Monkey business

One of the booths that the Waorani Women’s Association set up during Carnaval was at a place called Paseo de los Monos which is a monkey rescue center and forest reserve with trails, etc. The owners invited the Waorani to give a cultural presentation to tourists and have their artesania on hand to sell. The place is about 10 minutes outside town, and rather than having to pay for a taxi, the owners graciously picked us up and loaded all of the stuff in their big, old beat-up truck that looked like it had at least 500,000 km on it and started without a key. I helped the women set up the booth, and then Manuela and I made some cool bag-like baskets out of palm leaves that we joked that we would try to sell to tourists. Around mid-day I ran back into town to get some stuff done. In the few hours I had been gone, and exactly 0 tourists came through, Manuela had somehow lost her cell phone. And not just any cell phone, a $400 cell phone. She doesn’t think she dropped it in the forest. I asked her if maybe one of the monkeys had grabbed it (there are a couple of aggressive ones that will steal anything it can get its hands on…and they can be sneaky). She said she didn’t think so. I kept trying to call it, but it was turned off. She definitely had it on when she last had it and had retraced all her steps, but couldn’t find it. She was really distraught so she decided to go to a shaman to have him tell her who took it. According to his report, one of the guys who had helped us set up and start a fire in the chosa (hut) where we had our booth had taken it. Manuela then had to confront the owners about it, but it was never recovered. I still suspect the monkeys…

I ended up working my tail off for the rest of Carnaval, helping the women set up and take down the OTHER booth near the big water park in town. Sales were slow. And the rains were frequent. One of the days we were able slip away to see the famous painted body exposition in the nearby town of Vera Cruz. Here’s the deal: a half dozen or so women strip down to their thong underwear and then get painted by local artists while whole families (not just dirty old men) look on. Some of them are really well done…and others not so much. Every parade in Puyo usually has at least one painted body. Vera Cruz was supposed to have some sort of food festival, but it felt like false advertising…very disappointing. We tried some sweet fried that was pretty unremarkable (so unremarkable that I forgot the name of the food) and what amounted to a frozen fruit salad on a stick.

The highlight of Carnaval, hands down, was seeing the Monday night parade in the city of Ambato. For whatever reason, Monday night is bigger here than say Fat Tuesday is in New Orleans and other places that have their own Carnaval or Mardi Gras festivities. There was not a hotel room in the entire city…and people had started reserving their spot on the street to watch the parade 10 hours before the parade was to start. We were invited to stay in the “Posh Corps” pad of a friend, where we had a little pre-parade party. At one point we mosied the 3 blocks to the parade route only to realize that a) there was absolutely no place to stand and be able to see anything; and b) the parade still hadn’t even started yet. We climbed into a truck bed parked on the street hoping the extra height (in addition to us being gringos and having a general height advantage anyway) would yield a glimpse of the street, but our views were still blocked. Later, one of our comrades would discover a stairway to a balcony of a burned-out building. It was probably not the safest or smartest move on our part, but we pressed on anyway. The stairs were sketchy, but once we were all on the balcony, we arguably had one of the best views of the parade in the city. It was phenomenal. The parade was no half-rate parade that we are used to seeing in our site. This was the real deal. Intricately sculptured floats made entirely of oranges and other fruit…elaborately dressed dance troupes spinning and grinding in synch… glamorous festival queens waving like Queen E while donning four foot wide peacock feather headdresses. We squeeled like schoolgirls at each passing float to try to convince them to throw us candy and fruit and prizes. There was so much electricity in the air which added to the rush of discovering our “own” private colonial balcony to view the spectacle. I have never been to any of the big parades in New York, New Orleans or Rio, but I have to say that the Carnaval parade Ambato was pretty amazing.

making change

So, I have a lot of catching up to do. I’ll start where I left off on my long tale of our trip to the coast…we stayed at the lovely Bamboo hostal which was right on the beach, had a cute dining area with cushy chairs and tables lit by shell lights interspersed with palm trees. The next day and a half consisted of a lot of hanging out on the beach with two Peace Corps pals and assorted family members and friends including our new French (fry) friend Clement (which must be pronounced with Jer’s thick French accent as clay-MAW). It was this guy who just sort of glommed on to our group. He never just said much, just was kind of there trying to figure out our motley group of friends. His Spanish was better than his English, and then everyone had to try to use the six French words or phrases they knew over and over, so our conversations seemed at once very international, but very absurd (hence the famous quote was born, “There are lots of French words in English….like bidet”). We had a weird small world moment when we ran into a dude who had stayed at the same hostal as us near Laguna Quilatoa. And later Shelly ran into the Chilean girls that stayed at the same jungle lodge.

I ended up having to go back earlier than everyone else for work reasons. So that Sunday was taken up by a long 11 hour trip involving four different buses. I lucked out and didn’t have to wait long for any of my connections and all things considered it was a smooth trip. It was long, but I would TOTALLY do it again. Since we have been back from the coast we have had three separate invitations to stay at beach houses in various towns on the coast. So, another beach trip will definitely be in the works as soon as we can find some free time...

So, after a great few days of vaca, I came back to a lot of work with the Waorani Women’s Association. One of the recent little projects I have initiated is trying to improve customer service in the store and at the various fairs where they will be setting up a booth to sell their handicrafts. One day I offered a short “charla” as we call them, which is basically a short training class. I set it up with my counterpart, Manuela, so that we did a two short roleplays. In the first, I was the store attendant and she was the tourist. I was the “bad employee”, talking on my phone, not paying attention, etc. Manuela was the tourist wanting to buy stuff and ask questions. I basically ignored her and then didn’t have change when she wanted to buy something, so I lost the sale because the person didn’t have time to wait for change. In the second roleplay, I was the tourist and Manuela played the “good employee” and greeted me when I entered the store, explained that all the artesania is made by hand by Waorani women in communities throughout the Waorani territory, etc. She demonstrated how to use a blowgun, explained how the string is handmade, etc. In the end I bought a bunch of stuff…and she had the correct change and thanked me profusely for my purchase. We tried to make it funny, too, so I was talking in really broken Spanish like many tourists do and asking silly questions. The women seemed to enjoy it. After that, I gave them suggestions on what they should and shouldn’t do while trying to sell, and then had each of them practice being a store or booth attendant. Some of them were really into it, others were too shy and quiet and clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

I did a lot of work with the women to get ready to sell artesania during Carnaval. We had originally planned to have four booths, but thankfully the two of them that were out of town fell through. The two that we did locally were a ton of work and I was exhausted at the end of it all. I had helped to make signs and displays, which then had to be transported and set up and taken down each day of the festival. (I was having flashbacks to the EastSide Designs booth at ComFest.) I got frustrated at several points in the process when the women would show up late, after I had done the lions share of the work. …And when at one point there were three of us working, none of which were Waorani. … And when I asked one of the women to help me put together a display by cutting pieces of tape for me, but she was too busy text messaging her boyfriend, and I ended up doing it all by myself. I tried not to let it get to me, but I admit it did. My role as a Peace Corps volunteer is not to work FOR them, but to work WITH them…but sometimes it certainly doesn’t feel that way. Progress is slow, I know. And I definitely have seen some progress and I have to keep reminding myself of that. Like yesterday, I brought some people that I met at a meeting to the Waorani store. When we entered, there were a bunch of Waorani just hanging out. Before my little training (and frequent reminders), they would have just stayed in the tiny store blocking the displays and being loud and making it an inhospitable environment for customers to shop. But, now they all knew that when customers enter, they should step outside, which they did, and then Mencay stood, greeted them and launched into a brief explanation of the store and did a good job explaining things to them. So, that was great to see. But of course, when they went to pay for their stuff, there wasn’t any change...

Padrinos and prancing horses

(story continued from last entry) While Pablo and Andrea met with the community near Isla Corazon, Alex and I did some birding from a pier. We saw lots of really cool waterbirds: beautiful sandpipers, gulls, ibis, herons, and frigatebirds. Isla Corazon (named because from the air it looks like it is shaped like a heart) is home to one of the world’s largest (maybe THE largest, I can’t remember) frigatebird populations. We were all kicking ourselves for not bringing a camera. How could all four of us be sans-camera? Duh! After the PC meeting, the local guides invited us on a canoe tour to the island, which is a mangrove reserve (for those non-bio geeks out there, a mangrove is characterized by trees that can grow in salt water). The canoe ride was great and offered more great birdwatching opportunities. Once on the island, we schlepped through some mud (which is actually quicksand around other parts of the island) and then walked along an elevated boardwalk through the reserve to the sounds of birds singing and clamshells snapping shut. Yet another really amazing experience.

On our way out of town, we stopped to “approve housing” for the Peace Corps volunteer that would serve in the community. It was a small, very basic room (but with a nice, new bathroom) attached to a family’s house. To enter the house, however, we had to trod through thick mud. The constant rain had made a total mess of the dirt roads. It was the kind of mud that would suck your Crocks off your feet and totally destroy the interior detail job on the Peace Corps 4-runner. Oops. Sorry guys. On our way back to Tabuga, we stopped again in Canoa for lunch. Along the way Pablo shared some insightful information: the reason so many Ecua-houses have re-bar sticking out of the roofs is because there was some law that taxed houses under-construction at lower rates than completed houses. Thus, every other Ecuadorian tried to take advantage of the tax loophole by just leaving their houses unfinished…you know, because “we’re still working on the house…saving up for that third and fourth story.” Yeah right. I immediately phoned our friend Roger to share this revelation. We had many a conversations about the half-ass home construction in most areas of the country…how no one seemed to finish what they started…the rebar industry must be raking it in…but now we know. And, as G.I. Joe always said, “knowing is half the battle.”

Once back in Tabuga we got cleaned up and had dinner at the hostal. The Italian dude cooked us a simple but TOTALLY overpriced dinner…one that Shelly couldn’t even eat because she had issues with her stomach. So, she retired early and the rest of us hung out for a while, checked out the archeological dig that was next to the cabins, and racked up more ridiculous quotes (see previous entry).

The next morning we met Andrea and Alex in “downtown” Tabuga so that we could attend the graduation of her god-kids. Tabuga is a small “town”…really a smattering of wood houses and shacks off the Golden Coast highway that runs along the coastline (think Pacific Coast Highway 101…but okay, it is really not like it at all). The town population is around 400 people, at least half of them are under the age of 10. And lots of teen moms. We dropped off our stuff at Andrea’s house…or room, rather. Her room is part of a rustic wood house and has just enough space for a bed, small table, refrigerator and an alcove for her stove. She has two exterior doors, one of which leads to the family’s outdoor bathroom, which has a flushing toilet and a shower (which is really just a hose that is elevated to the height of the shower) that, as Andrea pointed out, the family recently upgraded by covering the structure with bricks. It really makes our place seem like a castle…and confirms her phrase that she is in a “real” Peace Corps site. It is a site that she absolutely loves…and the community absolutely loves her, as was obvious the entire time we were there.

The local school’s graduation ceremony was held in concrete recess/soccer field/common area outside the small school buildings. The two dozen-or so- kids (the equivalent of kindergardeners, 5^th graders and freshman) were seated in super straight rows of white plastic chairs, while the families were proudly seated at small tables around the periphery. Each table had a fancy white lace tablecloth, on which was placed an elaborately decorated cake, candies and soda. As the final preparations were being made, a little boy approached us and asked Jer if he would be his “padrino” or godfather for the ceremony. Godparents are a big deal here (but that may be a catholic thing in general) and they are an integral part of graduation ceremonies everywhere. Jer at first didn’t understand what the kid was saying, and just replied, ‘nice to meet you.’

“Jer, honey, the kid wants you to be his godfather.” “Oh! Really?...uh…ok.”

(to be fair, the Spanish accents on the coast are very different than other parts of the country…and extremely hard to understand! Costenos talk twice as fast as Ecuadorians in other regions… and they “eat their s’s”...meaning they don’t pronounce them…and boy does it make it hard to understand). So, the new godfather accompanies the boy down to the line of kids clinging to their godparents. Shelly and I just sat in the peanut gallery and giggled at all the pageantry. The white robe-clad priest promised us a short ceremony. And, for his part, that was true. (He later went on to openly flirt with me… Which really creeped me out.) But of course, the presentation of the diplomas was proceeded by the kids each reciting a short memorized poems or mother’s day card greeting card-type saying to each parent while handing them a flower. Half of them needed help remembering their lines. And they either screamed into the microphone or talked so softly you couldn’t hear. Either way, you couldn’t really understand what they were saying, so I didn’t even bother trying to translate for Shelly. One poor little boy about 6 years old was so shy and so terrified that once he was standing before the whole group he broke down into tears and heaving sobs. It was so sad and so sweet at the same time. He walked back to his seat with his head down, and then later buried his face in his hands for the rest of the ceremony. So, after the poems, each kid was called up individually yet AGAIN (this time accompanied with their godparent) to be presented with their diploma and be photographed with their cap and gown. The thing is, there was only ONE cap and gown for the whole school. It was physically painful to watch each godparent ceremoniously put the same cap onto their precious one’s head and then struggle to tie and untie and tie again the cape. It took forever. Shelly and I let out a synchronized groan while rolling our eyes and making smartass comments of launching an international relief fund called the “Cap and gown for every kid campaign.” The process dragged on…and on…and on… At some point we ended up hanging out with a group of little boys, around 8 or 9 who were equally bored and sitting near the back with us. We kept taking pictures and short video clips and then showing them to them…a trick that always fascinates kids of all ages and from all areas of the world. And of course our little pal, Gironimo, wanted to take a picture of us, too. So, after giving him the instructions on how to use the camera, he points and shoots…right at our breasts. Yes, he took a picture of our boobs. Shelly and I just laughed and laughed. We weren’t sure if it was intentional or not. So we gave him the benefit of the doubt and I went over the directions again, “remember, look at what is in the screen and aim a little higher this time.” That time he captured us in all our cynically amused glory.

After the ceremony finally finished it was time to eat cake…and lots of it! We were each offered and consumed no less than 5 pieces of cake and 6 glasses of champagne, fake champagne and extra sugary orange soda (We had to do it! After all, it is rude to refuse...although we did give some of it away to some kids that didn’t get any cake at all, poor little things.) One of the families celebrating featured a transvestite: one of the few I’ve seen in Ecuador. Quite surprising for such a small town. Yet there she was partying it up next to grandma and the godfathers. The transvestite seemed to fit right in, as I didn’t really notice any obnoxious gawking or poorly suppressed giggling and rude comments from kids or adults for that matter that you might expect in small town u.s.a…. According to Andrea there are quite a few transvestites in the nearby communities….

That afternoon we checked out the local artesania offerings (kinda cool lamps made out of cool wooden—bamboo-ish bases) and then took a short hike to check out the dry tropical forest reserve where Andrea does some of her work (and where Alex is helping out).

Even later that afternoon, we packed up our bags and then went to the road to wait for a bus to take us to the beach town of Canoa. We had no sooner sat our bags down on the side of the road when a car stopped and we were offered a ride. Well, uh, sure! So, we throw our bags in back and piled in the car. As soon as we take off, we hear Bob Marley on the stereo. What perfect beach-road trip music…we couldn’t have scripted it better ourselves. When Pepe, our kind driver, stopped for gas he refused any money we offered, saying that he was doing it because his heart said he should. Well, okay! Right on! Jer did buy him a bottled water and a 6-pack of Milky Way bars. Aw yeah! The trip was already perfect before our toes even touched the sand. At some point along the way, we slowed down for one of the randomly placed speed bumps (or maybe it was a large pothole, I can’t remember) and we see two guys training a horse. Pepe stops the car and we all stare out the window. This beautiful majestic horse is trotting (actually, it wasn’t trotting, it was some sort of dance step for show horses I think) around and around in a big circle, sweating and snorting. Not missing a beat, Pepe flips through his CD’s and throws in a disc and then turns it up full blast. It was surreal. If I understood Pepe right (again, coastal Spanish…ugh.) it was music specifically used by Colombians when they trained special show horses. He could have been totally blowing smoke up our butts, but the guys training the horse seemed to react positively to the music, if not the random carload of goofy gringo gawkers. Again, it was just one of those very random, but very memorable moments that doesn’t really make sense, but is impressionable nonetheless. Pepe ended up driving us right up to our hotel, helped us unload our stuff and again refused any money. And shook our hands, thanked us for the entertainment, then he was gone.

Notable Quotables

(this is part of a long entry detailing recent events) After my Gender and Development meeting, Shelly, my pal Andrea and I were able to catch a ride in the Peace Corps vehicle to the small coastal village of Tabuga. I was excited for my first glimpse of an Ecuadorian beach and to check out Andrea’s site…and for some much needed R&R. Andrea introduced us to “the Italian guy” who ran a local hostal which was located near her village and literally over the river and through the woods. Shelly and I settled into our cute little bungalow while Andrea went looking for her 19-year old brother who she had left in her house (room, really) for three days without any money. I believe I have blogged about Alex before, but to re-cap: he dropped out of community college, came to visit Andrea with his mom and other sister at Christmas, stayed here (or was left here, depending on who is telling the story) and is now living in the same small, rustic 12 x 12 foot room as Andrea. And… he is a trip and a half. He is a skinny 6’2” kid in constant motion. His mouth more than anything. And, oh did he have many-a quotable quotes (I’ll get to that later). Shelly remarked that when you are with Andrea and Alex, you really don’t need a radio or t.v. because they are entertaining on their own. Andrea was worried that she would find him alone in her room rocking back and forth on the edge of her bed, traumatized. But, alas, he survived his three days in Tabuga with his limited Spanish skills…and he didn’t starve. He ended up working (building a bathroom in the local dry forest reserve) for food…and hanging out with his newfound highschool friends.

So Alex and Andrea braved the rain, and crossed the swelling river in order to get to our bungalow to hang out. Shelly and I had done some shopping in Quito, so we busted out a bottle of wine (yes, you read that right…a bottle. No boxed wine for this group!) We ended up hanging out and telling stories and laughing and laughing and laughing. Shelly and I were laughing so hard we had tears in our eyes. The stories got crazier as the night wore on and we made our way through our second, third and eventually fourth bottle of wine. At some point in the evening the quote book was born. What started as a page of quotes that I “overheard” and wanted to remember the next day…became a full-on book of ridiculous quotes and bits of conversations over the next few days. While most of these will make little or no sense to the average blog reader, they hold special significance to our happy little campers…and to Angela and Toni, because they will undoubtedly recognize the voice of Alex in many of these quotes. My apologies in advance to anyone who may take offense to some of our crass comments. But really, get over yourself. We were on vacation at the beach!

So here goes:

----“the worst day of my life was the day I got my fake ID.”

---“she almost got Peaced out of the kick corps.”

---“you know the only time I ever peuked on dip…”

---“we live in the 21^st (century) now…wait, or is it the 22^nd?”

---“Remember, they (the cute male servers at the wine bar) asked us out!”
----“Yeah, but I don’t remember where we went.”
----“We didn’t go anywhere.”
----“Oh.”

---“I’m just a cooker.”

---“Oh my god you guys, I had a gyno exam at 8 a.m. by a handsome man who said that I had nice breasts because they were not fibrous.”

---“oh gawd! I’m his (Jer’s) aunt!!! No, wait…I’m his COUSIN!”

---“So many roads…so little laws.”

----“ Oh man, yesterday, I got chased by a herd of cows.”

---“Golf courses: they’re like cattle ranches for white people.”

---“Am I allowed to fart in a government car?”

----“I just really love black guys.”

---“Oh man! Is that a moose? Oh, no wait. It’s a cow.”

---“I’m just a sissy sipper.”

---“Age 0-12 and 80-death, no problem. It’s the guys in between I have problems with.”

(later)

---“Well, we know you like younger men.”

----“Hey, I’m over 12!”

---(said to a French guy on the beach)…“We use lots of French words in the U.S…like bidet.”

---“I think I like French people.”

---“I would be really good at having an arranged marriage.”

---“I mean, it is so wet, but so dry (the sauna).”

---“I’m itching my foot, dude.”

----“On my leg!”

---“Actually, if you have hair on your legs, it is a good exfoliator.”

---“I lose keys, I lose money.”

----“Me: I lose copies of my passport in my underwear!”

---“That guy who she (deleted) in the Sauna…yeah, I peuked in front of his mom”

---“Tom (Andrea’s U.S. guy) is just really good at being with hot girls.”

---“I love meat on a stick.”

---“I think she looks especially hot because she’s all shiny. F.C.U.K.”

---“That girl is getting whistled at down the whole road….oh wait, that’s a bird.”

---“They don’t sell wine there” (the bikini and sarong store).

---“Coctelitos…hahaha little cock.” (No, actually it means little cocktail)

about our hike (cont´d)

Hike (cont’d) Our hike with Shelly around Laguna Quicocha was cool, although the first hour felt like it was entirely uphill. As we kept climbing up and up into the paramo, we griped that it didn’t look this steep when we started. Soon, we were surrounded by clouds and fog, cutting off our view of the lake and our only measuring stick of how far we had gone so far. So we just kept hiking. The vegetation near the peaks of the rim of the now extinct volcano was all high elevation scrubby type plants. Eventually we made our way back down and was greeted by a lush, tropical-ish (very scientific I know) vegetation. Eventually the fog and clouds burned off and we were greeted with an awesome view of Quicocha. While Laguna Quilatoa (see previous entry) was a bright emerald green, Laguna Quicocha was a brilliant sapphire blue and featured a couple of “islands” in the middle. I’m hoping to upload photos soon. stay tuned.

After the hike, Shelly and I went to Quito. I was signed up for a Peace Corps E-business conference and Shelly was going to tool around Q-town for a few days. The Waorani Women’s Association has some funds to create a website, so the conference was interesting and helpful to our planning process and to learning more about the complicated process of having an online store for the artesania. After the conclusion of the first day’s meetings, Shelly, Manuela and I went to the Mindalae museum in Quito right before it was closing. We got to do a quick 2 minute tour of the place and the Fair Trade gift shop where they sell Waorani goods. In a super small world moment, we ran into two Waorani outside the museum. Weird. Anyway, Shelly and I then wandered around the area, looking for a place to get a glass of wine. We happened upon Vino & Tapas. Perfect…sortof. Well, it really was perfect. Just dangerous. The menu is set up as an all-you-can-drink wine and all-you-can-eat tapas. There were different price points depending on the quality of the wine. It was steep on a Peace Corps budget, but a bargain for someone like Shelly who is on vacation and used to paying at least $7 for a glass of wine in the states. So, we sat down and sampled some of the tapas, which were mostly unremarkable. The wine, however, was pretty great. And, well, we had a lot of it. As we went down the list of great South American wines, we had a great conversation, were serenaded by musicians and asked out by our servers. By the end of the night, Shelly wasn’t sure how to get back to her hotel (to be fair, we had walked around quite a bit before that and we both had lost our bearings). The kind server offered to walk us to her hotel, because he assured us it was very close. It turned out that it was about a half a block away. The next day we howled with laughter as we realized how preoccupied we were with getting her back to her hotel from the restaurant and not knowing that it was about 4 doors down from where we were.

Shelly booked a jungle tour and headed off on the long bus ride to L.
A. (Lago Agrio, said to be one of the sketchier parts of the country, but the launching off point for some of the jungle tours). Manuela and I headed back to Puyo the long way. It was nice of her to accompany me, because the travel restrictions prohibiting passage by the Tungurahua volcano did not apply to her and it added several hours to the overall trip. Once back in Puyo that Friday, we had a full day of meetings and activities. I was looking forward to some down time to do some writing, watch a movie, and hang out with Jer, but the power was out most of the weekend which was a real drag. I ended up back in Quito for the MLK holiday for my Gender and Development Committee meeting. It was the first meeting that I ran as President, and I have to say that it went really, really well and I had several members compliment me on my efforts. My fundraising subcommittee focused on soliciting prizes for our annual raffle which raises money for scholarships for underprivileged Ecuadorian girls. That meant trolling around the hip parts of Quito asking restaurants to donate gift certificates. It also meant I was able to stumble into some great dvd stores and get overwhelmed with the number of choices of great tv series dvds. Sex and the City, West Wing, X Files, Grey’s Anatomy…and wait, the second season of HUFF!!! Ohhhhh my gawd! It was so exciting! One of my partners in crime was also addicted to Huff and was in the market for the 4^th dvd of the 2^nd season. So…we made a deal. I would buy the set and lend him the 4^th cd…and then he would mail it back to me when he was done. Done. I was like a kid in a candy shop. I didn’t think the 2^nd season of Huff even existed. I had even gone online to look for it, and I came up with dead end after dead end. Some sites said that when Showtime cancelled the popular show, they didn’t release the 2^nd and final season to dvd. But, that memo didn’t reach the guys who pirate everything down here. And, oh how happy did that make me. Sorry Hank, you won’t be receiving royalty on my $6 entire season 2 dvd box set purchase. Better stick to the Simpsons. Oh but wait, they’re pirated too.