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
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
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?
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?
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
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.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
'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.
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.
Monday, April 4, 2011
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
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
Monday, March 28, 2011
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!
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
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.
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.
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