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.