Street dog (Tw)eats Angry Bird

I had envisioned my morning going much differently than it did. The plan was simple enough. Go to town, buy chickens and put them in the shed. Today, I learned that god or whatever higher power that rules over us mortals has a sense of humor.

But Tristan, do you not already own 5 chickens a voice in my head announced? Well strange voice in my head, I owned 3 chickens which I (you) ate, and now I am (we are) left with 2 hens who are cranking out lots of eggs. I figured it would be fun to buy three more poultry to gift to my host family and eat with my friends who are coming to visit in December.

The bus ride in was as uneventful as selecting the three chickens which were two females, one male and each were roughly the size of 6 piece McNugget boxes. Huey, Dewy, Louie (as I named them) and I then boarded the bus back to Baños. They were wedged humanely in a box which did not have air holes I until I poked them. The Ménage à trois box of chickens were quiet noisy on the bus and earned some warranted strange looks. This was not normal gringo behavior.

Weather Interjection: It had rained the past few days and now the sun was shining but the streets were still mud covered and tough to navigate on foot without incident. Can you see where this is going?

We departed the bus and began the short walk to my host family’s house. Not paying attention, which I am usually not, my foot found a great patch of slickness and I fell with a gracefulness that cannot be taught. Now mostly covered in mud I noticed one of the chickens staring at me, in front of me, not in the box. Of course the box had to break. I let out a pathetic sigh. Fuck.

I grabbed the little guy and quickly located another one scuttling to a nearby trash pile. With a chicken in each hand I spun around to see a scene no chicken owner wants to see. The chicken stood 10 feet away in a staring competition with none other than Old James. Old James, it had to be him.

He is the best of the worst street dogs in my barrio. Self appointed alpha dog of Baños this bastard fears nothing. I have seen him attack cars going full speed with the intention of winning. While he can usually be found drooling on some stoop, he occasionally ventures out to prove himself. Today was one of those occasions.
Before I could think of any solution other than throwing the chickens in my hands at him, the chase was on.


This next part is best told by fictitious outside observers.

Martha and Rosa, both indigenous women, explain the madness that they just saw.

Well, we were just sitting there on the porch shucking corn, probably discussing the weather or latest town gossip I don’t remember, when a baby chicken goes running by. Now there is nothing terribly unusual about that or the dog chasing it. But what came to pass next neither of us could have ever imagined. That weird gringo, you know the one who had that big ugly beard for awhile? Yeah him. Well he just came out of nowhere completely soaked in mud with a chicken in each hand yelling something in English. I think he was drunk or on the drugs or something. He was chasing that dog, which was chasing the chicken like a mad man. I swear I have never seen anything like it. Martha proclaims.

This is where Rosa would probably chime in with “some village in America is missing its idiot.”
And a good laugh would be had by all.

After jumping two fences I turn the corner of an old house only to see Old James sitting with a shit-eating grin standing over a pile of feathers. I could not help but laugh. I was mad at him but I released I was going to eat the chicken someday so why not laugh?
The surviving two needed new names. I would like to present to the world Mister and Misses Brunch.




I promise someday I will write a blog that has nothing to do with rugby or chickens.

Occupy Rugby

Sports are much more than just games; rugby is no exception. Through sports we can teach and learn respect, humility, nutrition and many other important life skills.

That statement is the basis for my new Peace Corps project. At the suggestion of my players we successfully created Cuenca’s first middle and high school rugby teams. The process started last week with three separate presentations at a school explaining what rugby is and what we hope to accomplish. Rugby is a very new sport to Ecuador and Cuenca in particular. Many people think the game is nothing more than an uncontrolled bar fight full of barbarians and cretins. A doctor once told a player here that man has evolved from brutal sports like rugby to play futbol. This is an entirely false statement. Rugby, in fact, evolved from futbol in England in the early 1800’s and last I checked injuries still occur in futbol. We as rugby players face an uphill battle in this futbol culture.

Many of the kids expressed genuine interest and asked excellent questions during the sessions in the past week. On paper we had 30 or so interested in starting training the coming Monday. Due to other experiences I have had, I did not expect half of the people to show up. I was pleasantly wrong.

There were a total of 32 kids on Monday at practice! 16 of them were between the ages of 11 and 15. The other half was 16 to 18 years old. I must say I was a bit unprepared for those kinds of numbers but luckily I had help. Lucho, one of the players on my team was there to assist in dividing the horde into into the age groups and he took the younger of the two.

Several other players besides Lucho have shown up this week to lend a hand in teaching the next generation 3 times a week for an hour and a half. I could not be more pleased with this project. Although I cannot take much, if any credit for the idea or even the follow through of the project. My players came up with the idea along with David who attends the high school and trains with us. He was the one who talked with the administrators and set up meeting times for us to meet with the proper authorities to hash out the details. And before we knew it we had practices full of eager kids wanting to learn a new game thanks to a solid group effort.

It is an amazing thing to be a part of.

Can’t Win Them All

As a player and coach of an undefeated team this is a hard fact to accept. However, some days, the scores of the game do not reflect the events that took place on the field. This was one of those days.

We arrived at the field a man short, not an ideal situation for a game against a tough adversary. Not only were we short one player, we also were lacking several of our key players due to injury or job relocations. But the show must go on.

We took to the field and though no one said it, we all knew what everyone was thinking. The average player on their team was the size of our biggest player, Jose. Jose weighs in around 220 lbs and our average player weighs in about 180. Speed and solid defense were our only chance.

The Yaguares (for inexplicable reasons they spelled it wrong…) scored first by swinging the ball to the outside man thus exploiting the advantage of their numbers. Their forwards (the bigger guys on a rugby team) really dominated the game. So, as a counter measure, we decided to only attack with our backs (smaller guys) and play to our only strength.

15 minutes or so in to the game our full back, Dinamita, damaged a ligament in his knee and had to retire. Now we are down two players. We continued to play tough, getting hammered every time we got the ball. But we pressed on.

Just before the half ended, another player, Jonathan or “Crash”, took a knee to the jaw (fractured in 2 places). Once the referee realized there was a player down he whistled the half over.

Thirteen of us were left standing. Though I did not want to “throw in the towel” as a player, as a coach I had too. With only 13 people there was no feasible way we could win, but more importantly I did not want to have any more of our players hurt for the sake of pride.

The rest of the team agreed with the decision and so it was made. At halftime we forfeited the rest of the match with the final score being 15-6 in favor of the Yaguares.

I was prepared to give a speech in the post game huddle about holding our heads high and being proud of how we played. But when I looked around the circle I saw nothing but smiles on the faces of my comrades. They already were proud of themselves and their teammates. We all agreed that this was the best game we had all played, even though we had lost. We then counted to 3 and gave a good cheer for our team. AGUILAS!!!

As we disbanded I looked to the other team’s huddle and heard something that caught me and the rest of my team by surprise. They cheered Aguilas, our team’s name.

That is what rugby is all about. Win or lose, it is truly about how you play the game.

We stuck around to watch the next game and then afterwards all the teams headed out together to get food and beer, as is the tradition of the sport.

Boobies and other cool stuff

To say the least, the last week was very eventfull!

The Peace Corps project for the home of the eldery is now fully funded! Thanks to everyone for your love and support for this great project in a rough economy. The group I am working with to implement the project is equally as eager as I am to begin once the funds are transfered.

Earlier in the week I was lucky enough to go to Isla de la Plata with some of my friends. What an amazing place! It is a small island off the coast of Puerto Lopez (Ecuador) and is part of the National Park of Machalilla. It is home to multiple species of birds, the most famous being the Blue-footed Booby.

This time of year is particularly good because Humpback whales migrate to the warm waters of the equator to breed. On the boat ride out to the Isla we were able to catch a few whales breaching, and even one feeding!

It is also a very special time on the Isla because the boobies are in the peak of their mating season. The male and female have very distinct and different calls, and the males even have a dance and a present to go along with the whole charade. The male will waddle and lift his legs to impress a female. And, as a sad attempt to prove that chivalry is in fact, not dead, he offers his inamorata the nearest twig as a token of his love. To me the male´s call sounded a bit like a little kid blowing on a Kazoo without knowing how to play it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oYmzdvMoUUA
(copy and paste the link into your browswer) This video is not mine, but captures the same scene we saw.

The pictures below are mine






Another new experience for me on this trip was surfing. I was able to rent a board and get lessons for 2 hours for a rate of $25. Worth every penny! My instructor, Miguel, was a good teacher and could really explain to me what I needed to do to correct my mistakes.

Things I learned:
1. The general principles of how to surf
2. Swallowing large amounts of sea water leads to an upset stomach
3. Yes, it is possible to belly flop off of a surf board
4. Surfing (or drowning in style) is fun


Flyfishing, one more thing I can check off of my long list of things to do before I get too smart or too old to do them, whichever comes first. Flyfishing, as far as the list and reality go, is not dangerous. Similar to my surfing experience, I am by no means an expert; I learned much of the basics. However, it was much less painful and had tastier results than surfing. I did not catch anything on a fly rod, but reeled in a good sized Rainbow trout on a standard rod.

I did not just go and rent some fishing gear, I learned from some real fishing experts. Several expats here in Cuenca started the Cuenca Flyshing Club. All of the members are extremely nice and willing to help any newbies get into the sport. Kent, one of the founders, was the one who showed me how to handle the fly rod. It is much more elegant than regular reel fishing. Watching a good fly fisherman is like watching a great painter paint. There is a relaxing beauty to the dance of the weighted line as it flies in front of, and behind the angler.

After the sun had set it was time to drink a nice homebrewed beer and cook our catch. Gutting the fish was a new experience for Joey, Michael and I. while doing it, I was unsure of how to pull out the guts once the incision was made. Michael explained to me what he did and I had an aha moment! I located the gills and pulled. Ta-da! As it turns out, it is pretty easy thing to do once you know what you are doing.






Here are a few shots of Cuenca!

Old

The following story is not a recent one, but I wanted to share it anyways.



Growing up in a non-hunting part of Pennsylvania was an interesting start to life for me. In my home town owning a gun is almost considered a crime in the eyes of some. Not to mention hunting and harvesting game are activities that should never, under any circumstance ever, never ever ever be done. But remember, it is ok to buy poultry that lived in a tiny cage, fed steroids and then packaged and put on the shelves of the local grocery store.

On the other hand I also grew up listening to my grandfather’s tales of hunting elk, whitetail and muleys in Wyoming and the mountains of Colorado. His stories kept me on the edge of my seat as a kid and are always a camp fire favorite for a few of my friends.

At the age of 18, in my first year of college and after years of shooting shotguns with my father, we decided it was time I made some hunting stories of my own and we booked my very first hunt. Pheasant.

Pheasants originated in Asia and were first introduced to the US in the 1800s. Ringneck Pheasants, like the ones on the hunt, can now be found across the globe due to their readiness to breed in captivity and the fact they can adapt to numerous climates.

The male Pheasant, also known as a rooster, is larger and far more colorful than its female counterpart. He sports a long tail that when fully matured nearly doubles the length of his body. His head is primarily dark green with bright red around the eyes and beak. The body is a combination of browns and brilliant shades of gold.

An unfortunate sports accident a few weeks before the fall hunt had blown out my ACL and meniscus of my right knee. I was absolutely heartbroken, thinking I was going to have to miss my first hunt and wait six months after the surgery before it would be possible to go on another hunt.

But we Schrecks are stubborn people.

I got the surgery done and a week later I hopped on my crutches and we went off to the hunt. Being on crutches complicates even the simplest of tasks, so I knew I was in for a challenge. Nevertheless, I was not going to let anything stand in the way.
Our guide Robby and his German shorthaired pointer, Doc, were sympathetic of my situation because one of his other dogs had knocked him over several years ago and blown out his knee. The instant I heard that I knew that there was no better guide in the world for me!

The plan was for me, my father and Robby (who carried my 12 gauge over and under) to follow Doc and wait for him to go on point. The rainy weather had made an absolute mess of the fields and my crutches sank several inches into the mud with every step and the holes they left would instantly fill up with the left over ground water. This made my progress somewhat slower than our hyper active bird dog hot on a scent.
Apart from the poor ground conditions, the scenery was a picturesque mid-November day at the M and M Hunting Preserve in New Jersey. Beautiful blue and grey clouds covered the late fall sun, only allowing the occasional rays to shine through. All the trees had shed their leaves for the inevitable approaching winter and the cold air nipped at our bare faces in a refreshing way.

This is what I had envisioned for the hunt.

Doc soon had a bird cornered at the end of a waist high plot of corn stubble and went on a picture-perfect point, like the kind you would see in the old Winchester posters. With adrenaline pumping through my veins, I crutched with all my strength to catch up to the others at the point. Robby traded me the shotgun for the crutches and I snapped the breach of the Browning ULTRA XS shut with two shells loaded. I completely forgot the state of my leg and assumed my shooting stance which had become second nature.

Time came to an utter stand still as I watched the tip of Doc’s muzzle for where the bird would burst out of the brush. Doc held the point for a solid minute before I arrived, a very impressive feat. He never flinched until he heard the call.

“Flush’em!”

The racket a rooster pheasant makes as he beats his wings to get out of thick brush is quite a thing! I let him fly for bit, watching this beautiful creature in motion before I swung over him and squeezed the trigger. First shot, first bird! What a feeling!

Without any hesitation Doc was on the bird and before I could stop shaking from excitement Doc brought the bird back and placed it gently in the hands of his master. Who, in turn, handed me my first bird. I could feel the warmth of the bird through my gloves and his distinct scent filled my nose. If you have never seen a pheasant up close you must add it to your list. These are in my opinion the prettiest of all birds.

M and M Hunting Preserve works extremely hard to make sure the birds have plenty of natural habitats on the preserve and maintains them to perfection. They are a true model of sustainable hunting.

After the hunt we brined one of the pheasants with sautéed onions, white wine and a few spices. Then we let it marinate for a few hours before roasting it. What a fantastic way to end the day!

So, despite being on crutches I went on my first hunt with my father and it could not have been any better! Now I have my own hunting story (and hopefully many more!) to tell my grandchildren someday.

Videos!!!

So, I figured it is time to do some more videos!

Nothing is killed in these editions, sort of...


Copy and paste the links below into your browswer and enjoy! (send to friends too! I want to earn those theoretical YouTube dollars)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=j7GGSHtqeks&feature=related

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWnbitBO8YQ

Insert Title, Not Foriegn Object

In which the author expresses his frustration with the barrier of language, being a gringo and feeling the need to scream, curse and throw heavy things at breakable things


The following is a translated conversation that is had weekly with the lady who owns the tienda next to my house.

“hi, I would like to return these (beer) bottles and buy two more beers.”
“What?¨
“I would like to buy two beers, please”
“I don’t know what that is.”

Through gritted teeth and a feigned smile “beer (I point to empty bottles I am returning). Cold beer, those bottles in the fridge?”

Long pause “Ohhhh, Beer. Haha, yeah how many.”

Folks, if there is one word I know how to pronounce in Spanish it is beer. I have never had any other problems buying stuff from this lady, the only problems occur when I try to buy beer. I swear she does it just to mess with me. Imagine if an employee did that to a certain client every Monday morning at Starbucks.

Caffeine Fiend Beats Sarcastic Employee With Espresso Machine

Not saying I would beat a tienda lady for messing with me and my happy hour. [Legal department insisted that I add that sentence] But seriously, when its 5’o’clock on a Friday and I bring empty bottles, they just need to be replaced. Go ahead and mess with me when I am trying to by yogurt or a banana, but don’t fuck with my beer. Comprende?

The aforementioned story inspired my latest creation, Coffee Porter. A nice dark beer mixed with a very strong batch of organic Ecuadorian coffee. Yeah, it’s good.






I recently purchased the Lord of The Rings trilogy on DVD for $4.50 [legally]. There is nothing like getting through the first 2 disks and then looking forward all day to completing the set with a nice home brewed beer after work only to find that the third disk is just another copy of the second one. There is no curse in Elvish, Entish or Spanish to express this feeling.
But I digress, life is good.

Remember those cute white chickens I had? Well we did BYODC (bring your own dead chicken) at the local rotisserie chicken place and then had a nice take out dinner. Kind of like Boston Market, right?

Life of Chicken

(with inserts from ¨Master¨)

Yesterday Master gave us an extra handful of feed and our favorite, Wheat Bread! He has done this before and we all fought hard to get our share and a little more. But the next day he took one of us away, we have not seen Breakfast since then. Maybe she got promoted?

Anyhow, Dinner and I are getting a little nervous because Master might take one of… Uh oh, here is here! Quick hide! (Chickens run to other side of 4X4 sized pen and bury their heads in their feathers)

Not me, not me!!! (Judging weight of chickens) Shoot, he picked me! Goodbye Dinner!

What is that grain sack for? Oh, you want me inside of it? I am not a big fan of this idea, but ok. Where are we going Master? I cluck. No response from him. I have often felt he does not understand me, we never understand him.

We seem to have stopped moving. Whose face is that looking in the bag? I guess this is my New Master. He seems nice, though he quite a bit shorter than Master, he will do. (gifted the chicken to a family in my town who has been very kind to me)

New Master’s house is a lot different and there are some strange looking animals here. They are big, pink and smell like our cage did when Master would forget to clean it for awhile. I am sharing a cage with this other Hen; she is not too friendly but is much nicer than that psychotic male bird next door. Who does he think he is making all that racket whenever it pleases him?

Well it is time for bed, goodnight strange new world.

Ugh, that stupid bird kept us up all night! What nerve.

Hooray, New Master is here with breakfast, yum! Aw, shoot, just dried corn? Master always gave us a good mixture, oh well, food is food. Bye, New Master and thanks!

Hey what the heck! The male bird snuck in our cage! Get out I scream from the other side of the cage. Oh no, he… he just killed the hen! No, you stay away from me you killer! He runs at me, but today is not my day to die. So I cover my head with my feathers and drop to the ground. Hahaha! I have bested the beast!

I think he is gone… Oh good, New Master came back and took him away. Good job New Master! I see the hen’s body next to me, poor girl. She never saw it coming. More food for me!

Oh hey New Master, what is that shinny thing you got there? Oh, we are going somewhere, ok as long as it is away from that male bird.

'Til Death Do Us Part

A steal door with a large man behind it guards the arena. He looks through the speakeasy-style slot window and curtly pointed the way to the ticket booth. Because tonight is a major event general admission is $5, second row $15 and the ring side seats are $20. We opted for the $5 general admission; the arena is not big by any means so general admissions will suite our purpose just fine.

Clint (another PCV) pointed out that the air was not as smoky as he had imagined, I agreed. However, I did not know entirely what to expect.

First is the weigh-in for the initial round of fights. A long feather and shit stained table is where the men place their prized fighters to match up against a fighter of similar size and weight. Most of the fighters like to brag and boast to the other fighters and occasionally a pre-fight skirmish happens on the table. It is because of this that the fighters are faced towards their trainers and away from the others. Once a match is made they are then brought over to an official scale to weigh in.

Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to cock fighting.

First rule of cock fighting is, if you make a bet, you pay up if you lose without a protest. This is the word of the gallero. This is a term similar to caballero, which means gentlemen or cowboy and is a very respectful thing to call a man. Gallo is a rooster or cock, so a gallero is an honorable term for men who work with or raise fighting cocks. Now that you have an idea of how things are done and some terminology, let us move on.

Once the match-ups were decided, a purse was agreed upon between the two owners. The purses for tonight’s fight were in the range of $100 to $1,500. Though if the owners had wanted, the fight could be worth more.

Preparation for a fight takes some time. Before the birds are even brought to the arena or coliseum their feathers are trimmed in numerous styles. One commonality was that all of the fighters’ legs were completely shaved. Some sported grand tails up to a foot long with many feathers while others only had a few.

We watched over the shoulder of a gallero as he was preparing his bird for a fight. The spurs of the cocks are cut off (in advance and is only needed once in the life of a cock) and tape is put around the nub of the spur. Some kind of wax/glue is heated (in this case it was done by a candle) and the hot goo is applied to the tape/spur nub. Now a metal piece is applied to the glue. Once it is dry, more tape is applied to secure it. Next comes the artificial spur attachment. I had been told before coming here that they attach razor blades to the spurs; this is not the case, at least not here.

The gallero showed us his case of spurs; he had many of different sizes and material. Some were made of turtle shells and others were from the teeth of fish. They ranged from around a half inch to almost three inches. The fighters have to have equal length spurs. Fair is fair.

Once they are in place the bird is almost battle ready. Many of the trainers had different styles to warm up their fighters. Some would let them run around the arena keeping space between their fighter and the opponent. Others would hold the tail of the fighter while they trotted around on the floor and some just kept them in their arms stroking the plume while they negotiated side bets with the crowd.

The love, the pride and the respect for these animals is obvious even to outsiders.
Bets can be made at anytime with anyone who is willing. Some would shout out the color of the bird and the price they wanted to bet and a man might accept on the other side of the arena with a reply and that is it. The bet is set in stone. Occasionally we saw people up the stakes or make bets mid-fight.

Cock fighting is legal in Ecuador; dog fighting is not.

For tonight, the rules were as follows. A fight will last twelve minutes, unless one of the combatants dies, no longer fights or the owner throws in the towel. There is also a prize of $1,000 to the winner if the fight was over in 12 seconds.

The referee comes center arena to announce the big fight worth $1500. Bets are being made all around the room and I make a meager 5 dollar bet to a man sitting near me. My friend Jaime (Ecuadorian) gets up to buy a beer and is back within 30 seconds but the fight is already over. The arena was in an organized chaos of people exchanging stacks… stacks of bills to pay their debts. I forked over my dollars without complaint seeing as how I lost pennies compared to what the one man just lost. Such is the nature of the sport; it can be 12 minutes of ferocity on both sides or 30 seconds of utter domination.

As I write this, I find myself torn between two sides of an argument. On the one hand, I greatly enjoy watching these stunning creatures fight and the fluidity of their movements within the arena. And yet, from time to time a fight results in the death of one the contenders.

As the first round of fights came to an end, we made our way over to the weigh-in table. What we came across was a heartbreaking sight. The loser of one of the fights was face up on the table and breathing heavily while his owners stood next to him.

Some critics of the sport will say that fighting these animals can only be done by cruel and heartless men. These people have never seen a man watch helplessly as his prize fighter, his companion, fades to the next world. There was nothing but love and admiration as he stroked the plume of his dying friend. Some of these men have 5 cocks, while some might have 500. But there is no doubt that these animals are viewed with the equal, and if not more respect than most Americans have for their beloved four legged friends.

For some of these men, this is their livelihood and for others it is a very serious passion.

I remember one time in high school when my father came to a wrestling match of mine. I got pummeled and beaten for 2 rounds before being pinned, not scoring a single point. I felt embarrassed and ashamed and defeated. I do not think I fully understood the love a father has for a son until I saw my father’s face after that match. Something unexplainable was in his eyes, and I saw the same look in the eyes of this gallero as he looked on to his cock breathe his last few breathes. Not much was said at this time; you did not have to understand the language, even if there was something to be said. This was a sad affair and the visible truth to the ugly side of the sport.

The love, the pride and the respect for these animals is obvious even to outsiders.

In Ecuador, Bus Rides You

My parents decided to come for a visit and this is more or less what happened.

Wherein parents visit their son in the Peace Corps, eat strange fruits and meats, mangle Spanish, ride buses and in the back of pick ups, meet really cool people and fortune telling parakeets, feed chickens, watch roosters spar and other adventures worth of a truly great vacation.

It’s hard to believe we have been home for one week; that our vacation to Ecuador to visit our son Tristan is over. Bummer. Because we really, really liked Ecuador, the people, the food, the scenery, everything. We are already counting the months for our return.

We flew into Guayaquil as it’s a mere 120 miles from Cuenca, the third largest city in Ecuador and close to where Tristan is based. That’s nothing we think; a mere 2 hour car ride in the US. Tristan and a Banos friend (bless him!) pick us up at our Guayaquil hotel Saturday morning. Miraculously we manage to stuff all our bags into his car and off we go. The terrain is flat, hot and tropical at first (vast fields of bananas and rice paddies), but within an hour you start climbing mountains as you head east towards Cuenca. For the next hour you are pretty sure this is where Jurassic Park was filmed and when you think you can’t get any higher, you do. The next thing you know, you are over 14,000 feet and your pathetic, little, sea level, heart struggles to beat fast enough to get oxygen to your big American limbs and head. The scenery loses its jungle look at this elevation and is strewn with lakes as far as you can see and terrific craggy peaks that my imagination goes nuts over. Is that Qaddafi standing next to the Virgin? No, its oxygen deprivation superimposed over the peaks. But the alpacas, horses, cows (even a dead one being skinned by a family), goats and other assorted animals along the road were real.

We finally descend into Cuenca, and are relieved to find its only 8400 ft. It’s a very big city with a very European feel complete with cobble stone streets. Tristan picked a cute hotel on one of Cuenca’s 4 rivers; the hotel is called “Villa Nova”. Our very big room is just perfect for the three of us and at 65 dollars (including breakfast & laundry) the price is right. As the purpose of this trip was to see the town where Tristan works, meet his villagers and friends, Cuenca was a nice centrally located spot. I envisioned our 8 days and 7 nights here to be very relaxing, lots of sitting in cafes watching the world go by. But that isn’t how it turned out. Tristan had us hopping every minute of the day, so much so it took me a week to recover and write this up.

We started off with a big Sunday afternoon dinner with Tristan’s host family (Isabel, her mom, one of her sons, her sister Matilda and others) in the nearby little town of Banos where Tristan lives and works. Although Tristan now lives on his own nearby, he visits them frequently and they still house his 5 chickens and his veggie garden. The dinner was the classic Banos dinner feast of spit roasted cuy ( pronounced COO-EEE and which sounds a lot better than guinea pig), some chicken all on a bed of potatoes and rice. Unfortunately they don’t drink alcohol, as wine always helps my Spanish and perhaps I could have eaten a bite of the cuy. But as it was, I nearly fainted and just couldn’t do it. But since John ate his to the bone and they were amused with my Spanish, I was forgiven (I think). They are a very quiet and nice family, so unlike ours. Tristan was relieved that the dinner went so well.

Hospitality is really something in Ecuador. Two other locals from Tristan’s town insisted we go to the National Park with them. So John and Tristan hopped in the back of the truck and off we went to go hiking to a lake near where a young girl saw the Virgin back in the 80s. It’s a big open air church now and even the Pope came to visit this place once, although I am suspicious the sighting might have had something to do with lack of oxygen. But maybe not, as I lived to tell this tale. Just as we climbed up to top of the mountain, with my heart going at full tilt, it started to hail mightily. We gobbled a few bananas and ran back down. Just for good measure, mother nature threw in some thunder and lightening. What an adventure. But we made it back to the truck where the guys had to ride in the back in the freezing rain. We were treated to a marvelous fried trout lunch, drank the local cane sugar hooch and headed back to Cuenca for a nice hot shower.

A big part of this trip was meeting the other Peace Corps Volunteers that are in the Cuenca area; Julie, her brother Seth, Jamie, Clint, Sonia, to name a few. They are just a terrific bunch of kids, helping locals with a variety of projects, and just getting some of the best experiences you can get in life. Like Tristan, most have been here about a year and their Spanish is terrific. John and I had a blast treating them to drinks and dinner at La Cigale for about 6 dollars a person! The prices were so unbelievably low to us, yet the quality and freshness of the food was impressive. Though 6 dollars wasn’t low to the PCVs who live on about 10 dollar per day! We figured what we live on a day, and its not 10 dollars!

Next up was dinner with the Padre at the beautiful blue Banos church. Now this event had Tristan really worried, but we didn’t let him down. We attended the mass before hand (I loved the dogs just trotting up and down the aisles), then ate dinner with 14 folks all in Spanish. I thought Catholics were big drinkers and I was looking forward to some nice wine with dinner to facilitate my Spanish. But alas, no wine again, just a spot of coke. Dinner was once again the cuy and chicken on an enormous bed of rice and potatoes. But rumors of my not liking cuy had made it to the church and I was mercifully spared. The boys this time were served an entire half of cuy, including head and feet. Tristan and John ate quite a bit. They like the crispy roasted skin, but its pretty clear to me there is no meat on these animals. I hear it tastes like pork.

Speaking of pork, Friday is pork roasting day in Banos and all sorts of folks set up a freshly killed pig and roast it on the spot with a big ass blow torch. They sell it piece by piece to passers by. I think I will try that this Friday in downtown Wayne, PA. Tristan said we had to get there early or it would be all gone. He was right. We got there about 9am, just in time to watch these folks skillfully torch the pig (it was already dead), scrape the skin and do that again. It looked like hard work. Cars started pulling over for a square of the crisp roasted skin, salted on a bed of these weird big corn pieces called Mote. We were back later for the rendered bacon. Omg, was that terrific. That may actually have been the only day I ate fat. For the most part we consumed fruit in massive quantities either fresh or ground up in drinks including a yummy avocado shake. There were the usual fruits; papaya, watermelon, mango, and bananas. But there were also fruits like tomato del arbol which reminds me of a persimmon and is actually a member of the potato family even though it grows on trees (go figure); granadillas which somewhat look like a lime on the outside, but you cut it open and scoop out the sweet brain-like insides; and uvillas also known as gooseberries (my new favorite). They even make a fruit soup here. It’s traditional for November 1, the day of the dead, but good anytime I can attest. I think I will make it for Thanksgiving if I can find any decent fruit that time of year.

Tristan’s Banos friend showed us his fighting roosters. They are beautiful, but when you set them on the ground they take on the nearest living thing. Just like our Jack Russell Daisy. Actually, they stared each other down, jumped over one another, fluffed up etc. But without spurs on, it’s kind of like my dogs fighting. It was all show.

We went with Tristan shopping for stuff for his apartment, including shopping for a used refrigerator. Tristan says you ‘Google Ecuador style’, which means you just ask a bunch of cab drivers where to buy a used refrigerator until you find one that does. Haha I thought, no Craig’s List? What kind of country is this? But with 90 minutes we had located a beauty that was big enough to fit the beer keg we brought him (I kid you not) and had it delivered to his apartment. Beat that Craig’s List. Other shopping adventures included going to the big open air market where you can buy everything (except used refrigerators) and get your fortune told by a parakeet named Lulu. It’s pretty complicated and I am still trying to decipher just exactly what my fortune is.

A visit to Cuenca wouldn’t be complete without a visit to the Inca Lounge run by “Mike”. This cute place is conveniently located near our hotel, which may be why Tristan had found it. Inca serves up great food and drink to a mix of ex pats and locals. Oh, but the Ecuadorian government doesn’t allow liqueur to be served or sold on Sundays. What’s that about guys? It doesn’t go over so well with the vacationing set or the locals for that matter. But other than that, the locals I spoke to in my limited Spanish had nothing much to complain about and were rather proud of their country and even their government.

As if Tristan weren’t up to enough, he coaches a local rugby team. Due to most of the men taking night classes, practice often doesn’t start until 10p! But it must be working as they are still basking in the glow of their gold medal finish from last fall! John managed to stay up late enough for one of his practices.

Finally, we saw a lot of evidence that Cuenca really is on the top ten list of ex-US places to retire as reported by the Wall Street Journal. We didn’t meet any tourists, but all the elderly gringos we saw were searching for a place to live here. We can certainly understand. We loved this area of Ecuador, the people, natural beauty, even the crazy insane 25 cent bus rides around town.

Ciao. Until next time!
Patricia and John Schreck

Ditch That Rice Baby!

We all know the reality of working out in Ecuador. It is no fun being chased by dogs or being gawked at, so here is how I deal with it. No, this is not a weapon to fend off the hounds or a club to beat the onlookers and whistlers.
No need to spend your hard earned cash on fancy weights, this piece of equipment costs around $6 and can be used for various workouts. No matter how far out in the Campo you are, you can find these materials. Plus it is fun and easy to make!

1. Find a piece of sturdy metal piping in the desired length and weight. Mine is a meter and half, weighs about 10 lbs and cost $3.
2. Buy cement and sand! Should not cost more than $3.
3. Get some soda bottles, I used 3 liters. Cut the bottles around the top
4. Fill them with a mixture of sand and cement, and then add water and mix until you have cement paste.
5. Place the pipe as best you can in the middle of the cement. Let dry for a day.
6. Now do the other side!
7. Make sure you get the sides to be pretty close in weight; you can add more cement to either side if need be later.

I made mine wide enough so I could squats, should presses, curls etc. Great for guys and gals! You can also make dumbbells this way too.

Enjoy!

Palabra

The sun was shining through the windows of my bedroom early on Friday morning and without looking at my alarm clock I knew what time it was. Every Friday, Saturday and Sunday a pig is roasted (with a flame thrower) right out front of my apartment around 8am. It only takes a few minutes from the start of the process until my house is filled with the aroma of bacon and usually a few extra flies. Bacon cologne?
Fridays are my favorite day in Baños by far. Every corner has a pig roasting or some other kind of food cooking over a grill. The spas always seem to play their music extra loud on these days and it gives it the feel of fun beach town. Didn’t bring your bathing suit? No problemo, you can always rent one... Forgot your favorite floatable toy? No worries, we got them too.

I have become good friends with the one of the local tienda guys, Jaime, who I had thought was his brother until after being here a few months. He has shown me house, a 2nd floor apartment on a dirt road surrounded by farms. This is typical for here in Baños. What was not typical was the flat screen-surround sound set up in the living room, the flat screen in the bedroom and the two person Jacuzzi style hot tub with a small flat screen TV. Jaime has done well for himself and has spent some time living and working in Nashville Tennesse. He also showed me the article that crowned him Nashville’s best waiter in 2008. Easy to see that he would win, he is friendly and is always in a great mood.

His father, brother (who also runs the tienda) and mother all run a pig stand on Fridays. It is by far the best pig in Baños. Best part is every once and awhile I get free lunch from them. Nothing like good food for free!

One morning when I opened the door of Pricilla and Cheesesteak’s pen I was angrily greeted by the later. She strutted right up to my feet and gave a few sharp pecks and walked away. My first thought was “maybe I will eat sooner than expected.” Then
I noticed the water trough had been knocked over and was bone dry. When I refilled it the pair of them ran right to it and drank for quite some time. These two seem to be much smarter than the other three chickens I have. They are of a different and dumber breed and have even gotten stuck in the food dispenser a few times which has kept me baffled to this day on how they could do that.

I recently gave up on growing out my beard for two years. After 6 months the beard had run its course and drove me mad. My community found this hilarious. The most common greeting I received began with a good laugh and a phrase similar to “you look so much younger.” Padre Vicente saw me and almost fell over laughing “you look like a fifteen year old boy.” Well, it is true I do look younger, but 15?

Well the whole thing helped me to achieve one of Peace Corps unofficial goals. Provide the locals with entertainment.

My homemade hard apple cider experiment yielded an ok first batch and far better second one. The current fermenting batch at the Baños Brewery is a Cranberry Pomegranate Hard Apple Cider coming to a bar nowhere near you. I might keep this batch for myself!

This past weekend I went to Saraguro which is about 2.5 hours south of Cuenca. Jamie, another PCV, organized a fiesta to get together and have some fun. The main event was a sheep roast (in actuality it was a ram, and we didn’t roast it, it was cooked over a stove) on Saturday. Jamie hails from Texas, but his family is from Mexico so he wanted to share some of his culture (and food!) with fellow volunteers.






It was an interesting yet long process from the moment the throat was cut to the actual eating the meat. However, it was well worth the wait. The sheep tacos were to die for!

The first part Sunday was spent recovering from eating too many tacos and the consumption of copious amounts of cervesa. Afterwards a bunch of us hiked to some spectacular waterfalls and enjoyed the scenery.

Apartment

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EgtAOUQ-D-g


Enjoy!

Gringo Garden

Things I find funny:
1. One of the older women in my town wears a be-jeweled pink hat that says “White Culture.”
2. Walking to work trying my best to avoid the mud puddles in the dirt road only to fall in one.
3. Naming the local dogs, making up personalities and their back stories.
4. Moo-ing at a cow and having an old lady see me do this and just stare with an expression of confusion.
5. Being the town’s goofy white guy.

So for those of you who have not heard, I can now add chicken farmer to my resume. I now have 5 chickens that I keep at my host family’s house. I also started a small garden, with some things I like and others I hate...
There is a fruit here called “tomate de arbol” and it’s pretty sour and my least favorite fruit ever. I told my host mom I wanted to plant “tomates.” She gave me instructions on where to go in the market and who to buy from. As directed I went to the market and found the right section. A nice lady came up to me and says “tomates?” Strange, I guess she reads minds. (I later found out that Isa had told her a bearded gringo wanted tomates) So she hands me the plants, 4 for a $1. The leaves seemed to be bigger than I remembered, but I paid the dollar and left.
While planting I looked at the leaves of these tomate plants and then at the tomate de arbol ones Isa has. Fuck a duck. I had just planted 3 of these damn things. Oh well, someone else can have the pleasure of eating them.
Garden de Gringo has:
Lettuce, Tomate de arbol, garlic, wax beans (not my idea), radishes, carrots and rosemary. I am going to plant tomatoes, onions and broccoli as well in the near future. If you have any suggestions, please feel free to let me know!
I have also moved out of my host family’s house and into my own apartment. It has a mudroom, bathroom, kitchen, to bedrooms and a little outdoor patio. The larger of the bedrooms is going to serve as the man-cave/brewery. The place is coming along but still needs a stove and fridge. So for now it is peanut butter sandwiches and street food (yummmmmm).

La Gallina

Hey everyone, this is my first attempt at a video blog!

It is me and Isa (my host mother) killing, preparing and cooking a chicken, enjoy!


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tj4Kr0T3-BE

(Copy the link into your browser to watch)

If you find that gross, check out this article Rick sent to me about chicken nuggets...

http://www.dietsinreview.com/diet_column/10/chicken-nuggets-made-from-pink-goo/

Keep on bloggin'

So as some of you may know I went back to the US for the holidays. I think the biggest shock was the cold! Woo wee was it cold! It was nice to see everyone, friends and family. I did not feel culture shock of any kind that I noticed. What I did feel was an immense amount of appreciation for all we have as Americans. But mostly I felt very lucky to have such supportive and great friends and family.
10 days went very quick and the next thing I knew I was back to work on the other side of the world.

April fools in Ecuador falls on the 6th of January, which is also my birthday. My host family was nice and bought me a small cake to celebrate the occasion. However they had a fun surprise for me. As I blew out the candles they instantly relit to roars of laughter from the family. This went on for several minutes and I have never seen them laugh so hard. I am sure my face expressed my embarrassment and frustration. Finally I just grabbed the candles and dunked them in water and that was that.

As if the trick candles were not enough… Isabel offered me a piece of gum after I had eaten my piece of cake and I should have known better. Sure enough it turned my tongue black as the night. This was also hilarious to the family and I could not help but laugh at myself. Laughing at myself has become a very important part of my life.
This time of the years is also the festivals for the Virgin Guadalupe here in Baños. It is a pretty exciting time to be here. There are frequent parades and lots of fireworks throughout the days and nights. One of the traditions I participated in was the trek behind the idol of the Virgin. Each barrio (neighborhood) decorates the street with balloons and palms to welcome here.

The trek is about 10 km and the streets were filled with people. Isabel called it a “rio de gente” (river of people) and that is what it looked like. It was estimated to be about 2,000 people.




Another fun aspect of the festivals is the plaza central has tons of little tent restaurants set up. Some serve different kinds of shish kabobs (these are great!). The most common one has sausage, green pepper, onion, hot dog type meat, steak and potatoes served on a plate with it.

Other places are a little fancier and have tables to sit at where you can order the typical two course meal. It is usually soup with a side of mote (boiled corn) and the second course is rice with beans and some kind of meat. The typical soup for this festival is sheep liver, intestine and heart soup. It is not too bad but it takes some getting used to. The limes served with it definitely increase the flavor and make it much more enjoyable. It has taken some time but I am finally starting to enjoy some of the food here I did not like originally.

Several carnival games and rides are also set up in the center. The Ferris wheel looks terrifying. I am not a big fan of heights, but this Ferris wheel in particular scares me. It looks very rickety and to top it off it is set up on the side of a very large hill. My imagination ran wild and I pictured it detaching while I was riding it and rolling down the hill all the way to Cuenca. So I passed on the opportunity to ride it.
Sorry it has been so long since I last updated! I am trying to get back on regular blog schedule.