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
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
posted by ecuadortraveler at 4:59 PM
2 Comments:
Mom I am impressed you know about Ken Macha. Congratulations.
Terry! Great to hear from you! Glad you have picked up some of the more useful Ecuadorian words. Hope you are well!
Wow. Makes Post and Polk sound pretty safe. I hear if you put your finger in the barrel of the gun it doesn't work.
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