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Published: February 26th 2011
I've been burning through books. I finished "They Live" (for fans of the movie, a great bit of minor academic narration), the first two books of "The Hunger Games" (solid adventure teen lit with a
Battle Royale type setup) a bit more of "The Happiness Project" and Alan Moore's mid-80's proposal for "Twilight of the Superheroes," as well as Cormac McCarthy's "Suttree" for my out in the world paperback book. It took about half a week before I realized that the point of this trip was to live here, not to play tourist for a week or two. It's been iluminating but definitely a bit strange at points, adjusting regular life into a foreign locale. And I'm completely addicted to Animal Collective and old David Bowie right now. Anyway, it's already been revealed that I'll write overly long entries for these blog entires (endorsed by Aaron, so blame him) so I'll continue the bible-length entries. Complaints should be directed to Aaaron only.
Monday the 21st. I wake up at 8:00am and quickly head out to grab a cup of tea. Doug and his wife (hereby refered to as Alice, as I've forgotten her name) show up promptly at 9am and we begin the tour. Doug is a Georgian transplant (the city, not the country) who lived in a backwataters burb of Georgia (never used a cab or bus before a NYC visit prior to moving here) who's been in Ecuador for four years, living in five different apartments with his wife and three kids, before latching on to this tour guide professsion. Doug is the kind of guy you'd think had a speed problem - he talks fast, quips fast and can't keep his eyes focused on anything. He and Alice are late 40s, early 50s and specialize in helping retirees migrate to Ecuador. But they have that Southern Hospitality Gene that makes them easy to like. Quickly we're at a friend of Doug's who hooks me up with a cell phone for emergencies. After programming my phone with their number and a reputable cab company, Doug has us off into a cab ($3) for a trek into the southwest portion of the city, (or burbs really). He points out the hospital to use in an emergency (use a taxi, never the cops...they just want bribes) and offers family friend physicians for non-emergencies. Medical care is supposedly very good...lots of people fly here just for affordable dental work (one example was a $12000 U.S. procedure which was $1200 here). The carcass of a recently hit dog is still on the highway, which is a disturbing sight. We pass a section of town known for it's street cuy (pronounced "koo-eey"), roasted guinea pigs which are considered a delicacy here. Sticks are jabbed through the guinea pig from ass to mouth. I'll try one, but at a restaurant. A large pig is strung up outside one of the shops.
We get out of the cab far out on the Avenue of Americas, and find the first apartment around the corner. It's modern, safely on the second floor, with a reasonable kitchen, comfy bed and small bathroom. The owner, Hugo, gives me a free bottle of wine, whether I take the apartment or not - a nice gesture. The place is fine, though far out from city center. There won't be a lot of restaurants to choose from, and laundry and internet shops are about six blocks away, but it would be peaceful and easy to write in. Bus lines are very close. I have a few hours to think about it. $500/month, utilities included. You can find 3 bedroom houses here for under $200/month, but that's with a 12 month lease. Short stays are clearly more expensive. We head out and I get to ride the bus for the first time. There's no schedule or route map, which isn't shocking since the houses don't have addresses, and you have to watch for pick-pockets with razor blades during crowded rides, but it's only a quarter per ride and pretty fun to see the neighborhoods. The hills out here are outstanding. We go to the top of one, with a giant blue church, a few crosses planted on the hill and take in the view. We walk down, stopping at a hot springs that Doug recommends ($5.50) for the future. There are street dogs everywhere but most look reasonably friendly. School kids (I'm told there are no books, school lasts half a day and has more singing and saluting than learning...Doug home-schools his kids) in catholic outfits hike up the street to afternoon sessions.
We visit the open air food market, the mall, and the SuperMaxi (most american style food store). I pick up a street dog follower. Doug says the dog knows that gringos are the most generous with food. Cute street dog follows me everywhere, including into the supermarket and later we're forced to spray him with pepper water to assure he doesn't follow us into traffic. It feels cruel but better he stays alive. I see a "Martinizing Dry Cleaning" service and think of Amy. I start to warn every street dog (not as rare as San Miguel roof dogs) to stay away from the roads. Lunch at the mall includes Ecuadorian musical loves - pan flute versions of the Beatles, the Eagles and other tormenting tunes. A day past at the Sunday central celebration I saw a native Indian play a pan flute version of Celine Dion's "My Heart Will Go On" and it left me shivering. They apparently really really like pan flute versions of American tunes here. Oi.
During lunch, Doug tells me that most Ecuadorians are inbred (lots of cousin marriages for you Northern or Western U.S. readers) and he assures me that he and his Georgian wife are not cousins (hmmm).
More facts from Doug: The Dwarf ladies are from mixed ethnicities and are generally looked down upon, though I'm surprised to learn their skirts cost about $100. The skirts are called "pollottas" and Doug wonders if this is because they can fit a chicken underneath them. White hats are locals, black hats from elsewhere. Much like America, blacks are viewed at the bottom of the racial pyramid. They're often blamed for any crime that happens. I'm told that if I see a black person, they're not from Ecuador, likely Peru or Colombia. I wonder where the levitating wizard was from. Ecuadorians have something of an inferiority complex and generally like gringos. A vast majority of them have relatives who live or work in the U.S. and between that and the tourist dollars, they're fairly fond of gringos (though we all look alike to them). Hence all the bars and shops with American names ("Cafe San Diego"). They're hard-working, industrious people...there's only about 5%!e(MISSING)stimate unemployment (my guidebook says 10%!a(MISSING)nd 40%!u(MISSING)nder-employment...hmmm). Taxi drivers make a lot of money (maybe $400/month) and there's tons of small business owners. Ecuadorian wine is supposedly absolute shit (sorry Dad). Also, at this point, with the wealth of stories about great acts of kindness from strangers, I have to revise an earlier statement and say that the anecdotal evidence is supporting the 'Ecuadorians are extremely friendly and helpful' viewpoint. That being said, the culture is hyper-macho (though non-confrontational) and women are essentially slaves (from Doug's wife). Oh the trade-offs.
Next, we visit the Apart Hotel, which has studio apartments with kitchenettes for $300/month right on the river near downtown and since the $500/month place was in the outskirts (though near some lovely hills, a fake Wal-Mart and near a great hot springs which I hope to visit later) I opt to take this place. Lesson #1 - a place near downtown on the river, with wifi and laundry and a kitchenette, can not be found unless you have a Spanish speaker with you. I gobble up the $300 place and count myself lucky. The tour also leads me to a Spanish language school and the post office and we're done. Cell phone, apartment and city logistics - well worth the cost. I know the buses now, how the #12 and #5 head downtown, how the doors never close, how they careeen around corners and subtly try to wipe out anyone that crosses their path. I know the view of the gorgeous suburbs and where the best hot springs are now. Solid day.
Here's something more edgy. Curses! Courtesy of Doug (phonetic sounds only). Don't say "co-hair" to Mexicans. It's a serious way to tell them to fuck themselves. If you want to offend someone from Guayaquil, you could say "ho-da-hah" or maybe "ho-di-to" - I'm not quite sure. Try them and find out.
I head out only for dinner (crappiest meal yet, a dry chicken cutlet) and turning the corner on one street is a guy spinning a police nightstick. No uniform, doesn't look like a cop, hmmm, something doesn't feel right. What can you do? You keep walking. He gives me quick look and I stare back, letting him know if he decides to use that nightstick I'm at least going to try and hurt his feelings. Or break his kneecap. We pass with no problem. But lo and behold, two more guys with nightsticks! Each half a block from each other, each spinning the thing like they're ready for a Rodney King moment. It's strange and a bit eerie but there's ultimately no problem. Except for the dinner. At least I see the mullet-headed couple from Cafe Eucalyptus at the same restaurant, but that makes me question my choices of establishments.
Late Monday night, just before midnight, I've ripped through about 50 Rolling Stones songs and I decide to call it a day and try and get some sleep. Before I left for this trip I was growing ever so slightly annoyed that my body was turning into a static shock comedy routine. Every time I got into or out of the car I would get an electric shock. Of course I would forget after it happened and then get shocked again each time. Little did I know this was just the start of the emergence of my mutant powers (which I've been waiting for for a long time). In a fairly dark room, comfily nestled bellow a thin sheet with two thicker blankets above, I noticed my hands were giving off an electric charge even when barely touching the thin sheet. Intrigued I kept moving my hands over the sheet, creating shockingly (ha-hah) intense bursts of electric discharge. It was like a full lazor-dome show, charged light running everywhere. This sparked (ho-ho) the realization that my mutant powers will involve control of electric energy. No other answer makes sense.
After galavanting around town on Monday, I decided to make Tuesday a chill day. I sign up for Spanish classes (40 hrs/wk, $300 for 2 weeks) at the Simon Bolivar school for students that don't read good. Wait, that was
Zoolander. Err, I mean the Simon Boliver school to learn Spanish. I take advantage of their tours (Ingaprica ruins tour this Sunday for $40, Cajas National Park hiking the following Saturday for $30). Plus free text books, free activities after the afternoon sessions (salsa dancing, etc...can't you see it?). Around noon I head back to the Moliendo Cafe to try their arrapas (columbian pancake, mine filled with chicken, beef, veggies, beans and cheese). Suddenly, Kenny Rogers walks in with an older buxom blonde. I can't resist the opportunity and ask Kenny if he knows when to fold 'em. I only get a cold stare in return. It figures the Gambler would have a good poker face. Later, I head to the Inca Bar on the river. I'm greeted in english, which shocks me. Must be expat heaven. There's the most adorable black and white puppy running around. They serve a mean chicken sandwich with jalepenos and I spend about 90 minutes working on a comic script idea I've had in the drawer for about a decade. I'll spoil the end - we're all sea monkeys in someone's home aquarium. By the way, it's entirely possible that man was not Kenny Rogers and the conversation mentioned never took place.
Wednesday sets the routine for the rest of the week. Sleep until 9 or 10am, read for a bit, head out, grab food, go on a walking trek or see some cultural establishment, rest a bit in the afternoon, grab dinner and retire to read or write.
Wednesday I find an even cheaper great breakfast at a place down Calle Larga. Veal cutlet, rice, veggies, great soup, juice, popcorn and a small ice-cream desert (set lunch). All for $2. Next I went to the free Pumpapungo Museum to check out Ecuadorian art (Once you've seen 1000 examples of cheap christian iconography, you've seen them all), cultural artifacts (Decent. Now I know that in Pachincha they wear purple KKK outfits for demonstrations, and shrunken heads are made using some kind of liquid concoction poured down the neck after the lips are sewn up and a handy carrying rope is added to the top of the head), ruins (some stones on a hill), birds (toucans and a very cool set of black chested buzzard eagles), and best of all, llamas! Four llamas were roped to the ground as they grazed in this courtyard, but one was off the leash. I was viewing the llamas with this local family and we're inside the courtyard when suddenly we notice the llama is loose and looking pissed. He starts doing the four legged jump to intimidate us and when that doesn't work he starts charging! There are children screaming and running (all in fun), I'm trying to snap a picture before I have to retreat and it's all pretty awesome. One guy waves a hat and the llama backs off, showing that a llama/human war would not last very long. I head back, upload photos, read online, and decide to try El Maiz for dinner, which supposedly it's a cutting edge fusion restaurant for the local cuisine scene. I order some tortilla cakes (brilliant), seco de chivo (goat stuffing main dish, best meal I've had here) and some white frothy cocktail I can't identify. Looking forward to going back and trying the trancha (marinated red meat in white vinegar with roasted potatoes and Andian salad) and the Gramed Con Quinoto (cooked quinoa and corn by vapor with cream, white whine, mozzarella cheese, veggies and potatoes) with the Yaguna de Mama (traditional Ecuadorian drink of apple cider and spices).
Thursday I explore the streets of the northwest side of the city, but all in all, there's a carbon copy effect. Aside from the various churches, the small stores, homes and such are pretty much the same everywhere. That night I head back to Cafe Eucalyptus, have some more ceviche and some Long Island Ice Teas (goooood) and get lost in nostalgia, recording pages of obnoxious notes about any unique activities I've done in my life (sensory deprivation float, sweat lodge, being the only person who likes the movie
Necessary Roughness, etc). Later on I may have been slightly dancing in the streets listening to Animal Collective while buying a late night ice cream sandwich. I'm hoping this never happened either.
Friday was America day. Not feeling my best, I found the Chicago Pizza Restaurant and had some white sauceless pizza (pretty good), then crossed the river to the south side of the city, past the soccer (i'm not calling it football or futbol) stadium, and walked for many hours just twising and turning down whatever streets seemed best. Perfect day for a city hike and working off the pizza. I find an American style mall (a mini version) and decide to catch a movie, since they have English language films. I end up watching "Love and Other Drugs" which is the best option available (really) and, well, it's got Anne Hathaway in it. Catch a cab home to avoid the rain, eat the rest of the pizza, cry a little more about my Celtics trading Kendrick Perkins, and read until about 2am.
Saturday I tried to find the open air arts festival that's supposed to be at the broken bridge every Saturday, but apparently it no longer exists. Walked, grabbed a $2 lunch made up almost entirely of beans (seriously, bean soup, dry white beans for an appetizer and beans on the side of a piece of beef with rice...can you lay off the beans a tiny bit?) and been researching and writing ever since, including sketching out plans for a serious of ridiculous travel essays ("How I learned to stop being selfish and love the Andean Bear"). Tomorrow is the trek to Ingapirca (I'm going more for the ride to see the countryside). On Monday I move into the Apart Hotel and start Spanish lessons.
In the meantime, I'm trying to figure out the national bus system so I can get to Tena, which is the capital of all things white water rafting, and try out that activity, and, I've made contact with an organization in Mera (in the rainforest) devoted to caring for wounded and endangered animals. For $100/week (which covers your lodging and food), with a two week commitment, I'll get to get up at 6am, feed the animals, work on whatever's needed, go swim in waterfalls in the afternoon before returning to feed the animals. If you're interested in knowing more, their site is www.merazonia.org and it looks like I'll be spending two weeks there in April.
Lastly (I know, at long last), writing a travel blog (this is my first) does require making some choices in terms of balance. Do I just report on cultural items I encounter (buildings, people here, sights and sounds) or do I open it up and toss in personal reaction, comedy, side thoughts which have little to do with the culture, and most importantly little bits of personal exploration. Obviously I'm trending towards the latter, and hoping it doesn't alienate, but it also occurred to me (my real reason for writing this graph) that these "confessional blogs" (which include all blogs, not primarily travel) do have a slightly annoying quality to them at times (especially when done wrong), and it hit me that they should be called "clogs," which has just enough of an negative connotation for people to be ashamed before unleashing them upon the world. "Oh yeah...I'm writing a clog. Sorry." Please go forth and introduce "clog" into the cyber-lexicon. We'll have people ashamed in no time.
And with that, I'm going to stretch my legs. And break my fingers.
-g
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Cassie
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Necessary Roughness
Who does not like necessary roughness? That there I'd a friendship meter. Second, I lobe what you write because it is a peak in your mind (which is always totally awesome) and write so very well. Do what you feel is fight, bit I don't mind the long posts at all. Have fun Grant! I kinda sorta hate you.