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.
Monday, December 26, 2005
Bagel Brunch for Christmas
On Christmas Eve I witnessed a family gift exchange that in its chaos was much like my family´s hannukah gift exchange. They differed in that here in Quito there were a lot less boys, more babies, and more excitement over clothing. The only reminder that it was Christmas Eve and not Channukah was the tree, carols sung in both English and Spanish (the translation of rudolf the red nose reindeer is rodolfo the special reindeer), and the traditional turkey dinner eaten at 10:30 pm. Getting dressed up and prepared was also a full day event. I broke the cardinal rule of the Tufts Coalition against Pointed Shoes, and was forced to borrow a pair of pointed boots. As a cofounder, I am disgraced.
Sunday morning, walking into a beautiful house in the suburbs of Quito, I stood shocked and began to salivate. I was surrounded by trays piled high with bagels, breads, cheeses and lox. LOX! Where was I? Freshly squeezed orange juice and an endless supply of champagne was passed around. Soon homemade waffles appeared off the griddle.
One could easily has been confused and mistaked themselves for a Jewish kitchen except for a lack of complaining, clutzy accidents, and a a big plate of jamon serrano in the center of the table (yet if you learn anything in spanish speaking countries, its that ham is not meat!).
Ecuadorians know how to celebrate holidays and provide Jewish mothers everywhere with dangerous cookoff match. Without knowing it, they also made me feel a little closer to home.
Sunday morning, walking into a beautiful house in the suburbs of Quito, I stood shocked and began to salivate. I was surrounded by trays piled high with bagels, breads, cheeses and lox. LOX! Where was I? Freshly squeezed orange juice and an endless supply of champagne was passed around. Soon homemade waffles appeared off the griddle.
One could easily has been confused and mistaked themselves for a Jewish kitchen except for a lack of complaining, clutzy accidents, and a a big plate of jamon serrano in the center of the table (yet if you learn anything in spanish speaking countries, its that ham is not meat!).
Ecuadorians know how to celebrate holidays and provide Jewish mothers everywhere with dangerous cookoff match. Without knowing it, they also made me feel a little closer to home.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Ecuadorian Time and Terrain
I will never cease to be amazed by the South American transportation systems. While you can count on waiting 45 minutes at the US embassy to replace your stolen passports, and restaurants advertising a 5 oclock opening, only to start serving food at 7, you can always count on your bus to leave on time and arrive around the given duration.
This can only be for the extrordinary intelligence and talent of bus drivers. For every bus we have taken has been full. This does not mean that upon leaving the station all seats are taken, but rather the bus will make at least 10 stops to allow people to get on and off, cramming passengers in the ailse. One hour of a three hour bus ride you may circle the city at a speed of less than 10 miles per hour. The bus may have to make bathroom stops because the bathroom in the back of the bus happens to be locked. The bus driver will get you there on time despite pissing puppies, crying babies, vomiting gringos, vendors getting on and off promising "seco de gallina MUY caliente" and miracle workers selling herbal remedies that cure all: tiredness, sickness, even pregnancy.
Also remarkable about the Ecuadorian transportation system is that a 14 hour bus ride is only a 35 minute flight. UnlikeAmerican airlines, these short flights still provide a snack.
So why take a bus? The snacks, the vendor speeches, the terrain changes (within 20 km you can go from coast to selva to arid plains to mountains), donkey spottings and surprise stops.
In our travels over the last weeks we have:
Become south america pizza experts.
Woken up covered from head to toe with red spots in San Jose.
Eaten a large amount of Cuencan ice cream.
Traveled in a police car.
Spent over two hours in a police station.
Bowled twice.
Walked mountains, jungle swamps and busy roads.
Bumped randomly into 4 people we met on different occasions in Villcabamba.
Heard the name Timothy Leary at least 4 times in 2 different towns.
Eaten a mango daily for 11 days.
Bought 3 mangoes for 50 cents.
Been to 3 airports, and 5 bus terminals.
Done laundry.
What will happen next is anyones guess. Que sera, sera.
Note: This long overdue blog entry comes at a high price, the highest in South America yet, in the tourist destination of Baños.
This can only be for the extrordinary intelligence and talent of bus drivers. For every bus we have taken has been full. This does not mean that upon leaving the station all seats are taken, but rather the bus will make at least 10 stops to allow people to get on and off, cramming passengers in the ailse. One hour of a three hour bus ride you may circle the city at a speed of less than 10 miles per hour. The bus may have to make bathroom stops because the bathroom in the back of the bus happens to be locked. The bus driver will get you there on time despite pissing puppies, crying babies, vomiting gringos, vendors getting on and off promising "seco de gallina MUY caliente" and miracle workers selling herbal remedies that cure all: tiredness, sickness, even pregnancy.
Also remarkable about the Ecuadorian transportation system is that a 14 hour bus ride is only a 35 minute flight. UnlikeAmerican airlines, these short flights still provide a snack.
So why take a bus? The snacks, the vendor speeches, the terrain changes (within 20 km you can go from coast to selva to arid plains to mountains), donkey spottings and surprise stops.
In our travels over the last weeks we have:
Become south america pizza experts.
Woken up covered from head to toe with red spots in San Jose.
Eaten a large amount of Cuencan ice cream.
Traveled in a police car.
Spent over two hours in a police station.
Bowled twice.
Walked mountains, jungle swamps and busy roads.
Bumped randomly into 4 people we met on different occasions in Villcabamba.
Heard the name Timothy Leary at least 4 times in 2 different towns.
Eaten a mango daily for 11 days.
Bought 3 mangoes for 50 cents.
Been to 3 airports, and 5 bus terminals.
Done laundry.
What will happen next is anyones guess. Que sera, sera.
Note: This long overdue blog entry comes at a high price, the highest in South America yet, in the tourist destination of Baños.
Wednesday, November 23, 2005
A Vilcabamba Fairytale
Once upon a time, high in the Andes Mountains of Ecuador, two travelers came to the small town of Vilcabamba in search of peace, nature, running paths, tropical fruits and long hikes. Stepping off the bus, they breathed the clean air, shared a liter of fresh mango yogurt, waved to the donkeys and townspeople and they knew they had found an amazing place.
The sun set and night crept in. It was not long until the purity and tranquility was tainted and the two travelers became blinded to the beautiful surroundings by the bright neon lights of the town church. Farther up the hill, the two found themselves captive in a whorehouse cloaked as a Hosteria…the House of Mauricio. Day in an out, the two were forced to sit for hours at the empty bar, and swat at the quarter size beetles and cockroaches. They soon learned never stop looking over their shoulders, as they discovered Mauricio’s reputation as a man whose appetite was never satiated. He would lounge around shirtless, take advantage of employees, guests, steal clients from others and bribe the local police. Soon, the two travelers noticed that the flowers lost their smell, the fruits their sweetness, and the food its taste. As they would soon be told, it was all due to the cosmos of Vilcabamba. The negative ions amplified all emotions, passions and creativities. Mauricio’s dungeon was no different and the negative tone he set continued to grow. It was time to escape. With bags on their backs, the two travelers did not look back, even to Mauricio’s “Chicos, se van? No problem, No problem.”
“Oh my! You two are like gifts from heaven!” she exclaimed, wrapping them into big hugs. “How long can you stay?” she asked, only to quickly answer, “Oh don’t ever leave. I came here a year ago, knowing nothing about hotels, and just haven’t left. My husband tells me, But I know the truth, it is the negative ions!” In this boisterous and eccentric woman with white, frizzy, flowing hair, the two felt as though they had found their fairy godmother at last.
Way up in the hills, in a land of organic food, tropical fruits, fresh baked 7 grain bread, many hiking paths to explore, long soft running trails, and hippie artesanos selling jewelry and other goods, the two travelers realized that they had at last found Madre Tierra.
For every bump in the road, there is an opportunity around the corner.
The sun set and night crept in. It was not long until the purity and tranquility was tainted and the two travelers became blinded to the beautiful surroundings by the bright neon lights of the town church. Farther up the hill, the two found themselves captive in a whorehouse cloaked as a Hosteria…the House of Mauricio. Day in an out, the two were forced to sit for hours at the empty bar, and swat at the quarter size beetles and cockroaches. They soon learned never stop looking over their shoulders, as they discovered Mauricio’s reputation as a man whose appetite was never satiated. He would lounge around shirtless, take advantage of employees, guests, steal clients from others and bribe the local police. Soon, the two travelers noticed that the flowers lost their smell, the fruits their sweetness, and the food its taste. As they would soon be told, it was all due to the cosmos of Vilcabamba. The negative ions amplified all emotions, passions and creativities. Mauricio’s dungeon was no different and the negative tone he set continued to grow. It was time to escape. With bags on their backs, the two travelers did not look back, even to Mauricio’s “Chicos, se van? No problem, No problem.”
“Oh my! You two are like gifts from heaven!” she exclaimed, wrapping them into big hugs. “How long can you stay?” she asked, only to quickly answer, “Oh don’t ever leave. I came here a year ago, knowing nothing about hotels, and just haven’t left. My husband tells me, But I know the truth, it is the negative ions!” In this boisterous and eccentric woman with white, frizzy, flowing hair, the two felt as though they had found their fairy godmother at last.
Way up in the hills, in a land of organic food, tropical fruits, fresh baked 7 grain bread, many hiking paths to explore, long soft running trails, and hippie artesanos selling jewelry and other goods, the two travelers realized that they had at last found Madre Tierra.
For every bump in the road, there is an opportunity around the corner.
Tuesday, November 22, 2005
Negative Ions
Once upon a time, high in the Andes Mountains of Ecuador, two travelers came to the small town of Vilcabamba in search of peace, nature, running paths, tropical fruits and long hikes. Stepping off the bus, they breathed the clean air, shared a liter of fresh mango yogurt, waved to the donkeys and townspeople and they knew they had found an amazing place.
The sun set and night crept in. It was not long until the purity and tranquility was tainted and the two travelers became blinded to the beautiful surroundings by the bright neon lights of the town church. Farther up the hill, the two found themselves captive in a whorehouse cloaked as a Hosteria…the House of Mauricio. Day in an out, the two were forced to sit for hours at the empty bar, and swat at the quarter size beetles and cockroaches. They soon learned never stop looking over their shoulders, as they discovered Mauricio’s reputation as a man whose appetite was never satiated. He would lounge around shirtless, take advantage of employees, guests, steal clients from others and bribe the local police. Soon, the two travelers noticed that the flowers lost their smell, the fruits their sweetness, and the food its taste. As they would soon be told, it was all due to the cosmos of Vilcabamba. The negative ions amplified all emotions, passions and creativities. Mauricio’s dungeon was no different and the negative tone he set continued to grow. It was time to escape. With bags on their backs, the two travelers did not look back, even to Mauricio’s “Chicos, se van? No problem, No problem.”
“Oh my! You two are like gifts from heaven!” she exclaimed, wrapping them into big hugs. “How long can you stay?” she asked, only to quickly answer, “Oh don’t ever leave. I came here a year ago, knowing nothing about hotels, and just haven’t left. My husband tells me, But I know the truth, it is the negative ions!” In this boisterous and eccentric woman with white, frizzy, flowing hair, the two felt as though they had found their fairy godmother at last.
Way up in the hills, in a land of organic food, tropical fruits, fresh baked 7 grain bread, many hiking paths to explore, long soft running trails, and hippie artesanos selling jewelry and other goods, the two travelers realized that they had at last found Madre Tierra.
For every bump in the road, there is an opportunity around the corner.
The sun set and night crept in. It was not long until the purity and tranquility was tainted and the two travelers became blinded to the beautiful surroundings by the bright neon lights of the town church. Farther up the hill, the two found themselves captive in a whorehouse cloaked as a Hosteria…the House of Mauricio. Day in an out, the two were forced to sit for hours at the empty bar, and swat at the quarter size beetles and cockroaches. They soon learned never stop looking over their shoulders, as they discovered Mauricio’s reputation as a man whose appetite was never satiated. He would lounge around shirtless, take advantage of employees, guests, steal clients from others and bribe the local police. Soon, the two travelers noticed that the flowers lost their smell, the fruits their sweetness, and the food its taste. As they would soon be told, it was all due to the cosmos of Vilcabamba. The negative ions amplified all emotions, passions and creativities. Mauricio’s dungeon was no different and the negative tone he set continued to grow. It was time to escape. With bags on their backs, the two travelers did not look back, even to Mauricio’s “Chicos, se van? No problem, No problem.”
“Oh my! You two are like gifts from heaven!” she exclaimed, wrapping them into big hugs. “How long can you stay?” she asked, only to quickly answer, “Oh don’t ever leave. I came here a year ago, knowing nothing about hotels, and just haven’t left. My husband tells me,
Way up in the hills, in a land of organic food, tropical fruits, fresh baked 7 grain bread, many hiking paths to explore, long soft running trails, and hippie artesanos selling jewelry and other goods, the two travelers realized that they had at last found Madre Tierra.
For every bump in the road, there is an opportunity around the corner.
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Transportation Aventuras
"Empujen! Empujen!" The driver sat yelling at us as he continued to roar the motor of his makeshift cab. For the third time we found ourselves stuck in a sand dune. To get to the hotels in the beach town of Mancora you have to travel a few kilometers down a windy half sand, half pavement trail that runs along the ocean. The easiest and cheapest way to do this is to hail a moto cab. These makeshift cabs are really motorcycles with a passenger car attached at the back, much like a stroller that can attatch to the back of a bicycle. Every time we went to a new hotel I was surprised to find that we could fit our two large backpacking packs, one large duffle, two backpacks and ourselves in on of these cabs. Often this meant getting out to push.
In order to get to Ecuador we have traveled:
In one first class sleeper bus that provided us with a snack, and large comfortable recliner seats.
Taken at least 4 moto cabs.
Gotten a free lift from a hotel to the town of Mancora by 4 Ecuadorians driving a school bus through Peru on vacation.
Been guaranteed seats on a two hour bus ride from Mancora to Tumbes, only to stand in a little crevice in the back, near a newborn dog that pissed on the floor.
Stored our luggage under a bus next to a large wicker basket of live chickens (that hopefully did not carry the chicken flu)
Gone around the block three times before leaving the city of Tumbes.
Taken a 5 hour bus ride to Ecuador that stopped every 15 minutes to pick up or let off passengers, although we were guaranteed that the bus only made one stop. The security guard and ticket collector shared beers the whole ride.
Watched two Asian fight movie in English with spanish subtitles, one Jean Claude Dam fight movie, one orchestra concert, one late 80's music performance video featuring michael jackson and many other american artists attempting to speak a little bit of spanish.
In order to get to Ecuador we have traveled:
In one first class sleeper bus that provided us with a snack, and large comfortable recliner seats.
Taken at least 4 moto cabs.
Gotten a free lift from a hotel to the town of Mancora by 4 Ecuadorians driving a school bus through Peru on vacation.
Been guaranteed seats on a two hour bus ride from Mancora to Tumbes, only to stand in a little crevice in the back, near a newborn dog that pissed on the floor.
Stored our luggage under a bus next to a large wicker basket of live chickens (that hopefully did not carry the chicken flu)
Gone around the block three times before leaving the city of Tumbes.
Taken a 5 hour bus ride to Ecuador that stopped every 15 minutes to pick up or let off passengers, although we were guaranteed that the bus only made one stop. The security guard and ticket collector shared beers the whole ride.
Watched two Asian fight movie in English with spanish subtitles, one Jean Claude Dam fight movie, one orchestra concert, one late 80's music performance video featuring michael jackson and many other american artists attempting to speak a little bit of spanish.
