Bon Anniversaire Lio!

Quito
Last Thursday was Lio´s birthday, Titi´s compañero de clase en Leuven, Belgium. I was supposed to meet Titi and Lio in the park after class and then head over to the Yaku Museum (museum of water), but of course they were lazy and drinking wine all day in a different park so we never made it. Instead I joined them at the girls´apartment and we killed another couple bottles before heading out with the whole family to Cafe Mosáico, which overlooks the old town from a nearby hill. The view was sick, and we rode standing in the back of Daniel´s pick-up truck all the way to the restaurant enjoying the wind and sharp turns, yelling at people on the street and taking pictures of everything. From the balcony seating you can see everything lit up at night across the city, and I learned a little about how all the major Quito churches have been built upon the same sites as the former Inca temples of the sun, moon, etc. We passed a few hours with a little history, some strong brazilian liquor shots, finger food, and little Lucas running around for added entertainment.


I had an exam the next morning to study for, but if you know me than you know I am easily talked into other things instead. A laid back night quickly turned into a late, crazy night. With Lucie at the wheel blasting a killer 80´s mix and their Spanish step-sister Maria in shotgun, Titi, Lio and I filled the back of the small hatchback as we screamed through the streets of Quito singing at the tops of our lungs. Locals respond better than expected to idiots yelling ¨Roxanne!¨out the window. Our destination was a club in La Mariscal with a somewhat shocking $10 cover. But it was cool; one free drink and a lot of dancing, Maria chain smoking, and a nice glimpse into yet another Quito world. (By the way, I still did well on the exam Friday morning).

Yaku
Yaku is the Museum of Water, as the word means water in Quichua. Lio and I went Friday. It was fantastic. The mission of the museum appears to be to educate Quiteños about the importance of conserving water and all the problems of pollution, excessive use, etc. But they have also incorporated slides, a bubble room, and other hands on features that make the place a lot of fun. The museum had the first potable water fountains I´ve seen in Ecuador, and some incredible views of El Panecillo (virgin statue overlooking the old town).

Lio is a fellow Jew from Marseille, and it was interesting to hear that I was one of the first Jewish friends he had met in years. Even in Marseille he didn´t have but a few. I told him we could go check out a Friday night service at the synogogue here before he leaves.



I´d like to linger on Quichua for a moment, because the indigenous are such an integral part of society here. Yes, they are slowly modernizing and probably losing aspects of their culture in the process, but they have been largely incorporated into city life without undergoing major changes in their appearance, food, family life, and the rest. It´s a unique part of life in Ecuador; the indigenous live side by side with the rest of the population, even if they´re only selling umbrellas, cigarettes, and candies in the streets to get by.

We had a very interesting conversation in class about the indiginous the other day. In Quichua the word ¨pacha¨ means both time and space. The word ¨naupo¨means the past. But the indiginous do not view the world quite the way we do - that is, they do not accept a linear representation of past-present-future and the passing of time. Rather, life is cyclical, more like a spiral than a line. It´s really two dramatically different ways of looking at the world, and I think it is extrememly difficult for westerners to grasp. But if you can imagine that a growing spiral means that each circle is a year´s cycle, and that events in nature and the community repeat themselves, then you have a start. The past is therefore not necessarily before the present, but can also be future... (Smoke a joint this weekend and get back to me with your comments)

Ankle Update
Lio is a climber like Titi and after our Pichincha hike he expounded a new theory on my foot/ankle. If it´s a tendon that needs to heal, like we suspect because there is no fracture, then he thinks I need to stay away from any movements that cause pain, so that the stretched tendon can retighten back to normal and I´m not stuck with a longer-term problem. Well, I guess the only question then is how many months does it take to qualify as a long-term problem?

El Fin De Nivel Uno
I can´t believe 6 weeks of Spanish classes are over. I was really getting used to sitting in class, getting good grades, and being distracted by Micol flashing pictures of naked women on his cell phone. Each student had to present, in Spanish, a brief lecture about their country to round off the class. It was fascinating to catch a glimpse of Kenya, Switzerland, China, Holland, and Russia. It also sparked some interesting side conversations, like I had serious problems explaining the difference between public and private property to the 3 chinese kids. They work at stores here that are privately owned by their families - is the concept that hard to grasp?

For my part, in classic Fox sarcasm style, I drew a map of all 50 states on the board and opened with: ¨The United States is the best country in the world, and clearly better than all of your countries. In addition, George Bush is the best leader of the free world.¨ I said I was joking, and the professor loved it, but I think sarcasm is a particularly American flavor of humor... I went on to talk a lot about DC, politics, and the structure of our democracy, but also diffences between the east, central, and western parts of the country as well as the different types of lifestyles and industry. It is very hard to try and explain the USA.

Guayasamin
I have found a new favorite artist. For the most part, Guayasamin concentrated on painting peoples faces, and thorughout his career he focused intently on the plight of the poor and disenfranchised. At home that meant painting the indigenous, but abroad his paintings depicted such scenes as the Spanish Civil War, the German annihilation of a Czech village in WWII (this painting is sometimes compared to Picasso´s Guernica in Madrid), the brutality of the American bombings in the war in Vietnam, and the massacres and disappearances in Chile and Argentina.

The museum is housed in the Capilla del Hombre, a building with a striking design by the artist just below his home in Bella Vista, which overlooks the city. You can also wander around his property which is interesting but a bit freaky. Guayasamin was unique because he was so famous during his lifetime - he died in his 90´s in Baltimore, MD.

Just another interesting note: Guayasamin was close personal friends with Fidel Castro, Hugo Chavez, Gabriel Marcia Marquez, and interestingly even Alvaro Noboa, the populist, ¨anti-Chavez,¨free-trade advocate who also happens to be THE banana magnate and one of the richest men in the world (while about 45% of Ecuadorians lives in poverty). Noboa has run for president unsuccessfully since 1998, most recently against the current and very popular president Raphael Correa, who has responded forcefully to voter discontent with current levels of government corruption, political factionalism, and lack of social progress by marginalizing the mafia and elites. Noboa is well known for his philanthropy and for handing out cash to secure votes. Is it a coincidence that the price of bananas rose following his defeat? He intends to run again.

Finally a Haircut
Sometimes I´m still stunned by prices here. I got a complete shave and haircut for $5 down the street from my house. Although if you consider that $5 equals 20 bus rides than I guess it makes more sense? It reminded me of my most favorite and cheapest haircut of all time for $3 in northern Morrocco. Cutting my afro ain´t no piece of cake!

Happy 60th birthday dad! I wish I could be there with you.

The Teléferico and Hiking Pichincha

Volcan Pichincha, Quito

For three dollars you can take Quito´s new Teléferico cable car up the side of Volcan Pichincha (inactive volcano about a mile behind my house). The short ride to 4,100 meters is great because of the stunning views of Quito below, but of course the rapid change in altitude produced a pretty serious headache. We didn´t bother with the massive complex at the bottom: amusement park, bumper cars, bars and restaurants, etc.

When Titi and her friend Lio, who is visiting and goes to school with her in Belgium, invited me to come along on a Sunday morning I´m not sure I knew what I was getting into. A cable car sounds great right? and then maybe some hiking around the top with great views?!


Well, the hike to the top (around 4,700 meters) is actually 6-7 hours round trip from the cable car summit, and as you can imagine it is pretty cold and steep. Just to put things in perspective, I´m told that Mt. Everest is around 8,000 meters. It felt like we were hobbits in the Lord of Rings, insignificant specs ascending the green slopes towards the dark black mountain called Mordor.


Of course we started with some Tai Chi breathing and stretching exercises at the warm tourist complex at top of the cable car. Then I bought an overpriced snickers bar to go with the water and sandwiches Titi had packed. I don´t worry about my ankle too much anymore; I just get through the day, only limping near the end, and deal with the pain later.


The three of us were a funny group. Lio and I speak just a little Spanish, Titi and I speak just a little French (she´s much better than me), and both Lio and I know just a few words in Hebrew and Yiddush. We talked throughout the day in Spanish with splatterings of French, and had English as a safety net. Lio is from Marseilles and is studying micro-electronics such as nanotechnology in Belgium. He and Titi are climbers (and vegetarians!) and in much better shape than me. How do you find the energy without eating meat? I trailed them for the last hour or so to the top. The first hour was gentle sloping hills towards the mountain, but the trail disappeared rapidly and it became a steep climb on sliding sand and rock. In some areas it was very difficult to even take a break because of the lack of footholds. At the very top, in fog so thick you lose sight of the person in front of you, the last 150 meters or so was near-vertical climbing up damp and somewhat sharp black rocks. My hands were so cold and my legs so rubbery by that point that I actually started to get scared I might fall down. I didn´t trust my grip nor my Asics running shoes for proper rock climbing traction. It´s not like anyone knows you´re up there either; there is no park service or station where you check in. Just a few other small groups of hikers, coincidentally including my Sasquatchewan Canadian friends from Baños! I think they have a make-shift medical unit back at the Teléferico. Needless to say I was exhausted, and my second wind didn´t come when I needed it. I seriously contemplated quitting with only 20 minutes or so to go. But of course I´d carry that embarrassment to my grave, so I got it done.



You have to climb to high altitudes as early as possible in the day around here, because when the mist rolls in it is not just a question of vision at the top but safety too. We had about 10 minutes or so of good views around 1:30pm at the top, and then the fog came in thick. We scarfed down vegetarian sandwiches and energy munchies like nuts, raisons, and banana chips as other hikers disappeared back down the mountain. In an instant it was fiercely quiet and you couldn´t see more than 20 feet. From a look-out rock across the other side of the peak Lio sat staring into the fog, playing his flute.



The hike back down was much faster, but without a proper trail our route was uncertain. I spent most of the descent leaning back on my heels while sliding down the loose sand and rock, or on my ass. Lio looked like he was walking on the moon, literally running down the mountain, expertly balanced and navigating the tough topography. By the time we got back to the Teléferico I had to apologize for not speaking much. I had to concentrate on moving my legs. At least while we waited in line to return to the city we had hot cups of coca té. It certainly takes the edge off, and then you can nap the rest of the day away...

Shalom De Mindo Y Mas

Mindo, Ecuador

Rumble, then boom. Pitter-patter. Titter-tatter. Then buckets. It´s the rainy season, and a hard rain falls on the tranquil town of Mindo, at elevation 1,250 meters. Winter here in Ecuador means rain, and along for the ride to hug the rolling green mountain-sides comes the mist, sneaking in smoothly and quietly while you weren´t watching. It envelopes the highest peaks and then drives downward, like thick chocolate syrup dripping down large scoops of ice cream. It´s 4pm on a Saturday. I lie exhausted in a hammock on the front porch of my small bungalow, taking turns reading and observing two species of hummingbirds feeding and not minding the rain 10 feet away, in a small, tropical orchid garden. I´ve placed my feet slightly higher than my head at the other end of the hammock because Moshe reminded me to take Ibuprofin and elevate my injury above my heart. The sky is already darker than 4pm should be, but I can still differentiate the greens and browns of the massive, tropical, heart-shaped garden leaves from the dull grays of the increasingly frightening sky and low mist. The sharp reds of each hanging bird feeder across the garden stand out like lamps along a dark city street. I swear I saw a hummingbird just up and fly backwards into the deluge.

The sound on the roof above is disruptive to my thoughts and I´m no longer retaining what I read. I´ve just repeated a paragraph 3 times. First the sounds came softly with a gentle rhythm, but now it´s those buckets of rain again, like last night, those piercing dings like rusted nails on a tin roof, fierce and consistent. Can raindrops bounce? because I think the drops here are large enough. It´s coming down in sheets, as they say, and I haven´t seen rain this hard since the Cameroon Highlands of northern Malaysia. I glance between my acheing foot in front and my dwindling 25 centiliters of lemon-flavored bottled water before shifting positions and returning to my novel. The ground below my bungalow is a mess of water and earth, and the wooden planks that carried me safely from the front entrance and diagonally around back to my private eden are now nearly floating. I´m stranded for the moment, and I stink of a six hour hike that ended in a humid, raincoat-covered sweat and miserable walk back in the pouring rain. I don´t care to shower, because I have nowhere to be and I love that fact more than anything. Time stands still in Mindo when it rains. I could lie here forever.

It rained all night the day before. I had arrived at dusk and scurried through town to find a hostal and a place to eat. It took 45 minutes and 4 different groups of locals in the drizzle with failing directions to finally give up looking for Cesar Fiallos´hostel, suggested by Lucie, and plop down at Hostal Eden. For food I found a small pizzaria on the main strip (2 blocks long) with a kind old woman. This one-horse town, famous for bird watching, tubing, orchids and hiking in the cloud forest, actually felt like the wild west when approaching the main drag. One paved road brings you in and then through a two block downtown area of places to eat and drink, and all that extends beyond is a small square park and dirt roads. There are more backroads than expected, of course, but no street signs to be found. The locals navigate these puddled, muddy dirt roads in knee-high black rubber boots. The population of 3,000 seem to step around tourists and don´t seek them out, except for the touristy places on those two blocks. A few locals are playing cards on the curb, a few more smoking by the entrance to the park. Everyone watching the day go by. The attitude is different. For 45 min I wandered with my bag without a single person asking if I needed a room. I think Ecuadorians in general are not nearly as agressive with tourists as almost anywhere else I have traveled. And this town was absolutely empty. Alone in my simple hostal, I hang my clothes on random nails stuck in the walls around the wood room. I had a double bed and a private bathroom with hot water. You can´t ask for more than that kind of luxury for $6.

A man stood over me in the aisle for the first thrity minutes of my crowded busride to Mindo. It´s a common feature of local bus travel in and around Quito; a salesman seizes upon his helpless audience to make a buck. This time it was vitamin man, beseeching the crowd to embrace the miraculous and sweeping healing powers of his all-natural vitamin supplements. A pathetic pitch but an A for effort. The guy had impressive energy, and that unique ability to demand and maintain eye contact if you gave an inch. Still, are the locals excessively polite or a bit ignorant? I must have seen this pitch 20 times now, whether it´s vitamins, cd´s, or religious pamphlets. A few passengers routinely take the leap and make the purchase. (Just a side note here: the power of religion in Ecuador is palpable; people give money very freely not only to these guys but to the beggared and destitute, so even these sales guys do ok. The only ones not seeming to make enough to eat are those kids who jump out at traffic lights in front of city buses and juggle blindfolded or while standing on eachother´s shoulders (think Buenos Aires Chava!)). The ride to Mindo nauseatingly winds through misty hills, and each time we come to a toll or police barricade the standing (illegal) passengers squat in the aisles to avoid detection. It´s one of those communal understandings where the driver and attendant make some cash on the side.

I think I´m beginning to reconnect with children. First there is 2 year old Lucas, Nena´s son, who is coming around to liking me very much. To Lucas I am the fantastic Peter Pan. Then Saturday my guide for the day´s hike to seven different waterfalls, La Tarabita (wire basket that carried us high across a river valley and into the premontane cloud forest called Bosque Protector Mindo-Nambillo), and to the 300m and 400m cables approximately 100 meters above the river valley at the ¨Canopy,¨ was 13 year old John Jaero. He didn´t know the first thing about the local flora and fauna, but he was my hostal owner Maria´s son, and my personal companion from 9am-3:30pm when we returned like defeated barbarians in the rain and I bought him lunch. To be honest I had more fun simply making friends with this kid than seeing the waterfalls. The day helped improve my Spanish skills and we had a damn good time. I think the secret to connecting with kids has nothing to do with talking and everything to do with smiling and goofing around. We shook the wire/rope/wood bridges by each waterfall to throw eachother off-balance, we opened our mouths in exhaustion to the sky to catch the drifting drops of rain, and we sang spontaneous songs in Spanish all the way home about being tired, hungry, and how much our feet hurt.

He´s a great kid, and his family is part of the heart and soul of Mindo. John´s older brother works the canopy cables where he held my legs as I glided upside down with outstretched arms and fear in my heart at 150 meters above the forest in mariposa (butterfly) formation. His cousin is the other attendant, who sent me flying alone down a cable across the valley after a 30 second instructional introduction in Spanish that I didn´t nearly understand. Then there´s his uncle, another guide we bumped into on the trail with a group of Brits. A second uncle takes tourists bird-watching. To top it off, his grandparents own a large chunk of farmland in Mindo which we strolled by, and the only sustenance we carried for six hours of hiking was cold coffee, brewed from their homegrown coffee plants. Strong but sufficient and a nice boost of energy for a non-coffee drinker. I was an idiot not to bring water for what turned into a very long day with the final, most challenging segment to cascada ¨La Reina¨ (45 min each way). Our walk back was all rain, and we fantasized about one more cable ride to bring us home.

Dirty old river, must you keep rolling, rolling into the night
People so busy, makes me feel dizzy, taxi light shines so bright
But I don´t feel afraid
As long as I gaze up, Waterloo sunset, I am in paradise...
-The Kinks

After I finished feeling sorry for myself and peeled myself out of the hammock to wander into town I found the one internet shop on the strip. There I helped a girl who popped in during the storm with the classic traveler´s massive backpack and raingear. She had trouble asking where to find her hostal in Spanish. 20 minutes later she was back and picking me up to hang out for dinner. Ronit Heffetz was a name I immediately recognized as Israeli, despite the dirty blond hair. Ronit was typically Israeli; I only mean that she was very forward, a bit pushy, highly opinionated and fun. In the rain we wandered around town seeking out an english speaking guide to go bird-watching the next morning at 6am. I was down for whatever, and Mindo is apparently world famous for bird watching, boasting over 300 species including 8 hummingbird species, woodpeckers, and tulcans. We finally arranged soemthing for $7.50 per person (my hike had been $6 by the way), ate something and crashed a bit early to wake at dawn.

Ronit is 23, out of the army a year and a half now and traveling before going to university. In the army she worked with psychologically and behaviorally unstable soldiers, and trained ¨freshman¨to shoot M16s. There are two barrell lengths to M16s. She said they call the longer one the ¨sorry¨because when you walk down the aisle of the bus with the gun hanging from your side you inevitably hit people and have to say ¨I´m sorry.¨ She was quite the talker (typical female) - but I really couldn´t get a word in which is unusual for me! I know all about her life now - her brother the economist at Princeton who is now a Prof at Cornell, her travels, etc. She had amazing things to say about Columbia (of course), and really thought nothing in Ecuador compared so far. We got into Israeli politics a bit. I explained that I´m not as interested as I once was simply because it´s always the same old sad story and nothing ever changes. She didn´t seem to care too much for the politicians except to say she had like Sharon, didn´t like Olmert, hated Netanyahu, and voted for Peretz. Ronit keeps kosher and calls her parents every shabbat and her mother makes her jealous of home cooking. I learned a lot about what it´s like to travel as an Israeli. They really take care of eachother abroad, leaving notes of advice in hebrew on hostal boards with appropriate pricing and other tips. It´s like one big extended family. As I listened I wondered why I hadn´t seen Americans treat eachother similarly, and just then this American girl Nicole (NY transplant to SF) chimes in at the restaurant we´re sitting at about how she overheard us talking about finding a place for the Pesach holiday. Nicole´s living in Quito, so now I have a Jewish friend to join me in the Quito Pesach seder hunt. So far I have an open invitation to go to Chabad and Ronit knows an Israeli hostal owner in Baños who will be hosting something.

So Ronit was great company for the rest of the weekend and all the way back to Quito. Perhaps just a bit high maintenance... Bird watching early morning was also better than expected. A 3rd client of our single-toothed, ever-smiling guide Herman was Fong (Vietnamese) from Melbourne. She was young, hip, and a librarian at a university. She loved taking artsy photos of the mist and the trees. The 4 of us plodded along (my first bird watching experience), outfitted with simple binoculars and Herman with a large tripod and supercool telescope. He also had eyes like a hawk from years of experience. We saw all kinds of small, colorful birds, some with as many as 5 different colors on their bellies and beaks. (The bird pictures were taken by aiming our cameras into the telescope). The Tulcan was my favorite, like Tucan Sam (fruit loops?). There were also hawks and some bird that had a furry hairpiece and looked like a turkey. Oh, and woodpeckers of course. I only regret we did not find the local favorite ¨Cock of the Rock.¨

Herman and Fong continued into the cloud forest to do the waterfalls, so Ronit and I began a series of hitchhiking rides in the back of pick-up trucks to arrive at the Mariposa Farm (butterflies). We skipped the orchid garden - I already had some orchids and those kickass colibries (hummingbirds) in my hostal garden. The butterflies were beautiful and we spent a lot of time just chilling and taking pictures of eachother picking them up.

Things got interesting that afternoon. The plan was to leave Mindo together on the 3pm bus (there´s one every hour until 5pm). While Ronit packed and showered I casually wandered over to the station to grab us some tickets. at 1:30pm they were sold out for the remainder of the night. Why do these things always have to haooen? I had a 9am Leccion 4 exam the next day. So I took it in stride as the heavens opened up once again, right on schedule at 2pm. I showered and packed as if I had a ticket!, and ran back to the station in the rain.

It´s wonderful how many people you can meet while sitting at a small town bus station! A few others were trying to figure out what to do as well. I texted Titi and Lucie for advice, but it was clear that the only option besides getting a bus in Mindo was to hitch to the highway outside of town and flag down another passing bus headed to Quito - very dangerous in the misty winding roads as darkness falls. Plus it was pouring, so the back-up plan was shit. Of course Ronit walks up at 2:55pm with no idea there is a problem. Fortunately we are in Ecuador, where the ¨rules¨never really apply. We talked our way into boarding that very bus at 3pm. Phew. The only problem was we had to be the illegal riders and stand for 2.5 hours, ducking down at toll booths and roadblocks. It turned out to be only an hour standing, as other passengers got off along the way. It also turned out to be fun because I knew half the travelers on the bus by that point just from putzing around at the station in Mindo. Perhaps the highlight of the ride was helping Fong and a Canadian family with three young kids argue with the bus attendant about their tickets and payment. It took like a half our and was hilarious with the broken communication and anger on both sides. We won the battle and they paid no more. Of course I, the good samaritan, didn´t bargain half as well for myself, paying the full $2.50 for the trip. I found out that Ronit over on the other side of the bus had bargained for $2 from her spot on the front door steps. Israelis.

Back in Quito I helped the ladies find their way to their respective bus stations. Fong was headed to Baños and Ronit overnight to Guayacil to catch a 4am ride to Montanita on the coast. A kiss on the cheek, and that´s how it ends with new friends on the road.

Family Time
I´ve had a few more nice events with the family lately. Last week I was invited over to the girl´s place because their step-sister from Spain was in town. I went over early to help Titi and her mother go shopping at MegaMaxi (the Walmart of Ecuador). Lucas stood poised in the front of the shopping cart in full Peter Pan costume including green feathered cap, yelling ¨Look Wendy, I can fly!¨

At the apartment the festivities were pretty simple. Maria (sister from Spain) is an exciting character. She wore a maroon leather jacket, glasses, a long black ponytail, and chain smoked while throwing back glasses of watered down whiskey. Needless to say we had a great time that was rounded off with coffee and apple pie from a good Swiss bakery. They were playing Cuarante (40), which is a local Quito card game that I couldn´t quite grasp, so I sipped my whiskey and played my role as Señor Juez (judge). There were good munchies, and empty bottle, and some good card game fights too.

Thursday night I finally made it over to the Rosenberg´s for dinner (gracias Betita!). They were amazing. I met Tomy at his chemical business near Mira Flores (where I live) and drove home with him to Quito-Tennis, the neighborhood with the largest Jewish community here. Sitting in his office on the second floor of the store front was very cool. He had amazing paintings everywhere, and a large desk and an entire home entertainment center in front of it. I felt like I was sitting in Tony Soprano´s office in the back of the Bada Bing, it was so comfortable.

There appears to be a tense relationship with the Quito Chabad family here, who live just down the road from them on the other side of the massive Japanese Embassy. When I mentioned my Pesach invitation to go there with Nicole one night, Tomy frowned a bit. The Jewish community here in Quito is maybe 200 families and has existed for about 75 years. Tomy´s father, a German immigant in 1939, helped found it. Tomy is an important leader, an officer in the synogogue led by an Argentinian rabbi, and attends mosts Friday night services (I´ll go some time soon Mom, don´t worry). The Chabad family has been here for just 8 years, and rather than work closely with the existing community they have isolated themselves and as I understand it they don´t really accept you as a Jew unless you do things their way? We got into a conversation about Jewish communties in other South American countries; apparently the population of 25,000 in Venezuala has shrunk to about 15,000 during Chavez and fear over his close contacts with Ahmadinejad. In Bogatá the community is much larger than here, (and they get on well with the Chabad). And of course in Argentina there are something like 200,000 Jews. I don´t know the story with Chile, Peru or Brazil.

Dinner was fantastic. Rosi keeps an incredibly beautiful home full of antique furniture and walls of Ecuadorian paintings. She is from Ibarra up north, and I´m not sure how they met but I think she converted? For the first time in Ecuador I had a enormous meal for dinner. There was an amazing platter of fish and shrimp (not kosher, I know!), and I had at least 2 full plates. Their daughter was also very cool, a university student concentrating in corporate communications and sociology. She has a year left. More importantly, as the night wore on and the whisky and wine sunk in, she helped translate some of the hilarious stories being told at the table (another couple was over for dinner). A second older daughter is married and living in Munich. The Rosenberg´s were warm and hospitable, and told me I am welcome anytime. They were also very impressed with my spanish for just a month of study. I did much better before the alcohol, but still performed well on my lesson 5 exam the next morning. Unfortunately they will be in Argentina and Chile during Passover, but Tomy will talk to the rabbi for me about a possible seder at the synogogue.

Plaza de Toros
Nicole got me a ticket to a very cool concert last night in the bull fighting stadium. We went with a few of her classmates; Brendan, 18, from Connecticut, Amanda, 25, from Scotland, and Chris, 55?, from Bristol, UK. It was latin folk music, with bands from Quito, Bolivia, Chile, and Peru. You should have seen the way these people act in the stands - like they´re at a futbol match. And the girls up front are throwing flowers at the stage despite the pouring rain like it´s Justin Timberlake (for you Troy). The bands were somewhat similar; a drummer and then like 6 guys playing guitar, large barreled drums, mandalin-type mini-guitars, bamboo flutes and singing. The music is very unique, and everyone in the crowd screams like a 13 year old girl and knows all the words.

When we entered (2 hrs early) we had to wait in a line around the block. We were cursing ourselves for not sneaking in booze. But as you enter the stadium they are handing out glasses of whisky. Then when you sit down venders are scouring the stadium selling flavored boxed wine (apple is terrible) and something called Tropico which is a strong liquor I think. Brendan met a family next to him that was passing tequila down the line. Perhaps the coolest part to the show was the fact that the stadium is directly in the flight path of the airport. The crowd is already going nuts, and then every 20 minutes a massive jetliner streams across the rim of the stadium.

The variety of food you can get at a show is astounding. Obviously there is no health department. During a quick trip to the stadium bathroom you can pick up beers, popcorn, turkey sandwiches, meat on a stick, candies, cakes, breads, even seafood. As the sky opened up the roaming vendors showed their preparedness - ¨plastico!¨ was like 25 cents to wrap around your body like a sarong.

After the show we cabbed back to gringolandia for a late night drink. I met more classmates from their school. It´s great to meet people, except that when it´s more gringos you don´t speak spanish. Kind of a catch 22. I prefer hanging out with my street security guard Wilbur or Elizabet at the university administrative office.

Miscellaneous
Lonely Planet is a big liar half the time when it comes to restaurant recommendations. But it´s so tempting to follow their advice, no? There´s this Chifa (Chinese) restaurant called Mayflower they recommended because some famous chef came here and said it was great. Well, it sucks and it´s expensive and there are no Chinese chefs in the building. I prefer the restaurant belonging to Sun´s aunt (friend in class) that we all go to once a week after class. Fantastic Wonton soup and huge portions for like $3. It´s cool how all the chinese families in Quito know eachother and go to each other´s restaurants.

Crossing the Street. The crossing guard by my university wears a cape and a mask. Actually it´s a raincoat and a smog filter for his face because the exhaust from the traffic is so bad, but it´s a bit frightening on your way to school in the morning to see Scorpion from Mortal Combat blowing a whistle as you to cross.

Bus music. ¨Reggae-Tone¨ is what they call it here. They play the same 5 songs over and over, and I have to say it is better than our shit radio hip-hop but it is still painful at this point. At least they play instruments in the background. It kind of reminds me of the 7th grade bus to school each morning, with Queen Latifah belting out ¨U-N-I-T-Y!¨ at 7:24am.

Forgetting where you are. Sometimes I sit dazed on the crowded buses and forget where the hell I am. The kid across from me is wearing a Michigan sweatshirt, his buddy a Duke Bluedevils cap, the old man across the aisle is covered in dried paint and fussing with a hardware store purchase that looks like a sprinkler connector, and the businessman in front of me removes his iPod headphones to hit on the girl in the short skirt that just sat down. I could be in North America! Then the driver´s 8 year old son runs around to collect the 25 cent fare and I return to reality.

Volleyball. Who would have guessed that volleyball would be the second most popular sport here? Sure, there are some basketball courts in the parks and old men gather to play bacci ball. But volleyball in the park is what draws crowds of several hundred and accompanying stalls selling assorted meat on sticks, grilled plantains and bananas, and fresh juice of course. Nobody actually purchases a real volleyball; they play with soccer balls.

My apologies for the delay in posting. I´m trying to do one a week but it´s been a hectic couple of weeks. There is always something more to write, and I usually do this in one sitting.

Bowling Alone, Wild Goose Chases, and Some Culture

Gringolandia, Quito

Limpie sus Zapatos!
Ever get your shoes shined? Well, I´m addicted. It costs 25 centavos here and culturally it is an integral part of keeping a respectable look on the streets. Boys with backpacks, permanently stained fingers and small handled boxes of polish and supplies scour the city from the age of about 8 through 65. It´s a more complicated process than expected - usually about 6 steps - involving brushes, polish, hard scrubbing, and shining. Some amateurs are better than others of course. Everyone seems to be asking you if you want a shine, and I´m telling you there´s nothing more satisfying than staring up at the moutains from a city plaza for 5 minutes, and then rising to meet the remainder of the day with a fresh, dazzling luster.

How`s the Spanish Coming Along?
There is something so undeniably simple and humorous about not having the ability to speak the local language; I could walk down the street and break down laughing and crying at once all the same. The truth is I have certainly improved. A lot of locals can`t believe I`ve only been trying for 3 weeks. I explain that I had years of french and a little italian (the truth is that I now know more spanish than french, for sure). On paper I`m a maniac hella cool wicked fuckin awesome superstar. I`ve averaged like a 48 out of 50 on my first three exams. But who cares? To be perfectly honest, I`m at a point where yo entiendo mucho pero hablo solo un poco. For example, I just sat down with a nice girl at a travel agency to discuss Machu Pichu. I could understand the printed 5 day trekking itinerary almost perfectly - I turned down her offer for a translation. I could also basically understand everything she said to me in spanish about the trip. I just can`t speak yet. I don`t have the arsenal of verbs and vocabulary to break through, but I can feel it slowly building. I also need to push harder in terms of speaking with locals. Communication is a two way street.

Flying Solo
I didn´t actually go bowling. The phrase ‘Bowling Alone’ actually refers to the comprehensive book by Robert Putnam, University of Michigan political science professor. His book takes an in-depth look at how the rise of television led to the decline in participation in community activities, like the PTA, community church, or bowling leagues. It´s about the impact on society.

Of course Dr. Putnam wrote this book about ten years ago, before the rise of online social networking sites like Facebook and MySpace, where people (like Vic) can connect based upon interests or just being really, really, ridiculously good looking, rather than simple geography. This leads to strong associations of people who have a passion for a single subject and connect along those lines. Anyone who has been to an antique shop and had to listen to someone drone on about depression era glass, for example, knows what I mean about single subject passion. The success of a site like eHarmony.com is a perfect example of the internet’s impact on social networking.

Anyway, whenever I travel alone this phrase pops into my head for some reason. It works on other levels I suppose.

Visa Issues
¨Same Same But Different,¨ I guess you could say, to borrow a wonderful phrase from SE Asia. It´s not just that I needed to get my papers and $$$ in order for the 6 month tourist visa to come here - which included several sumptuous rides to northern Baltimore and Potomac for police fingerprinting, as well as a doctor´s clearance of any communicable diseases and an HIV test. No, once you´re in Ecuador the fun starts anew.

I was well aware that I needed to check in or whatever in the first 30 days with some official office, but I figured it was a joke and forgot about it for a while. Well, it´s not a joke mis amigos. In actuality it´s a cruel, inimical game of hide and seek launched against foreigners, a wild goose chase if you will. First, la Direccion General de Extranjeria is not located where it is supposed to be. I taxi´d to some abandoned building with big spray paint on the outside directing foreigners inside. The nice lady at the desk at the building one over handed me a pre-printed scrap of paper with (photo-copied) handwritten directions for where to go next for the real thing. ¨Yes! my next clue!¨ I exclaimed, and the poor woman stared in wonder at the gringo.

So it turns out they move their location all the time. Just to keep things interesting I guess. When I finally found the current location on the other side of town they were closed. The next morning I skipped an hour of class to sit in a waiting room and watch morning talk shows with the groveling masses, only to be rejected for not having my papers in a proper carpeta con viche (folder with metal clip), as well as everything in a large manila envelope. You gotta love the look the guy gives you, as if he can´t process your papers unless they are in a large manila envelope. Bastards. Don´t they know it hurts to walk around town!?

Eventually I got it right, only to find out that I´m only done with step 1. I had to leave my pasaport with them until this morning and I picked it up stamped, but now round two begins with El Departamento de Imigracion. Among other requirements I need to come up with a landlord-tennant contrato as well as copies of the poor woman´s identificacion. Stay tuned.

Feliz Dia de la Mujer!
Last Thursday was International Women´s Day. It took me a while to figure out what the hell was going on with every woman in town carrying flowers around like they´d just been proposed to (Valentine´s Day has come and gone). People really value their holidays here, in a similar way to how they value family, food and social interaction; even making sure to kiss you on the cheek, say ¨buenos dias,¨ then ¨como estas¨ before even beginning a conversation. This process actually reminds me a lot of South Africa, like the time my friend Anand and I were heading to Coffee Bay in the Transkei along the southeast coast with a girl named Katie. Temporarily lost (and increasingly scared at night) during the final strokes of daylight, we pulled over to ask where the turnoff for Coffee Bay was. But it´s just not that simple, you see. You don´t just pull over and say ¨hey, where is the road for Coffee Bay!?¨ No, that would be rude and unacceptable. First you say hello, ¨sanbona¨which more literally means ¨I see you.¨ Then the respondent sees you - ¨yebo, sanbona.¨ Then you ask them how they are doing ¨unjani?¨, and they respond ¨giyapila¨ ¨I am well¨. Next is the thank you ¨giyabonga¨and it can continue on from there. The bottom line is that it takes minutes to get your primary question asked, such as how the fu%! do I get to my destination! Terribly frustrating, but when you step back, it´s a nice way to treat one another.

For my part, I stopped by las hermanas´ apartamento con flores hoy. What can I say, I was in the neighborhood and wanted to be a part of the action.

Museos y La Casa de la Cultura
I´ve actually visited several museums lately, two of which belong to El Banco Central, as well as some incredible churches in the old town - La Compania was built with seven tons of gold used to decorate the inside.

Quito´s National Museum is housed in la Casa de la Cultura, a central landmark of the city and uniquely designed as a massive circular, glass building with statue gardens on the grounds. (All this across from the McDonalds and KFC of course, on a main artery of the city)

The humanistic vision of the Central Bank was to provide a place for safekeeping for the ¨cultural assets¨sheltered in their vaults. After six decades it is now the most comprehensive cross section of Ecuadorian art; pre-Columbian, pre-Hispanic gold (over 1500 pieces), and colonial and 19th century art. The archaelogy room was a little much for me in the way of ancient pottery, but you´re taken through 15,000 years of tribal history from hunter-gatherers to massive Inca empire. The gold room was my favorite, nice and shiny. Masks, pendants, emblems of power and body ornaments or ritual objects embody the symbology of indiginous culture. The most stunning piece is the massive gold mask that is the emblem of the Banco Central itself. To be honest, I flew through the colonial and republican art rooms, awash with religious portraits and countless renderings of Jesus and Mary. From the melting pot of cultures did emerge the ¨Quito School¨however, known for native blending of ornamentation and polychrome. The contemporary art was my favorite, which is not usually so. Modernization and globalization over the past 50-60 years transformed contemporary artistic styles with outside influences and gave rise to a certain ¨indiginous¨movement in which the hardships of indiginous people´s lives are depicted. My favorite of course is Guayasamin, Ecuador´s most famous contemporary painter. The museum had only three of his paintings, from the early 1940´s when he was my age, but they were stunning. I´ll be heading to his own museum in Balla Vista soon.

The second museum was the history of Ecuador´s money. Interesting but small, and really just a progression from primitive shells and metals used for trade, moving forward all the way to the Sucre and terrible periods of inflation, ultimately ending in the comfort and security of dollarization in 2001.

Concierto Brasilia
So I went to see Gabbi and Carlos play again Friday night at Casa Humbolt, the German cultural association in Quito. Don´t ask me why they´re sponsoring Brasilian music. I came alone for the show, which is always weird, like going to the movies by yourself. But of course Gabbi spotted me from the ticket line and introduced me to another friend of hers, and helped us both get in because it was sold out. Then I ended up sitting next to a really nice couple, Patricia and Lanco (sp?) who were big fans and Lanco even takes Portuguese language lessons from Carlos. I spoke with the guitarist before the show for a bit as well. I told him I used to play drums, and he suggested we jam some time as I cowered in nervousness.

The show was amazing. It was basically the same line-up of songs, but this time in a hall with perfect acoustics. You could hear the volcals more clearly, the individual guitar riffs, etc. By far the coolest part of the evening for me was about halfway through the show. Carlos is a comedian, and often talks a bit between songs or tells jokes. Well, he actually thanked his new friend ¨Peter from Washington, D.C.¨ for coming that night, a shout-out to the gringo among a sold out crowd of maybe 200 locals. I came alone and couldn´t communicate with any of the people around me, but somehow I got in pretty intimate with the band. Is that irony?

Actually I noticed that night that my spanish is indeed improving, at least my comprehension. I spoke with the cab driver for the duration of the ride over, very successfully. I´m basically competent enough now to have the same conversation over and over about where I´m from, what I´m doing here, and then to ask a few average questions about the person I´m speaking to, the city of Quito, etc. Plus I could understand a lot of Carlos´comments to the crowd. So it is starting to happen.

Mulligans in Gringolandia
I slept in saturday and spent the majority of the afternoon roaming the old city and plazas. Beautiful, it never gets old. I also met some elderly Americans on the Ecovia tram heading back into the new town - they had just arrived and were prime targets for pick pockets. I love it.

So I decided to treat myself to some Thai food for a change of pace. It required a trip to a restaurant called Siam in Gringolandia, the heart of La Mariscal. Who cares, it was great, except that I was a little worried about funds while chowing down. I walked in with $9.10 (the average meal lately has been about $2) and the red chicken curry was $5.60 plus rice for $1.29 plus una cerveza pilsner of course for about $1.50. I thought I was just barely cool until the bill came...$11.07 with VAT tax and tip already factored in. Welcome to Gringolandia.

What do you do if you don´t have enough money to cover your bill? Peter Fox apologized profusely at 7pm, paid all the $9.10 he could produce from his recently re-invigorated, smooth Mavi jeans (thank you Teresa!) and promised to return with the missing $2 that night. Therefore I walked out with absolutely zero dollars in my pocket. ¨Shit,¨I thought, ¨how the hell do I get home!?¨ Of course I wasn´t carrying an atm card or even an ID. Never mind the foot problem, I had to walk right? It was my first time walking all the way home from that far downtown - not so bad actually. It reminded me a lot of Rome at age 20, when my roomates and I walked home along the tram tracks for a couple of hours drunk as all hell. Except here it only took 45 minutes (straight up the hillsides), and that was while limping, not drunk, and yet with a superb pit-stop!: there is this fabulous gothic-looking cathedral called Inglesia de Santa Terisita about halfway home but still downtown where I found a wedding underway. Folks in their finest gathered round the entrance around 7:30, and I stopped to watch with some street locals. Within minutes a Rolls Royce pulled up with flower girls and the bride, and I took a couple photos before getting sidetracked...

All of a sudden this dude comes stumbling up to me drunk in front of the cathedral. ¨Do you speak english mi amigo?¨ This idiot was from Johannesburg and looked like shit. Absolutely terrible, and drunk at 7:30pm. It was his birthday apparently, but the woman he had been travelling with for the last five days decided to steal everything he had from their hotel room and disappear (go figure). He literally had the shirt on his back. The priest at the church wouldn´t pay him any attention until the wedding festivities were over. I really felt for this guy. We spent a good ten minutes on the street watching the happy crowd (juxtaposed with the penniless gringos) talking about South Africa and Durban and surfing and how where the two oceans meet it is way too damn cold to get in the water. ¨My friend,¨I was sorry to say as he pleaded for money for safe passage to Guayacil, ¨you simply caught me at the wrong time tonight! I´m actually on my way home myself, injured and trying to come up with some money to pay a beautiful waitress I just screwed over.¨ And so I went on my merry way, no hard feelings.

I returned to Gringolandia with a $20 bill and a mind to cut into it with some cervezas before paying my tab. I parked my tuchus at Mulligans, the most ridiculously touristy Irish pub on the strip that I could find, near the Thai place for good measure. There I met Swedish Eric from Stockholm, 29, and I almost drank the night away talking about our respective car industries, airlines (he works for Scandinavian), and how incredible Columbia is and how I should go (the stories about Columbia just won´t end lately. I sort of feel like I did with Bosnia - I´m scared because everyone in America tells me to be scared, but then everyone abroad says the total opposite). This Eric guy also had some incredibly pathetic sob stories about women, mostly latin. He sets himself up for failure because he works for an airline and his ¨move¨ is to take women on international vacations, but of course they don´t show at the airport half the time. The bright spot of hanging out in tourist bars is meeting local bartenders; the girl was very cute, it was her first day, and she poured beers so wrong that their was mucha espuma (foam). At least I got to celebrate my Iowa news (I got in to law school!) by getting drunk over massive Pilsner beers and discussions of ethanol 85 with Eric. Kind of mirrors the level of excitement about returning to life in the midwest in August...(can you sense the sarcasm?? No offense to anyone)

Barely recalling my original purpose, I staggered up the strip to Siam and made my way to the cashier. I apologized effusively to Marta my waitress and gave her an extra dollar for the 4-hour delay as they closed shop. The staff of ladies insisted that they believed I would return, but I could see it in their eyes that everyone had serious doubts. I was the man of the hour. And so an otherwise uneventful night came to a close.

Mitad El Mundo
You can´t travel to Ecuador and skip the center of the world. That said, it is a veritable disneyland, and a bit run down but a nice break from the city. Sunday is the best day to go because of the music and cultural dance performances. I couldn´t retain everything in the ethnography museum housed in the centerpiece rectangular tower (with globe on top) of the ¨village,¨so it was a pleasure to watch the afternoon performances tailored in dress and choreography to the various tribes from each of Ecuador´s regions: coastal, andean, amazon, and insular; that is, beaches and Galapogos, Sierra and Oriente.

The busride (both ways) reminded me of the Thar Desert of Rajasthan, but not quite that extreme, where Scott and I sat squashed between families of gypsies and their babies, drooling and screaming and flailing about all over our laps. Thank god this ride was only an hour and a half. They pack these buses so tight sometimes that your aisle seat armrest, if by miracle you got a seat which I did one way, becomes a sought-after recliner for two, or a child hops into your lap smiling like he´s yours, or an old woman with a bag of vegetables that stink! leans so far over that her weight and baggage is now your weight and baggage. Trying to breathe is like wrapping a wet towel around your face, and of course the next old man to get on the bus is cold so he promptly closes all sliding windows within reach. An adorable little girl behind me sneezed on the back of my neck and her mother didn´t bat an eye.




So Here´s Where I Go to School - Not Bad, Eh??
It`s not a huge campus, but we have beautiful weather each day and the students lounge in the quad outside the language building where I go each day.

One last thing. Because Ecuador does not yet support the triple band mobile (my chocolate has stopped functioning completely - no servicio!), I purchased a new mobile. I`m no longer a Movistar - my new allegiance is to the ever-popular PORTA! Here are the digits:

085639386



¨We give and take and go in the incredibly complicated sweetness zigzagging every side.¨
- Kerouac