrounds, a pedal boat pond, and plenty of other places to either take in the sun or enjoy the shade of the tall eucalyptus trees. It is a place I hope to take advantage of later, if the rivers don't rise to swallow the park whole. Saturday night I got a call from Peter, who invited me to join him for a movie. I saw "When a Stranger Calls," which for a horror was not the worst blockbuster movie ever made.

Sunday, I got another call, an invitation to go to the market, which I thought would be a good way to get out of going to Sig Sig in the third episode of Zach as a third party to parental dating. So I took the offer and found myself going back to Guaylaceo and Chordoleg for the second time in three weeks to see the fiesta in the river and also the market full of fresh fruit with Morgan and Rachel. There, I had my fair share of mango, as it was only $.20/mango. But of course, as if I had GPS tagging on me, I managed to find myself where my host mom and her boyfriend were. They caught me red-handed walking among the throng of thousands of visitors for market day. I also did a more expansive tour of the jewelry shops of Chordoleg, the consequence of accepting to go to the a pair of girls to market day. So after thirty-five nauseating hours they finally gave into the requests to return home. Unfortunately at that exact moment came the rain. And so every single visitor of market day made the exact same decision as we did. After waiting a good thirty minutes in stand-still traffic right next to the bus station, hoping for the opportune time to just out and run for cover, we realized a growing hunger. The three of us went back into the market and got hit by another water bomb, while it was raining no less!! These kids take the game to new limits. I am going to have to stock pile for Esmeraldas I think for at least a respectable vendetta. At any rate, when we finally did take the bus back, it took two hours rather than one, and drained what energy I had from the ripe mangoes.

On Monday, we had a field trip with our anthropology class to Sig Sig in order to see Inca and Cañari ruins, but my day started out with a good twist. I planned out what seemed to me more than ample amount of time to arrive at school at the scheduled 8am departure, only that I made one mistake, a mistake I won't make again. Instead of taking the bus at the regular bus stop, I thought I would catch the bus empty before it seemingly goes around the corner and is always full. Instead, what I did was find myself going over the hills into towns in the opposite direction my supposed destination. I kept reassuring myself that the bus would just turn around and it wasn't worth jumping off and paying another fare to catch the same line going in the correct direction. Only after twenty minutes of falsely calming my growing anxiety did I turn to ask when in fact the bus returned towards Cuenca. The fashionably dressed cholo cuencana said "mmm, ten more minutes? This bus goes to one more town." I looked down at my watch. 750. I jumped of the moving bus and made my way with a added haste in my pace to scale the hill back to the town of Valle where I could catch the bus back in town. Then my I tried to call to inform everyone of my situation. Out of minutes. Ultimately, I was half an hour late, holding up the bus headed for Sig Sig, whose seats were already full. I squeezed into the seat accompanied with Xenia, the large lassie-breed dog of our anthropology professor, Lynn. After repressing the strong feeling of guilt, I spent the rest of the day enjoying the sites of Sig Sig and the country surrounding. I walked my first, but not last Incan road, carved below the natural grade of the slopes in the hills, and saw many other unusual and unexplained building built before the Spanish arrival. Even repeating for emphasis the beauty of the vistas does not do the scenic views any justice. I have come to the conclusion that, at least for the western hemisphere, you have not experienced mountains until you have seen the Andes.

Now I am in the heart of a three day week of school before my early departure for Esmeraldas. I am heading off Thursday night at six in order to arrive in Esmeraldas at six, twelve hours later. My energy is booming again with the excitement about an opportunity to experience South America outside of the fairly structured program of the overseas department. I have ten days to soak in, or reflect (hopefully) as much sun as I can on the beaches of northern Ecuador.

Well, I think I have parasites or amoeba in my intestines. It isn't a pleasant experience. I don't really know what to fault for it as I have had far too many new foods and drinks in the past weeks to really claim that any one thing caused it. The pain started about three days ago and hasn't really let up. It hits me strong when I have any type of sugary delicacy. How unfortunate, as it was the birthday for one of my classmates only yesterday and there has been interesting foods at every destination. Outside of what is festering inside me, life hasn't changed much as expected while in school. I am beginning to enjoy my conservation biology course a lot more now that we are starting into the curriculum. It has pretty much defined what I have studied in the past year or so, from biological environmentalism to even ecological economics. My anthropology class is quite interesting. We are learning about some of the pre-Incan history of our area. The reading is dense but quite rewarding, as is the case with most historically based classes I feel. Tomorrow is a festival of food... hurray... Everyone in the group is making one to two Ecuadorian dishes with their family for a big feast during our morning and lunch tomorrow. I would be more ecstatic if I were feeling better. I only hope that it is a parasite so that I can get some antibiotics that are more readily available to deal with the situation. Dealing with amoeba is a different method all together. It's fortunate that so many people here have traveled and know how to deal with parasites and amoeba, as they have had them before. I hope by next time, I will be up and healthy, readying myself for the unique experiences that await in Esmeraldas.