Maybe the Gringo ate your baby

I found an article online about the rugby team I am currently coaching. The team used to use coconuts to train because they did not have funds to buy actual rugby balls. Does this not sound like the making of an underdog movie, or what? From coconuts to World Cups: the story of Tristan and his Ecuadorian Journey. (Name by Joe Finch)
The guys are great to work with and eager to learn more about the game. However the practice conditions are not the best. We practice on a very small soccer under poor street lighting from 10pm to 12am. Luckily there is a Sunday morning practice which more people show up to supposedly. From what I have learned only about 10 people show up to these weekday practices. Which is also not ideal, because you need 15 people to field a team, and ideally more for practices. Hopefully in time this will change.
This past Saturday I accompanied Isabel and her sister to Nero. Nero is west of where we live by about 10 kilometers or so. The drive is very pretty but was made less enjoyable by the conditions in which we traveled. At 6am we hopped in the back of pickup truck that was already mostly full of empty steal milk containers. As we drove we collected a few more people and we were all reduced to standing. Which normally is not too bad but it was very cold with the wind and I was very underdressed. After about 40 minutes we arrived at a cross road where we got off.




We then proceeded to walk up the road and arrived at a small dairy farm. We greeted the owner and his family and then ducked under a barbed wire fence which contained several young calves and two very dirty pigs. We continued to walk and arrived at a small thicket where we followed a man made stream. All of sudden out of the bush bounding towards us came, Pelusa.


Pelusa is the dog of Isabel’s sister, who lives at their field. She is an energetic little dog who seems to love everything and anyone. It reminded me of how much I miss my dogs back home and we quickly became friends. We all headed down the hill to where several cows were attached to leashes staked in the ground. Pelusa ran towards the one calf and attempted to play. The calf, showing its age got very upset, bellowed and tripped over the legs it was still not used to.
Isabel’s sister let the calf lose for some reason and of course it ran right to its mother to feed. Coincidently, it was the same cow she was trying to milk. After I snapped a few pictures of this I helped her yank the little guy off, not an easy task. The whole process was pretty funny, Pelusa even tried to help by running in circles around us and getting underfoot.




The next few hours for me were just spent wondering around and taking pictures. Eventually it was time to start cooking lunch. We built a fire in a small little wooden shack (Smokey the Bear would not have approved of this) and started boiling potatoes. Once they were done cooking Isabel put a metal rack over the fire to barbeque the chicken, absolutely fantastic.



(The hat is not mine)
Pelusa ate all of our scraps and chicken bones. I explained to them that it is not good for dogs to eat chicken bones because they can splinter and the dog can choke to death. They laughed at this and explained that this is a
“perrito del campo.” Which basically means this dog is a hard as a coffin nail. Pelusa would chomp through the bones and swallow them with no problems. I was impressed; my wussy beagle back home would probably choke within seconds of receiving a discarded chicken bone.
No offense Molly, you know I love you but this dog is way more bad-ass than you.
After lunch we cleaned up a bit and complained about the intense sun. Isabel and I spent some time picking radishes and cleaning them up for market. After this she went back to futzing with her potatoes and I camped out with a book to read while waiting for our ride to arrive.
It was very relaxing to hang out there in the fresh air hearing no manmade noises.
A gringo is defined as “often disparaging: a foreigner in Spain or Latin America especially when English or American origen.” – Webster
A gringo more affectionately refers to the goofy bearded white kid living in the attic of Spanish or Latin American family, especially when he does something dumb or tries to explain his weird alien customs.
Gringos make for interesting and entertaining pets. They pay you to live in your house and are usually very neat. On the rare occasions a gringo might even cook some traditional meals from his country, however the meals are not very good and that is because he “couldn’t find the right ingredients and it usually tastes much better.”
While living with gringos you must keep in mind several things and gringo proof your house. Gringos have sensitive stomachs (and emotions, more on that later) and there for must choose their water sources carefully. Gringos usually refrigerate most items and can be very picky about what they eat. So if you do not refrigerate the past day’s food, try to keep it out of the direct line of site. Gringos are not all that observant for the most part.
Gringos loveeeee privacy and will require curtains for their windows.
Gringos are great pets and make a great addition to any Spanish or Latin American family.


Gringos also love self pictures

Holy crap, I found a nudist colony!

When music hits you, you feel no pain. However, when you are sitting in a chair and feel something flair. Diarrhea. Diarrhea. Goes the tune.
So when the shit hits the fan, do not panic. This will only make a shitty situation, well, shittier. Getting the point of this entry yet?
Luckily Isabel is the shit and helps out the sick gringo living in the attic of her house. For this illness she took me into the garden to collect some herbs to make a tea. She handed me a canella flower and the root of onion, and we headed back inside. Interesting combination, I thought as I wondered about the taste of this particular tea.
She put on a small pot of water and waited for it to boil before turning off the burner and adding the ingredients. Once it cooled, I was allowed to drink the oniony concoction and then promptly went to bed. The next morning I awoke bright eyed and bushy tailed, ready to take on the world.

Another interesting discovery was recently found by another volunteer and brought to my attention by another PCV. When you yawn, it does not signify that you are tired. It means you are hungry. I never put two and two together until this point. I have been randomly asked if I was hungry, but never thought it was because I yawned. It is better than being asked if I am tired, plus I am always hungry.
So a week ago I tried to explain to Isabel why I did not want to drink coffee at 11pm. I informed her that it keeps me awake. She found this to be really funny and in fact a bull shit excuse for not drinking coffee. Now a few days later I had coffee and humitas http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Humita with Isabel and her uncle. She told him this hilarious story about me and my unique problem with coffee. He found it just as funny and my explanation of caffeine was not effective. Frustration ensued and I ate my humitas quietly.

Saturday the 16th of October

Today Clint and I went to meet the Scout group as per usual. However, today was different. It was field trip day! Destination, unknown. We arrived at a government building and the Scouts attire was looked over and approved. Shit needed to be in order and tucked in. When it came time to inspect Clint and I they just walked on. I had on a dirty shirt and grass stained jeans, no hope.
We walked in to a very nice reception room where on the stage some Scouts set up guitars, drum machines, microphones and a bass. Ok, looks like we might get some live music! Sure enough they played a couple songs throughout the ceremony honoring certain Scouts. It appeared that some had deserved the privilege of becoming a higher rank and that was the point of this trip.




Clint and I have also agreed to teach 30 minutes of English to the Scouts every Saturday. So we need to get a lesson plan (general) together pretty quick.
Later in the night I while drinking a beer at a bar I was approached by guy who asked me if I play rugby. I asked why, and he pointed out the fact that I was wearing Scotland’s rugby polo. Yeah, I did play for a bit in high school and college.
He asked me to join him and his teammates for a drink. From what I gathered it seems they do not know a lot and there coach just quit. So they want someone to help run practices and get them ready for a tournament in December. I told them I not a great player but I will try my best to help them out. I will be at their practice next Sunday to help out.


Sunday

Today I felt guilty for finding the following situation funny, but I did not laugh out loud. Whilst at a barbeque lunch at the neighbors I noticed the little 4 year old cousin mildly harassing a bunch of very small baby chicks. Then all of sudden mama chicken sees this and does not approve. The bird runs full speed to the sitting girl and drills her right in the head with its head. BOOM! The girl goes over backwards and is reduced to screams and tears for her mama.
Mom told her that there is no need to worry. That next weekend they will kill and eat the bad mama chicken. This made the girl stop crying and she smiled a little. I hope I am invited to that dinner too!







Websters’ defines homesickness as “longing for home and family while absent from them.”
Tristan defines homesickness as “longing for Creedence Clearwater Rival at full volume, family parties, friends, Yuengling and pizza, Phillies, Eagles and of course WaWa.”

To overcome this occupational hazard, the author employees many age old tactics. Firstly he combats this disease (which is almost as deadly as RLS, which the author most definitely has as well http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/restless%20legs%20syndrome) with writing this blog, so thanks for reading it! Secondly, he has an American flag hanging proudly in his bedroom window. Thirdly, he hears updates about the hit show Jersey Shore, and is glad he is on the other side of the world from that over-gelled mess.
The Author’s mind is also worried about culture shock. Defined by Webster as “a sense of confusion and uncertainty sometimes with feelings of anxiety that may affect people exposed to an alien culture or environment without adequate preparation.”

Eh, that is a pretty good description.

Tristan’s definition is similar. “A sense of confusion for paying more than a $1.50 for a 22 oz. beer at a bar and a state of uncertainty on deciding whether to go to either Pat’s or Geno’s for a cheesesteak upon returning from Ecuador.”


I heard somewhere catchy titles get people to read things they normally would not. Hope it worked!

Life

October 1st, not my average Friday night
The previous night at my house, while I was stuck inside my house because of the coup, there was an hour long religious ceremony in our living room. There was lots of candles, insense and a 2 foot tall statue of Jesus in a glass box. I asked what it was for, but I did not understand the answer and so it remains a mystery to me.
Tonight, I was called down from my room by Isabel for another ceremony. Had I known there was going to be another ceremony I would not have drank those three beers… This time when I got to the living room there was no one there. Needless to say I was confused, then Isabel handed me a chair and told me to go next door.
There is a passage way between our house and the restaurant Isabel is building next door. I never knew it was there until today, amazing. So I carry the chair into the unfinished cement building expecting to find the same 10 people from last night. Nope, there were about 40 people and several women had beautiful rose bouquets resting at their feet. I promptly set the chair down and continued to make myself useful by passing out bread to everyone while they awaited their coffee.
The same religious leader (not sure of his title) from the night before read a few passages and then everyone grabbed a candle and went outside. Four people, Isabel being one of them, picked up the statue that now was sitting on top of a wooden pallet with four horizontal poles coming out of it to rest on the carriers’ shoulders. It looked rather heavy.
With my candle in hand we began walking the wrong way up a one way road up the hill towards the Church (the blue one from my pictures). We were followed by a beat up pickup truck with the religious leader singing over a homemade loud speaker system attached to the truck.
We were no more than 30 yards from the church when Isabel asked me to take over for her. Of course I would, besides we are so close. The procession proceeded down the road past the church to where the paved road and street lights end. Oh crap.
There is no moon on this night so it is exceptionally dark however, the stars are plenty! I asked the man who was on the other side of the wooden contraption where we were going. He mentioned some town I have never heard of. I then asked how far. He said with a smile 4-5 kilometers. Oh man, my shoulders are going to hurt tomorrow.
While we were marching up the road, there were many bottle rockets being fired into the sky from field all around us. I finally spotted the person responsible. It was this little old man who would sneak off from the group every once and while and set a few off.
After what seemed forever we finally made it to a small chapel in the middle of nowhere. We sat through a long ceremony and I was thoroughly lost as to what this was all about, but I enjoyed the experience.


This is for my uncle Steve. Do you know what they use to make horseshoes here? Rebar. Thought you might get a kick out of that.

Brewing operations have been delayed yet again. Someday, I hope.

The owner of the tienda I always buy my snacks and beer from has a bi-polar owner. Some days he is really excited to see me and we chat for awhile. Other days he is a little cold and gives me weird looks when I try to strike up a conversation.
Today when I walked to the tienda I saw him showing off one of his fighting cocks to some people and then out walked his look alike brother. Fuck me, that explained a lot. I guess I have become that weird volunteer that talks to everyone. I then walk up to greet them both and to figure out which one actually likes talking to me. He was the one with the rooster.
Luckily this rooster is not as aggressive as El Capitan. I was able to pet it and feel how sharp his spurs are. Jaime invited me to come with him some Sunday to check out the fights. An offer I will definitely take him up on.
As we were talking a pick up rolled up on the sidewalk behind me, but I paid it no attention. A lot of people park their cars on the side walk on this street. However I spun around when I heard an ogre behind me! In the bed of this small pickup truck not more than two feet behind me were three enormous pigs. They we not happy about being tied up in the bed of the truck and were making their current emotions known.
I then thought of how I could make a three little pigs joke but thankfully my mouth did not listen. I doubt they know that children’s tale and if I said it I would have had to explain it. Effort. Sometimes I do not put that word into my daily activities, and today was one of those days. So instead I bought beer and had a lovely happy hour playing tunes on my guitar. Ah, Peace Corps.

Perks of the Peace Corps.

Wednesday, First day of my class
This morning Estella and I discussed the presentation I will give next week concerning the bench/tree project. The project has gone from a couple hundred dollars to around four thousand in the past few weeks. I hope it gets approved! We also discussed the trash project. There are some meetings scheduled next week to talk to the big players in town about what to with their trash. From there, we will reach out to the rest of the people.
We then started talking about the town dogs. Some have owners and some do not. Well, those are the only two options, obviously. I did my best to explain leash laws, collars with names/addresses and the concept of a dog pound/catcher. She liked the idea but thinks some of them will never happen. We agreed that I should go ahead with researching it and doing a feasibility study.
Then it was time to call the people who said they would attend my super-fantastic-informative marketing class. Not one person of the twenty answered. Given it was around lunch time, but still. This got me worried that I would have similar experiences other PCVs have had when they give their first class; a big goose egg for the number of people in attendance.
I ran from the Junta to the class room down the hill in the pouring rain with my laptop and their projector and still managed to get totally soaked. So now I smell like a wet dog and look like one. When I arrived at the Community center I was given a janitor’s size key ring to figure out which key would open the classroom. After going through every key, I used a trick I learned back in my college years. I whipped out my handy-dandy Red Cross card, slid it through the door crack and turned the knob. Abra kadabra, the door opened.
I would not have done this is anyone was around. I would not want them to think I have had a questionable or shady past life as a thief. However, I could tell them without lying that I learned that trick from a successful entrepreneur and one of my closest friends. There is need for anyone to know it was Tim who taught me the trick.
I tried every outlet in the joint and not one functioned. Shit. Game time decision. I would have to use my laptop screen for the PowerPoint. Great, only 40 minute left on my computer battery. With some time to kill, I went to purchase an ice cream bar to clear my thoughts and get ready to teach my first class in Spanish, and in general.
4:15pm three women show up for my class. I was a little surprised, considering it was still raining. One of the women works for herself, another works at a local hostel and the last one is currently looking for work.
The class went pretty well all things considered. I was also informed by one of the students how to make the outlets work at the end of my class. Thank goodness because she said 20 people are coming to my next class…
COUP
Walking down my street back from the Junta seeing kids playing in the street and towns people going out there daily business was strange site today. Their president had just been attacked by the national police because he cut their benefits in half and stopped promotions. Quito, the capital is in complete anarchy along with several other cities. I have yet to see the news, but when I got to my local tienda to get supplies, I saw the news. Chaos, tear gas and tire fires were all I saw. The tienda owner suggested I buy a few beers and get drunk and lay low. I heeded his wise advice and loaded my bag with Doritos and beers. He also told me a Co-op bank down the road was robbed, along with a hardware store. Well, I guess my sleepy town did not want to miss out on the lack of police either.
Later in the day I would peak out my windows expecting rioters with pitchforks. Thank god there were none, just some kids playing on push carts. Much safer. As the day carried on, the situation seemed to get worse and worse. I got word that the airports were taken over by the striking police (what is our exit strategy now?).
9pm there was a shoot out outside of the hospital the president was held up in between police and the striking police. Details are confusing, hard to tell what is real and what is not. What I do know is that the Peace Corps. was on top of this and had every PCV accounted for very quickly and has been giving us updates and instructions. I feel very comfortable with their efforts to keep us safe.
Friday, Day two
I woke up to read the news on CNN and found this “After the meeting [of Latin American Leaders] Chavez accused the U.S of being behind the unrest in Ecuador. ‘The Yankee extreme right is trying right now, through arms and violence, to retake control of the continent,’ Chavez said.”
Now I am little worried seeing as I am American as it gets and I have a big American flag hanging in my window. We have been ordered by the PC to stay in our sites “until the end of the ‘Estado de Exception’ which at this moment is set for a one-week period.”
My bottle of Johnnie Walker is running low and they do not sell it in my site. Sigh.
On a completely unrelated note, I enjoy the sound of the rain on my metal roof.
Lastly, I am in a need of some new songs to learn on my guitar. Please, post suggestions!