Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Dry season

Well, the "dry season" came fast and furious here in Puyo. It hasn´t rained in at least 33 hours...and the sun is out in force. I take back ever saying that the view of the volcanos are sparce. The recent clear weather has provided spectacular sunrise views of the mountains and volcanoes.

Haven´t had time to write much lately...but did add some photos from Krista and Caleb´s visit (see link on right).

I am no longer a Skype virgin. Had my first conversation and webcam conference today. Pretty cool. Want to know who else is geared up to talk via Skype. Do tell.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Gender bender

I successfully used our new cordless drill to put up a shelf in the new store (in concrete, of course).

Jer made quiche in the toaster oven. He also cut my hair. (not on the same day...and NO, there was no hair in the quiche!)

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

Check out this cool article on my "cousin" (actually he is Jeremy´s cousin´s husband...but whatever!) and his work on climate change. Pretty darn cool:
http://www.plentymag.com/features/2007/07/seeds_of_change.php

I have been working my tail off the last two days in the new Waorani ethnic art and handicraft store. This is the abridged version of the story: I had made the suggestion a while back that they consider moving their store to a better location...and actually had suggested the space that was for rent adjacent to the Gran Hotel Amazonico, one of the bigger hotels in town...right in the center of everything. Whether it was my suggestion, or whether it happened all on its own, I don´t know...but we now have a new store. For all the things that are so frustratingly slow here...this not so much. They had the space rented and the old store cleaned out in less than a day. I am super excited by the prospects of the new site, as it is an ideal location, a nice clean white space...that looks more like a gallery... anyway. I will write more about this later. Gotta bolt.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Gripe

Well, I am back among the living. I had a nice bout of 24 hour flu. I went home for lunch yesterday and hardly got out of bed until this morning. I felt like I got run over by a truck...my whole body hurt. Thank god for the portable dvd player that we borrowed from a friend (partial payment for taking care of her cancer-ridden dog which shed a lot of hair from his chemo treatment, thus setting off my allergies on top of the gripe) so I was able to zone out to season 2 of House while attempting to move as little as possible. P.s. The spanish word "gripe" (pronounced gree--pay) is used to describe every other unknown ailment, or gripe, as you will.

Earlier this week I was in Quito for a two-day Gender and Development Committee meeting. We worked our arses off. There was no sitting around talking about what we were going to do...it was an incredibly productive two days. The big highlight was the raffle for the round trip airfare. First, a HUGE thanks to all of my friends and family that bought tickets. I was so thrilled to see so many of your names on the tickets (I had the fun job of printing and cutting thousands of tickets). Unfortunately, however, none of my friends or family won the tickets.... Nonetheless, it was a huge success, as we blew away last year´s record fundraising effort. The committee is made up of a lot of super cool volunteers--we worked hard, but had a good time, too. I hadn´t realized how competitive it was to get on the committee...there were a lot of other people who wanted to serve, but weren´t chosen...
Had lots of good food in Quito--including shwarma and Indian and some incredible banana macadamia nut pancakes at the Magic Bean Cafe. yummmmmmmmmm........ Well, am going to mosey back into the office. Ciao.

Friday, July 13, 2007

mi maleta

Our friends Krista and Caleb have came and are long gone already… it was a whirlwind trip for them…spending a day traveling from Alaska to Ohio, another day traveling from Ohio to Guayaquil and yet another day traveling from Guayaquil to Puyo…via Quito and Tena. Now those of you that know anything about the geography of Ecuador are asking yourselves WHY would they fly into Guayaquil if they wanted to get to Puyo… It is like flying into Toledo when you want to get to Portsmouth. Okay, that is not a very good comparison, but you get the idea…it is not quite the closest major airport and it subjects the traveler to several extra hours of an already lengthy trip. Well, the short answer is that they got a good deal on the flight and they couldn’t change it to Quito without paying a steep fee… All of this wouldn’t be THAT big of a deal were it not for the fact that main road from all points west and southwest of Puyo was closed. And we are talking totalmente (that is Spanish for ‘totally’ --- pronounced with a valley girl accent) closed. As in washed away. Gone. As in there are NO detours…well, none at least that would support cars. Where I grew up in the flatlands of Northwest Ohio, detours might involve driving a country block around the construction …or getting short, scenic tours of such metropolises (or is it metropoli?) of Rimer, Cairo, or Vaughnsville. Here in Ecuador, however, our “detours” are a little different. In this case, travelers were offered two equally unpleasant overland options: A) Going about 350 kilometers out of your way, which would add a good, say, eight hours to your trip… or B) getting off the bus where the road was out, hiking two hours up over a mountain pass (mostly uphill both ways, of course) hauling all your crap, and then hope to catch a bus or thumb a ride with someone willing to give you a ride into the next town. This would be all fine and good if our friends weren’t hauling so much baggage.

“Why did they bring a bunch of baggage,” you wonder? Uh, well, that would be my fault. You see, they were toting 25 extra pounds of my crap in a suitcase. But not just ANY suitcase. They had the famous orange suitcase. It was my grandma’s bright orange vinyl suitcase from the 70’s. You know the kind that has little feet rather than wheels…. Yeah, that kind. This particular suitcase has probably traveled tens of thousands of miles around the world with various members of our family over the years. It has history. For as long as I can remember, anytime someone in our family talks about taking a trip, we jokingly ask if they are going to take the orange suitcase. It is also the suitcase that our family offers to guests when they find that they have more stuff to carry back than what they came with. We offer it because we say we don’t care whether it came back or not. After all, it is pretty ugly. But like a boomerang, the orange suitcase always comes back somehow. And I have to guess that some of us in the family are a little sentimental about it, because we associate it with MawMaw. Seeing the suitcase brings back fond memories of her and thoughts of past adventures in far flung places. This time, the suitcase brought us gifts of joy from home…including an early anniversary gift for Jeremy: a cordless drill. It even has a working reverse (those of you who follow his blog will get the reference and understand the importance of this tool. If you don’t, be sure to see his entry on DATE) He was like a little kid at Christmas.

Okay, enough about the suitcase. What about the detour? Which way did they go? Two roads diverged in a yellow woods… Well, if you answered option C, you are correct. They ended up hopping a flight from Guayaquil to Quito, then getting on a bus which took the northern route to Puyo… It was still a hellishly long trip (the bus segment alone was around 7 hours I think) but it was the best option. They arrived in one piece, in good spirits…and of course with the orange suitcase.

We packed a full schedule of activities into their 49.5 hours in Puyo. They got to see many high points including: a great guided tour of the local Ethnobotanical Park, experiencing the sensory overload of the Sunday market—which, much to their delight, there was an abundance of venders offering grubs this week. We ate at our favorite restaurant, El Jardin; we got a private tour of an incredible orchid preserve, climbed up into a 10 story tree house; explored “caves” and got dive-bombed by dozens of bats; met a local guide in the bed of a truck taxi; we gave them the unofficial tour of our offices, the Waorani handicraft store, and where we buy our bread, our chocobananas and other staples of our existence here in Puyo. We introduced them to dumptruck ceviche and Pilsener beer...and we also led them on a long hike in a futile search for Cabeceras de Bobonaza. I am not even sure what it is or what that means, but we were assured that the views at Cabeceras de Bobonaza were fab and that we were in fact walking in the right direction. It turns out we were, but we were misled as to the distance (12 km instead of 2…) We weren’t exactly prepared for that long of a hike, so we turned around after an hour and a half or so. So, we did not get to see the spectacular views of the river valley as we had hoped. But we did see some cool birds and butterflies and when we got back to Puyo, we saw a dog nursing two kittens in the middle of the sidewalk. (See link to photos, at left). Our life list of exotic wildlife was now complete.

It was a fun-filled two days in Puyo…

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Bumpy bus blues

I just got back from Coca...a 9 hour bus ride on a pretty crappy road... The funny part of it was that I was happy it was only 9 hours, because on the trip TO Coca, the trip took a lot longer. Mostly because bus broke down three times. I met my counterpart Manuela at the bus station at 7 p.m. Sunday night. We got on the bus at 7:30... and after the various stops to fix things like tires and engines, we didn´t get to the hotel until 6 a.m. Monday morning. Fun!!! Coca is a pretty uninspiring town. Pretty rough around the edges. Why were we there, you ask? For a two day meeting that was put on by Wildlife Conservation Society regarding conservation and management of protected indigenous territories. It was attended by indigenous group representatives from Ecuador, Bolivia and Peru. I would write more about the trip and conference, but my brain and butt are pretty numb. So, ciao for now.

Sunday, July 8, 2007

So, when we left off with our gringita heroine, she was headed into the rainforest around the remote Waorani village of Daimontaro…

The objective of this trip was create an inventory of geological, botanical, zoological, cultural and other environmental features of the area. IBIS plans to conduct a similar survey in five other Waorani communities and make recommendations on what might be the best site(s). IBIS and the Waorani will then evaluate the potential for a very small scale community-based tourism operation. Unfortunately, I think the Waorani governing body (NAWE), the local community and IBIS each have different visions of what exactly IS community-based tourism (incidentally, it is part of a broader discussion here in Ecuador, as there are lots of different models…and few are truly successful as I understand it). Prior to heading out into the rainforest, we had a community meeting to discuss these objectives and IBIS explained that this was NOT a ‘build it and they will come’ cabin construction project. Meanwhile, the community thought they were scoping out sites to build cabins for tourists in their community. Sooo…it should be interesting to see what actually happens…

Blah, blah, blah, right? Well, I thought I would offer a brief explanation, as I realized that some of you out there in cyberspace don’t understand exactly what I am doing either. Hell I do not know either most of the time, but hopefully this provides at least some context.

So, a missionary, a German, a gringa, and a bunch of Waorani Indians are walking through the forest…

…Oh, uh, yeah, so we head out on our hike. As we cross through a part of the village, I see an old Waorani man in traditional Waorani-wear, which is nothing but a penis strap If I had to guess, I would say the guy was in his mid 80’s. He would likely have to guess, too, as many Waorani do not know how old they are or when their birthday is (including my counterpart, Manuela, who is in her early 40’s). While I had seen Waorani-wear in several parades in town, this was the first I had seen a Waorani go au naturale, in the element.

The old man went about his work, like it was totally normal to have a big parade of people walking through the area. We then went to work on the business of crossing the river. I probably could have waded across, as it did not look very deep. But this was not really much of an option for us, as we were directed to get in the dugout canoes and then Manuela would propel us with a pole across to the other side. The canoe seemed incredibly unstable to me. I crouched down and grabbed hold of either side of the canoe to try to stabilize it—or to stabilize myself I guess, because Manuela was solid as a rock standing in the back of the canoe and guiding us across to the other side using the pole to dig in to the stream bed and then push away from the bank. Once on solid ground on the other side of the river, we passed through a small open field and then were quickly swallowed up by the dense forest. The first part of our hike was along a path that was extraordinarily steep—especially considering the grass runway was super flat and not really that far away. We were joined by what seemed like at least half the village, which added a sort of festive flair to the affair. As we walked along a narrow hunting trail, many of the elders would point out special plants that possessed medicinal properties. To the untrained eye, one green plant looks like the next green plant. But to the Waorani, each plant had a specific purpose. Every other step, someone would point to a plant and explain what it was and what you could do with it. “The leaf of this plant is good for gastritis… The bark of this tree is good for healing wounds... When you cook and eat the seeds of this tree, you can prevent pregnancy…this plant will treat a snakebite from the equis (literally, “X”) snake…this plant treats snakebite from some other snake… this vine, when cooked, causes vomiting and then strong hallucinations…the roots of this tree are good for the immune system…the fruit from this tree is really tasty…this plant is used to help train toddlers so they don’t pee at night…(I am not making this up! There really is a plant that they use to potty train kids!). The forest is truly their drugstore, their supermarket, their playground..and of course their home.. It was fascinating. I wish I was able to absorb all the information, but it was coming at me in Wao Terero and broken Spanish…and even if it was in English there was no way I could remember any of it without writing it down…and that just sort of takes away from the experience sometimes. But who the hell knows if some of this stuff is written down anywhere. This was clearly knowledge passed on orally from one generation to the next. The Waorani don’t so much have a dictionary of their language, much less a plant guide to their forests. Who knows how many species globally we have burnt, buried or paved over that might have offered the latest medical advance or disease treatment… These are the things you ponder as you walk in the woods…

The group sort of got separated along the way, as some were prone to “dilly dally” as my mom might say. The first group eventually stopped and waited for the rest of the stragglers to catch up. As they waited, they chopped off some palm fronds with a machete and started weaving the leaves into ingeniously designed little basket-type sacks—complete with carrying strap. Soon everyone was seated on the forest floor making the baskets and crowns out of chambira palm leaves. (Check out the link listed on the left to see photos of action shots of the weaving instruction). Pictures still do not do it justice. It was one of those moments in life that you wish you could preserve three dimensionally somehow.

We eventually moved on, each with basket slung over a shoulder, walking slowly through the woods, filling our baskets with interesting seeds and other forest finds. We checked out some “caves” which were more like rock overhangs that the Waorani had used to hideout in during their warring years.

We also stopped to eat some ants. Yes, you read that right: ants. We ate some lemon flavored ants…live. One of the Waorani broke a twig off of a bush and broke it open and inside were ants. You kind of had to stick your tongue into the opening and catch them on your tongue. Instead of hesitating or thinking about it too much, I just did it. They were kind of tangy, actually. I did not eat very many. You certainly could not fill up on them even if you tried, as they were the super-small variety.

As we walked I wondered… WHO discovered that these were edible ants? I mean, there are probably thousands of different species of ants on the planet---many of them right here in Amazonia… how many have been taste-tested? How many other interesting ant flavors are out there? But seriously, just who is the lucky chap who determines which ants are edible and which ones bite like hell and make your life miserable, say, like the giant Conga ant…

The backdrop to our ant eating experience was a dramatic waterfall and steep cliff face. While some people bathed in the waterfall, others sat on a log in the middle of the stream, while others passed around some orange-like fruit (I say orange-like because they are actually green on the outside instead of orange) and crackers and other snacks. Manuela found a leaf that she curved into a perfect little bowl to drink out of and we passed around the leaf bowl of (ironically enough) bottled water. We hung out at the waterfall for quite a while and listened to stories of some of the village elders.

The hike back out was super steep in some places and I had to grab onto branches and roots and tree trunks in order to keep moving. The guy leading the long line of hikers was blazing new trail with his machete. It was slow going at some points, which was fine by me. I do a fair amount of speed hiking and I was happy the pace was slow. }}

During one of the lulls in the hike, one of the Waorani spotted some big edible seeds waaaay up in the canopy of the trees. Without a second thought, Manuela cut down a long vine, wrapped it round her hand forming a lasso, of sorts. She then stepped into the circle formed by the vine and then started to climb the tree. One of the other women was an expert climber. She sat her baby down, and shimmied up the tree like it was no big deal…in a skirt no less. This was serious skill. The bark of the tree was smooth and there were no little branches to hang onto on your way up or down. Imagine trying to climb a big telephone pole using only your upper body strength and little vine between your feet to cinch your way up. Now imagine me trying to do that. Pretty funny, huh? Yeah, I made it, oh…a meter off the ground maybe before sliding back down to earth. I once again provided much entertainment value to the Waorani.

The hike back to the village was mostly downhill…and super slick with mud. I fell at least four times. One of the teenage girls ended up grabbing my elbow and basically holding me up through some of the parts. Once we crossed the river again and got back to basecamp, I grabbed my stuff and headed for the river to bathe and rinse out my muddy clothes. The river was cold and clear and refreshing. A great way to end a fantastic hike.

That night I slept a little better and breakfast in the mess hall was actually pretty decent. It was green plantain mixed in with veggies…and then an oatmeal type drink. It tasted better than it sounds, I swear. We then headed out on another hike. As we made our way along the side of the grass runway, we caught an incredible view of one of the snow capped volcanoes waaaaay off in the distance. It was stunning. It was one of the few (virtually) cloudless blue sky days that I can remember since being in the Oriente. The view of the volcano was framed by the clearing in the forest for the runway. Too bad my camera doesn´t have a better zoom to capture it… oh well.

One of the girls painted my face with achoite, this cool spikey seedpod that opens up into crushable orange-red seeds that many indigenous groups in Amazonia use to paint their bodies. The Waorani women typically paint their nose and below their eyes in a sort of mask. The girl who painted me was pretty messy…but I was sweating so much it seemed to run a lot anyway. We headed up another steep hill into the forest. The group then suddenly stopped and everyone whipped out their cameras to take a picture of a monster frog…it was the biggest frog I had ever seen. It was bigger than a softball. It sat—frozen like—for several minutes before then darting off into the forest.

Only about a half hour into our hike we heard a plane approaching. All the kids got excited but Manuela got a worried look on her face… “That is our plane!” “What?” I say. “It isn’t supposed to come until 2 p.m. It isn’t even 10:00 yet!” “No, that is our plane. Let’s go,” she said. Crap…I was prepared to be waiting a while for our plane to get there that afternoon…I was NOT expecting it to be four hours early! That never happens here it seems. So, we rushed back down the hill. I was crashing through the trees rather ungracefully. Manuela rushed ahead of me, as she is much more agile in the forest than I. It was all I could do not to fall on my face running downhill on a newly blazed path with lots of natural obstacles in my way. At some point I realize there is a woman behind me. I didn’t even hear her, she was walking silent as a cat. Thank goodness she was there or else I might have missed the turnoff in the trail. At one point I realized how much noise I was making crashing through the leaves walking…and how she did not seem to make a sound. It was really remarkable. I splashed across the river and was making my way toward the bank when I felt her hand on my elbow guiding me to where I should climb up. I look back, and here is this really old almost fragile looking lady—barefoot no less-- the kind of lady you might stop to help cross the street or open the door for… and there she is helping ME cross the river and climb the stream bank. A very humbling experience were it not so amusing somehow. Once I was on the flat grassy runway I was able to run and catch up to Manuela…and the plane. I have done my fair share of running down concourses in airports in order to catch a plane, but never have I actually ran down a freaking runway to catch a plane! We threw our stuff in our bags, quickly deconstructed the tent, then hopped in the plane and were off. I got to sit in the co-pilot seat next to the same pilot who took us. I stared at all the gadgets (which were all in English, by the way) and suppressed the urge to touch them or the steering wheel thing in front of me. The view from the plane on the way back to Shell was equally impressive. I actually felt sad to leave. I really wanted to finish the hike and say a proper goodbye to my new pals. Once we were in Shell, we hopped in a taxi and zoomed back to Puyo… A memorable experience indeed…

Thursday, July 5, 2007

Storytelling

A few stories from my second trip “adentro”

Before I amaze (or bore) you with stories of my latest adventure in Waorani territory, I must pause for a few words about terminology: “going ‘adentro’” is basically the colloquialism for going into the rainforest. ‘Adentro’ literally means inside in Spanish. The gringos often will say that they are “going into the jungle.” I generally don’t like to use the term “jungle” because it makes it seem like it is a scene from a coloring book. Just as swamp seems to be a pejorative term for a wetland, jungle to me sounds like a somewhat uncomplimentary or juvenile way of describing the mega-biodiverse tropical rainforests of Amazonia.

Okay enough chitchat. What was it like? Well, those of you who suffered through my book-length reflections on my first trip to Waorani territory might remember I was a tad bit disappointed by the fact that the village of Tiwino hardly had the remote, rustic, somewhat romantic vibe I had envisioned. This time, Damointaro did not disappoint. The enjoyment factor was greatly aided by the fact that we did not have to rot on a bus for 12 hours. Instead, we went airborne. I could write an entire essay on the insanity related to the planning of this particular trip, but I will spare you the gory details and get right to the good stuff.

First, let me say that I felt super lucky to be able to go to Damointaro with my counterpart and another of the Waorani women leaders. Flights are expensive, hard to come by, and dependent upon the good weather. Basically, if it is raining, the little planes stay grounded. Since this area is one of the rainiest places on the planet, this makes flying on time—or at all that day—a real crapshoot, to use technical terms. Another interesting part of the process was weighing in prior to getting on board the tiny plane. We were hauling in a bunch of food to take with us, so between us three women (two of which are under 5 feet tall), our bags and the food, we weighed in at well over 500 pounds. I am not sure what the cutoff was, but I have to imagine we were close to it. This particular local airline which operates out of Shell (Yes, Shell is named for that oil company…and has a small regional airport just 15 minutes from Puyo) is evidently owned and operated by another indigenous nation native to the region, the Shuar. The pilot was also Shuar and his physical presence was striking. Mostly because he was tall (unlike 90% of the Ecuadorian population which I feel like I tower over) and he had very distinct, chiseled facial features, and broad, muscular shoulders which seemed to dwarf the front seat of the small plane. He looked strong as an ox and probably could have picked up the plane as easily as he could fly it.

Once we were airborne, the view was truly breathtaking. As we made our way up out of Shell, we flew East over Puyo. The city quickly gave way to small colonist settlements, then dense swaths of verdant rainforest. The forest was a flood of every shade of green, flecked with the occasional flash of gold in the canopy. Every now and then, the sea of green would be parted—just slightly-- by the sliver of a small stream… which flowed into the longer ribbons of rivers which twist and turn in incredible arching oxbows---just the kind that ditch engineers in my fair state of Ohio would undoubtedly love to straighten out, I thought, cynically.

The landing on the grass runway was actually quite smooth considering it was a super small plane…and well, it is a grass runway… And just like a scene out of a movie, little kids came running toward the plane to greet us and helped to unload our bags. Among the couple dozen or so people that greeted us was a gringa with dredlocks. I had sort of assumed she was with the Danish aid organization, IBIS, that was sponsoring the series of meetings. It was only later that I learned that she (Silvi is her name) was a German student volunteer who was just along for the ride, literally. In one of those classic stories of being at the right place at the right time, she met some Waorani while on break from her volunteer job at the Ecuadorian birding mecca of Mindo. They invited her to come along to Damointaro. Why not, right? Especially since it is on the dime of IBIS. Interestingly, she flew with the food and one other Waorani. They were too close to the weight limit for her to bring her backpack—it would have to come on a later flight…or so she was told. We ended up helping to prepare lunch. Our job was primarily cutting up vegetables that had accompanied her on her flight. We also helped carry water in big metal pots from some sort of water source that feeds the river. We were cooking in what seemed to be a rustic community kitchen with a wood fired cooking pit. I was holding my breath for a repeat of some sort of mystery meat…but it turns out that we just had rice and noodles with small bits of veggies mixed in for lunch…and dinner…and lunch again. It tuned out every meal would consist of rice AND some shape of noodle. No wonder I am packing on the pounds, all I have to eat are pure carbs on these trips!

In the afternoon, we took a walk around the village…which was basically a few wooden houses on stilts clustered around a grass runway and a soccer field. They did have a typical Waorani house, but it was mostly for demonstration purposes. My counterpart Manuela explained to Silvi and me the different features (most of which I actually know by now) and we tried to start a fire using traditional tools. One is a round, dowel rod shaped stick, and one is a thin, flat piece of wood propped up on some wild cotton. The idea is to roll the rounded stick between the palms of your hands as fast as possible and bore through the flat stick, whereby the friction and heat will spark the dry cotton. After what seemed like hours (but was probably more like a 3.2 minutes) of rolling the stick as fast as humanly possible, we are sweating and panting. We give up. In case you weren’t already convinced, I would never make it alone in the woods. To further illustrate this fact, I even tried my hand at throwing a Waorani spear. I aimed at a broad-based banana stalk, oh, a mere 10 feet away…and of course I missed. While hunting is traditionally conducted by Waorani men, I have to say the women—even the ones who have long left the forest---can throw a mean spear. Me? Not so much. But at least I provided some comic relief for the Waorani women that observed my pathetic spear tossing skills.

That evening Manuela invited me to eat dinner with one of her friends. Her friend turned out to be an Evangelical missionary. I of course didn’t know this at first…as I admit she didn’t fit the stereotype—or at least the stereotype I had formed in my head after reading Savages and other accounts of missionaries working in Waorani territory. She was young (25) cute and Ecuadorian. Incidentally, she was also indigenous: half Kitchwa and half Shuar. So…I started to suspect she was a missionary after I caught a weird glance from her when I helped myself to the chips and salsa that some “North Americans” had left the week before. She asked if we could bow our heads in prayer then… Aha! We were later joined by Miguel, the staffer from IBIS that was working with the Waorani. He is Kitchwa. And Silvi, the German. Not too many times you get that kind of group dynamic. It almost sounds like the start of a politically incorrect joke. …so a missionary, a German, a gringa, and three Indians are walking through the forest… We had a very fascinating conversation and covered all kinds of interesting topics including community based tourism, marriage and evolution—all by candlelight in the missionary quarters. It was a good time. Would have been even better with a cold beer…but I imagine the closest one would require a plane or a 10 hour walk…

I had set up my family sized tent on the porch of the two story bunkhouse built by the missionaries. Miguel decided that he would forgo the pretty dreary bunkhouse bedroom (which consisted of four wood walls, a wood floor and ceiling, and a rickety wood bunkbed with no mattress). He inflated his air mattress (which looked suspiciously similar to a floating air mattress that you would take to a pool) and then I helped him hang a mosquito net over it, and that was his bed. Silvi did the same thing—except in classic gringa style, she had a nice Thermarest. I had broken down and bought a bedroll. It was basically a thin piece of bright blue foam. The type of thing that would cost a couple bucks in the states, cost me 10 bucks down here—a small fortune in Peace Corps parlance. While it was great for the occasional crunches I force myself to do in a vain attempt at working off the carbs, it was not very comfortable for a full nights sleep. My discomfort was compounded by Miguel’s incessant snoring. The deep bass of the frogs of the forest I could stand. I actually liked that sound. But the obnoxious snoring had to stop…or I had to take additional measures… At some point in the night I remembered I had one earplug tucked away in my backpack. I flicked on the flashlight, dug out the neon orange earplug, stuck it in my exposed ear, then doubled my super small pack pillow to buffer the other ear. Ah…sleep…sweet sleep.

I wish I could say the same about my dreams, but the malaria prophylaxis seemed to be kicking in and I was plagued with disturbing dreams. I awoke exhausted from the energy that I seemed to expend just getting through my dreams. Vivid images…a patchwork of people and places…and events that span decades…

Manuela and I had breakfast with the missionary, as she had insisted the night before that we eat with her. Considering what concoction might come out of the community kitchen and after observing the dearth of sanitary standards there, I was happy to consume her food for her. Plus she seemed eager to try out all the unusual foods brought by the U.S. missionaries---like instant oatmeal, Aunt Jemima pancake mix…and Tootsie Rolls...which is funny to hear pronounced in Spanish, I might add.

After breakfast, we headed out for a hike in the forest surrounding the village with the intention of creating an inventory of noteworthy natural features and cultural attractions. It ended up being one of the coolest hikes of my life.

Music fades in and dramatic gameshow host voice says, “tune in tomorrow…or the next day maybe…for the exciting conclusion to Susana’s story of her romp in the rainforest…” music fades out… (aka I ran out of time and creative energy this type of story telling requires)

Tuesday, July 3, 2007

tired

Here is a little ditty I typed up but never posted...

June 25, 2007

Yesterday Jeremy and I went with some of two of his co-workers and their assorted German friends to check out the waterfalls at Machay, which is in between Puyo and Baños. En route, we got a flat tire. I have never seen anything quite like it. There was a spark plug totally embedded in the tire. How we were able to drive over it at the right angle for it to puncture the (new!) tire is beyond me. I think we were lucky Jer was along, because he helped tremendously with the Formula One tire changing operation. . Two minutes flat. Ok, not really. But considering how disastrous it could have been, we were back on the road in a decent amount of time. Because were in a Chevy mini suv which had a full sized tire on back, rather than a donut spare tire, we were able to drive at full Ecuadorian speed toward the waterfalls.

Throughout the day we ended up doing a lot of waiting around, because half the group went via bus, and the rest of us were crammed in the car. Plus, it is the nature of larger groups… and Ecuador. We finally were all assembled and started hiking. The trail to the waterfall was pretty steep and slippery in parts. Since I already have a huge, ugly bruise on my butt from falling on the stairs the day before, and already being overprotective of my knee, I was extra careful and sort of slow hiking down. I saw some lady on the trail in heels and a skirt. What!? Yeah, I don’t know what she was thinking! Crazy!!! It was hard enough to walk in decent hiking boots.

So, the waterfall was nice. Not as cool as the one at Hola Vida we visited before, but it was impressive nonetheless. The hike back up was tiring because it was so steep. We were all pretty winded by the time we got back up to the top. The trail continued on to see 7 other waterfalls, but by this time it had started to rain. Plus, one of the locals told us the trail to the others was in bad shape after all the recent rains…so we decided to call it quits early and go grab some lunch. There will be plenty of time to tackle the other waterfalls another day.