Otavalo

What a great name for a city. I would probably name a city Otavalo if in such a position just so I could say the name a thousand times a day. It´s also fun to ramble ¨Otavalo¨like some sort of Halloween ghost call. Give it a try in honor of the 31st. ¨Oooo-ta-vaaaaaa-lo, OOOOOO-ta-VAAAAAAAA-LOOOOO.¨Right. Glad we got that over with.

So Otavalo is a mere 30 minutes away from Ibarra. A very easy bus ride that costs me 40 cents. In Otavalo every Saturday is a ¨Ferriado¨or holiday, because Otavalo is home to the most successful Indigenous population in all of South America. Every Saturday is ¨market day¨and Indigenous Ecuadorians from all around the city come in pushing their little shops on metal carts to set up for the day. They arrive as the sun comes up and leave as it sets. They sell everything handicrafts: masks, clothes, jewelry, artwork, etc. The most fun thing for budding Spanish speakers is that every Otavalean sale is an effort in bargaining. Off the bat people will charge 400 % of their expected price in expecation of a conversation to arrive at a fair price. Quite a difficult activity in your native language, and thus great practice for us Gringos.

Anyway, last Saturday I got off the bus in downtown Otavalo and headed for the main market to meet up with some of other volunteers for a little reunion. After sharing some stories over lunch we set out to investigate the situation.

Basically the streets are lined with tiny little street vendors along both sides of the street. The shops behind the vending stands are barely visible. Each stand displays a wealth of different odds and ends, and only truly persistent shoppers are able to find the truly unique crafts. Picture San Francisco´s Fillmore Street Fair on ritalin. Everyone moves at a much faster rate and every vendor constantly yells out luring quips to try to reign in prospective buyers. Plus all of the vending stands are set up touching each other. Thus you are bombarded by sights, sounds, and a temptation to buy things.

As we strolled the market I noticed a couple of things. One was that a lot of the stuff is pretty generic. I was expecting to see a multitude of family specific crafts and ideas, but basically the market has been in business for so long that a lot of items now have copy cat type items. The second thing I noticed is the immense ability to bargain a price. For the exact same winter hat I received quotes of 6 dollars, 3 dollars, and 4 dollars at different stores. Shopping around can definitely land you a deal if you dont feel comfortable bargaining away in broken Spanish.

The most striking thing to a foreginer like me is the rampant ripping off of patented logos or personas. The Pirates of Ecuador would absolutely wipe the floor with the Pirates of the Carribean. I saw Bulls hats, Niners hats, Cinderella this, Spiderman that, I mean the piracy is unbelievable in Ecuador. Someone was telling me that Ecuador has the most rampant rip offs in all of South America and Otavalo might actually be the capital.

Aside from the crafts market the food market is unbelievable. You can never quite prepare yourself for the sight of indigenous Ecuadorians spooning meat out of a pig´s head when people order Hornado (which by the way is delicious). All of the fruit is delicious and fresh and all parts, I mean all parts, of animals are for sale. Did you know that one of Ecuador´s delicacy is Bull´s Penis? Right me neither. Definitely ate pig´s intestines for lunch today again by the way.

You could easily spend hours blowing money in Otavalo. I, however, am not much of a shopper and was defeated after about two hours of browsing. Some of the highlights for me were:

-Full Head masks that are dead ringers for the monsters that chase Pacman.
-Unbelievable wooden masks. Scary, interesting, funny, you name it. Unreal craftsmanship that created lifelike dynamic faces and expressions.
-Fairly cool paintings. Total hotel room or bathroom type deals, but pretty cool nonetheless.
-Awesome winter hats. A Dartmouth frat boys paradise. However, we are on the equator.
-Pretty cool wooden sculptures of Indian heads. I know one person who´s probably getting one for Christmas. (Matches perfectly)
-Delicious Pineapple. The fruit here in Ecuador is absolutely outstanding.
-Rugs dot com. Long ones, short ones, thick ones, fat ones, and, best of all, those furry ones that make you immediately think of a fireplace and a ski lodge.

After the market we all went out and about to listen to Indigenous music and dance a little bit. The highlight for me was a stiff wristed drummer that looked like one of those little kids that just bangs on stuff for his own personal amusement. He also had a ridiculous mullet. Absolute dead ringer for one of those creepy Latin or French Lovers from the eighties. Hard to beat a curly haired mullet. I mean this guy was one comb away from being Jauque (the bowler who tried to steal Marge from Homer) with black instead of red hair.

The next day we hiked up to a ¨magical¨tree called the Lechero. I didn´t feel any magic but I did see a French guy take off his pants. Kind of weird. We also saw some unbelievable condors. A pack of eight just flew around the countryside about a stone´s throw from us. The Lechero also was home to an unbelievable view of Otavalo and the neighboring laguna. Ecuador possesses incredibly dynamic and gorgeous countryside. If it ever comes out in the states with subtitles check out some scenes from an Ecuadorian movie called ¨Que Tan Lejos.¨Apparently is has some excellent cinematografic views of Ecuador´s countryside.

Please excuse the quick entry, but I am broke. Payday is hopefully tomorrow. We´ll see. The lateness in this country is a whole different issue.

Happy Halloween everyone. I am heading to Cuenca this weekend. Stay tuned.

-Kane

Sore Thumbs

So it all comes down to a tale of two specific events and one generality.

The first happened two weeks ago at the local park Yacucalle. I am now a regular for Saturday and Sunday morning basketball, which is one of my favorite parts about the culture here. So two Saturdays ago I was waiting for my turn watching a group of gents battling out a pretty close game. All was well and normal except for one small factor. One of the players on the team shooting at the north basket was what Ecuadorians call ¨Un Chino.¨This gentleman was very short, not super coordinated, but hustled and cheered on his buddies if they made good plays. More simply this gentleman was a mediocre player and a good teammate. I would play with this type of guy any day. Guys who hustle, care, and try hard, even though they might not possess a ton of talent are worth all the talent in the world. I honestly believe that weekend sports are probably 90% hustle. I mean Schlongbert gets by and he´s what, 99.8, 99.9 percent hustle? Granted this is grade A brand patented Idaho hustle which counts for something but he still possesses very little talent and can be counted on to catch a couple touchdowns and miss several layups.

Anyway as I watched the game unfold I immediately noticed a glaring fact. Throughout the course of the game some players were setting up ¨Chino¨perfectly to get swatted, trampled, or basketball humiliated. One gentleman even had an open lay-up and gave it up so that ¨Chino¨could get worked by a gigantor. After setting up the poor guy to get worked he put a finger to his lips with an ¨I just swiped a cookie from the pantry¨look on his face. Though some guys cheered on the Chinese man, most jeered him even when he did make good plays. I am also willing to bet that this man was probably one of maybe 2 Chinese people in all of Ibarra. Divide 2 by 100,000 to find the percentage.

I hate blatant racism, but it occurs on a daily basis here, as it does everywhere. One of the most troubling demonstrations of such behavior are the price quotes I get at stores just for the color of my skin. My host family has even warned me against buying a guitar (which I still haven´t purchased chucha) because Ecaudorian vendors jack up prices as much as 50% when they see gringos in their stores. I have experienced multiple times a price quote from a young boy working his father´s tiendita, only to have a different price quoted when the owner walks out from the back. Thus I have started starting every transaction with phrases like ¨I am a teacher here a local school and...¨, ¨I live here and ¨, or my favorite ¨Guess what? You are going to see me a lot so let´s not get off on the wrong foot all right pal?.¨

I am sure people commit the same acts in the states. Blatant racism that maybe does not affect people directly, but is ingrained into our minds. I wonder how many times in the past I have spoken to a person of color in a slow and clear voice assuming right off the bat that they knew little English. It really is amazing to be on the receiving end of such treatment to understand the awkward feeling you get in your stomach. I hate it when people assume I cannot understand Spanish (Except those times when they think they can talk behind my back. Nothing makes me smirk more than calling people out on trying to sneak things by me).

Which brings me to my next story. Last Friday I went to a late night salsa dance club called ¨Chocolate.¨When my Ecuadorian friend mentioned the name I had no idea the lengths that this place has earned the name ¨Chocolate.¨When I walked in, I acted out that scene from every movie where music is playing in a bar, something out of the ordinary happens, the music makes that ¨wrrrrt¨sound, and everyone stops to stare. Unbelievable. Though my first renactment, as described in my blog about a night out in quito, of this scene was funny, last Friday was scary. Literally 75 pairs of eyes bared at me up and down and every single pair of those eyes belonged to a person of African descent. I no longer was ¨Mount Kane¨ as I am everywhere else, but pretty much just ¨Kane that snow covered hill.¨Some people glared, some people straightened their collars, and some just looked shocked. At that moment I contemplated grabbing my Ecaudorian friend and asking him what kind of sick sense of humor he was trying to demonstrate.

But then something crazy happened. Some people started smiling and some starting taking pictures. By the end of the night I was sweaty, exhausted, and exceedingly happy. I had an absolute blast at Chocolate and will definitely be a returning customer. The people at the club were incredibly friendly. Within minutes a middle aged heavy set black woman grabbed my hands and started taking me for a spin around the dance floor. Not pushy, not judging, just an excellent good old fashioned welcome to the party dance. Next I was approached by a striking young girl who showed me some of her moves and the party started. People were buying me drinks, toasting Ecuador, and having a grand old time. No snarls, no machismo, just a relaxed evening that lasted until 3:00 in the morning. The owner of the club even offered to give me salsa lessons in exchange for some English classes. Not even going to pretend that I will not be taking her up on that offer. Salsa is a very cool dance: very athletic, very sexy, and very difficult. I think my no rhythm concrete foot heritage as a gringo suits the dance perfectly don´t you?

The White man Can´t Dance stereotype is probably the most prevelent in Ecuador. Guess it´s rubbing off on me.

Here´s the thing. In the states I have learned that a white dude dancing with people´s girls at an all African descent club is a big no-no. I think that was probably lesson 5 of street smarts right after dont tape five dollar bills to your face and hold up the middle finger to everyone you see. However, is this a racist belief or one that is forged out of real life experience? Could this scenario ever play out at home in San Francisco succesfully without conflict?

My guess is probably, but I couldn´t tell you the place, and I don´t think I know anyone who could. I do know however that it is not at the corner of Post and Polk streets.

It´s amazing when you think of how the 60´s were just a short 40 years ago. In my high school physics class I learned that if the volume of liquid in a can of coke represented the time of earth´s existence, human existence is the volume of the spray that is released when one pops the top. Thus 40 years is hardly a major depost in the bank.

By experiencing these racial interactions, I also received a reaffirmation of how cultural racism is in every country. I would argue that all skin color vs. skin color conflicts arise out of cultural circumstances, which never really occurred to me in the states. I assumed that the racial tension in the States existed for the same reasons everywhere else. Maybe this is a ¨no duh¨realization, but still an important one nonetheless. Ecuador´s history is obviously different from the US´s and thus some of the norms are adjusted considerably. I bet that other countries have different conflicts between races depending on certain circumstances.

Thus I arrive at what I hope is starting to look like a point. In Ecuador, Ecuadorians are extremely biased against Chinese people playing basketball and White people buying things. Two jumping points of racisms that I have not observed to exist in the States. In the US anyone who plays hard and makes decent plays in a weekend pickup game will be accepted on a basic level and no one will try to loose purposely to humiliate a certain race. In the US also strangers receive equal price quotes as far as I have noticed. I certainly could be wrong, but I have driven across the country at least ten times and have interacted with many different walks of US citizens.

On the flip side, in my short experience Ecuadorians embrace gringos in a social setting, especially if the are willing to really go for it. I think that in the US people are more cautious of foreigners coming into a native party scene.

Obviously my generalities are probably off target, but I still think my main observation and focus is right on. Racism is entirely a social construct that arises out of cultural history and practices. A white person and a black person will relate SO differently depending on the cultural environment into which they were placed, just as an Ecuadorian and Chinese person will relate differently under different circumstances. I imagine that the same Ecuadorian and Chinese basketball players would find a frienship bond on a basketball court in the US as they would be the only players who wanted to play zone defense and speak in Spanish. I also would like to think that I might be welcome at an equivalent (only white patron at an all african american bar in a tough part of town), but cannot honestly say that I can name the place off the top of my head.

However, the main result of these observations is most obviously hope. If a white skinned person and black skinned person can relate to one another well in one place, the conlusion is that such a type of relation is wholly and competely possible. I have seen people of Chinese descent and people of Latin-American descent get along perfectly and I hope I can bring this knowledge to my two bball buddies from the local park next weekend. Likewise if I experience success bridging the racial gap on the basketball court or in local tienditas, maybe I can take similar strides once I return stateside.

Remember my entry about the life of a volunteer? I forgot that you also develop an unbelievable idealism.

Take care.

Kane

Looking Down the Rabbit Hole

So it all starts on a chilly Wednesday night in front of my school at CECAMI. I had agreed to meet some friends for some squash. Since my arrival, I have been practicing the school of thought that states anytime somebody asks me to do something I immediately reply ¨Yes.¨

Thus, with no idea what to expect I waited for my friends to finish class so we could go check out the Cancha. Cancha is a phenomenal word in Spanish. Rather than dividing up court, field, pitch, course, or any other sports related floor, Ecuadorians just call everything a cancha. Phenom decision in my opinion. Much more bright than calling ¨toes¨¨fingers of feet¨.

We, all four of us piled into a 1988, four door mini rabbit. Suffice it to say that I didn´t think any car could top the Heep in terms of age related malfunctions, but this little red racer might have the Heep topped. I was psyched sitting in the front seat with my knees against my chin, that thiss little car also decided against installing a right side passenger mirror. You got to love instant connections with a vehicle. From here on out any time I see a car without a side passenger mirror on the side of the door or behind the visor an instant kinship will be forged.

My second recollection proved to be the more superior. The Rabbit also decided against installing working headlights. Got to cut down costs by taking away extras right? Thus we set out toward the squash court piled in like sardines, especially after picking up two Cuerpo de Paz volunteers. Last night was my first encounter with JFK´s brain child, and I think it´s going to warrant an entry in and of itself one day.

I could not believe the sight before my eyes when we got to the squash court. We arrived in front of a long colonial style dining hall and greeted the local owners. One of the men walked us up past beautiful white buildings, a swimming pool, and grasslined walkways. I half expected Eddie Murphy to jump out of nowhere as I felt transplanted onto the set of Beverly Hills Cop 1 or 2, can´t remember at this point. Also reminiscient of Witney Houston´s mansion from the Bodyguard.

Right. Anyway when we got to the far corner of the Hosteria (Spanish for a hotel that is not one building, but many different cabanas), we found the squash court. With slippery floors, cracked wood, and a small shower facility I felt transported to a different time. We might as well have been rich Spanish business men going for a little sport at night. Absolutely awesome. The court even had a birdseye viewing area of the court up above.

After shaking off some nightmares of Yarms kicking my ass repeatedly up at Dartmouth, I stepped in for my first game against a Cuerpo de Paz volunteer. As sometimes I tend to do I got competitive and started diving all over the court and smacking the ball as hard as my right wrist would allow. After a couple dives and skinned elbows I had my Victory and got to step into the arena against a native ecuadorian on his own turf.

I took him to 10-10 and lost 12-10 (all other games were to nine). Unbelievably fun times for old man Kanedog. I probably could have played all night. I took a game off of him 9-0 later in the night before losing the best of 3 match in a heartbreaker.

One of the most fun things about playing sports in Ecuador is the environment suits test drives of Ecuadorian swear words. The best one by far is ¨chuta¨, which translates to ¨shoot.¨It has an incredible ring to it, especially if the first syllable is ridiculously stressed as ¨CHU-ta.¨Try it out next time you stub your toe. It also works in front of adults and important people so there are never those awkard moments where you swear in front of little Timmy. The f-word in Spanish is pronounced, ¨Chucha,¨which for me just doesn´t have the same ring. However saying this in public will definitely garner you a couple of shocked stares. On the flip side, Ecuadorians also try out US swear words when they play against you, which is always superb for a good laugh. Accents can really butcher cuss words, especially if short i and u sounds are beyond the speaker´s grasp.

So after we played we all piled back into the mini Rabbit headed for home with no head lights and six people. That´s when, shall we say, shit hit the fan.

(SIREN SOUNDS). Here´s me in my head ¨CHUCHA!!!¨I did not feel like dealing with the policia at 11:30 at night in a car with no headlights. The driver, one of my Ecuadorian friends, acted calm, but something stank like festering vomit. Maybe it is the reputation of Ecaudorian cops as being corrupt, dirty, and especially unforgiving of gringos.

We pulled over and waited for the cop to walk around to our car to give us the biz. As I stared over to the driver´s side of the window waiting for him to appear, I noticed everyone else staring at my window. Thus I turned around and met face to face the barrel of an automatic oozi looking rifle. It looked EXACTLY like the silver gun you get on the boat level of the N64 James Bond, and I was staring down the barrel. Plus the gun was in the hands of an enormous black man in a shrapnel helmet. Know that feeling when your family jewels jump into your throat as you drive over a steep hill in SF? My boys had packed a trip to Oakland. Chucha.

Our driver decides to lie to the cops. Chucha. We have to get out of the car and wait while they investigate every inch of our vehicle. Chucha. All three of them are packing serious heat. Chucha tres veces.

But wait. These cops turned out to be some of the most professional, respectful, and forgiving cops I have ever dealt with. We were breaking numerous laws, but they understood our situation and let us away without so much as a bribe, big balls machismo, or hard guy act even smelling like it was about to take place. What a treat. They searched our car, found out we had no booze, found out we were residents of Ibarra playing squash at the local Cancha and smiled and told us to drive slowly and be careful. How cool is that?

Last nights events further solidified an understanding that I still have not been able to grasp fully, though I have observed and realized countless times that it is truly how things function in this country.

Expectations are absolutely worthless. In a strange land everything must be approached with a completely unbiased and open mind because nothing, absolutely nothing, is as I might expect.

I think this is a terrific lesson for everyone. Obviously awareness is invaluable to travelers, but bias and caution should be taken with a grain of salt. They just hamper your ability to enjoy yourself. And if you can´t enjoy yourself, then what?

Chucha.

-kane

The Volunteer

So, in addition to the elections, I have been thinking a lot about volunteering and I thought writing might help me clear my head since I dont have my buddies around to talk to. I Really do miss my conversations over a stump, 5´clock FC, in front of HD, on the golf course, at Marina Park, the Washington St. Dinner Table, Apt 202, Lookout Point, The Hut, Ft. Miramar, in the Heep, etc. etc. etc. My grade school buddy Donimal told me writing can be an incredible form of clarity so here goes a rather different type of entry.

As philosophers tend to do, My strains of thought stem from a couple main points:

-I was dead set on joining the Marines at one point in my life
-I am volunteer teaching in Ecuador
-Two of my best friends on the planet are currently serving in the Marine Corps
-One of my lacrosse buddies got hit by a bomb while riding in a tank in Iraq and broke most of the bones in his body.
-One of my other best friends passed away when I was a Freshman in College
-I just finished reading Angels and Demons - a book that discusses the struggle of faith versus religion and destiny

First things first. Please please please keep my lacrosse buddy in your thoughts and prayers. I am so proud to know someone who served our country so nobly and know that he will recover to full strength. Likewise please also keep all of our young men who have chosen to participate in the War in Iraq in your hearts and minds whenever possible. I believe and wonder if anyone else honestly thinks that hope can sway an outcome. I remember talking to one of my grade school friends´Dads about craps one time. Funny this memory sticks in my head, but apparently it struck me at the time. He said that someone did a study of one craps player who hoped that he would roll his sevens and elevens, while another rolled just to be doing the action. Who came out ahead? The player who willed his dice to land on winning numbers. A second study tested virgin basketball players of equal athletic ability shooting free throws. One player went out and shot, one practiced for a half an hour then shot, and one visualized himself shooting free throws for a half an hour and then shot. Whose percentage was highest? The player who practiced and the player who visualized scored about equal, while the fly from the seat of your pants scored much lower. Maybe by chance, maybe by luck, but who knows? Maybe one can make a difference just by willing an outcome. At least that´s what I think.

I actually went to church on Sunday here in Ecuador for the first time since my arrival. Checked out the Basillica in Ibarra. Before I came to Ecuador I expected everyone to be obsessed with going to church, but what I have found is that more people concern themselves with spirituality, a notion that I myself have been entertaining in larger proportions ever since Richard left SMV. Both of my Ecuador families do not attend church, but they all have figurines of Mary and Jesus all over their houses, and pray every Sunday before meals. Obviously religion has caused many wars and conflicts over the years and has committed many other heinous atrocities. There is also a lot to be said for people who embrace their spiritual side in their own way to accomodate their own style. Spirituality is a powerful force and one that I am sure everyone embraces to some extent. I don´t think you are completely self-introspective if you haven´t considered issues for yourself such as destiny, fate, the spirit, or one´s place in the world. I once did an independent study where I interviewed people asking philisophical questions as they relate to the above ideals, and was shocked, intrigued, and impressed by the in-depth answers I received. People don´t often talk about their spirituality with others as it carries a taboo designation, which is obviously fine, but my guess is that it would be an easy common ground if struggling to find conversation on a first date or with someone´s grandparents.

On the other hand, being in a church still holds power over me. When I walk into a church and pray I feel different. There is, for me, a tangible presence in a building designated as ¨holy¨ that I can feel. I wonder if others have similar sentiments.

So, as I sat in church, unable to understand the inaudible Spanish ramblings about how the ten commandments could change my life, I considered my own situation and instantly experienced a saturation of random questions in my head. Had I gone to the Marines would I also be lying in a hospital after a crazy accident? Had I made the right choice? How can I protect my friends who are serving in the military? How can I help the situation in Ecuador? Should I help the situation in Ecuador? Am I making the right choices? Am I real?

Tuh. Philosophers have such a rough life. I majored in thinking about nothing.

My conclusions? Number one is stated above. I don´t care if you are anti-war, pro-war, pro-bush, anti-bush, pro-this, anti-that. We all should stand up, on any level, for our young men and women volunteering around the world. Support them wholeheartedly. As I see it people are completley separate entities from wars, third world countries, or political decisions and should be treated thus. Secondly, I want people to be aware that volunteering has brought these tough questions to my mind, and thus I would guess that others have thought similarly. When you cannot speak a language or are not receiving a large paycheck, what else is there to do but try to justify your situation?

It´s amazing that so many young people from my generation are setting out to make a difference in non normal walks of life. I have friends in the military, who have traveled to China, who helped with the Katrina effort, who spend their time dealing with life´s rejects, in Belize, who have traveled the world, who are volunteering to help Parkinson´s patients, who have been to Switzerland, who have hiked Patagonia, who have traveled to Thailand, the list goes ON and ON. Young people today care about others and really do want to experience life from all perspectives.

Today´s youth more and more are choosing to see our ever expanding world and its ever-expanding global culture. In addition, and more simply, youths just sincerely want to make a difference. The life of a volunteer is a bold choice filled with perils, questions, and doubts. However, I honestly believe that the people who have made such choices are doing the right thing for not only themselves, but everyone else as well. Such efforts, as I seem them are the best thing for our world´s culture, people, humanity, and status as participant in the universe. The people who end up in seemingly negative circumstances such as my friend from College or my lacrosse buddy must be asking themselves life´s tough questions. Who knows what the answers are specifically, but maybe, just maybe, the path is strewn with good will and an outpouring of support in any capacity possible.

Ah well. Kind of lost my train of thought there, and sometimes words cannot do thoughts justice. Hope you enjoyed an insight into the perspective of a transplanted person. Take care.

Signing off from Nowhere,

Kanedog

Election Update

So today I munched on a delicious cow and pig foot soup. It´s actually this soup filled with cow´s and pig´s feet. It kind of tastes like jello. I was telling my buddy today that Ecaudor has reinvented the phrase ¨It kind of tastes like _____.¨ Know how in the states everything tastes like chicken? In Ecuador everything tastes like jello.

So the elections just passed by without any sort of craziness, which half suprised me. I thought some sort of riot was going to break out, but everyone kept their cool. The only weird thing that happened was the day before I saw a person get hit by a taxi while riding a bycicle. Quite an event for your first couple of steps in the morning.

As for the elections in Ecuador, starting Friday morning at midnight, no one is allowed to buy alcohol whatsoever. Each election demands a 72 hour sober period, which I think is kind of a cool idea, but also basically acknowledges that your citizens have a problem with binge drinking. The election in Ecuador also is completely mandatory. Each paper receives a paper vital for their citizenship every time they vote. This is also kind of a cool idea.

Since there were like 15 candidates their is a first round to narrow the candidates down to two, and then a second round to decide the winner.

So far the Banana tycoon, Noboa is in the lead. From the sense I get, all the poor people love Noboa because he is rich and gives everyone bananas. He also has the reputation of being a businessman rather than a politician which has its ups and downs. His competition is Correa, a socialist who attended the University of Illinois. His reputation is that of an economist rather than a businessman.

From what I can gather, Correa has plans to treat America similarly to how Cuba treats America, but he seems smart and motivatd to grab Ecuador by the bootstraps. Noboa has plans to do whatever anyone tells him to because he is rather slow witted, but due to his wealth he does have many business connections.

My guess? In the first round Correa, Noboa, Cynthia, and Roldos were the favorites. So anybody who didn´t know anything about elections voted for one of those four. Educated people split their vote among a whole wide range of the 15 candidates. Thus, I think that all of the people who split their vote between other candidates will end up voting for Correa, because he seems to be the intelligent vote, at least in the Sierras. On the coast people love Noboa, but because of his poor intellectual reputation, not many educated people will end up voting for him. Thus from what I can gather, Correa has a good chance to win, even though he did not receive the largest percentage in the first go around.

Implications? I am hardly an expert, but Correa, despite his repuations, does not seem to be the second coming of Hugo Chavez. Granted I could be wrong, but the guy did study in the US. Obviously money is a huge asset, but Ecaudor really needs someone with an eye toward the future in order to be prosperous. Right now Ecuador has a huge supply of oil, but is outsourcing it rather poorly. This is probably the biggest issue that both candidates need to address promptly during their candidacy.

Lucky enough for the people, they have plenty of time to decide. For some reason the second round of voting is at the end of Novemeber. No one has told me why, but that´s the way the cookie crumbles. It will certainly be interesting to see how the US factors in considering Correa´s reputation as being Anti-US, but asi es la vida.

On the whole, it certainly was an impressive democratic process. People, at least those who I spoke with, seemed generally interested in the election and its results.

Rosalia Suarez

In Ecuador everyone uses dimunutives to show your affection for someone. It´s similar to the states but much more hilarious. For example in the states a mother might ask her child, ¨Would you like a little ice cream?¨In Ecuador however words actually change when you use the diminutive. Thus arroz becomes arrosito, helado becomes heladito, etc. The main difference is that in the states a mother will give her child a little bit of ice cream. In Ecuador arrosito means a whomping big pile of rice, not just a small spoon full. Plus the whole diminutive takes on whole new meaning when your dinner conversation starts with, ¨Kane quiere un jugito? Pancito? Toma pollocito, arrocito, y quesito tambien.¨

Translation? Kane here´s is a whole pile of food that because we like watching you devour it. You gotta love it though and I love that food giving is such a sign of affection here in Ecuador. Obviously having food is a real luxury and offering little portions only to pile on the amount might be a herald to earlier times when food was not even able to be provided. I imagine that many families a jugito was the best thing, as well as only thing in the world, and now that they can pile it on it makes the sign of affection all the more generous and caring.

Anyway today I went to Ibarra´s famed Heladeria (Ice Cream Store) for a little ice cream. Named after the creator, Rosalia Suarez, said Heladeria has been on the corner of Olmedo Street since 1898. Rosalia only recently passed away and she has since passed on her secret recipe to her children to continue the tradition.

When you walk in to Rosalia´s you are greeted by an amazing array of Ecuadorian posters and newspaper clippings. All of the newspaper clippings describe the history of Rosalia and her secret recipe. Basically Ibarrian ice cream is made entirely in a huge pail, or paila in Spanish. Colored with a lush brass color the pails are probably equal in volume to large picnic coolers.

The pailas sit in a large bowl of half-crushed ice. Kind of like a kid sitting in a pile of snow. Behind the pailas (there are three in all) stand members of the Suarez family all holding large wooden spoons Inside the pailas is the ice cream mixture that the Suarez family stirs vigorously while spinning the pailas in the ice. Very cool process to watch.

Ibarreno Helado, or Helados de Paile contains no milk or cream products, thus it is far less fattening than some ice creams. The only ingredients are ice and fruit, which give the ice cream a similar consistency to sorbet. However the secret lies in the sugar mixture added to the fruit as well as the water used for the ice. Rosalia decided some time ago the only fresh glacier water from the top of the local mountain Imbabura should be used to make the ice cream and the sugar and fruit mixture recipe is about as publicly known as Coca-Cola.

I walked up to the counter and ordered a Guanavana and Mora Ice Cream Cone for fifty cents. The taste? As those who know me can attest I am not much of a sweets guy, but Rosalia is definitely on to something delish. Absolutely out of this world. My friends ordered the Chocolate that was made with a Mexican Chocolate Recipe that contains some spices and other flavoring. Also equally outstanding.

If you ever wander into Ibarra do check out Rosalia´s. Definitely a must visit with the ice cream, newspaper clippings, and wonderful scenic shots of Ecaudor. Needless to say I was excited to go home and eat lunch as my mouth was dumping saliva after my delicious appetizer.

On the menu for the day? Lucky me, breaded pig intestines.

DELISH.

No seriously, it was outstanding. Ceci hooked it up. Take care.

La Caseria Del Zorro

Quite a name right? Dont forget that ¨Caseria¨is actually, ¨Casereeeeeea¨since the ï¨carries a good old accent mark. So while last time I was here for a big party everyone was running around yelling ¨Viva Ibarra¨, this time ¨Viva la Casereeeeeeea!¨

So apparently 100 years ago someone decided that the closing ceremonies for Las Fiestas de Ibarra were uber lame. Said person thus decided to create an epic day of glamor, excitement, and heritage. In more plain words, an excuse for everyone to go out and get bombed for one last hurrah.

Basically the day starts with a huge parade through the streets of Ibarra with floats, people on horseback, and of course ¨Reinas.¨The reina culture in Ecuador is absoltuely outstanding. Everything from Banks, Supermarkets, Liquor Stores, to Mom and Pops´street meat vending station needs a quality reina. This year in honor of 400th aniversary of the foundation of Ibarra, the Reina of the city received a brand new car. Unreal. It´s a surreal multiplied version of little league baseball sponsors. ¨A next in the parade, it´s......Chico´s Bail Bonds´Reina. Wow isn´t she gorgeous?!?!?¨

Anyway so after all of the reinas comes the Zorro. Due to my inability to speak Spanish I had the hardest time figuring out who was going to appear. Someone first told me that there would be an animal fox, then I heard a man dressed up as a fox, but what I got actually was a very cool Anotonio Banderas look-a-like costume in ful fledged splendor. Whoever came up with Zorro´s outfit was an absolute genius. I would be hard pressed to find an outfit that could make people assume that the guy could simultaneously kick your ass, charm your mother, or steal your girlfriend. Very very cool. The last touch is so cool. It looks like a TDX swan song. Bobbing on the back of the Zorro´s horse is a beat up cotton sock that has been around since the first Caseria del Zorro. It even looked like past winners had etched their initials in the material. Awesome. Needless to say I am so pumped.

After the reinas and the floats come everyone else. I am not a huge fan of parades, but they love them here in Ecuador and who am I to argue. Hundreds of people on horseback come passing by. The highlights were the little kid junior division zorro and the action of horses pooping. I dont know if you all have ever witnessed this peculiar action, but it really is quite astounding. I mean the animals could be doing anything-neighing, running, pissing, banging, smooching, eating-literally anything and they would be oblivious to the alien spaceship door opening eruption of the feces. Yup you guessed it. I saw more than one horse poop on Saturday.

ANYWAY after the parade comes the cool part. All of the Ibarrians and their native gringo got into cabs and cars to head out to the top of the local mountain. Every city in the Sierras I have been to so far has a mountain with a statue on top. Ibarra´s statue is the one of the angels-I think Michael or maybe Gabriel. Can´t really remember at this point. The view from the mountain is surreal. You can see the entire city of Ibarra and the nearby lake called Yaguacoche, or Lake of Blood tears. Unbeliveable panaramic view of some of the most beautiful countryside I have ever seen.

The top of the mountain is the middle of the second stage of the parade. Basically the people on horseback trots after the Zorro to the top of the mountain and then down the other side to the Lake of Blood Tears. Watching the horses come up from the valley is awesome, but then watching them navigate downhill was ridiculous. Imagine a scene where 100 horses tip toe down a ridiculously steep incline surrounded by drunk Ecuadorians screaming and secretly hoping someone falls over. Ladies and Gentleman, Ecuadorian NASCAR. Every contestant gets a nice amiable applause when they touch the bottom of the hill safely, but let´s be honest. Everyone was talking about the fifteen your old who jumped off his horse, dodged six fatal hoof stamps in the six seconds, only to get back on his horse and tip his hat. Horses are also incredible animals. One of my Ecuadorian friends promised to show me the ropes one day and needless to say I am pumped. Caseria del Kanedog.

At the lake there is a Horserace Track. Even more unbelievable. Set on the haunches of the mountain range lies the laguna, and the race track is flanked by huge nascar stadiums. The view is beautiful and the people are all very rowdy. 25 ounce beers are being passed around for a dollar a piece in anticipation of the horse race.

First come the juniors division and then the big boys. Basically the Zorro is cut loose ten seconds before the other horses and then the melee ensues as everyone else tries to rip the swan song from the back of the horse to earn the honor to ride as next year´s Zorro and walk home with 1500 bucks. Not bad for an amateur horse race. Since a girls´haircut here is 2.50, I would say 1500 bucks is equivalent to a bajillion dollars.

The juniors division was won by a little lady zorro. People were pissed. I guess the Ecua Dads need to put the hurting on their sons a little bit or something. The chick looked stoked though. Caseria del Zorra next year for the tikes.

As for the main event I was thoroughly pleased. In front of our seats marked the spot where the Zorro was finally caught by his pursuer. I definitely was out of my seat and going crazy. The spectacle was so awesome. Ecuadorians love chanting and if I were on Horseback with a swan song in my hands walking off the track to chants of Zorro, I would be pretty pumped too. One of my ecua friends told me that some zorros never get caught and get to return next year. One even lasted for seven years or so. Pretty sweet right?

After the horserace comes the outdoor dome yourself party. I really wanted to check out the Zorro up close in personal but he didn´t bring his digs. Looked kind of chubby to be a Zorro, but so was Anthony Hopkins. The dancing was fun, their was native food provided, and I got to drink Ecaudorian fire water that tasted like anis.

By the way in case you were wondering caseria means ¨The hunting¨. Thanks so much for reading.

-Kane

Viva Ibarra

Wow. Lots of crazy stuff going on in Ibarra.

First things first. The rooster story. So last time I was in Ibarra I was intrigued and delighted to see that my family had two roosters as pets. I was less thrilled when said roosters proclaimed their exitence with rambunctious deliverences of cockadooldledoos every morning at 4AM. Thus when I returned to Ibarra a week ago I inquired as to the health and well being of the roosters. You can imagine my suprise when my host brother commented, ¨Oh well we are having them for dinner tonight.¨Thus Kane now can chalk up roosters as things that have been processed by my liver. As for the taste? The best way to describe it is that it tasted instinctually like chicken-that is to say that the increased toughness of the meat really made me feel in touch with my early caveman roots directly accessed by way of my forehead to my tastebuds. After finishing my delicious dinner I was super excited about the possibillity of a non 4AM wake up call. Unfortunately our neighbors also have roosters and my exhilaration was very short lived as sure enough 4AM rolled along and viola! COCKAFRICKINGDOODLEDOO.

Speaking of animals, my house in Ibarra runs a regular zoo and I LOVE it. We have two cats, five kittens, and two dogs. The kittens are a month old and very cute. If anyone out there in cyber land cares for some cute little kitties just hop on a flight to quito, travel north until you hit ibarra, turn right at the stop light and look for all the native ecuadorians staring at the weird white dude. We have a little calico one, a gray one, multi'colored wonder, a boring black and white, and then the little runt of the group blackie/shadow/midnight-guess what color he is-who also possesses startling blue eyes. One of our two dogs is a one month old perrito. He is pretty cute aside from the whole unimaginable ability to whine all night. Needless to say I have not been sleeping serenely. He is getting better however with the whining and is very cute. The other harsh reality of Ibarra is the non-existence of hot water for showers. Really tough scene at times. The water also turn off after ten o´clock so I am now accustomed to sneaking in my teeth brushing immediately after dinner.

My host parents in Ibarra are so money. My mom, Ceci, is from Ibarra, and my dad, Sylverio, is from Spain. Aside from good old Washington St. homestyle, and Ally B´s assortment of delights, Ceci´s food is some of the best in the world. Today we had delicious carrot soup as an appetizer, followed by Tilapia like fish served on a bed of rice mixed with lettuce with fresh avocado mixed in. Absolutely D-lish. The fruits, vegetables, and bread in Ecuador is absolutely outstanding-as long as you bust out the Vitalin to prevent a case of the runs. The freshness is amazing and smells are truly amazing. Much much MUCH better food than my seventh grade trip to Costa Rica. during which I returned pale and frail half scaring my whole family.

Ibarra is the frist place I have really seen the hardships of a third world country up close and personal. In the Big City you dont see as much some of the harsh realities. For example, a couple days ago I stopped in a local Papeleria to get some copies done for my classroom. I was greeted by a pleasant young woman and we exchanged pleasantries. After a couple of minutes of easy silence the woman broke into her life story out of nowhere. Basically she had been well off with a great husband and three kids when some bogus medical advice induced severe loss of all her body hair-on her head, eyebrows, crotch, (she´s telling me all of this) Everywhere. So after she loses her mamillian coat, her husband freaks out and kicks her and the kids out of the house. Thus the husband lives in a swanky mansion while she and the kids live above the papeleria in complete poverty. However, Thanks to God her hair miraculously started to grow back and she is now convinced that her husband will receive retribution as he well should. Absolutely some of the strangest, most awe-inspiring, and interesting moments of my life. Imagine walking into a place of business at 8:00 in the morning and hearing such a tale. And the aftermath? After she finished her story she thanked me vigorously for listening with such intentness and gave me a hug and about ten free copies (2 cents per page). The earnestness with which she thanked me for listening struck me as amazing, endearing, and wonderful. In the words of our lovely Minnesota native ¨I am definitely not in Kansas anymore.¨However, I dont find myself scouring the planet for some red shoes. I am definitely having a wonderful time.

This weekend marks the end of the Fiestas De Ibarra. Tomorrow is the Caseria de los Zorros, or ¨Hunting of the Fox,¨that sounds like an awesome time. Basically each year one man (last year´s winner) dresses up as a fox-eye paint, bushy tail, black clothing- the whole nine, and leads a parade through the city streets followed by various Ibarra natives. Everyone is mounted on horseback. After the parade through the streets, and as soon as they hit the countryside, the fox takes off and everyone else-practically the whole town-chase after him on horseback toward a lagoon about 2 miles away. At the lagoon, someone finally catches the zorros and then everybody domes themselves and starts dancing. Should be pretty crazy.

Stay tuned for an update on the caseria, as well as a description of the school I am teaching at, CECAMI. Thanks for reading.

Kane

From A to B

So today marks my first full day of my life in Ibarra. Ibarra is absolutely gorgeous. Basically it is at the food of a huge volcano called Imbabura and its surrounding also very tall friends. Imbabura stands at the southern part of the city so if you have to ¨go up¨to get somewhere that means you have to go South, and likewise going down means to the north/in the opposite direction of the huge mountain. The surrounding countryside reminds me a lot of Denver-if Denver´s mountains encircled it on more than just one side of the city. I played basketball today with the locals and after aclimatar-ing myself to Ecuador I picked up my first Southern Hemishphere W.

Obviously this blog will be filled with entries soon about Ibarra so I wanted to for now focus on the wonderful world that is Ground Travel in Ecuador.

First things first: cost
Basically you pay one dollar for every hour you travel. Thus the bus ride to Ibarra from Quito-a 110 kilometer trip ran me a mere two dollars and fifty cents. It really is hard to beat Ecuador´s prices on some stuff. Just a week ago I paid four dollars for two haircuts. It´s also not too shabby. There is just something so special about having an Ecuadorian women shave the back of your neck with warm shaving cream and an old school razor. Absolutely money.

Number 2: Getting There
This is the part that gets sketchy. The first time I attempted to travel I took a cab to the bus terminal with two friends. As soon as we arrived at the terminal two men opened the cab´s trunk and took off with my companeros´s suitcases. Thus Kanedog took off running after the two men yelling ¨LOS TENGO¨while they pretended to not hear me. I finally caught up with them, grabbed them and then grabbed the suitcases. Luckily these Ecua-thieves had really short little legs. Then, unbelievably, I was encircled by a group of about 8 males, ranging from 10 years old to 40, all grabbing for our maletas. Thus I was left with only one choice. I decided to go Charles Barkley on their ass and began throwing elbows and bellowing the Spanish equivalent of ¨GET THE F$CK AWAY FROM ME.¨The Sir Charles tactic worked and we finally claimed our bags. Needless to say from then on out we decided to avoid the bus terminal, which is actually totally money. All you have to do is stand on any major highway and flag down the buses of your choice. Plus you dont have to pay the loading tax at the bus terminal. I belive also that one can take a taxi to Ibarra for about 8 dollars.

Number 3: Bus Ride Action
The absolute best thing about Ecuadorian buses is the entertainment. First off all the buses play cheezy Spanish dubbed action movies non'stop. So far I have had the pleasure of watching Van Damme beat the crap out of - well, Van Damme - since in this particular gem he had been cloned to solve crimes because his evil alter ego rampaged through countless cities. Check it out on IMDB for kicks. The replicate. I have also enjoyed the third installment of the Fast and Furious Franchise, as well as a nice little Chuck Norris medley.

Number 4: The scenery
Ecuador is absolutely beautiful. Words can´t describe the feeling of watching unpopulated landscape sweep by your window. You basically drive on about two feet of road (both lanes combined) that looks down upon unreal gorges-literal holes in the earth. As long as you are fortunate enough to not encounter buses going the opposite direction you are fairly sure that you are not going to die. Once you get to the cities you are prevy to The Ecuadorian razgos-ie photo op faces of wear and tear, as well as the indigneous crafts. Yesterday I saw a huge replica of Donatello´s David yesterday with one small change-They actually built David to be hung like a hoss rather than a nino chiquitito.

Signing off-

Kanedog