spite and malice

BASICS
its a card game.
a 2 person game.
it uses 2 decks.
shuffle them separately. shuffle one deck with jokers.
from one deck, deal out 5 cards to each  player. place the remainder of the pile to the side to be drawn from on each turn.
from the other deck, deal out 26 cards to each player. flip the top card over to reveal it.
the person who wins the game is the one who played all 26 cards from their other deck.

ROWS
each player has 4 possible rows on his/her side of the table. the cards placed there cannot be touched by the other player.
cards must be arranged in descending order of value (ace is low, king is high).
you can start a row with whichever card you wish.
suits do not matter.
you can stack cards of equal value in these rows.
therefore, rows can look like this: k, q, j, 10, 9... or like this: 9, 9, 9, 9... or like this: 7, 6, 5, 5, 5, 4, 3
you may not put aces or twos in these rows.

STACKS
the center of the table is the playing ground.
here, cards must be stacked from ace to king.
if a player has an ace, he/she MUST play it.
if a player has a 2, and the ace is down, he/she MUST play it.
cards are stacked in numerical order from the cards you hold in your hand
or
from the cards you have in your personal rows
or
from your other deck that has the one card flipped over and revealed (if you play that card, flip the following card over and build to play that next).
when a stack reaches king, put it off to the side.

MORE BASICS
after your play, if youve played from your hand (either to place cards in your personal row or in the playing field stacks), draw as many cards as you have played from the pile of the one deck.

when the one deck is finished, reshuffle all of the cards that have been put to the side because their stack had reached king (this should include cards from both decks, thus increasing the amount of cards in one deck throughout the game).

jokers can be used as any card except ace, 2, 7, or king.
players MUST do something on their turn. no bluffing or passing.
if neither player can play, both players fold their hands, place the cards in the pile of used (soon to be reshuffled) cards, and draw 5 new ones.




this is a game that was taught to me by alex some years back and then one of my collegues, jenny, reminded me of it right before anna and i came to colombia. it has provided endless hours of entertainment.

ode to sylvester (no rocky 6)

after being in santa marta for a couple of days and in tyrona national park, anna and i took refuge in the coastal mountains of colombia. the mountains go up pretty high - i think they are the highest coastal mountins in the world, but, we only went up 600 meters or so to a house called 'cape diem'. it is basically a familys house and they have rooms for people to stay in. the whole area is made up of farms and communes who grow things and subsist that way.

their property has a number of farms and closer to the house, a grouping of hammocks with a fireplace in the middle. anna and i spent the two plus days we were there sitting in those hammocks, sitting by the nearby river soaking our feet, or sipping on coffee that was brought to us with astonishing frequency by the house mother. there were coffee plants on the property and so we can relly say that we were drinking fresh colombian coffee.

they had two animals. one was a neighbors dog that came around a lot. nobody seemed to like him, as they always were shooing him away. he was rail thin with the ears of a donkey. a bazaar looking creature. the other was a cat named sylvester- a fat orange cat who seems to look to garfield for spiritual guidance. my first encounter with sylvester was as i was lying in the hammock, seeing him trot by with no particular speed as the familys boy ran after him with a bucket of water. later, sylvester came back to introduce himself to me and anna. he walked by and i grabbed him. i have a whole new view on cats now that i kind of own some back in cuenca. not only are cats for throwing, ive learned, but they can be played with as well. who knew? anyway sylvester lay down and turned over to let me rub his belly and while my hand was there, he very deliberately grabbed onto it with his paws lowered his head and chomped my hand. he didnt break the skin, but i was sure that it was his intention to do so. the house mother was around, so i didnt throw him. but, i knew then that there would be war.

the next time i saw him was at dinner. sylvester liked to lay around for hours on end, but when it came time to eat, he was always there, walking through you legs as you sat, rubbing against them to let you know that he was there and that if you wanted to give him food, he would be there. the house mother treated him like a child and gave him food at every turn, so to her he meowed and follwed. but he also spent some time quietly under the table. while he was there, near my feet, i decided that i would get back at him by kicking him (gently). i kicked, but he didnt move. all he did was close his eyes, as though to wish me away. so i stopped and thought of another plan of attack. later, when he was close enough to my hand, i began poking him on his head and plucking him in his ribs. i didnt want to hurt him, only to bother him a lot. still, his head would bob as it was poked, but come right back to position each time. the plucks did not bother him through his great belly. i was willing to let it rest that evening until i saw him eating some leftover chicken the house mother gave to him. so, i went to him and began tugging on his whiskers. he just kept on eating. i shook him in his stomach region hoping that it would agitate him enough that me may throw up. no such luck. then, anna and i began playing cards.

outside our room, next to the card table, there is a comfortable chair. sylvester sleeps in this chair. he sleeps all curled up with his paws covering his face and his face in his stomach. however, when i came around after playing cards, i lifted him and placed him on the table. while he was in the air, he either growled or purred a bit, but i think he was just surpirsed. when i let him go on the table, hs shook himself from head to toe and began licking his stomach furiously. i moved the chairs from around the table and sylvester didnt seem apt to jump down from such a height so he just stood on the table. and looked around. unsatisfied with his level of being bothered, i then draped one of my shirts over him and without being able to see, he tried to walk out from under the shirt but the shirt moved with him. as i saw him about to back off of the table, i lifted the shirt and pushed him back onto the table and it occured to me that i really didnt want to see him hurt. only bothered. then it occured to me that he really wasnt reacting to my provocations. i was expecting a hiss or a running away or something. but instead he proved himself to be the ghandi or dr king of cats (except that he did bite me). he just stood there and took my provocations without fighting back until i got tired of it and put him back in his chair.

the next morning i woke up to find sylvester sleeping in that same chair and i put a leaf in his ear to tickle him awake and all he did was twitch his ear. so instead, i decided to rub his neck and pet his head. finally he let me rub his belly without him biting me. im not sure if this means that we made up or not.

ode to the canadian

somehow we met these people the other day - our last in cartegena until we get back. we went to a volcano with them. one that spews mud instead of lava. well, spews is not really an accurate term since the mud is somewhat just stagnantly sitting in the crater. in any event you jump into the crater of the volcano, which is by all accounts counterintuitive, and bathe yourself in the mud. the mud is said to have theraputic value, but really it is just cool. you float in the mud, so you can be standing upright with only the bottom of the crater below you, yet completely englufed in mud (up to your neck - weirdly, you never sank so that the mud came up above your neck, no matter however tall or short you were). it was a surreal experience.

one of the guys we went with was a canadian guy who was older than us. i wasnt sure if he looked old or young for his age but he had tufts of gray hair, but a laid back and young look on his face. it turns out that he must have been about 45. apparantly he has traveled throughout the entire world during his lie and chooses always to cross borders in absurd ways. for example, he came from peru to ecuador via boat. the only way to do that is via 2 week jungle canoe trip. this he did and in the process apparantly almost died. he came out of the trip with a deadly cough and a huge abscess on his leg that had to be immidiately lanced once he was within range of a doctor. his cough still flares up every now and again and he needs to take antibiotics every few hours.

still, his next plan is to get from colombia to panama. since it is pretty dangerous to get there overland (dangerous like paramilitary drug wars going on, not like pirhanas) he is choosing to take a number of connecting sailboats. there is a boat that goes from cartegena and sails to panama over a four day period, but this boat seems to provide too much of an air of party and fun and 'thats not what (hes) in this for'. plus, he is no stranger to sailing. his last trip took him from central america to micronesia by boat. he met two guys who happened to be the danish sailing champions and happened to be sailing via the galapagos and easter island further west our to south east asia. his last stop was micronesia. he had stories of triangulation of star paths for navigating, being without sight of land for "only" 24 days. during these days he was able to keep sane by sticking to routine. waking up and excercizing. playing travia games with hsi mates, etc. and his description of his time at deep sea was one of consistant vomiting. the boat would regularly drop dozens of feet over a wave and vomiting ensued, but he didnt let that stop him. his positive spin on the whole thing was that he developed a great 6-pack by trying not to vomit (eh).

he has taken up photojournalism and before anything purchased the most up-to-date possible camera. during his few weeks in peru he managed to take over 9000 pictures only to have his camera (with the pictures on it) stolen and all his pictures lost. this was a setback but everything was fine because the bus driver bought him a pineapple.

the next beach

we arrived in playa blanca via motorboat shared by 20 people on monday morning. we had to take a cab to the grimiest market ever (not one vegetable, mud, dead dog) and there we caught the motorboat. on it were a bunch of locals on their way to and fro, doing their daily things, 3 swiss and a swedish guy who despite its being 9am was throwing back beer after beer. his reasoning being that he hadnt yet been to sleep. the swiss laughed at him behind his back each time he went for another.

after a 45 minute ride during which the water turned from aqua to a deeper, crystallized turquoise, the boat pulled up to a place near where that water touched fine, white sand. at this time of day, the beach was deserted except for a few locals who were able to point the way to the hotel. at the hotel, we learned that it costed only $2 to sling ones own hammock. good deal. we did that, though the hammock space was directly in the kitchen. no problem though, we changed a ran out to the beach. we found a secluded little restaurant on the side of the beach where the sand was rougher and more yellow, but the water was equally turquoise. the people there allowed us to use their sun-cover as long as we bought things. we stayed there until 4pm or so, had some beers, and lunched ona whole, fireed fish.

after resting up a bit, we watched the sun set and went to another place to eat our fried fish dinner. by the time we were done with that, it was fully dark and we sat out and looked at stars for a bit. by 830, the beach was totally dark and we felt satisfied with our day on our secluded-enough beach. sure, some people came around trying to sell us things, but it was expected and therefore not as overbearing as it could have been. the day was a success and we went to sleep. the breeze was nice, out in the hammocks, but since we were sleeping in teh kitchen where the 4 dogs and 3 cats were, we were subjected to some rude awakenings: dogs barking at everything that moved, except, weirdly, the cats, who were having sex.

we woke up and had a coffee at the hotel. well, we woke up at 6am when the guy came to clean things up aorund the kitchen with a rake. then we had coffee and milled around. soon, we went back to our secluded spot. we had our breakfast there of arrepa stuffed with a fried egg and then swam a bit.

lonely planet says that playa blanca is pretty deserted except in the early afternoon when tour boats arrive. the previous day, from our secluded post, we noticed some boats docking on the side of the beach with palm trees. not a disturbing amount, but enough that we were happy to remain where we were. they didnt coe to our side of the beach and we didnt go to theirs. then, we crossed theat line. our bright idea that morning was to leave our secluded haven to go sit closer to where the palm trees were.

indeed, the sand on this side of the beach was finer, but even when we got there, a tourist boat was docked and day-beachers were circulating about. we assumed that the tour boats were just early that day. but then, another tour boat came - this time it was a miniature sized cruise ship called, 'alcatraz' that had an appendage boat packed with maybe 100 tourists - the atrocity. the appendage boat came directly to the port of the beach we were sitting at and everyone got out and sat next to us. we couldnt easily move, as we had already paid for our specific, immovable sun-cover.

aside from the shreiking children this brought, naturally, who peed in the water turning yellow that which was once blue, other tour boats who arrived in rapid succession - the horror - the blaring music of these tour boats, next came the immense density of sellers: bracelets, not what we wanted. coconut juice, thanks, but we dont need 58,000. shrimps, again, thanks, but stop asking us. ask the tourists. we are here for seclusion.

we waited it out, but by the time they all left, sunset was coming. we went back to our hotel and talked with gilbert, the french owner who seemed friendly enough. he had been living on playa blanca for 10 years and his hotel is called wittenberg. his is the only place that lonely planet mentions in its book, but it is certainly not the only place to stay on the island. i am convinced that lonely planet chooses only to highlight european or american owned businesses - good or not - and wants to foster a network of enbubbled european and american trevelers who meet only each other and dont support local businesses. im sure the wittenbergs of the world give a percentage of their inflated earnings to lonely planet.

wittenberg is not a good hotel and gilbert is an anti-evolutionist. he owns about hald of playa blanca, but the hotel grounds are made of scruffy grass and unfinshed paved areas. you can sling a hammock, but only in the kitchen out bacck by a boggy marsh where the animals sleep (there was a runaway cow incident during our second night). the whole grounds are set so far back from the beach that you cant even hear the waves. and when he gives you his business card when you leave, it is really just one of those 'why you will go to hell' comics that people try to hand out on the subways in new york. its as though he bought the land, got his name in lonely planet, then stopped improving his business.

meanwhile, anna and i returned to our secluded spot wihtt eh nice owners who when we let told us that next time we came, we should stay with them. and in fact, all of the restaurants offer space to sling yuo own hammock, or offer tents to rent so that you can sleep actually on the beach. preferable.

the last day was spent again as though playa blanca was a secluded beach. we swam, played with seaweed, ate well and enjoyed what has been by far the nicest beach ive ever stayed at. the most beeautiful. in the end, not the most deserted, but very beautiful. the people all in all are nice. many of them exist by selling things to tourists, but the majority of people respect if you dont want something and dont hound you to death and many will even stp for non-sale-related-conversation just for the sake of being nice. of course if you want to leave playa blanca, dont rely on the word of the motorboat drivers as far as departure times are concerned. there is a definite lack of respect for schedules on play blanca, which i guess is one of those things im supposed to see as being a cultural difference, though im sure that if my cultural difference was to pay less for services not rendered on time, peopel wouldnt respect my culture.

anyway, playa blanca was an excellent introduction to the paradise we were and are seeking. next up is taganga, a beach near the town of santa marta. it is meant to be touristy, but even bluer water and even taller palm trees and whiter sand. further along is a national park with a beach whose shape is a perfect U, and then another further along, but you have to hike through the national park to get to it, the whitest white sand, the deepest blue water, the least amount of people and the coconutest yielding palm trees youve ever seen. we will get there eventually...

a travelers dream

cartegena has been a travelers dream.
a place not so overrun by tourists that it has lost its natural flavor. a place cheap enough to live the high life. a place that has extra cheap options for when you have run out of money trying to live the high life. a beautiful colonial city with brightly painted houses, newly cobbled cobblestone streets and outdoor cafes and bars open 24 hours a day. a place where everything makes sense.

there are some places you can go where things dont make sense. for example, cuenca is a colonial town, but you kind of have to use your imagination a bit to think about what it may have looked like in its heyday. montañita has nice juice stands all around the town, but you kind of get the impression that these are there because there is some vague idea going around town that tourists like fruit and juices and thats why they are there. in cartegena, you can be sitting around one of the many outdoor cafes that serve real coffee not nescafe and see women walk by carrying baskets of fruit on their head, watermelons, papayas, canteloupes, pineapples, etc. advertising that they make fruit salad, not just for tourists, but because people like eating fruit salad. there are juice stands that line the avenue overlooking the bay that make extra large fruit juices for everyone, but if you go there, you will likely be the only tourist at the stand, everyone else being on their way to work or out with their family. while drinking a 32 ounce pineapple/carrot juice this morning a family sat down with us, the juice seller obviously knew the kids and managed to get the little baby girl to laugh after a number of attempts at pinching her cheek. for those family members who didnt want juice, the juice stand also fried fishes and they ate that for breakfast instead.

there is never a reason to go inside in cartegena. all the food you could ever want is outside. morning coffee? outdoor cafe, or, there are guys - about 2 per block - that walk around with plastic cups and thermoses full of real brewed coffee. why is real brewed coffee such a treasure in this land of plentiful coffee? well, because it is impossible to get. it is underappreciated in ecuador and peru and shipped off to the united states almost 100% juice? i mentioned above. snack? you cant walk three feet in cartegena without running into a fruit stand that sells mangoes the size of heads, avocados the size of bowling balls and coconuts cut open so you can drink the juice. plus some other fruits you have never seen or heard of before. they have their own regional sweets that everyone eats. most of which are coconut based mixed with other fruits or flavors, such as dulce de leche and things like that. lunch and dinner are equally easy to find on the streets. there are barbeque stands everywhere selling chicken, sausages and some other more organy parts of animals smoking all day long. also, there are rows and rows of stands selling sea food, cups of shrimp, mussels, oysters in a ketchupy sauce. the restuarants that are affordable (there are many expensive and fancy restaurants and places here - anna and i actually got turned away from a museum for wearing shorts (though i cant imagine that anyone would want to wear pants here in the land of the 90 degree cold season) and this after months of being treated not only as though we might have money in our pockets but that we may in fact be made of money) are nothing special, though you can get modongo for pretty cheap, so then all the more reason to spend the entire day outside.

there is a whole lot of construction going on here. in fact, it is quite an accomplishment to get from one side of the street to another. every day, or seemingly by the hour, construction sites move and routes you have taken and gotten used to will be cut off. no matter though, people routinely walk through and over barriers, motorcyclists lift tape and ride underneath them. i dont mind the costruction so much. it shows that the city cares about itslef and the parts that are done are pretty. the sidewalks will soon be all brick, and the streets will all be paved - no problem. this work goes on all day and all night as there is no reason to stop or go inside.

tomorrow we are headed to an island nearby to spend a couple of nights on an undensely populated beach. we will be sleeping in hammocks and paying about $3 per night for shelter. not that we willbe inside, but we will have a cover in case it starts raining. yesterday we went to the city beach that is about a mile walk from where we are staying. the beach was nice. it was made up of many u shaped coves separated from each other by rocks. the water was nearly as hot as bath water and though our particular cove was not as crystal blue as others (perhaps this was why we were afforded a certain amount of solitude), it was not too filthy especially for a city beach that was not really reserved or controlled by hotels. there was some toilet paper type stuff there, but it washed away in time. across the street there was a restaurant that served fried fish with coconut rice and tostones (which are called patacones here for whatever reason). you go there and the lady shows you a cooler full of fresh fishes of differing sizes. i swear i saw a barracuda. it was too expensive though. anna and i got the cheapest smallest fish that was not very small at all. we sat and ate and tore off every remaining ounce of meat that fish had. be it from the tail, the head, the body, whatever. there were only bones left. then, we washed outselves off in the ocean and resumed sitting, reading, looking out over the caribbean sea and generally feeling fortunate and that if people dont want to visit colombia because of things they have heard then thats their bad. yes, we were asked by some man at the airport to deliver a package to some part of colombia for him, but we didnt do it, so all is well. all is perfect and so much so that it is confusing.

getting out

so for the last night of cuenca (1st term that is) we went to some bar/club that was having an opening. personally, i would think that bars would coordinate their openings with the beginning of CEDEI semesters rather than the end when their most loyal and vociferous admirers scatter across the continent for a month of pleasure. nonetheless, that isnt how it went.

the clubs here have this bazaar system of getting paid. there is no "entrance fee", though if you dont want to drink, you cannot pay the difference at the door. you must buy the beer. when you come in, they give you a ticket. they put one persons name on the ticket and that person is responsible for everyone he/she comes in with. the number of people overall is written on the ticket. the ticket has a chart indicating all of the drinks the bar offers and spots for the bartender to check off as each drink is bought. when you leave, the bouncer checks your ticket to see that an appropriate number of boxes are checked relative to the number of people indicated on the ticket. the tickets are quite large to carry. all pandemonium breaks loose when either one person goes to buy a drink without his clan, or, when people of your clan try to leave seperately.

the other night, at the club i had mentioned, we came in with 6 people. me, anna, some other teachers, and two ecuadorian 19 year olds. one of the 19 year olds was the person whose name went on the ticket. it was going to be difficult, so, i was happy to see that the bartenders asked us to pay for the drinks up front rather than my having to track down said 19 year old each time i wanted a drink. it gave me hope for this new bar/club. they had exposed brick walls, a live band, and airy dance floor - and they didnt adhere to that silly ticket system. or so i thought.

anna and i danced, talked with people and stood around for a while. still we were ready to leave before others. we went to the door, but they wouldnt let us out without a stamped ticket. i went back in. the person whose name was on the ticket was dancing with a lady, so, i waited until the end of a song and approached him, "i need to leave and im on your ticket." he handed me the ticket, which was absolutely empty of stamps, x marks, checks or anything of the like. i took the ticket and gave it to the bartender. she stamped it and anna and i were finally able to leave.

a couple of hours later, anna got a call on her cell phone. it was our friends and they were wondering what happened to the ticket. as it turns out, the bouncer to whom i was supposed to give the ticket, lost it. therefore, there was no evidence that these 4 people actually had purchased the appropriate amount of drinks necessary to leave. there was a large argument and they all had to pay a $1.50 surcharge in the end for having lost their ticket. i felt at first that perhaps i should have showed the ticket to the bouncer and then given it back to the guy whose name was on the ticket. that would have required too much work and walking back and forth for me. i felt that it was the bouncers fault for having lost the ticket. then, i felt that it was the fault of the guy whose name was on the ticket for having been so lacksidasical with his responsibility. but mostly i blamed the system.

the busses have a strange system for taking tickets from people. you have to go first to the section of the bus station that has the companies that go to the place you want to go to. you choose which company you want. you buy the ticket and get a nice, printed on piece of paper. then, in order to leave the bus station you have to pay a $.10 fee. you get on the bus. here, both the bus driver and his assistant will watch you get on the bus without asking you anything. if you have a bag, the assistant will put it under the bus for you. once you are on the bus, the bus eventually leaves, the lights go off and you begin dozing off. invariably, at some point close to the border of the city, the bus will stop to pick up 55 more passengers. the lights will go on, the music will come on and the bus will leave again in this fashion. before long, the lights will go out but the music will stay on. you can still go to sleep this way and you doze off. then, at another point that seems absolutely random, the lights will come back on and the bus assistant will be coming down the aisle requesting peoples tickets.

through all of the obstacles, weve made it out of cuenca. we came here to baños on our way to latacunga and the quilatoa lake hike and eventually onto colombia later this week. so far weve seen days full of sun, warm nights, and international style food. getting out has been a healthy thing.

its not hot

late last week there was a day that it didnt rain. the next day, it didnt rain until 5 pm or so, so, during that day and a half i was under the impression that the rainy season had finally run its course and the sunny season was about to start. its rained each day since (not to mention the 30 previous days). the rain is something that i will have to get used to here. i intellectually understand this fact, but, i am so accustomed to thinking of rain in a different way. where im from, it rains every so often. on those days, you sit around and laze without any guilt. the next day is sunny again and you go on about your life. this works great. one is not normally caught off guard by the rain and on sunny days, one can walk around confidently - one can even make plans to do things that involve being outside hours in advance. here is different. here, if you laze around waiting for the sunny day to come, you will have never left your house (and although i do like my apartment - it isnt the optimal choice). you just get wet. you hurry around when it is sunny for fear that you will get dumped upon at any moment, so you want to get to where you are going. you hang your clothes to dry and they get rinsed over and over again.

nevertheless, it is almost christmas season here. people are stringing up lights and putting little santa clauses around everywhere. i cant help but thinking that santa must be a bit warm in his north pole outfit. i also cant help but thinking that all that wool must smell like dog after a while since everything gets so wet here. ive never thought that it is a good idea for cultures to adopt customs of other cultures without some adaptation. give santa some shorts for the daytime. give him some llamas to ride instead of reindeer. give him a raincoat for the mid afternoon or some gore-tex gear. give him a fleece for the night. dont just put santa clause in south america and assume all will be well. this is recipe for disaster.

surely ive mentioned before about the salsa/merengue/reggaeton phenomenon here in ecuador. one does get the feeling being here that ecuadorians have adopted these musics and see them as their own or at least coming from a very similar culture. however, because they speak spanish does not make cubans, dominicans, or puerto ricans much like ecuadorians. for example, i see my breath almost every day. this does not happen in the above mentioned countries. surely the lack of seeing ones breath (and the accompanied outfits) has influenced the tempo and rhythm of the musics.
the main square here has imported palm trees. just because there are palm trees in ecuador (on the coast) does not mean that it makes sense for cuenca to give its citizens the false sense of being palm-tree shaded, tropical people. the indigenous of cuenca wear sweaters, long tights and felt hats each day, and they listen to the flutey music that you would imagine andean people to listen to (the reason the flutes are so popular in their music is because the music was meant to copy the sounds of nature - most prevalent of such sounds being the wind). the young wear skimpy outfits (i know theyre cold) and listen to reggaeton.

but of course you cant blame ecuador. im just mentioning because this is where im at. 10% of ecuadorians have immigrated and the money they send back represents the 2nd largest source of national income after oil. this money has made ecuadorians enamored with foreign things - to the extent that they neglect their own (none of my students could name for me a current ecuadorian author, or a poular ecuadorian pop band). it has also given ecuador a false sense of wealth. you can often see huge suburban houses here in ecuador, with two cars in the driveway, but unused. these houses are built by people in other countries and are rarely used. people have learned to become consumers with the money being earned in the u.s. or spain, or italy (the 3 most immigrated to countries for ecuadorians) and the prices of regular things here in ecuador have risen as a result - in response to an intangible market force.

however, i was able to get fillings done for $15. as some of you know, i spent lots and lots of money - a ridiculous amount unworthy or blogspace - on dental work. here, $15. i also got some sort of laser procedure done that will reduce the sensitivity in some of my teeth. plus a cleaning and two fillings costed me less than $100. not bad. the fillings are white, the technology was up to date (unlike in new york where the technology was a little too futuristic for its own good, ie. clamps, suction, novacaine for each cavity, multiple appointments, etc.) and the service was quick. i was in and out since not a million hourse were spent clamping metal things onto my teeth, or waiting for novacaine to settle in (i admit that sometimes novacaine is necesary - but for smaller cavities, i would prefer teh seconds of pain to the hour of numbness), or waiting for x-rays to develop (here they used a camera the size of a pencil to search into my mouth for cavities. the images were projected and magnified onto a big, clear screen). by the end, i almost felt cheated to have to leave so soon. so, if you are with bad teeth, and you are uninsured, and you live in new york - come to ecuador. for the price of a ticket and then the price of dental work, you will save money over an equivalent amount of dental work and the price of a metrocard. its a nice experience.

dragged into a new era (doggy necrophilia)

we have a new president

also, i saw a very nasty thing yesterday:

i was walking down the street and two dogs, who had just finished their sexy business, were coming towards me, stuck together. my father has always advised me that i should throw hot water on such dogs in order to scare them into separating.
however, i had no hot water on me. and, the thing about these dogs is that one was totally unresponsive: the female. she was lying on the ground, being dragged down the street by the male dog - attached. it began to seem weird, and when the dogs past, i saw that not only was the female dogs head bumping in accordance with the cobblestone streets, but a trail of blood was following her.

how did this happen?

sabotage (giving thanks again)

so heres how the rest of my day went on t-giving:
after having eaten the turkey sandwich, i walked out of my house at about 728 to go teach my 730 class.
i have been coming later and later mainly because i live 2 blocks away and feel that i can teleport when necessary. it was pouring rain, and i was secretly hoping that only two of my students would show up like they had the previous day. in such a circumstance, i played cards with them and felt justified in anything i would do. really one student is on a busines trip, one was absent, on was taking a make-up midterm, and one came very late. ineither case all handed in papers.
wasnt the case thursday. they were gathered outside the classroom and i saw ------ going to a cafe with her class "its too loud in there" she said. and it was. there had been a party and it was just wrapping up. "but i will see you at santos?" -- "see you then."
the party ended just as i was about to tell my class that we should also go to a cafe. but, it got quiet, so we went to class. i, however, went to my locker in order to get my lesson plans and the papers that were turned into me. but oops. when i got to my locker, i saw that those things werent there. i knew for a fact that i had put them there, so i figured it must have something to do with ------, the woman i share a locker with. i searched a bit, but i had to get back to class and i did empty handed. i had to start the class off with one of these: "well, i had a lesson plan, but it got taken out of my locker. dont worry though, i will probably find them later. doesnt matter. we can approximate." -- "what about the papers we handed in?" -- "gone." -- "what about the midterm i took?" -- "gone. but dont worry. i will give you all a"

class went fine. then, i met anna, the aforementioned ------, and her roomate ----- at the bar called santos that has ladies night every thursday. at this bar, i drank sparkling water. the ladies drank these weird blue drinks. the issue came up with ------ as to why she has stopped hanging with the guy she had been with. it turns out that he only wanted to be friends with benefits, and ------, being more mature than that, preferred to let the whole thing go.

before long, the reggaeton came on and everyone began dancing. even i stood up to dance, but when i did, anna began coughing. not a sick cough, but a choking cough. before i could ask her what was wrong, i began coughing in the same way. and, before a couple seconds, everyone in the entire bar was choking. anna and i rushed out to the balcony for some fresh air and in a minute we got our breath back. ------ had rushed downstairs, but ----- was still on the dance floor. clearly we were under attack by wmd and anna and i decided we needed to get out of there. our roomate merryn had texted anna earlier saying that the bar she was at was where it was really happening. so we went there. ----- was not very excited about it and when we arrived she said, "why did you drag me here?!" with not an ounce of humor.

pop, as is called that bar, is an abomination. still, everyone ive ever met in cuenca was there. thats always entertaining. within minutes, ----- was having fun with a random guy and
------ had a look alike dancing on the bar (she claims it wasnt her). merryn admitted that she had bigged-up the bar a bit too much via text. i was still enjoying it though, make no mistake. when we were in montañita, a guy we recognized from the cuenca bars offered to drive us home. this was at 1am and he stumbled as he offered. i saw him at pop and asked why he was nowhere to be found the next morning. he said he didnt wake up until 4pm that day.
i was sitting talking to a cedei teacher and anna was sitting talking to a guy who we know who is not the most upstanding gentleman in the world. evidently he was pouring he heart out to anna, wondering why we dont like him and wondering why we would not excuse him for his trangressions. he made sure to tell anna to tell my that he isnt really a bad guy and that please would i forgive him. pretty pathetic scene.

one of merryns friends came by the bar at that point to get her a water: "shes wasted." we all went outside and merryn was doing a dance though she was meant to be standing still. soon, we all left. the 4 roomates tooka cab home together and merry sat with her head out the window. i may have professed some sort of liking to watch people vomit, but i was joking. it was fun to be in the taxi with my roomates who i like. the chemical warfare had put a damper on the night for me, and im not sure of the effects it had on me, but i slept until 1pm and missed both my spanish class and dentist appointment.

the next day the roomate who is the owner of the cats came by and lamented that the apartment was dirty, that she was seeing a psychologist, that the house needs her ex-boyfriend (guy who begged for forgiveness at pop) because he is such a good housekeeper, and that the cats dont remember her even though she is their owner. she was indignant.

later that night i asked my locker mate, ------, why she tried to sabotage my career. she was shocked, surprised, confused and apologetic all at once.

giving thanks and other things

yesterday was thanksgiving. happy thanksgiving!
the day before, we (anna, me, annas fam) went to cajas national park and took a nice walk around a lake 4100 meters up in the andes.
on the way there we took the bus going to guayaquil. that bus passes through cajas and we got off at the entrance. on the way back, we were to wait on the side of that same road for a bus to pass, flag it down, and then sit on it until it reached cuenca.
when we got to cajas, we noticed that a group of school kids were also using this day as a day to have a class trip. we saw which direction they were walking, heard them screaming and shrieking at whatever it is that teenagers find so important, and decided to take the hike in the other direction. we finished the hike at the same time and being a school trip, they had taken a school bus (really just a city bus rented out for the day). not wanting to go through the half-hitchiking scenario, we asked the teachers to let us ride back with them. they let us and we sat next to the teachers and talked to them during the trip home.
during that trip, the teacher asked me what thanksgiving was all about - how did it start, and why we still celebrate it. i told her. then, she said that her favorite singer was celine dion. i told her that thanksgiving is all about eating.

on thanksgiving day, i woke up and called my parents to wish them happy thanksgiving. then, met up with annas family and went over to the market to see what was going on there. i had thougt that thursday was the day where the medicine women came and beat their patients with medicinal flowers - thus curing them of everything from insomnia to cancer to boredom. it would have been nice to see. instead, they were not there, but while walking through the market we stopped at one of the roasted pig stands and andre and i had a good pig meal. the pig was fresh - a bit oversalted, but certainly fresh. i also found out that you can buy chunks of the market pig to bring home and have as the centerpiece for a meal at home. not bad.

we then walked around some more and shopped at various places and wound up eventually at a resturant. it was the zuckers final meal with us and anna wanted to do something thanksgivingy. there were no renowned turkey spots and there was a genreal consensus against eating cuy, so, we settled for eating at a typical ecuadorian food restaurant. by the way: one thing i realized while annas parents were here is that $.25 gets you a lot in cuenca. anna and i have been on travelers lunch budget, not wanting to spend more than $1.25 on any occasion - perhaps $1.50 if a dessert is inclluded. but, it turns out that if you pay $1.50 and sometimes $1.75, you get far more and better food. such was the case with our thanksgiving meal. yes, the meal came with rice - but - there were (for me) two good strips of chicken breast, mote-pillo (which is basically the regular mote, which is large white corn cournels without much flavor, cooked with egg and criollo spices), a salad(!), and llapingachos (which arepotatoes, mashed and then fried as little balls and topped with an organge sauce that is only orange but without flavor). the meal was good and really, just putting the egg in the mote made it a special occasion meal - atypical typical food.

all semester, the students of my teenage class have been asking me to take them to pizza hit (not to pay for them, but to spend class time there). ive been ardent about rejecting their offers if only to let them know that they cant tell me what to do. at one point i employed this tactic: i might take you there but if you keep asking me i wont. and they stopped. since then, the idea had stayed circulating in my mind and after a while i figured that i would take them not because they begged and i feel bad for them but because it would be one fewer day teaching if i did so. it would be fun and i like pizza. i told them that i would take them on thanksgiving day. i did so partly because it was thanksgiving and i wanted to do somethign special, and partly because i had been having fun with annas family during the week and had neglected to plan anything. it worked out great. we (me and four students) ordered two pizzas. both with pepperoni and one with a cheese filled crust. during the meal, one of my students mentioned to me that ehtere was a place in the center of town that served monkey steaks.

on the way back to my house i picked up 4 turkey sandwiches. anna took the day off of work and was sleeping a lot. usually sophia is home. i picked up 4 so that if she was and anna and i were to share with her, that we would still have enough to eat for ourselves. there is a place near my cedei location called pavo and pernil. accordingly, they serve turkey and pork sandwiches. they are pretty good. when i got home, i woke anna up and eventually we sat down to eat our sandwiches, with sophia, along with a can of cranberry sauce that was sent down by my parents. this was thanksgiving. i ate a lot, like usual.



by the way, we will have a new president tonight...

learning spanish bit by bit

learning spanish has become the thing we say whenever asked why we are here, or, whenever any justification, whether to self or to others, is necessary. like:
"working sucks"
"yeah. working sucks anywhere. dont worry its a means to an end."
"oh?"
"yeah, we are supporting oursleves so that we can live in a foreign country and learn spanish while doing so."
"right."
so, along with the free spanish lessons provided by cedei, anna and i are also taking private lessons for a nominal fee. we go to talk to as many people as we can. but note what happens in a conversation with one of my female friends:
ff: "i couldnt stay in cuenca for a year."
me: "me either."
"but i thought i could."
"oh?"
"yeah, but its been really hard to make friends."
"really? you seem to be doing fine."
"i mean, i meet slimy guys, but nothing like the chilling with people i do at home."
"yeah. at least you can talk spanish to them."
"it is much easier if you are female."
"it seems. or if you are single."
"well..."
"or doing your thing anyway."
and so anna and i are reliant on the spanish lessons for the time being until we acclimate to the social scene of cuenca. dont get me wrong - we speak plenty of spanish and have met plenty of people. im just not fluent yet and its a frustrating process.
so, i voiced this opinion to my free spanish teacher the other day, and she, good teacher she is, decided to gather up a group of her friends and bring them into our class - free of charge - to talk to us and have us talk to them.
so, to set it off, the girl whose spanish is worse than everyone elses: "what do you think of tourists?"
me, in thought: kind of self centered, but ok.
friends of teachers: its nice to have you in the country.
girl: what do you think of racism i ncuenca?
me in thought: oh come on. be nice...
fot: we are all equal in cuenca
me in thought: ok, not so, but what can we expect...
other guy, american: do any of you speak quichua?
me in thought: cmon people, lay off.
fot: (heads shaking)
og,a: but it is the language of your ancestors. you should be proud to speak it.
me: you know, we have indigenous people in our country and we dont speak their language.
og,a: yeah, but its different, these people are blood related to their indigenous.
fot: nobody learns quichua except for the rural people. our education has been in spanish.
og,a: but arent you proud of your heritage?
fot: (no reply)
me: but spanish has been the national language here for 300 years or so, right?
fot: right.
me in thought: i wonder if this guy speaks any ancestral language. this, i guess is why people dont like americans throughout the world. either we are innundating them with our military or our morality...
other girl in class: why do cuencanos like american girls so much?
me in thought: now that puts them in an uncomfortable position.
so in the end, things calmed down and everyone became friends.

english has this massive vocabulary, but not too many verb tenses. so, we are naturally wordy and artful and good lawyers, whereas spanish, who has a million verb tenses, is naturally expressive, i guess. still, i wonder why it is culturally acceptable for a man to come to the window of a woman at 3am, drunk, with 6 of his friends, and to serenade her. people here think its romantic. i think the sense of romance here is directly related to the language. emotional expression is built in to it, while for english speaking people, rationality is. i dont know.

brief road trip

one of the bad parts of having lesbian friends is that even when you are at their house and a huge, hairy spider chooses that time to reveal itself, you, as the man, are still responsible for getting rid of it. which i did, valiantly, with a cup and a book. i brought it outside and released it into the yard, still alive. it was killed later by the landlord. it was said that these types of spiders always hang out in twos, so that another one would rear its wicked head soon.

then, me, anna, merryn and sophia (two of our roomates) took a road trip this weekend. we were going to leave at 1130pm to get to guayaquil by 330 in order to take the 5am bus to montañita that we knew existed. but, upon overhearing our conversation about our trip, one of our colleagues who has been in cuenca for 5 years decided to add his two cents. he suggested that, because beyond the shadow of a doubt there is a bus leaving cuenca for guayaquil at 1230, we should take that because then we wouldnt have to wait around as long for the coveted 5 oclock bus. we took his word for it because he said, "beyond the shadow of a doubt" and he has been in cuenca for 5 years and must have something to show for it. so, we all got to the bus station at around 11 to be early and low and behold, there was no 1230 bus. there was a 130 bus and we made the most of it and played hearts for a while, but there went our chance to catch the 5am direct bus to montañita. its a shame when people have to be the person who knows things - and then they are wrong...

it occured to me once we got on the bus that we hadnt taken an overnight bus in quite some time. we have been pretty much entrenched in our cuencan lives. this is good. it has occured to me some time ago that it is far more useful to be in a place so as to get to know a few things rather than to just travel around and get impressions of any things. so many times, while traveling, ive left a place thinking, for example, that the weather is bad there when really they were just having a bad week. then, other things started happening to remind me that it has been a while since my last overnight bus trip. thoughts and feelings started reemerging. there was the cockroach crawling over the seats across the aisle. there were the crying babies begging their parents for coca-cola. there was the rhythmic thump of the many closing windows as soon as the bus started moving. of course, i opened mine wider. the person in back of us then had the predictable audacity to close our window. i opened it back and shot a mean look. then, soon, the person across the aisle, who had not been bothered by the roach on his seat and who had hoped to calm his baby down by feeding it coke, leaned over and requested that i close the window. i shook my finger at him, "we need air, right?" -- "not that much though." i laughed and sat back in my seat. he cuddled with his woman for warmth.

when we got into guayaquil, it really occured to me how long i had been in cuenca (yes, i know its only been a bit over a month). the city pace was mesmerizing to me. the women were dressed with less clothing, and the men were not too shy to knock into you if you were in their way, or slowing them down. the humidity was very uncomfortable. i immidiately began longing for the fresh mountain air that i complain about while im in cuenca. fortunately, busses leave for montañita every half hour or so, its just that most of them arent direct. since we missed the 5am direct bus by an hour, the next one would have been at 1pm. anna worked out the bus tickets while sporting a cockroach broach. but we got on an indirect bus instead.

meanwhile, last week sometime, my elbow began bothering me and when i looked, i saw that there was a bump forming. it could have been a bug bite. it could have been an ingrown hair. i dont have hair on my elbow, though. later that day, it got a white head, so, i popped it and chalked it up as a strangely placed pimple. the pain, however, did not go away, and by thursday, my elbow was swollen and oozing a blood/puss mixture at random moments. that night, i began squeezing as much puss and blood out as possibe and in my mind, i wondered if i should actually stay in cuenca and go to the doctor. swollen elbows are not good. before we got on the bus, i put on a band-aid, finally, and by the morning it was soaked through.

on the first bus from guayaquil, everything went fine. i got a seat in the front and after passing through the outskirts of guayaquil, which took about an hour, as there are shacks and shantytowns with unpaved streets and garbage pouring down the sides of hills into those streets - people walking barefoot and gated comunities of pastel colored houses right beside, i fell asleep. woke up in the town where the bus was to connect to the other bus and banged my elbow on the door on the way out. i noticed now that my elbow had swelled considerably and surmied that perhaps the infection had traveled to other parts of my arm. i wondered how long it would take for the infection to get to my bone, requiring my arm to be cut off. it seemed weird to become disfigured by a pimple - or was it a spider bite? i had just woken up though and when i did fully, i noticed that in this town, santa elena, they were preparing, at various stalls on the sidewalks, plantain balls stuffed with meat. it was something i had been looking for, yet i didnt want one at 8 in the morning. i was happy, though, that i may be able to find one later.

the second bus was supposed to be the shorter ride. in the end, it was - timewise - but in reality it took much longer than the first. the road we took was littered with speed bumps, so we drove 2 miles per hour and frequently rose and fell like a wave. there were more views of starving dogs on teh side of the road than there were ocean views. one man came on the bus and gave a 10 minute speech, introducing his wonder-vitamin to the crowd. this vitamin cured many illnesses but did nothing for infections slowly eating away the meat of your arm. everybody on the bus bought a bottle. oe thing about ecuador - really every latin american country ive traveled to: if someone comes on the bus selling something - whatever it is - 80% of people will buy it. its a good tip for anyone looking to make a buk or two. one family sitting close to us, by the time we got off, had vitamins, gum, three empanadas and two bags of plantain chips. at one point a family got on the bus and one woman requested to sit in the seat next to me. i was sitting aisle-side. i got up to let her in, and while i was up, her grandmother slipped in front of me and took the seat i was sitting in. i still have not mastered angry spanish, so there was no way to really express my indignation. i could not push her because she was old. she laughed a lot and i didnt.

when we got to montañita, i noticed that the ceviche carts that i wanted to see were not there. also, the hotel we had stayed in last time, which we led our roomates to, was under construction. the sign was up, but the hotel was not there. there were concrete blocks, but the hotel itself was hollowed out. we went to another hotel - slightly more expensive, but with hammocks.

the first day was spent sleeping, and when we woke up, anna and i went to go swim. there was not even the threat of sunshine and the wind was whipping a bit during these hours. anna chose not to go in, but was nice about coming anyway. the third part of my body to touch the water after my ankles and knees was my elbow. i had faith in the powers of salt water and while i was in the water, i squeezed visciously at my elbow trying to fill the sea with puss. in order to get farther than waist deep into the water, you needed to walk out about 500 feet into the ocean and nobody else was doing so except surfers. i got out and dried off ,went home and showered and re-dressed my cut. my arm was swollen and tender to the touch. sans street-ceviche, we all went out to eat dinner at a restaurant, where i ordered ceviche. i knew well that it wasnt quite the same as what is to be found at the street-carts, but for merryn and sophia, it was their first ceviche and aside from the octopus, they liked it a lot so i wasnt too persistant about my complaints that there was no street-cart ceviche. it was something that i kept to myself for the most part. we played hearts and waited for an appropriate time to go check out the fruity drink guy. the same guy from july was there making drinks, although he had changed his name and did not have maracuyá this time. he wore sunglasses and danced while we drank. he did have mango. i started the night off with a mango/rum drink. ended it with a taco from the taco stand. in between, we danced at the sand-floored clubs with the bonfires on the dance floors.

the dogs in montañita are very well fed and very well groomed. their coats are shiny and they are friendly. one amily of droopy eared dogs came and begged somethign of us. aside from some lack of hair on one of their asses, these dogs were very handsome. the cats seemed all to be of the same family. all seemed some sort of siamese mixture. one albino version of these cats came with us to eat dinner the night at the restaurant. she was clean, but we didnt want her to touch us or jump on us. another grey version of this cat came to me while i ate ceviche and meowed quite desperately. i gave her a piece of fish and it did not satisfy her.

the next morning, the ceviche guys were there. it turns out they are only there on the weekend days. i ate an oyster ceviche for breakfast and talked to the vendor who explained that the rest of the week was spent searching the sea for oysters. he dives down to 40 feet without a tank, looing for oysters and has a secret stash in a part of the ocean that only he knows about. i thanked him for all his hard work.
to wash down the breakfast fish, i had an avocado milkshake.

that day i took a huge nap and my elbow swelled so that the bone no longer protruded even when i bent my elbow. people in the mountains call people from the coast monkeys. i asked my class why this was and they said they didnt know, its just what they are called. the first time i heard this, i immidiately disliked the person who said it. since, i have grown to understand that since there is not the same history as what we have in the u.s., there is probably not the same connotation for calling people monkeys. lonely planet says its because the people from the mountains think the coastal people are lazy. i slept 3 hours that day but did manage to go swimming with the other three. we went out further and rode waves back in.

that night, the fruity drink guy was not there, he had a wedding to go to. so, we went to another guy, but it started raining before long and even though he overloaded his fruity drinks with evaporated milk, he was good and it was unfortunate that we had to seek cover so early. he was called "the poet", though he recited no poetry. that night i realized that my raincoat is actually a windbreaker. then i realized that when i bought the jacket, the guy told me that it wasnt really that good for rain and my rational was that if it was raining so hard, i wouldnt be outside anyway. i like the jacket. there were flashing lights down the beach a little and insead of going home, we walked towards these lights. as it turns out, they were coming from charos

the next morning, it occured to me that i hadnt showered in quite some time and that the hot water from the shower would have actually been good for my infection. i went out to get my final oyster ceviche and though about it. when i came back to the room, i looked at my cut and the puss was coming out on its own. i squeezed a little bit and it flew out. it turns out there were two infections, and i figured that if one came out, the other would as well. it did! and they left behind to holes. to voids to be filled with new skin, and meat.

we left at 1pm and i left happy that i got to try the best ceviche in south america once again. the water was good and the fruity drinks were tasty. i wonder what kind of scar my elbow voids will leave...


in cat news:

i now live iwith 5 women. at first, there were 3 guys (including me) and 4 women. since then, ne guy moved out because his room was not private enough. a girl moved in - this girl being a friend from home of another girl who already lived here, who is in ecuador for a bit of time. another guy got broken up with and had to leave.
there has been talk among some of the women of the house of detesticling the male cat due to the inevitable and approaching incestuous situation brewing. ironically, these thoughts are not being thought by the proper owner of the cats (who might, in fact, not think: ie. me, anna, merryn in the kitchen one day. owner of cats comes in crying: "my dog in new york died." normally a sad situation worthy of sympathy at the very least. merry moves over to hug the berieved. over the shuolder of the berieved, merryn makes a face of, "huh?" -- "i left him with y friends and he died of a broken heart. he missed me so much." knowing how inept of a pet owner she is, i turned blue not laughing. also, she failed to consider that perhaps her friends starved her dog, or, let it out into the streets and got it run over... predictably, not another word about the dog ever uttered), but rather by the still large contingency of resident women. according to them, male cats are terrors when with testicles. women cats dont like sex anyway, and when women cats have babies too young, they suffer a severe form of post-partem depression that sticks with them their whole lives. plus, there are complaints as to the possible post-toxic-like appearance of their offspring.
despit whatever of their claims may be true, i have taken it upon myself to be the lone crusader for that continued attachment of the only other pair of testicles residing in 9-52 arízaga. it is my duty. in doing so, i have decided to keep the male cat close to me. i am teachign him the finer points of self defense (sticking my finger in either his face or his belly until he swipes at it) and although i dont openly endorse it to the cats, i do not disapprove of teh feeding system theyve worked out where the male cat gets the lions share.
aside from these outlets, as well as my continued, vigilant, and persistant verbal sparring with my snip-happy compañeras (who have been known to hold the male cat back until the female cat has eaten her share), i call upon you, dear reader, to join in the crusade: to keep our pets full and natural and to allow me another male roomate.

photos with captions

in cat news, they are definitely getting bigger. it is easy to tell the boy from the girl now as the boy is developing and orange tint to his coat, his head is growing huge and wide, and when you play with him, he uses his nails and teeth. not so much as to hurt you, but enough to let you know that he would like to be hunting. poor cat. there are no mice here. the girl on the other hand remains sleek, just taller. we cant tell if she is skinnier because she is the girl, or because she is the girl, the boy slaps her around when she tries to eat, takes her food, and thats why she is skinny. nonetheless, she is calm and likes to
play too, but doesnt use her nails.
the real tragedy of the whole cat situation is that now that they are getting older, they are coming to certain realizations about life and love and are beginning to show the inklings of needing to satisfy certain sexual desires they may have. sure, they are brother and sister, but i dont get they impression that cat culture is as hung up on these things as human culture is. so there was a disturbingly graphic display on the dining room table yesterday morning as the humans were enjoying their coffee. it will soon be time to take these cats to meet other cats, i think.
this is pondue. he belongs to the estate of our friends. well, it isnt their estate, but the fence you see here in the picture holds behind it about 4 or 5 residences, all owned by the same family. one such residents is rented out to our friends. once we got to know pondue, this is how he has greeted us at the fence each time we come. standing on his hind legs, allowing us to pet him as his tail wags. our friends told us that really he is viscious, but only to people he doesnt know. protective, i suppose. each time we our over our friends house and then leave, pondue wants to come but is held back so that he can stay inside the property. he whimpers a bit, but stays. he does get out sometimes, however, because he is sometimes lying on the ground outside the gate when we arrive. sometimes chasing cars down the street and barking at them for no reason...
one night, recently, it was about 3 in the morning and anna and i were walking down the street to our house. it was dark and the streets were deserted, but anna and i were oblivious to any impending danger. then, from across the street and ahead of us a bit, a dog came charging at us. anna hid behind be and gasped. but i recognized the dog as pondue. he has a distinctive tail that shoots straight up in the air, for some reason. sure, it was strange to see pondue walking the streets, but it was nice. we petted him and he walked close to us up to our avenue, at which point he bolted diagonally across the street and began barking wildly at a group of about 4 or 5 other dogs who were gathered there perhaps hoping to attack us. pondue barked and then ran over to us and barked at us, but in a different way, as though to tell us to get to our door quickly. then, went back and staved off the slobbering pack.
two of the faces of anna.

we made it to a rodeo this weekend. it was a pretty cool event. it was part of the cuenca holidays fo independence day. just last week at this time, i was worried that cuencans did not know how to celebrate to my liking. however, during this festival, all my worries were proven unfounded. the thing i have to remember about cuenca from now on is that the bulk of the cool stuf does not take place in the center. on the first day of the festival, anna and i walked to the main square with the big church, which in most small colonial cities in latin america means that it is the place where everything happens. not so here. however, when we got out of town a little bit, we found all the roasted guinea pigs and fried pig products that you could possibly want. there was a makeshift amusement park, musical performances, farm animals on display, and about 25000 people walking around. the culmination was a night of rodeo and mariachi music. and it turns out that here in ecuador, people like mariachi music. all of the songs seemed familiar and the whole stadium that fit about 10000 people (i didnt know this stadium existed) was dancing and singing and drinking cheap alcohol. it was fun. the music accompanied the rodeo and people rode pretty well, i think.

market value?

undoubtedy, one of the most interesting, cultural experiences you could have upon getting to ecuador is going to the market. even if you are staying in a hotel withou a kitchen and have no need for groceries of any kind, your time in ecuador will have been incomplete without having checked out the market. just walking through the aisles is an experience for your senses. there are bound to be fruits and vegetables you have never seen before. the fruits are stacked ten feet in the air, on top of each other, sectioned off so that from afar, you see a squre of red, green, orange, purple, etc. and the whole thing represents some sort of psychadelic experience - not even to mention the smells! plus, the markets are usually manned by indigenous ladies who have at some point in their long history decided to wear each and every color in the rainbow each and every day. you can find the ladies sleeping nearby the food or else swatting flies away.

 

as a visitor to the market you may pick up one of the fruits that you may have never before seen - for example, the babacao. this is a fruit that looks somewhat like a papaya, but is white and chalky on the inside and in order to make drinkable juice out of it, heaps and buckets of sugar needs to be added. not my favorite. still, interesting. when you pick up the fruit, you will without fail rouse the interest of the sellers and within five seconds, she will come to you or scream at you from where she sleeps, something astute like, 'what are you looking for'. just looking brings a frown so you move on to the next stall and get a 5 or 6 second glimpse at another exotic fruit before the lady there begins to ask you what you are looking for and if youre lucky, providing a laundry list of the things tha tyou may be looking for. but, as a visitor, it is all part of the experience. you may wind up buying somethin glike a babacao just to cut it open and smell it and if you are charged $.50 it is no thing to you and you will go back to your home country and say to your friends that hte ecuadorian markets are very cheap and very colorful.

 

as a shopper, things get a bit more dicey. knowing that you make $.67 each month and that you are actually getting paid more than most ecuadorians makes you a bit more sensitive to the fact that it is quite impossible that a head of broccoli costs $.40. so, a number of tactics need to be employedto combat this friendly ripping-off of foreigners. one such tactic is to hide somewhere near to the stall from which you want to buy, wait until a local buys something, and note the price. then, when it is your turn to buy, dont be swayed by the vendors talk of your product being bigger, newer, fresher or otherwise needing to be more expensive. this tactic is often thwarted by nearby endors asking you what you are looking for if you are lurking. this draws atention to you and the vendor you wantd to buy from will often wind up overcharging the prson they are selling to, thussparking an argument between the two and causing time to waste. you will usually wind up going toanother stall.

 

at this other stall, you will try to buy a bag of naranjillas. naranjillas are related to oranges. they are green on the inside and orange onthe outside and until yesterday i had taken for granted the fact that if you buy naranjillas, you will only be able to use about half of them because the rest will be bruised beyond use. kind of likeif you buy raspberries, some are guaranteed to be moldy. usually the price you will be charged for things in a bag is either $.50 or $1 depending on the size of the bag. the price is so universally quoted that it seems true and not a rip-off. still, $1 for something seems like quite a lot. think about it: a dollar for a bag of 4 avocados basically means that each avocado is worth 1/4 the price of avocados as thy are sold in the most expensive city in the richest country in the world (new york). ok, but then if you take into consideration that the salary i am making is approximately 10 times less than what would be made in said city, then that scales the price of each avocado to $2.50 each - and this in a place where avocados grow on trees. no. cant be. yet, as a foreigner, $.25 per avocado is the cheapest price you can get. and these are usually the small, bruised ones.

back to naranjillas: this local fruit (not sold even as close as peru) will cost $1 per bag. in a bag, there will usually be about 13. 7 usable. but, they are organic, so fine. not organic in the whole food kind of way, where organic means price x 10. but, organic in the sense that you are buying from the grower and they are making 100% profit.

 

anna and i have taken to paying a weekly visit to supermaxi. this is a supermarket the type you might expect to find in the suburbs. massive and sells everything. here you can buy canned goods, boxed good - all things that are not produce. there is a produce section. however, used to thinking of the market as a good deal and nice experience, the produce section has usually been ignored. until yesterday when i saw that supermaxi carried a bright orange fruit, about the size of my palm, with a thick orange skin. as i moved closer, i realized that these were naranjillas. i was able to pickeach one out and fondle it before putting it into a bag, and inthe end, i bought 10 of them for $1. however, these were ten usable naranjillas that looked as though if you were to throw them against a wall, the wall, not the fruit would break. quite genetically modified of course, but quite pretty and sturdy. having juiced one of them this morning, i can tell you that the markets organic version has nothing on the supermaxi version. sure, there probably are good naranjillas at the market, but of course these would not be sold to foreigners. and, if they were, it would be at a ridiculous price that you would have to spend about half an hour bargaining down to a reasonable price that would still be a rip off.

 

so the wheeling and dealings of the market vendors is costing them business. i would like to go to the markets to buy my produce because i find them to be interesting and i like the idea of buying from the growers, however, i do not like the idea of having to argue for every little food item i need and then still not getting a great deal. supermaxi, you see, has prices listed for all of their items.

and then, there was this exchange yesterday:

me: (looking at potatoes)

vendor: what are you looking for?

me; do you have sweet potatoes? (keep in mind that there are over 300 types of potatoes available in this region - i know that yams are not technically potatoes, but still...)

vendor: ?

me: they are potatoes, but they are orange on the inside.

vendor: you want an orange?

me: no, a sweet potato.

vendor:?

me: they are like potatoes, but they are orange on the inside.

vendor: oh, you want a papaya!

me: thank you, but no. (i walk away, aware that i will not be allowed to look any longer.

other vendor within earshot: what are you looking for?

me: just looking

 

internal messages

the only problem with cedei isnt really a 'problem' at all, but a conflict of interest. you see, the new director, wants to professionalize cedei, and given her experience as an administrator in the new york city board of ed (or is it department of ed?), she has lots of knowledge and plans to back up her vision. however, the poulation of workers that are there are generally not here, or getting paid enough, to carry out elaborate pedagogical philosophies. we are mostly here to see ecuador - yes, to teach, but in a different environment than what we would be accustomed to in our home cities: one in which we can have fun with the students, have them speak english and feel as though they are getting the most out of their $1million per class or whatever it is they pay for our services. then, since we work only 15 paid hours per week, we wish for the rest of the existing time during the week to not be taken up by laborious planning, stressful worrying, painful work chatter, professional development devoid of either development or professionalism, and responsibly early nights. instead, we want to take a few minutes to plan - make some copies of a worksheet, after calss to go out here and there, and then on the weekends to go visit great towns and cities in ecuador as much as possible.

in any event, i wish the best to the new director in implimenting her plans, and to the future cedei teachers in attaining a fair salary for the amount of work they may be expected to do.


i end my work week on thursday at 845 pm. this past weekend, having already planned to not leave cuenca in favor of enjoying what there is to enjoy here over the weekend - aka - live music at cafe eucalyptus, good food at cafe moliendo (which, admittedly, is there during the week too), and the joy of not having to take a bus (there are other good things to do in cuenca during the weekend, but it would have been too much of a digression to get into. if you want, i can dedicate a future entry to these things). at about 842, i began feeling abnormally chilly. yes it was cold out, but i was cold from the inside, yes my head was hot and i could feel my eyes watering and nose running. at 846, snot poured out of my nose pushed only by the force of gravity. the three block walk home was interminable and my teeth chattered like the firing of automatic weapons. my bones began to ache and i quickly developed a gangleon of some sort in my wrist. by the time i reached home i needed only to curl up underneath my blanket and sweat. this was my general state this weekend until today, monday, when i woke up feeling spry, my nose damn near crusty from being so dry, and my pillowcase drenched from my bodys final outpouring of feverish sweat.


this from-the-time-responsibility-ends-until-the-time-responsibility-begins-again sickness is something my body has developed over the years. in most circumstances, it has proven to be a very useful mechanism. for example, i spent very little time absent from school while growing up. i have not had to miss much work as ive gotten older, thus being able to use my sick days as vacation days, and avoiding debilitating non-paid days. however, the fact that my body would adhere to these rules in cuenca, while im working for cedei, and basically on vacation is a bit alarming. it means either one of two things. 1) that my body is just used to allowing me to tend to my responsibilities, or 2) that my body has internalized the professional visions of one linda. the first option is just a matter of habit, while the second is far more disturbing - making me some sort of company man: yikes! you see, in this situation, were i sick during work, i could either just not go and get someone to cover for me and miss out on about $.03 on my paycheck, or i could go in sick and teach words for sickness, like, sick, sweat, snot, tissue, sleep, phlegm, green, yellow-green, ache, etc. being sick on the weekend means that i will be sitting in cafe eucalyptus drinking water and lemonade, wearing a sweatshirt and a fleece with a ball of toilet paper to be used as tissues sitting next to me and with my head on the table while everyone else dances and asks whats the matter with me.

ps: check out more 'peru' photos on my yahoo page...

the principles of principal

so this weekend, we decided to go with a couple of friends to a place called principal. principal is a place just two hours from cuenca, although i suspect that if the road was paved even half of the way, it would only be about a 30 minute busride. principal is the closest peace corps spot to cuenca, and there is a working relationship between the peace corps and cedei. this working relationship goes as follows: the one peace corps volunteer has asked that cedei donate a few teachers each weekend - perhaps particular teachers each weekend - as volunteers to teach english. in return, the cedei teachers would not have to pay the $5.50 that it costs to stay in the only hostel in town. for the teachers, this is good because they get to stay for free in a tiny rural village and enjoy the scenery and tranquility while helping out the people in the way that they can. this is good for principal because the one peace corps volunteer who does live in principal has made it his mission to help the town by boosting its tourism industry.

we went as tourists - that is - we paid the $5.50 and sat around and did hikes. other people from cedei were slated to come by to teach for free, so good for them. when we first got there, it was plainly evident that we had not been to a place like this yet in our south american travels. the streets were unpaved and being that we are suddenly in the rainy season - or shall i say that it just rains all the time here in ecuador - so the streets were composed mainly of mud and the most effectively stylish footwear were rubber boots that come up to your knees. principal is a town of 1200 and most of the people farm for themselves. for this reason, roosters populate the streets, blackberry and tree tomoto trees decorate each backyard, and the mountains around the town are left green, lush, and uncultivated. all larger places that are surrounded by mountains use the mountains as a means of urban sprawl, thus rendering the mountians interesting to look at at night what with all the lights rising into the air, but not as naturally beautiful during the day. the other industry was panama hat making. any woman you may have seen walking down the street, or sitting on her front porch-like area, would be madly weaving panama hats out of straw. whether she was on her leisure time, or she was carying a ton of wood on her back, if her hands were free, she would be weaving a panama hat. we ran into a couple of friendly ladies, weaving hats while walking down the street. they explained that since there used to be a lot of gold mining taking place in the nearby river that once fully mined was no longer a viable source of income, most of the men in the village had left for the united states to find work. she joked that the united states was made of silver. she wore the traditional dress of the village: a neon pink and colorful wool skirt, a knit sweater, two long braids, and her teeth rimmed with gold. she weaved while carrying a blackberry vine on her back that she would plant in her back yard. this, as with most villages in ecuador, is a vilage composed mainly of old men, women and children - the men in their prime having migrated to the u.s. the villagers survive on money sent back, and on the money they make from weaving panama hats. the woman we talked to lamented that she would only make $2 per hat, and that it would take 2 days to make one hat. also, that when she did sell the hat, it would be to an intermediary who would then sell the hat in the larger markets nearby for triple the price, at least. part of matts (mat being the peace corps volunteer) motivation for bringing tourism to principal was so that tourists could buy the hats directly from the women of the town. the lady asked if we knew matt, and then began to recited the names of the other peace corps volunteers who had been in town for the past 10 years or so. there was also megan, jeremy and david. we said that we had once met matt, but didnt really know him.

we walked on to other parts of the town - which did not take long - and passed by a school where children were playing soccer in the yard. as we walked by, they ran to the fence and began saing, 'hello', counting to ten, and any other english words they knew. they asked if we knew matt and if i could get their soccer ball down for them. somebody had kicked it onto a nearby patio. i jumped and got it down and the kids all cheered. then they invited us to play soccer with them. they all played in their rubber boots and i played goalie so as not to exert too much energy. they were very excited about it all and shreiked the whole time.

to eat, we had to, hours before, ask one particular woman in town to cook us something. there is no restaurant in town and this woman needs at least 5 hours of worning before she can serve anything. so, we sat down at her table at around 7, joined by matt and the two cedei teachers who had made it to principal to teach. the other three had bailed at the last moment. we ate and i remarked to matt that he must be doing a good job here because everyone knew him and seemed to like him a lot. he said that he had been trying to boost the tourism of the town and that he really wanted it to be written up in lonely planet. there is another town called jima which is equidistant from cuenca (though you only have to take one bus there), where another peace corps volunteer works, that was written up in the new version of lonely planet. in my humble estimation, i felt that if principal were written up in lonely planet, then perhaps the resulting onslaught of people into the town would be too much for the town to handle. for example, there are no restaurants. there is much hiking to do, but only one guide. only one hostel. soon, everyone might be offering up their services. other people would be offering up their homes as restaurants. other people would be offering up their homes as hostels, and other people would be offering up their services as guides - qualified or not. these people would make disproportionate amounts of money (dinner costed $2.50 - there were 7 of us, =$17.50. the hat weavers make $1 per day) and everyone would want a piece. how long would it be until this nice village where everyone says hello to the tourists, welcomes them to the town, and makes panama hats becomes a place like huacachina in peru, where you walk around feeling like a huge money bag and the locals literally climb over each other and push each other out of the way in order to run up to a tourist to shove a menu full of mediocre food options under their nose. of course im not saying that the people of principal dont deserve to make money if they want, but im just saying that as is, people were not laying in the streets starving - each family had a plot of organic fruits and veggies and a good sized rooster patroling the grounds. their income might not have been much, but they were surviving. is tourism sustainable? is touism a thing that would actually increase the standard of living for the people there? or would it create an upper class of tourists and people in the tourism industry that would occupy the good land of the town, pushing the rest of people to the outskirts where they would no longer have any means of income because their land would not yield as much, the property value would rise exponentially, and they would be left to then become the lower class who were laying in the streets starving... i dont know.

the dinner started out with a blackberry juice and popcorn with ají. then moved on to chicken with mashed potatoes, broccoli and carrots - all taken from the ladies back yard. she used to work as a cook in a restaurant in quito, and was therefore qualified to run this 'restaurant'. the food was delicious and we had her pack us lunches for the hike the next day. the lunches costed $16 for 4 of us. expensive, but she made us 4 chicken sanwiches each and a huge bag of popcorn. she also made us breakfast and it costed $2 per plate. the guide made $12 off of 4 of us for the 9hour hike we did in the rain and mud. interesting, but i wont go into it. beautiful, but i will eventually put pictures of it up on the yahoo page. also, anna got roped into teaching for free in principal, but i wont go into that either. we drank illicit rum, but dont tell the new president: here in ecuador, not only is voting compulsory, but drinking is banned during the weekend of the election (oh, also, election day is on sunday and is treated as a holiday so that people can vote - unlike certain places where voting is during the middle of the week while people are working so that people who need to work and cant take off to go vote are thus discouraged to vote) so that people can make clear-headed decisions. but since we werent voting, we figured that nobody would mind if we foreigners snuck some rum into our hostel room...
all in all it was a great experience to be there and made me think of the tourism industry and what it does to places...

the butler strikes back

so this weekend was interesting, in a sense. what i will not mention here is the part when i played basketball, had a party at our house that ended in commotion and tears for some who were especially attatched to their belongings, planned lessons, took naps, finally hooked up my mp3 to a good stereo thus hearing my music broadcast properly for the first time in three months, went hiking, took more naps, had a couple of my fruits moved in the refrigeratior without my knowing - thus leading to a bout of territorialism, made a large pot of turkey curry, and got a haircut. what i will discuss is how it all started out with a sort of epilogue to the whole dancing scenario:

so, i managed to drag myself to the sals lesson, which turned out in the end to be a merengue lesson. for those unaware, merengue is much easier to dance to than is salsa. therefore, the lesson was not so bad. i did alright, and was even complimented on my performance by some observant young ladies. this compliment took place at a party soon after the dance lesson. you see, many of the teachers at CEDEI live in a specific house called, Cordero House, as it is located on Cordero Avenue - and it is a house. there are often parties there, and the first of the promised lot happened on friday, soon after dancing lessons. there was much laughter and discussion of the dancing lessons, as everyone was slightly unsure about their performance. there were impersonations - necessary ones, as many people did flop about like having been electricuted. some danced as though running a marathon (not in a late 80's post breakdancing kind of way, but like running), some ignored the instructions of the teacher and turned helplessly around in circles. these versions needed to be impersonated. over time, it was determined, and voiced, that there were no very funny impersonations to be done of me - my dancing having ben passable. it was even noted that i had stayed on beat during the lesson. impressive. then, anna, ever eager to have me defend myself to a group of people, began to speak of less graceful dancing episodes invloving me, her, and her toes being stepped on. ok, fine. not that it has never happened, but i was very cautious to point out the reality that these instances are not the norm, and are in fact rare. then, as though a last ditch effort at keeping up the lie inside her head (the one that states that i am not an amazing dancer), anna began a vile impersonation of my favorite dance - the aforementioned wiggly wangles (in a previous post). though i could see that this scenario would end with me performing the appropriate version of the venerable dance, i could not suppress my disgust at the atrocity. 'no, no - i dont do that.' i said, partly in defense of myself, but partly because of the principle in opposition to the bastardization. of course, the next logical response from all those not involved in the quickly forming private matter, was to request that i set the record straight by showing the proper version. usually i would not be made to dance if i didnt want to - but i felt that this was a situation where my identity and self was being attacked, and, the response from the crowd would settle the issue once and for all (the response of the dutch girls as per the aforementioned previous post having been discarded). so, i treated the crowd to a performance of the wiggly wangles. after the initial awe, it did not take long for one of the specators to join in with their own rendition - and soon after another. in fact, within a minute, each and every person standing in the kitchen was doing the wiggly wangles. before long, we had such numbers and momentum that the next logical step was to take the wiggly wangles to the dance floor, where a few people were spinning and twirling in a salsa stupor. once the wiggly wangles showed up, however, the ballerina-like dances stopped, and the wiggly wangles spread like a ray of sunshine. i daresay that this was the worst moment of annas young life.

dancing cats

so cats are ok, but i have reverted somewhat to my original belief, which is that why would people spend money to own cats? ok, they are fine. but they dont really give you the bang for the buck. if you bought a cd, for example, and it only played when it wanted to, you would probably consider it broken. if you bought a pair of jeans and they ran from you every time you went to put them on, you would probably return them. of course cats are independent and can be cute, but then again so are mice. mice dont really want to play with you and they can be little and adorable, but you dont keep them as pets (ok, people who do are weird). so with cats - they purr, they vibrate, they have funny looks on their faces, they are soft - but, they really dont feel like playing most of the time. they only want their food. they are very cute when they want food, but when they dont, where are they? having cats is very much a one sided relationship.

that said, they are still nice to have and they make the apartment fun - even though the owner of the cats/apartment doesnt like having the cats in the house and so leaves them out back. we can only, illicitly play with the cats when she is not around. also, they are always hanging out right next to the door ready to terrorize and spill everything that is not nailed to the ground.

i keep getting ripped off for things here. well, im very paranoid and i accuse people of trying to rip me off when really they might not be. usually i would not care, bt being that i am getting paid approximately $1 per year for my much sought after services, i have to be vigilant about getting a good price for things. like garbage bags. i went to one place to buy 10 garbage bags and they tried to charge me $2. the horror! the problem is that the people here make blatant liar faces when they tell you the price. they cut their eyes, they pause, they do everything wrong. are people here just naturally honest? i dont know.

another thing that is coming up a lot here in the world of latin american living expats is the proliferation of slasa dancing. this is unfortunate. ok, well most of the women i work with have a grand old time when going out. being foreign, they attract a lot of attention, so when at the salsatecas, they usually get scooped up in no time by an ecuadorian willing to teach them the appropriate amount of moves that will a) be a fun time for all and b) have the foreign girl impressed enough to either a) go home with him, b) make out with him on the dance floor, or c) recognize him and choose him next time at teh salsateca in hopes of further pursuing a or b. but fine, good for them. great. im not here to hate. all im saying is that given the scene (the rest of the foreign guys (and this only counts for single people, of course) get to pick up the stragglers, aka those left un-scooped by the snazzy salsa guys), anna and i often find ourselves having arrived with great company, but soon abandoned. also fine. anna is great company. no problem. however, my company is simply not enough for anna. she wants to be a part of the twirling, sweaty salsa scene - and, though ive explicitly told her that if she wanted to, she should dance with one of the snazzy fellows (though without the extracurricular, of course), she has declined on occassion after occasion in favor of my dance partnership. where does this leave me?

well, here at cedei, there are free salsa lessons offered. i am meant to attend these lessons. not that i dont think salsa is fun to watch, and i definitely like the music, but the dancing of salsa is the dance equivalent of big-plate/little-food restaurants. if you are hungry, you want a big huge plate of meat and potatoes, or some such thing - not some artfully decorated appetizer. salsa dancing is the artfully decorated appetizer, so manicured and choreographed away from the natural movements your body might make when hearing good music. i say. being so rough and rugged and hardcore as i am, all those little hip and foot movements may not be good for my image. but, i guess salsa lessons must be done.

if you are still having trouble picturing me dancing salsa - make sure you picture it with me wearing tight clothing. you see, sending things to ecuador, for whatever reason, is very expensive. therefore, i could not get my usual clothes delivered. still, i needed clothes that were not filthy traveler clothes and so i relied on the old navy of ecuador, called vatex. problem was, with most ecuadorians being approximately 5 feet tall, finding clothes that fit me was no easy feat. i was forced to settle many times and even when something did fit me, it does so in such a way that while dancing salsa - clumsily at that - i will most likely have further cause to be concerned about my image.





im kidding of course. im the man. and cats are cute.