Saturday, January 28, 2006
ARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGH
In Ecuador you can get eye infections from eating dairy.
In the Ecuadorian medical system you can count on: $10 office visits and 10 minute waits, meeting several doctors in the waiting room and the taxi before meeting a real doctor, every one has a piece of advice.
Diagnosis and treatment will range from, “You definitely got a stick in your eye,” to “If it still hurts later, light a chunk of phosphorus and breathe it in.”
If all else fails, give up dairy.
What will happen when you take off a make shift eye patch, where the tape is covering your eyebrows?
Stay tuned for an update in the next 48 hours.
In the Ecuadorian medical system you can count on: $10 office visits and 10 minute waits, meeting several doctors in the waiting room and the taxi before meeting a real doctor, every one has a piece of advice.
Diagnosis and treatment will range from, “You definitely got a stick in your eye,” to “If it still hurts later, light a chunk of phosphorus and breathe it in.”
If all else fails, give up dairy.
What will happen when you take off a make shift eye patch, where the tape is covering your eyebrows?
Stay tuned for an update in the next 48 hours.
It's Not the Bark
It’s the silent ones that bite
When you run in South America you must learn that the roads are owned by the dogs. This means that when the large dogs bark you stop. When the small dogs run after you, yelping and yipping, you stop and walk by as they continue to yelp, like large scary ferocious dogs that they think they are. There are those dogs that lie in the middle of the road, looking at you, and you must run out of your way to avoid them, even though they rarely even turn their head. Occasionally you may cross paths with a dog that runs from you behind its fence, where it stands growling, but this feat is no victory.
I thought that the dogs and I had come to a mutual understanding and peace. I accepted the roads belonged to small dogs and big dogs alike, and I was only a guest. This meant, however disruptive it was during runs, that meeting up with a dog or pack of dogs I would stop, stand still, and then walk by and they would bark and growl, but never bite. Yesterday afternoon, this agreement was thrown out the window, by one seemingly harmless dog. As I Approached, it began to walk slowly towards me. I pressed stop on my timer and came to a halt. At that very moment, this small dog decided to chomp into my calve. However, he did not know that I had calves of steal from walking to my vilcabamba home atop a small mountain, and fortunately did not break skin.
Whatever they say about the bark and the bite, in Ecuador it’s not true. The bark has nothing do to with the bite.
When you run in South America you must learn that the roads are owned by the dogs. This means that when the large dogs bark you stop. When the small dogs run after you, yelping and yipping, you stop and walk by as they continue to yelp, like large scary ferocious dogs that they think they are. There are those dogs that lie in the middle of the road, looking at you, and you must run out of your way to avoid them, even though they rarely even turn their head. Occasionally you may cross paths with a dog that runs from you behind its fence, where it stands growling, but this feat is no victory.
I thought that the dogs and I had come to a mutual understanding and peace. I accepted the roads belonged to small dogs and big dogs alike, and I was only a guest. This meant, however disruptive it was during runs, that meeting up with a dog or pack of dogs I would stop, stand still, and then walk by and they would bark and growl, but never bite. Yesterday afternoon, this agreement was thrown out the window, by one seemingly harmless dog. As I Approached, it began to walk slowly towards me. I pressed stop on my timer and came to a halt. At that very moment, this small dog decided to chomp into my calve. However, he did not know that I had calves of steal from walking to my vilcabamba home atop a small mountain, and fortunately did not break skin.
Whatever they say about the bark and the bite, in Ecuador it’s not true. The bark has nothing do to with the bite.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Bienvenidos a 2006
I sat eating a delicious meal, listening to the spirited band of four sing, drum and play the guitars. They were comprised of Uruguans and Columbians and I was shocked to learn that they had only been together for a month, but not the least bit surprised that they had already traveled Peru, Ecuador, and Columbia, and were planning on heading to Uruguay after recording a C.D. "Esto termina nuestro promocion. Quieres que toquemos este sabado?" one asked the owner.
"Oh, Si, Si," responded the smiling, clapping owner with long flowing white hair, having no idea that they were just giving her a sample and that she had just booked a show for Saturday night. She only knew that the rythmic beats and strong voices had stopped and she wanted them to continue. I sat back and sighed. The owner looked at me and said, "Oh, its so good to have you HOME." I couldn't have agreed more.
It was hard to believe that only days ago we had danced in the streets of Quito, among Gringos and drunk Ecuadorians, as they laughed and clapped at our crazy dancing style. We watched as they burned large dolls with masks of President Bush, among many others. At the stroke of midnight, which was not announced just known, we all cheered and celebrated.
It was hard to believe that only days ago we had eaten Indian food after having been deprived for too long.
It was hard to believe that it was only a few days ago that I sat in a chair telling the flamboyant man behind me "un poco, muy poco." Only to have him grab a chunk of my hair, twist it around and around, as he snipped away, assuring me that this look was much better for me. I had put myself of the butcher block, at the mercy of the barber's hand. I handed over the $6 and told him, "solo es pelo" when he asked how I liked it.
It was hard to believe that only that morning at the airport we had gone through check-in, security and bording without once showing any form of identification.
As I leaned back on the bench at Madre Tierra, I was happy. Happy to be in 2006, in a beautiful place, with many adventures to look foward too. Thankful to be in 2006, in good health, with a replaced passports, a wonderful family and friends (as far as they may be).
Happy New Year.
"Oh, Si, Si," responded the smiling, clapping owner with long flowing white hair, having no idea that they were just giving her a sample and that she had just booked a show for Saturday night. She only knew that the rythmic beats and strong voices had stopped and she wanted them to continue. I sat back and sighed. The owner looked at me and said, "Oh, its so good to have you HOME." I couldn't have agreed more.
It was hard to believe that only days ago we had danced in the streets of Quito, among Gringos and drunk Ecuadorians, as they laughed and clapped at our crazy dancing style. We watched as they burned large dolls with masks of President Bush, among many others. At the stroke of midnight, which was not announced just known, we all cheered and celebrated.
It was hard to believe that only days ago we had eaten Indian food after having been deprived for too long.
It was hard to believe that it was only a few days ago that I sat in a chair telling the flamboyant man behind me "un poco, muy poco." Only to have him grab a chunk of my hair, twist it around and around, as he snipped away, assuring me that this look was much better for me. I had put myself of the butcher block, at the mercy of the barber's hand. I handed over the $6 and told him, "solo es pelo" when he asked how I liked it.
It was hard to believe that only that morning at the airport we had gone through check-in, security and bording without once showing any form of identification.
As I leaned back on the bench at Madre Tierra, I was happy. Happy to be in 2006, in a beautiful place, with many adventures to look foward too. Thankful to be in 2006, in good health, with a replaced passports, a wonderful family and friends (as far as they may be).
Happy New Year.
