The past month has been full of ups and downs. One of the most common thoughts I have here is "what the hell am I doing?" But sometimes, it sort of comes together for a class and I think, "OK. I can do this."
Life here is just strange. Things that don't seem to make sense seem to happen all the time as if they're normal. For example, one day I was walking down the street and a horde of people were stuck trying to move up the stairs. It turns out that a man selling ducks was walking by, the ducks in tow, and people had to stop to let the walking ducks pass by on the street. No one gave a second look at the man walking down a busy street with farm animals in tow. Another example is seeing mothers holding babies on motorcyles. Or just seeing three or four people piled onto motorcycles. Kind of like a clown car, but more badass because it's real life.
Here are some of the things I've been doing this last month:
1. Scratching my head and trying to relacionar with all of the teachers. Getting in with the teachers at school is kind of like being the new kid in high school and trying to figure out where I belong. The politics and friendships of the teachers are akin to the social hierarchy of the students I teach. I STILL don't understand what they say half the time. I think, sadly, that my Spanish is not improving. I speak English in class all day, English to my family on Skype, I read in English and think in English. I can hold a conversation in Spanish, but not fluently. Something's gotta give if I want my Spanish to get better. I made them apple pie for Thanksgiving, which went over well except that we ran out of pie. Life lesson learned: make more than enough food for stressed, hungry professors.
2. Realizing that I secretly am 17. Teaching 17 year olds brings me back to when I was 17, itching to get out of school, wanting to see the world, waiting to fall in love. There is so much hope in being 17. So much urgency. So much angst.
Being here makes me realize I haven't changed that much from my 17 year old self. 17 year old Andrea liked to listen to Death Cab for Cutie and the Postal Service, to fantasize about boys I didn't have the guts to talk to, and to make lists of ways I would improve myself that always included "Lose 10 pounds." A lot has changed, but so much is the same. A 17 year old debating how to tell her crush she likes him is the same as a woman in her mid-twenties, fretting over whether he'll call. Not so much changes in love or in friendship. I'm actually learning from them. They majority of them are so motivated in what they want to do- so focused on the future. It's heartwarming to think about how many girls want ot be engineers and how many want to go abroad and see the world. The future is in good hands. As long as they keep off their damn Blackberries to make it happen.
3. Mastering the Ecua-whine
One thing people do here often is WHINE. The whine is a subtle tool of manipulation. Want someone to get you coffee? Whine about it. Or tell them, "No seas malito", which translates into something like "Don't be a little bitch." Either one will give you what you want. The whine, so unattractive in America, is a necessary communicative tool here. I've been able to get what I wanted, like a cup of Coke or help with a project or a ride, using this special, powerful whine.
4. Being stronger with the students
I had a student who would always whistle at me in class. Or call me pretty. Or "mi vida," my life. Or grab my hip. I didn't do anything about it, just shook my head and ignored it. But that didn't work until one day I unleashed the "You lack respect," line on him, and he shut up like a clam. Kids, like puppies, need boundaries. Otherwise they're going to shit all over your house and chew up your best pair of heels. Calling him out was one of the hardest, and best things I've done here.
5. Realizing, grudgingly, that not everyone is going to like me
This is hard. I have a complusive need to have people like me. If they don't, I get hot and bothered and wonder what I did wrong. But what a waste of a young life to go worrying over other people's opinions. If people don't like me, fine. I read here that most people don't even care that you're alive, and that it doesn't really matter. I don't want to look back on my Peace Corps experience and think that I spent the two years, wondering what people were gossiping about me and what they were saying. Not. Worth. It.
6. With that, realizing how much there is to do here. Staying busy is saving my sanity. The next thing I have planned is a singing contest with English songs. I have to figure out how to get money for the prizes, and how to advertise it. But if it works, it'll be awesome. Another school in the area did one this year too, and next year I want to get all the other schools and the nearest city, Pinas, in on it too. Turn this area into a mini American Idol. Or El Oro Idol. However you want to look at it.
So, still plodding through the abyss, witnessing strange and absurd things, trying to laugh, understand the jokes, and get the teachers to respect me. Don't know how the rest of the time will go, but it's been a hilly, but thrilling ride so far.
Until next time.
Sunday, November 27, 2011
Sunday, October 9, 2011
maybe starting to like zaruma?
This place is weird. Sometimes I come home from school, completely frustrated with a smart-mouthed student, or a teacher who doesn't want to work with me, or simply not being able to understand jokes in this land of fast, coastal Spanish.
But in the last week, things have been different. It's like the universe cosmically shifted and started dropping down good day after good day. Maybe it's like the wave of life- right now we've entered the warm, calm waters, with the storms brewing off in the distance. But I can't help falling in love with Zaruma.
For one thing, the smallness of the town doesn't yet feel claustrophobic. At this point, I usually see a student/teacher/storekeeper/family member that I know on its tiny narrow streets. Sometimes someone yells my name across the street and asks where I'm going. "Andreita! Donde vas?" is a common question.
Second, and I half love this, and half am opposed to it, is the extreme nuturance by the female teachers at my school. While the male teachers range from dignified, old-school grandfathers who wear bowl hats and offer advice, to young, non politically correct rabbelrousers, the female teachers are pretty united in their joie de vivre and their motherliness. The older women, I think, see me like a young daughter lost in a sea of unfamiliarity, and try to express their approval of me by doing things like buying me manicures, getting me milkshakes, and inviting me to their houses. I appreciate, and am astounded by, the hospitatlity of these people, who have known me for a little over a month. Their huge hearts and willingness to help others is incredible. The slow pace of life here means that people have time to stop and get a coffee together, to visit their family more, and to give money to the homeless on the street. It also means more time for chisme, or gossip, which they say is the national pastime of Ecuadorians. But I'm starting to dig it. Unlike DC, where we rush rush rush from one activity to the next, the slowness of life here means more time to live instead of checking off to-do lists.
It's probably just a surge of good luck, but I've also had two wildly fun weekends where I got to hang out with interesting, kind, young people, both Ecuadorians and PCVs. Last weekend, we went swimming in a nearby river. This one guy brought his Cocker Spaniel and kept throwing it from the river bank into the water, and watching it swim back to him, soggy ears and all. The local priest and a group of high-spirited seminarians were there, too, playing some catch game with a soccer ball and posing for pictures on a rock. The priest later gave us a ride home through the dusty and bumpy streets of Porto Vello.
This weekend, we went to the dance contest for the coronation of the neighborhood queen. Yes, here in Zaruma, queens, or reinas, are a very big deal. Every neighborhood has a queen. The school has a queen. The town has a queen. The province has a queen. These girls are usually 16 or 17, and, to be selected, must be the most beautiful, and well-clothed of the bunch. I'm not sure if they're supposed to be especially charismatic or smart...the main point seems to be how beautiful they are. The queens, once elected, get to do things like go to other towns to represent Zaruma, and get to sit in the front row of important town events.
Anyways, it started pouring so they moved the umbrella-less queens to under a tent. A singer crooned "I will always love you" while the mainly-male crowd listened. The inebriated men in the crowd started to dance and sway, which was all the dancing that I saw that night.
Then we started dancing, in this big circle of people in the midst of paired up dancers. It started raining and people cleared off the asphalt, but we kept going. It was just one of those magical, everything is ok and we're all one kind of nights that only dancing, rain, and good people can bring out.
Tomorrow starts exam week. And Thursday marks my sixth week here. After the strange turn of events this past month, there is literally no telling what will happen next.
But in the last week, things have been different. It's like the universe cosmically shifted and started dropping down good day after good day. Maybe it's like the wave of life- right now we've entered the warm, calm waters, with the storms brewing off in the distance. But I can't help falling in love with Zaruma.
For one thing, the smallness of the town doesn't yet feel claustrophobic. At this point, I usually see a student/teacher/storekeeper/family member that I know on its tiny narrow streets. Sometimes someone yells my name across the street and asks where I'm going. "Andreita! Donde vas?" is a common question.
Second, and I half love this, and half am opposed to it, is the extreme nuturance by the female teachers at my school. While the male teachers range from dignified, old-school grandfathers who wear bowl hats and offer advice, to young, non politically correct rabbelrousers, the female teachers are pretty united in their joie de vivre and their motherliness. The older women, I think, see me like a young daughter lost in a sea of unfamiliarity, and try to express their approval of me by doing things like buying me manicures, getting me milkshakes, and inviting me to their houses. I appreciate, and am astounded by, the hospitatlity of these people, who have known me for a little over a month. Their huge hearts and willingness to help others is incredible. The slow pace of life here means that people have time to stop and get a coffee together, to visit their family more, and to give money to the homeless on the street. It also means more time for chisme, or gossip, which they say is the national pastime of Ecuadorians. But I'm starting to dig it. Unlike DC, where we rush rush rush from one activity to the next, the slowness of life here means more time to live instead of checking off to-do lists.
It's probably just a surge of good luck, but I've also had two wildly fun weekends where I got to hang out with interesting, kind, young people, both Ecuadorians and PCVs. Last weekend, we went swimming in a nearby river. This one guy brought his Cocker Spaniel and kept throwing it from the river bank into the water, and watching it swim back to him, soggy ears and all. The local priest and a group of high-spirited seminarians were there, too, playing some catch game with a soccer ball and posing for pictures on a rock. The priest later gave us a ride home through the dusty and bumpy streets of Porto Vello.
This weekend, we went to the dance contest for the coronation of the neighborhood queen. Yes, here in Zaruma, queens, or reinas, are a very big deal. Every neighborhood has a queen. The school has a queen. The town has a queen. The province has a queen. These girls are usually 16 or 17, and, to be selected, must be the most beautiful, and well-clothed of the bunch. I'm not sure if they're supposed to be especially charismatic or smart...the main point seems to be how beautiful they are. The queens, once elected, get to do things like go to other towns to represent Zaruma, and get to sit in the front row of important town events.
Anyways, it started pouring so they moved the umbrella-less queens to under a tent. A singer crooned "I will always love you" while the mainly-male crowd listened. The inebriated men in the crowd started to dance and sway, which was all the dancing that I saw that night.
Then we started dancing, in this big circle of people in the midst of paired up dancers. It started raining and people cleared off the asphalt, but we kept going. It was just one of those magical, everything is ok and we're all one kind of nights that only dancing, rain, and good people can bring out.
Tomorrow starts exam week. And Thursday marks my sixth week here. After the strange turn of events this past month, there is literally no telling what will happen next.
Monday, October 3, 2011
"it's like stomping a cockroach", or, my first Ecuadorian birthday party
Last Saturday, we celebrated my host dad's 66th year of life on Earth. Now, for those of you who have 60-something year old relatives, think about what a typical American birthday party for a sextagenearian entails. For my family, that means a dinner out at a restaurant. It MAY mean a glass of wine, two if someone's feeling really celebrative. It almost always means a start time of 7pm and an end time of 10, maybe 11.
Not in Ecuador.
My host dad's family is a brood of eight close-knit siblings, who all live in a nearby city called Loja. The Lojanos get together a few times a year to eat, reminisce, and party. I was told (warned?) by a few different people that my host dad's brothers were "crazy." I thought that might mean that they got a little too tipsy at family events and said innapropriate things, or maybe fell down. I underestimated the definiation of "crazy."
The day started out normally. My host sister, her kids, husband, and I ran around the house getting everything ready for that night's surprise party. Beds were made, hundreds of coconut balls were rolled and dipped in sugar, and hair was done. Around five, the brood of Lojanos arrived: a man with a bemused face in a pink shirt (who I would quickly learn was the Crazy Brother), another in a green shirt, and a flock of five older women who stared at me quietly.
An hour later, my host dad arrived to the house early. We were all supposed to pop out and shout "Surprise!" at him, but since he came early, no one had time to hide. He greeted all of his siblings with huge bear hugs. Then, out came the scotch and water. The siblings all sat around outside, drinking and telling stories. THey all seemed normal. I was scared to go out and speak Spanish with a group of new, tight knit, strangers, so I sat inside and talked about middle school drama with my host sister. After a few minutes, I ventured outside, where the sisters greeted me warmly and we talked about the right age to marry. They say it is mid twenties, and were a little astonished that we Americans wait until 30 or so to marry. They also said that it was sad how torn up American families were. That their family gathered together when someone got sick, when someone had good news, when someone needed support. And seeing these wildly different people all sitting around the circle, laughing and telling old jokes, made me think that Ecuador, with all of it's craziness, lack of traffic laws, adulterated liquor problems, and machismo, got many things right. And one of the things they really understand is the importance of family. It made me want to recreate that at home. Not that my family is awful (love you, rents) but the commitment to family in this country is unlike anything in America. The family supersedes friends and careers. It is the most important thing.
After dinner, the dancing started around 10. When I say dancing, I mean that every single adult got on the dance floor and started moving. Dancing could consist of moving one's feet in a one-two-three salsa step, or moving the hips in the fluid way that only Latinos seem capable of. My dancing consisted of flailing my arms around and trying to copy my host sister's effortlessly relaxed steps. After an hour, when the whiskey hit, the brothers all began asking me ot dance. The crazy pink shirted brother took my hand and put it around my head, and tried to convince me that rubbing his head was part of salsa dancing. Another stood on a chair to be taller than me when I danced. As they tried to get me to learn their moves, the pink-shirted loon told me to pretend I was stomping a cockcroach. He stuck out a foot and stomped down hard. And I did the same. "You did it, you did it!" he cried. Soon the "Andrea's cockroach" became a dance move at the party. Whenever people got bored during a song, they would yell "stomp the cockroach! stomp the cockroach!"
The night got better when the pinata came out. In America, pinatas are for small children. They get lame and childish after the age of 11 or so. Here in Ecuador, it's common for 66 year old men to have a pinata on their birthday. I love it! So my host dad opened up the pinata, and all the host siblings and garndchildren made a mad dash for the chocolate and perfume that were stuffed in its belly.
The dancing and laughing kept going. I passed out around 1:30, and my 60-something partiers kept the night rolling until 3:30. We went home, and, for some reason, all had a cup of coffee at 4am, and then headed off for a well-deserved night of sleep. My first Ecuadorian party left me awed and exhausted.
Not in Ecuador.
My host dad's family is a brood of eight close-knit siblings, who all live in a nearby city called Loja. The Lojanos get together a few times a year to eat, reminisce, and party. I was told (warned?) by a few different people that my host dad's brothers were "crazy." I thought that might mean that they got a little too tipsy at family events and said innapropriate things, or maybe fell down. I underestimated the definiation of "crazy."
The day started out normally. My host sister, her kids, husband, and I ran around the house getting everything ready for that night's surprise party. Beds were made, hundreds of coconut balls were rolled and dipped in sugar, and hair was done. Around five, the brood of Lojanos arrived: a man with a bemused face in a pink shirt (who I would quickly learn was the Crazy Brother), another in a green shirt, and a flock of five older women who stared at me quietly.
An hour later, my host dad arrived to the house early. We were all supposed to pop out and shout "Surprise!" at him, but since he came early, no one had time to hide. He greeted all of his siblings with huge bear hugs. Then, out came the scotch and water. The siblings all sat around outside, drinking and telling stories. THey all seemed normal. I was scared to go out and speak Spanish with a group of new, tight knit, strangers, so I sat inside and talked about middle school drama with my host sister. After a few minutes, I ventured outside, where the sisters greeted me warmly and we talked about the right age to marry. They say it is mid twenties, and were a little astonished that we Americans wait until 30 or so to marry. They also said that it was sad how torn up American families were. That their family gathered together when someone got sick, when someone had good news, when someone needed support. And seeing these wildly different people all sitting around the circle, laughing and telling old jokes, made me think that Ecuador, with all of it's craziness, lack of traffic laws, adulterated liquor problems, and machismo, got many things right. And one of the things they really understand is the importance of family. It made me want to recreate that at home. Not that my family is awful (love you, rents) but the commitment to family in this country is unlike anything in America. The family supersedes friends and careers. It is the most important thing.
After dinner, the dancing started around 10. When I say dancing, I mean that every single adult got on the dance floor and started moving. Dancing could consist of moving one's feet in a one-two-three salsa step, or moving the hips in the fluid way that only Latinos seem capable of. My dancing consisted of flailing my arms around and trying to copy my host sister's effortlessly relaxed steps. After an hour, when the whiskey hit, the brothers all began asking me ot dance. The crazy pink shirted brother took my hand and put it around my head, and tried to convince me that rubbing his head was part of salsa dancing. Another stood on a chair to be taller than me when I danced. As they tried to get me to learn their moves, the pink-shirted loon told me to pretend I was stomping a cockcroach. He stuck out a foot and stomped down hard. And I did the same. "You did it, you did it!" he cried. Soon the "Andrea's cockroach" became a dance move at the party. Whenever people got bored during a song, they would yell "stomp the cockroach! stomp the cockroach!"
The night got better when the pinata came out. In America, pinatas are for small children. They get lame and childish after the age of 11 or so. Here in Ecuador, it's common for 66 year old men to have a pinata on their birthday. I love it! So my host dad opened up the pinata, and all the host siblings and garndchildren made a mad dash for the chocolate and perfume that were stuffed in its belly.
The dancing and laughing kept going. I passed out around 1:30, and my 60-something partiers kept the night rolling until 3:30. We went home, and, for some reason, all had a cup of coffee at 4am, and then headed off for a well-deserved night of sleep. My first Ecuadorian party left me awed and exhausted.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Poco a Poco
I've been telling people all day that tomorrow will be my one month anniversary in Zaruma. This is because I mistakenly thought that today was September 24th, when it is actually the 18th. Oops. That sort of goes to show how irrelevant time seems to be here. Every day is pretty much the same. I get up. I drink coffee with my host parents and eat some bread. Sometimes, I sprinkle Old Bay on my bread to feel closer to Maryland. Then I make my bed. Making the bed is a very big deal here. It signals respect for the house and for the god of cleanliness that all Ecuadorian women seem to follow. Wrinkled sheets, unkempt rooms, and dirt are the enemies of the Ecuadorian woman.
After that, I usually read or go hunting in the outdoor market for some fruit. I like to set out in Zaruma on a mission to find something new. Usually, I run into a talkative shopkeeper and make a new contact/friend. Today, I met the owner of a shoestore, a woman who had lived in Italy for seven years. We talked about police corruption and Italian food for 40 minutes while her young son kept shyly looking at me, texting, and walking out. As a city, Zarumenos seem to have the gift of gab. Someone told me it's because they come from a history of listening to the priest in Mass, whereas most Americans come from a heritage of reading the Bible and promoting literacy. Talking and telling stories seems to be embedded in the blood vessels of Zarumenos. They know how to use their hands to emphasize a point, when to raise their voices, and how to pause to garner suspense for the conclusion. Too bad I can't understand what they are saying half of the time to due their coastal accents. Still, even if I don't get the joke, it's entertaining to watch them tell it.
After that, it is lunch, usually half a plate of rice with some chicken or rice, and either juice or coffee. After lunch, I take a nap or walk around the town some more, and then come back for the 4pm coffee break, the 6pm dinner, and the 10:30 bed time. Life here is very tranquilo, or calm. There really isn't too much to worry about in terms of getting robbed, because everyone knows each other, so there isn't any anonymity. If you rob someone, chances are, they'll tell half a dozen people within 30 minutes, and you'll get caught.
The hardest things about being here right now are just being the foreigner all the time and not being able to trust people. When people find out I am an English teacher, they immediately ask me if I want to teach classes to their grandmother/son/husband. Or, they ask me when I can move out of the house I am in, and oh do I want to move into their basement apartment? Or, if they are an older woman and they find out I am not married, their eyes light up and they say "You are going to leave with a husband!" I can't wait until I am Andrea and not the New Gringa Who Might Teach Us English. School is hard, too. Some days, the seniors do not want to listen or do any work, because college and freedom are so temptingly close. Sometimes my games fall flat to a sea of confused and blank eyes. But, once in a while, they like my class. When I come home complaining about school, my host mom says "Poco a poco," or "little by little." Little by little. It's the only way I stay sane. Little by little, I meet more people, understand the seemingly indistinguishable coastal accent, and learn to adapt to the constant barrage of rice.
Doc Watson's blues about being far away from home are guiding me through these days, saying the words I can't say. "Soutbound" is a perfect song for my life right now.
"I've been here for a month or so,
Stuck in this old city,
People who call this place home, oh
They're the ones I pity,
Lord I'm homesick."
But poco a poco, things will get better. Poco a poco. One word, one new face, one joke at a time.
After that, I usually read or go hunting in the outdoor market for some fruit. I like to set out in Zaruma on a mission to find something new. Usually, I run into a talkative shopkeeper and make a new contact/friend. Today, I met the owner of a shoestore, a woman who had lived in Italy for seven years. We talked about police corruption and Italian food for 40 minutes while her young son kept shyly looking at me, texting, and walking out. As a city, Zarumenos seem to have the gift of gab. Someone told me it's because they come from a history of listening to the priest in Mass, whereas most Americans come from a heritage of reading the Bible and promoting literacy. Talking and telling stories seems to be embedded in the blood vessels of Zarumenos. They know how to use their hands to emphasize a point, when to raise their voices, and how to pause to garner suspense for the conclusion. Too bad I can't understand what they are saying half of the time to due their coastal accents. Still, even if I don't get the joke, it's entertaining to watch them tell it.
After that, it is lunch, usually half a plate of rice with some chicken or rice, and either juice or coffee. After lunch, I take a nap or walk around the town some more, and then come back for the 4pm coffee break, the 6pm dinner, and the 10:30 bed time. Life here is very tranquilo, or calm. There really isn't too much to worry about in terms of getting robbed, because everyone knows each other, so there isn't any anonymity. If you rob someone, chances are, they'll tell half a dozen people within 30 minutes, and you'll get caught.
The hardest things about being here right now are just being the foreigner all the time and not being able to trust people. When people find out I am an English teacher, they immediately ask me if I want to teach classes to their grandmother/son/husband. Or, they ask me when I can move out of the house I am in, and oh do I want to move into their basement apartment? Or, if they are an older woman and they find out I am not married, their eyes light up and they say "You are going to leave with a husband!" I can't wait until I am Andrea and not the New Gringa Who Might Teach Us English. School is hard, too. Some days, the seniors do not want to listen or do any work, because college and freedom are so temptingly close. Sometimes my games fall flat to a sea of confused and blank eyes. But, once in a while, they like my class. When I come home complaining about school, my host mom says "Poco a poco," or "little by little." Little by little. It's the only way I stay sane. Little by little, I meet more people, understand the seemingly indistinguishable coastal accent, and learn to adapt to the constant barrage of rice.
Doc Watson's blues about being far away from home are guiding me through these days, saying the words I can't say. "Soutbound" is a perfect song for my life right now.
"I've been here for a month or so,
Stuck in this old city,
People who call this place home, oh
They're the ones I pity,
Lord I'm homesick."
But poco a poco, things will get better. Poco a poco. One word, one new face, one joke at a time.
Friday, September 2, 2011
First Impressions of Zaruma
Hello, all. I've been in Zaruma for eight days. Nine days, if you count Thursday. We got in late Thursday night after spending 14 hours on a bus. Stepping off the bus was different than last time. During my site visit, I knew that I was just there for a few days, and then I was off. It felt like a vacation. This time, it felt heavier. This time, it was for real.
I've spent the last week in kind of a funk. The rhythm and the daily functioning of training has stopped. Training is history. Living in Tumbaco, falling asleep to dogs barking every night, eating fritada and drinking Coke with my Tumbaco host family, seeing my Peace Corps friends every day, struggling through TEFL training sessions: all of this is over. I feel like I've lost a pet, or a good friend. Training, for all of its highs and its lows, became life. Without it, and without the people, I'm shell-shocked, insecure, and unsure of where to step.
We started "observing" in school yesterday. I'm working with four teachers, all of whom are relatively young. My students are 16 and 17, and it's been kind of intimidating working with them because they are Real People, and nearly adults. In general, the kids have been sweet. They call out "Andrea!" when I walk into class, say "hi" to me in the halls, and a group of them bought me chips doused in mayonaise and ketchup and talked to me about music. (By the way, maybe one of my side projects will be getting Ecuadorian teens to develop an appreciation for indie rock. When I mention Bright Eyes or Death Cab for Cutie, all I get are confused faces and blank stares). The teachers have been intimidating, even though many of them are over 50, because tehy are so close. But today, I cared less than I did yesterday, and talked to a few of the more welcoming ones.
The best thing that happened today was the fact that the physical education teacher, who has a raspy smoker's voice and looks to be about 65, asked me if I could help out with his swim class next week. This made me almost jump for joy. He said we could have try outs and even have a swim team. I really, really, really hope that this pans out. I'm a bit afraid of overcommitting, but if this does work out, and Zaruma gets a swim team, it would be a perfect way for me to integrate and do something I love. Plus, they have a perfect climate for swimming. My host mom, who is in her mid-60s, also wants to learn, so I'm going to teach her as well. She is a whiz at knitting, so we are going to trade: sewing lessons for swimming lessons. I can't wait. I still haven't gotten to swim, since little kids swarm the pool in the afternoons. Still. It will happen soon. I'm itching to burn off this constant, unending diet of rice and bread, rice and bread. My body craves antioxidants and vegetables.
Skype has really been a lifesaver these last few days. I've gotten to talk to the people I love most in the world, the ones who ground me and guide me from continents away. Everything seems to be moving so quickly at home. Acquaintances seem to be getting engaged weekly. Friends are moving across the country for grad school and for love. People are moving out of their parents houses. We are, slowly and inextricably, growing up.
This weekend, I plan to go running and to hold a rock in my hand in case a dog starts barking at me. I've been told the dogs here bark, but don't bite. I want to get lost and find my way back through Zaruma's narrow, mountainous streets. Sometimes I can't believe I'm living in a city this beautiful. It almost feels like a town in a fairy tale. Colorful houses encircle the mountain the city sits on. Mountains surround the whole town, like a flock of protective sheep.
Here are some pictures for your eyes to see what my words try to say. It really is a Disney princess town.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Almost Done!
Today was, what some people may say, our last "real" day of training. We are, gleefully, done with the grueling schedule of safety trainings, health sessions, and day after day of rigid scheduling. After the brief, tantalizing week of my site visit, all I've wanted to do is return to Zaruma and start taking care of business.
Oh! I forgot to tell you all! I got my site, and it is wonderful. I'll be living in a pueblo of 20,000 called Zaruma. It is in the province of El Oro, in the south of the country. We are four hours from the border with Peru, and two from the coast. I'll be teaching high school English and working as a swim coach. Zaruma has a beautiful, well maintained pool right at the school, so every Saturday, a hodgepodge group of students practices together. The other coaches were really excited that I wanted to coach, because they want to start having competitions with other nearby schools. It seems sort of odd to me how it all worked out. First off, and I could be wrong, but I don't think that it's all that common for schools in Ecuador to have pools. Second, that the school would just happen to need a swim coach. Third, that I, actually, have been dreaming and dying to swim again. I miss swimming with every inch of my body. Now, not only can I swim whenever I want, but I can coach kids too.
The other weird and wonderful thing about Zaruma is that they are famous for their oranges. And everyone who knows me knows that I absolutely love oranges. I eat two a day, and pride myself on being able to peel them quickly and without breaking the peel. My sister says I always smell like oranges, which is probably true. Their Vitamin C keeps me constantly healthy.
They may seem like small things, but as long as I have oranges and swimming, I will be OK. They are two of the great loves of my life, and no matter what crazy stuff Luck or Fate or God dumps on me, I will always have these two constants.
Here are a few other things I've learned about Ecuadorians and life from training:
a) Big Dogs vs. Small Dogs: The Great Divide
Big dogs are treated here like alarm systems that need to be fed and maybe petted. Their main purpose is their very useful quality of barking loudly when someone (person, animal) comes near the house, to signal an alarm to the humans inside that Something May Be Wrong. Now, we do this in the US too, but the difference is that the dogs here usually sleep outside and do not get walked often. My old host dog, Oso, has been recently seen fighting with other dogs in the street and lounging lazily in from of the bread shop. Because he lives outside, all of Tumbaco is his home. It is common to have to step over dogs sleeping in the sidewalk, or to dodge two dogs on the my morning walk having a turf war with each other. Big dogs here are very street smart. They know how to dodge cars, how to dodge bully dogs, and how to wrench bread from the bread store. They have to be, or else they wouldn't make it.
SMALL dogs are way more lucky. They are treated like dolls. It is common to see someone in public holding the dog by the stomach, as if it was a small toy. It is common to see small dogs on buses, and you may even see some dressed up in sweaters. They are the Barbies of the Ecuadorian dog world. They always sleep inside, and get away with pooping inside and generally being fussy on account of their cuteness. It is an unjust, unjust dog world out there.
b) Families are a really, really big deal here.
I went in expecting this one, since I know how close Roxana's family is. Still, I didn't realize to what extent it is true. Welfare doesn't exist here, so when a person gets sick, or hurt, or falls into a rut, who do they turn to? Their family. The family is this powerful, all encompassing unit. You party with your family. You watch TV with your family. You spend all of Sunday eating AND watching TV with your family. The extended family sticks together no matter what. I both love this and am very challenged by the concept. I'm used to going where I want, when I want, and seeing who I want to see, when I want to see them. I'm not used to spending so much time at home, or constantly consulting other people when I want to do something. But that's the cultural difference here: the individualist vs. the collectivist culture. In Ecuador, they have a team player mentality. In a family, everyone is consulted and everyone ruminates and argues and talks before a decision is made. Parents commonly do their kids' homework. In America, we're all into doing our own thing, and carving our own path. Very different mentalities. I have to say, though, that there are some very beautiful things about collectivism. The idea that "we're all in it together" is much stronger here than in America.
c) I think (hope?) I've done a tad of self growth so far. I've been on two different tech trips where I was thrust into a classroom with little or no preparation or knowledge of the lesson, and told to "teach" while staring at forty blank faces. I've gotten to know a few of the 61 other Trainees really well, and can say that I'll honestly miss many of them. I'll miss the foul smelling dog Zakarias and the raspy voice of my program facilitator. I'll miss seeing the same 61 faces every day, and the walk home, where we pass grazing cows and kids playing soccer. I think I've gotten to figure out more of who I am, the Drea who is not Justin's girlfriend, or Jan's daughter, or Brittany's best friend. Who am I outside of the people I love and the home I grew up in? That is what I'm still figuring out. Speaking of self growth, one of the best parts of training is being exposed to a slew of new music. I'm currently listening to Sea Wolf's "Middle Distance Runner," which is this haunting song about not measuring up to someone elses' expectations. SO good.
It is getting late (yes, 11pm is very late here), so I'm going to say goodnight. Tomorrow, we swear in as official volunteers, and then in eight short, short days, it is off to Zaruma. ARRRGH. Life is speeding up so fast.
Oh! I forgot to tell you all! I got my site, and it is wonderful. I'll be living in a pueblo of 20,000 called Zaruma. It is in the province of El Oro, in the south of the country. We are four hours from the border with Peru, and two from the coast. I'll be teaching high school English and working as a swim coach. Zaruma has a beautiful, well maintained pool right at the school, so every Saturday, a hodgepodge group of students practices together. The other coaches were really excited that I wanted to coach, because they want to start having competitions with other nearby schools. It seems sort of odd to me how it all worked out. First off, and I could be wrong, but I don't think that it's all that common for schools in Ecuador to have pools. Second, that the school would just happen to need a swim coach. Third, that I, actually, have been dreaming and dying to swim again. I miss swimming with every inch of my body. Now, not only can I swim whenever I want, but I can coach kids too.
The other weird and wonderful thing about Zaruma is that they are famous for their oranges. And everyone who knows me knows that I absolutely love oranges. I eat two a day, and pride myself on being able to peel them quickly and without breaking the peel. My sister says I always smell like oranges, which is probably true. Their Vitamin C keeps me constantly healthy.
They may seem like small things, but as long as I have oranges and swimming, I will be OK. They are two of the great loves of my life, and no matter what crazy stuff Luck or Fate or God dumps on me, I will always have these two constants.
Here are a few other things I've learned about Ecuadorians and life from training:
a) Big Dogs vs. Small Dogs: The Great Divide
Big dogs are treated here like alarm systems that need to be fed and maybe petted. Their main purpose is their very useful quality of barking loudly when someone (person, animal) comes near the house, to signal an alarm to the humans inside that Something May Be Wrong. Now, we do this in the US too, but the difference is that the dogs here usually sleep outside and do not get walked often. My old host dog, Oso, has been recently seen fighting with other dogs in the street and lounging lazily in from of the bread shop. Because he lives outside, all of Tumbaco is his home. It is common to have to step over dogs sleeping in the sidewalk, or to dodge two dogs on the my morning walk having a turf war with each other. Big dogs here are very street smart. They know how to dodge cars, how to dodge bully dogs, and how to wrench bread from the bread store. They have to be, or else they wouldn't make it.
SMALL dogs are way more lucky. They are treated like dolls. It is common to see someone in public holding the dog by the stomach, as if it was a small toy. It is common to see small dogs on buses, and you may even see some dressed up in sweaters. They are the Barbies of the Ecuadorian dog world. They always sleep inside, and get away with pooping inside and generally being fussy on account of their cuteness. It is an unjust, unjust dog world out there.
b) Families are a really, really big deal here.
I went in expecting this one, since I know how close Roxana's family is. Still, I didn't realize to what extent it is true. Welfare doesn't exist here, so when a person gets sick, or hurt, or falls into a rut, who do they turn to? Their family. The family is this powerful, all encompassing unit. You party with your family. You watch TV with your family. You spend all of Sunday eating AND watching TV with your family. The extended family sticks together no matter what. I both love this and am very challenged by the concept. I'm used to going where I want, when I want, and seeing who I want to see, when I want to see them. I'm not used to spending so much time at home, or constantly consulting other people when I want to do something. But that's the cultural difference here: the individualist vs. the collectivist culture. In Ecuador, they have a team player mentality. In a family, everyone is consulted and everyone ruminates and argues and talks before a decision is made. Parents commonly do their kids' homework. In America, we're all into doing our own thing, and carving our own path. Very different mentalities. I have to say, though, that there are some very beautiful things about collectivism. The idea that "we're all in it together" is much stronger here than in America.
c) I think (hope?) I've done a tad of self growth so far. I've been on two different tech trips where I was thrust into a classroom with little or no preparation or knowledge of the lesson, and told to "teach" while staring at forty blank faces. I've gotten to know a few of the 61 other Trainees really well, and can say that I'll honestly miss many of them. I'll miss the foul smelling dog Zakarias and the raspy voice of my program facilitator. I'll miss seeing the same 61 faces every day, and the walk home, where we pass grazing cows and kids playing soccer. I think I've gotten to figure out more of who I am, the Drea who is not Justin's girlfriend, or Jan's daughter, or Brittany's best friend. Who am I outside of the people I love and the home I grew up in? That is what I'm still figuring out. Speaking of self growth, one of the best parts of training is being exposed to a slew of new music. I'm currently listening to Sea Wolf's "Middle Distance Runner," which is this haunting song about not measuring up to someone elses' expectations. SO good.
It is getting late (yes, 11pm is very late here), so I'm going to say goodnight. Tomorrow, we swear in as official volunteers, and then in eight short, short days, it is off to Zaruma. ARRRGH. Life is speeding up so fast.
Sunday, July 3, 2011
Bros, Beaches, Drag Queens
This last week, half of the TEFL group went to Santa Elena for our very first tech trip. They put all girls in one trip, and put all of the guys in the other, so we aptly titled them the Sorority Trip and the Bro Trip. At first, I was miffed at being with the bros. I am not a bro, or a bro´s girl. My closest friends were all on the sorority trip. I didn´t know how the week of testosterone would pan out.
To get to Santa Elena, we took what felt like 60 buses to get from Tumbaco to Quito, and then from Quito to the right terminal, and then from Quito to Guayaquil, and then from Guayaquil to Santa Elena. We left at 6am. Oso, again, followed me on the bus and had to be shooed off and restrained by Marissa. We spent two harrowing hours traveling through the Andes in the Sierra. The bus made many 180 degree turns and the driver didn´t seem to slow down too much when sashaying through the mountains. That, and the flimsy barriers that separated the bus from thousand foot mountainous drops did little to soothe my nerves. Luckily, the bus attendant distracted us by putting on what may be the most bro like movie ever, a Steven Segal flick called Driven to Kill which was full of Russians, guns, blood, and half naked women. We finally got out of the Sierra and into the coast. The first thing I noticed about the coast was the muggy heat, and the colorful houses that people live in. Unlike the Sierra, the Costenos are not afraid of the rainbow. We passed houses of every color in Guayaquil. After hours, and hours, and HOURS of traveling, we finally got to Santa Elena at around 10 pm, and passed out in our hostel afterwards.
The week itself was awesome. The nice thing about the bro trip was there was very little drama. In lieu of drama, we made a game of inserting ¨bro¨ into every word. The Jacuzzi was the BroCuzzi, Luis the facilitator was Brois, and Jamito was Bromito, which is fitting because he loves bromas, or jokes. Our hostel, which had hammocks and hot water, was a block from the beach, so for two afternoons, we got to go to the beach. My first time in the Pacific! The water was warm and the waves were really small, so we stayed in the water while the sun was setting and swam around. I raced a facilitor and another Trainee, and conveniently forgot to mention to them that I used to be a swimmer. Being back in the ocean and swimming again made me feel strangely closer to home, even though I was in a different ocean on a different continent. I miss swimming deep down in my bones.
The very best part of the week were the kids we worked with, though. We went to a public high school where many of the kids didn´t have money to buy textbooks, so the teachers had to write out the lessons on the board. The classrooms didn´t have AC or glass windows, so the noises and screams from outside came right into the classroom. Many of our classes had fifty kids. The first few days, we observed the classes. Many of the English teachers had an extremely basic understanding of the language, and many were sort of thrust into the role of English teacher without any training in the language. There were a few times when we were supposed to be observing the classes and ended up giving charlas instead. The funniest one was our impromtu sex ed charla. There were four of us, three guys and me, and we tried to explain to the kids in basic English the different ways you could avoid being pregnant. Jacob asked them ¨Tell me why having a baby is always bad¨ and our facilitator starts waving her hands at him. There were many awkward silences but we got our points across, I think. My kids loved us. My favorite moment was when Jasmine and I ended up singing songs with a big group of Ecuadorian girls. They sang us some Mana and we sang them Beyonce and Lady Gaga. A girl came up to me the next day and told me how happy she was that we came to their school and how much fun we made the English classes. It almost made me cry. After teaching this week, I´m really pumped to get to site and start teaching. I know now that I can do it, and that teenagers will be hard but rewarding to work with.
Yesterday was one of the best days I´ve had here so far. We went to the Gay Pride parade in Quito, and somehow ended up marching in it with some other PCVs. Luckily, we were right behind the trolley that blasted music and had gyrating drag queens dancing on the sides. The parade started out really small. There were a few rainbow balloons and flags and one float. But as the day wore on, more and more people joined, until we were this giant, dancing, rainbow flag waving swell that filled up the streets of the Mariscal. There were so many wonderful drag queens, including this one who literally looked like a giant, with seven inch platform shoes and a long black wig. My favorite was this one wearing giant wire angel wings and and angel outfit, who kissed me when I told him that he was bonita. Afterwards, we went dancing and the one Ecuadorian I danced with told me that everything about my friends screaming ¨gringa¨. It probably didnt help that we were swaying around the dance floor and do si doing. Oh well. There are two years to shed the gringa ness.
Tomorrow is the Fourth of July, and then the week after, we get our sites!! I wonder where I will be. In two weeks, I´ll tell yall. I dont even know what to hope for right now. I did love the coast, but really hate the moscas. Loja would be beautiful, and the Amazon would be sick also. Keep your fingers crossed for me.
To get to Santa Elena, we took what felt like 60 buses to get from Tumbaco to Quito, and then from Quito to the right terminal, and then from Quito to Guayaquil, and then from Guayaquil to Santa Elena. We left at 6am. Oso, again, followed me on the bus and had to be shooed off and restrained by Marissa. We spent two harrowing hours traveling through the Andes in the Sierra. The bus made many 180 degree turns and the driver didn´t seem to slow down too much when sashaying through the mountains. That, and the flimsy barriers that separated the bus from thousand foot mountainous drops did little to soothe my nerves. Luckily, the bus attendant distracted us by putting on what may be the most bro like movie ever, a Steven Segal flick called Driven to Kill which was full of Russians, guns, blood, and half naked women. We finally got out of the Sierra and into the coast. The first thing I noticed about the coast was the muggy heat, and the colorful houses that people live in. Unlike the Sierra, the Costenos are not afraid of the rainbow. We passed houses of every color in Guayaquil. After hours, and hours, and HOURS of traveling, we finally got to Santa Elena at around 10 pm, and passed out in our hostel afterwards.
The week itself was awesome. The nice thing about the bro trip was there was very little drama. In lieu of drama, we made a game of inserting ¨bro¨ into every word. The Jacuzzi was the BroCuzzi, Luis the facilitator was Brois, and Jamito was Bromito, which is fitting because he loves bromas, or jokes. Our hostel, which had hammocks and hot water, was a block from the beach, so for two afternoons, we got to go to the beach. My first time in the Pacific! The water was warm and the waves were really small, so we stayed in the water while the sun was setting and swam around. I raced a facilitor and another Trainee, and conveniently forgot to mention to them that I used to be a swimmer. Being back in the ocean and swimming again made me feel strangely closer to home, even though I was in a different ocean on a different continent. I miss swimming deep down in my bones.
The very best part of the week were the kids we worked with, though. We went to a public high school where many of the kids didn´t have money to buy textbooks, so the teachers had to write out the lessons on the board. The classrooms didn´t have AC or glass windows, so the noises and screams from outside came right into the classroom. Many of our classes had fifty kids. The first few days, we observed the classes. Many of the English teachers had an extremely basic understanding of the language, and many were sort of thrust into the role of English teacher without any training in the language. There were a few times when we were supposed to be observing the classes and ended up giving charlas instead. The funniest one was our impromtu sex ed charla. There were four of us, three guys and me, and we tried to explain to the kids in basic English the different ways you could avoid being pregnant. Jacob asked them ¨Tell me why having a baby is always bad¨ and our facilitator starts waving her hands at him. There were many awkward silences but we got our points across, I think. My kids loved us. My favorite moment was when Jasmine and I ended up singing songs with a big group of Ecuadorian girls. They sang us some Mana and we sang them Beyonce and Lady Gaga. A girl came up to me the next day and told me how happy she was that we came to their school and how much fun we made the English classes. It almost made me cry. After teaching this week, I´m really pumped to get to site and start teaching. I know now that I can do it, and that teenagers will be hard but rewarding to work with.
Yesterday was one of the best days I´ve had here so far. We went to the Gay Pride parade in Quito, and somehow ended up marching in it with some other PCVs. Luckily, we were right behind the trolley that blasted music and had gyrating drag queens dancing on the sides. The parade started out really small. There were a few rainbow balloons and flags and one float. But as the day wore on, more and more people joined, until we were this giant, dancing, rainbow flag waving swell that filled up the streets of the Mariscal. There were so many wonderful drag queens, including this one who literally looked like a giant, with seven inch platform shoes and a long black wig. My favorite was this one wearing giant wire angel wings and and angel outfit, who kissed me when I told him that he was bonita. Afterwards, we went dancing and the one Ecuadorian I danced with told me that everything about my friends screaming ¨gringa¨. It probably didnt help that we were swaying around the dance floor and do si doing. Oh well. There are two years to shed the gringa ness.
Tomorrow is the Fourth of July, and then the week after, we get our sites!! I wonder where I will be. In two weeks, I´ll tell yall. I dont even know what to hope for right now. I did love the coast, but really hate the moscas. Loja would be beautiful, and the Amazon would be sick also. Keep your fingers crossed for me.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
week four
Tomorrow, half of the TEFL group is going to the coast for our very first tech trip. The bus ride is around 13 hours from here to there. Pray that I dont get horrendous diarrhea and am passed out for most of it. My host mom says that it is so hot there that she never wants to eat anything, only to drink water. And she told me to beware of the moscas, or mosquitoes, that live there. I have enough problems not scratching my mosquito bites here in the Sierra. I´m tempted to sleep with my bottle of insect repellent and to wear long clothes for the whole week to avoid them. They truly are the worst thing about the country, and they love my gringa blood.
This week has been quite duro, or long. We gave our first talk, called a charla, to a group of sixth graders this week about gender roles in the media. We cut out pictures of Justin Biebs and Katy Perry and asked them what they thought of them, and then had them cut out pictures in magazines of people who were sexy, macho, successful, and modest. Then, they got up in front of their classmates and talked about what all of these concepts meant. I was astounded that these prepubescent, sixth grade boys picked photos of scantily clad girls and said that ¨sexy meant wearing only a little clothing,¨ but that ¨modesty meant dressing nicely and having people respect you.¨ Then they started asking each other questions and picking apart each concept. They high fived us on the way out and cheered as we left. It was a promising first charla.
The sessions this last week felt like they dragged on, and on, and on. My Spanish does not seem to be getting better, and I apparently insert ¨like¨ into my sentences. In Spain, and after Spain, I knew I could speak Spanish. I knew it because I dreamed in Spanish. I knew it because I would talk to Cristobal for hours in Spanish on the phone, since he did not speak English. It feels like all of the Spanish has oozed out of my brain, and I am now an incoherent valley girl who is trying to make herself understood. I tried to tell my host dad about the Ecuador vs. Mexico game last night, but he thought I said ¨medico¨ and was talking about my host mom´s headache. I just wish I could be completely immersed in Spanish instead of being surrounded by gringas all day and night. That is the only way it will get better. We are reading this pesado, pesado book, ¨The country of little Manuel¨, that makes me sleepy whenever I open it. I don´t care about Manuelito´s adventures, I can´t understand them since half of the words in the book are not in my Spanish dictionary. Thankfully, my host mom and brother are awesome. My host mom always asks me about my day, my family, my boyfriend. She is my one tie to authentically speaking the language. Without her, most of my words would be in English.
I have gotten to disfrutarme, or enjoy myself, too. We went to a friendly match of Ecuador versus Mexico yesterday. It started raining, so everyone bought pastel colored ponchos. The whole crowd looked like a giant box of Easter eggs. Giant, screaming, whistling Easter eggs. It was my first experience eating fried pork, which probably gave me a few parasites, but was extremely delicious. When Mexico got a goal, instead of booing the Ecuadorian goalie, the crowd started shouting ¨Fuera Ruega, Fuera Ruega¨! Ruega is the Ecuadorian coach, and is apparently a Colombian, so the Ecuadorians don´t like him much. I love how whenever a team in Latin America plays badly, it is the coach, not the players, who get blamed and then sacked. I wish that Redskins fans could somehow get rid of Dan Snyder using a similar tactic.
My new favorite Ecuadorian word is ¨Chuta!¨ which means ¨shoot!¨ You can apply it to so many things. When my exuberant host dog Oso follows me on the bus, I can yell ¨Chuta Oso!¨ and shoo him off. When I spill something on my clothes as I´m about to head outside, I can yell CHUUTA and immediately feel better. It is the PG version of ¨shit¨, and works for any distressing situation. Thank you, chuta, for easing my transition into Ecuador.
Until next week, if the moscas haven´t eaten me alive.
This week has been quite duro, or long. We gave our first talk, called a charla, to a group of sixth graders this week about gender roles in the media. We cut out pictures of Justin Biebs and Katy Perry and asked them what they thought of them, and then had them cut out pictures in magazines of people who were sexy, macho, successful, and modest. Then, they got up in front of their classmates and talked about what all of these concepts meant. I was astounded that these prepubescent, sixth grade boys picked photos of scantily clad girls and said that ¨sexy meant wearing only a little clothing,¨ but that ¨modesty meant dressing nicely and having people respect you.¨ Then they started asking each other questions and picking apart each concept. They high fived us on the way out and cheered as we left. It was a promising first charla.
The sessions this last week felt like they dragged on, and on, and on. My Spanish does not seem to be getting better, and I apparently insert ¨like¨ into my sentences. In Spain, and after Spain, I knew I could speak Spanish. I knew it because I dreamed in Spanish. I knew it because I would talk to Cristobal for hours in Spanish on the phone, since he did not speak English. It feels like all of the Spanish has oozed out of my brain, and I am now an incoherent valley girl who is trying to make herself understood. I tried to tell my host dad about the Ecuador vs. Mexico game last night, but he thought I said ¨medico¨ and was talking about my host mom´s headache. I just wish I could be completely immersed in Spanish instead of being surrounded by gringas all day and night. That is the only way it will get better. We are reading this pesado, pesado book, ¨The country of little Manuel¨, that makes me sleepy whenever I open it. I don´t care about Manuelito´s adventures, I can´t understand them since half of the words in the book are not in my Spanish dictionary. Thankfully, my host mom and brother are awesome. My host mom always asks me about my day, my family, my boyfriend. She is my one tie to authentically speaking the language. Without her, most of my words would be in English.
I have gotten to disfrutarme, or enjoy myself, too. We went to a friendly match of Ecuador versus Mexico yesterday. It started raining, so everyone bought pastel colored ponchos. The whole crowd looked like a giant box of Easter eggs. Giant, screaming, whistling Easter eggs. It was my first experience eating fried pork, which probably gave me a few parasites, but was extremely delicious. When Mexico got a goal, instead of booing the Ecuadorian goalie, the crowd started shouting ¨Fuera Ruega, Fuera Ruega¨! Ruega is the Ecuadorian coach, and is apparently a Colombian, so the Ecuadorians don´t like him much. I love how whenever a team in Latin America plays badly, it is the coach, not the players, who get blamed and then sacked. I wish that Redskins fans could somehow get rid of Dan Snyder using a similar tactic.
My new favorite Ecuadorian word is ¨Chuta!¨ which means ¨shoot!¨ You can apply it to so many things. When my exuberant host dog Oso follows me on the bus, I can yell ¨Chuta Oso!¨ and shoo him off. When I spill something on my clothes as I´m about to head outside, I can yell CHUUTA and immediately feel better. It is the PG version of ¨shit¨, and works for any distressing situation. Thank you, chuta, for easing my transition into Ecuador.
Until next week, if the moscas haven´t eaten me alive.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
19 days in Ecuador
HOLA fam. I´m writing to you from my host brother´s room in Tumbaco, the city I am training in for the next two months. So much happened since my last Stateside post, so I´ll try and sum it up quickly before bed. Yes, staying up ¨late¨ here means going to sleep at 1030. ¨Sleeping in¨ means waking up at 830 on a weekend. But I digress. Here is the scoop on Ecuador so far.
WEEK ONE started out with a hectic last week of packing. I thought I was completely packed but forgot about a few crucial mementoes. I went to sleep at 230 am and drove with mom and Justin to Philly, where we ate three tear soaked pizza slices before bidding farewell. Walking away from them into a room full of 62 new Trainees was one of the hardest things I´ve ever had to do.
Luckily, they kept us busy. We spent the whole day in staging, got bank cards with $120 in them to cover our day in the US, and then took a 2am bus from Philly to JFK Airport in New York. From New York, we took a 10am flight to Miami, and then a 2pm flight to Quito. We got into Quito right at dusk. It is a huge city for Ecuadorian standards, because over 1 million people live there. The sun was setting over the buildings and the mountains, and the city felt hot with smoke and lights. We got into the training center in Tumbaco, the suburb where we train, at 7pm. We ate a huge dinner of chicken and rice and then passed out at 9.
The first week was so new. We spent 40 hours a week in training, learning about security, opening up bank accounts, getting tested for our language classes, and exploring the city. I got placed into a great host family. They are an elderly couple who live with their 14 grandson, Andres. He is a rockero, meaning that listens to rock music. Apparently the rockeros clash with the Jonas Brother and Justin Bieber crew, as well as with the reggaeton crew. He also said the punkeros, or punks, scare him a bit, though that could just be him. The couple are extremely nurturing and generous. Soya, the ¨mom¨, makes the best food, including fruit juices I´ve never tried before, like tomato juice that actually tastes sweet, and passionfruit. The dad walks for two hours a day, and always asks me about life in America. Their Golden Retriever Oso lives outside and follows me around town. Yesterday, he followed me into a restaurant, jumped up on the chair I sat at, and tried to eat the food. The restaurant owner had to close the door to get him out. Even then, he sat staring at us intently for a good five minutes.
It was hard for me to sleep. The family sleeps with their windows open, and they live across from a karoake bar. At night, the sounds of people crooning Kurt Cobain and the All American Rejects combines with the sounds of unleashed dogs barking at each other in their nocturnal conversations. Roosters often crow in the early morning, adding to the strange music of the Tumbacan street. I started listening to Bobby D. before bed, so ¨Girl From North Country¨ is muting out the sounds.
WEEK TWO was better than week one. Things that bugged me in week one, like the noisiness of the street, became easier to deal with. I have a hilarious language teacher, and began to really like the people in the program. Almost every person in our Omnibus is awesome, with a few exceptions, but you´ll get that anywhere. We played soccer against the Ecuadorians and lost 2 to 5, but it was an intense game. I get winded after running for 5 minutes up here because of the altitude! I started walking to and from school on the bike path, which has lovely views of the mountains and agave plants. I routinely pass women walking their cow(s) and men with bullhorns driving in potato trucks who shout ¨CINCO DOLARES POR PAPAS CINCO DOLARES¨.
We´ve been here for almost three weeks now. I think that we are going on a tech trip in a few weeks to practice teaching. We get our site assignments in a month. I wonder where I´ll be! We know that we will be in the south of the country, in Zone 7, but do not have a clue as to where specifically. I can´t wait to know.
The worst thing so far about Ecuador is the mosquitoes. The bites here ITCH like crazy, and hydrocortisone cream doesn´t help. They tore up my ankles this last week and I´ve been addicted to Calagel ever since. They are by far my least favorite thing about the country. The best things so far are the fruit drinks, the lush green scenery and rolling hills filled with plants that look like they come from a Dr. Seuss book, and the Ecuadorian people, who love to make chistes, or jokes, whenever possible.
Will update when I can. It is 1020 now (late! scandalous!) so I must sleep.
RUV,
Drea
WEEK ONE started out with a hectic last week of packing. I thought I was completely packed but forgot about a few crucial mementoes. I went to sleep at 230 am and drove with mom and Justin to Philly, where we ate three tear soaked pizza slices before bidding farewell. Walking away from them into a room full of 62 new Trainees was one of the hardest things I´ve ever had to do.
Luckily, they kept us busy. We spent the whole day in staging, got bank cards with $120 in them to cover our day in the US, and then took a 2am bus from Philly to JFK Airport in New York. From New York, we took a 10am flight to Miami, and then a 2pm flight to Quito. We got into Quito right at dusk. It is a huge city for Ecuadorian standards, because over 1 million people live there. The sun was setting over the buildings and the mountains, and the city felt hot with smoke and lights. We got into the training center in Tumbaco, the suburb where we train, at 7pm. We ate a huge dinner of chicken and rice and then passed out at 9.
The first week was so new. We spent 40 hours a week in training, learning about security, opening up bank accounts, getting tested for our language classes, and exploring the city. I got placed into a great host family. They are an elderly couple who live with their 14 grandson, Andres. He is a rockero, meaning that listens to rock music. Apparently the rockeros clash with the Jonas Brother and Justin Bieber crew, as well as with the reggaeton crew. He also said the punkeros, or punks, scare him a bit, though that could just be him. The couple are extremely nurturing and generous. Soya, the ¨mom¨, makes the best food, including fruit juices I´ve never tried before, like tomato juice that actually tastes sweet, and passionfruit. The dad walks for two hours a day, and always asks me about life in America. Their Golden Retriever Oso lives outside and follows me around town. Yesterday, he followed me into a restaurant, jumped up on the chair I sat at, and tried to eat the food. The restaurant owner had to close the door to get him out. Even then, he sat staring at us intently for a good five minutes.
It was hard for me to sleep. The family sleeps with their windows open, and they live across from a karoake bar. At night, the sounds of people crooning Kurt Cobain and the All American Rejects combines with the sounds of unleashed dogs barking at each other in their nocturnal conversations. Roosters often crow in the early morning, adding to the strange music of the Tumbacan street. I started listening to Bobby D. before bed, so ¨Girl From North Country¨ is muting out the sounds.
WEEK TWO was better than week one. Things that bugged me in week one, like the noisiness of the street, became easier to deal with. I have a hilarious language teacher, and began to really like the people in the program. Almost every person in our Omnibus is awesome, with a few exceptions, but you´ll get that anywhere. We played soccer against the Ecuadorians and lost 2 to 5, but it was an intense game. I get winded after running for 5 minutes up here because of the altitude! I started walking to and from school on the bike path, which has lovely views of the mountains and agave plants. I routinely pass women walking their cow(s) and men with bullhorns driving in potato trucks who shout ¨CINCO DOLARES POR PAPAS CINCO DOLARES¨.
We´ve been here for almost three weeks now. I think that we are going on a tech trip in a few weeks to practice teaching. We get our site assignments in a month. I wonder where I´ll be! We know that we will be in the south of the country, in Zone 7, but do not have a clue as to where specifically. I can´t wait to know.
The worst thing so far about Ecuador is the mosquitoes. The bites here ITCH like crazy, and hydrocortisone cream doesn´t help. They tore up my ankles this last week and I´ve been addicted to Calagel ever since. They are by far my least favorite thing about the country. The best things so far are the fruit drinks, the lush green scenery and rolling hills filled with plants that look like they come from a Dr. Seuss book, and the Ecuadorian people, who love to make chistes, or jokes, whenever possible.
Will update when I can. It is 1020 now (late! scandalous!) so I must sleep.
RUV,
Drea
Monday, May 23, 2011
piles o' stuff
Many people ask me what sorts of things I'm taking with me to Ecuador, an seemingly innocent question that I never know how to succintly answer. I usually just say "everything". That's because I have no clue where I'll be placed. It could be in the frigid Andes, where the temperature is 40 degrees every day. Or, it could be on the hot and muggy coast, where a cool day hovers around 80 degrees. Or in the jungle, with its ferocious rainy season. For all of the research I've done on the climate, there is still no way to see into the future to know what, exactly, to pack for. And what does the planning freak do when faced with the dark, scary Unknown? Bring everything, of course.
Things I am souped about bringing:
1. My Chacos
2. War and Peace
3. My scrapbook of loved ones which I will make THIS WEEK
Things I wish I could bring:
1. My dogs
2. Air conditioning
3. An unending supply of Chipotle. Like Mary Poppins' suitcase, which holds an unending supply of Chipotle burritos.
Things I should probably get but haven't yet:
1. Souvenirs for host family- always an awkward one. First off, DC souvenirs or MD souvenirs? Silver Spring is on the verge of each. We're the DC metropolitan area, but we're in MD. I'll probably bring them some Old Bay and something to do with the blue crab, which our state is obsessed with.
2. Fun games. I keep seeing Bananagrams on sale everywhere I go. The universe obviously is trying to tell me that this is essential to a successful PC experience.
3. A robe?
My bedroom currently looks like a chaotic maze of labels, bags, and clothes. Things are strewn everywhere...sandals, cardigans, plastic bags, big backpacking backpacks, and the trusty, beautiful blue Peace Corps invitation packet. I've gone to REI and gotten clothes that blow my mind with their technology: clothes that wick moisture, clothes that have UV Ray protection, wool that somehow keeps you cold when it's hot, and hot when it's cold (still scratching my head over how that works).
In true Andrea fashion, I've put off organizing the beast of packing in favor of playing GRE word games with the hose, seeing my friends and family, and figuring out how to scrapbook. This whole week will be fantastic and tiring, filled with good friends and delicious food (how I will miss thee, Guapos, Nava Thai, and the Vegetable Garden!). I have the last week with the girls this week. I'm going to miss their insatiable dog, discussing the latest MTV/Hunger Games gossip, being introduced to Youtube gems such as Rebecca Black's "Friday", and helping them navigate the very tough world of middle and elementary school. When I come back, Mags will be driving. How crazy.
Everything I feel now, I feel deeper. I appreciate the sun and the cool evening breeze. I laugh more deeply at jokes, and take more time to talk to friends. It may be unwise of me to be spending so much of this week with other people, but I want to celebrate and soak it all up before so that when I'm alone in a hut somewhere I can remember how good it really is here. Let the American good times roll until the drumbeat of Ecuador comes along and changes up the beat.
Things I am souped about bringing:
1. My Chacos
2. War and Peace
3. My scrapbook of loved ones which I will make THIS WEEK
Things I wish I could bring:
1. My dogs
2. Air conditioning
3. An unending supply of Chipotle. Like Mary Poppins' suitcase, which holds an unending supply of Chipotle burritos.
Things I should probably get but haven't yet:
1. Souvenirs for host family- always an awkward one. First off, DC souvenirs or MD souvenirs? Silver Spring is on the verge of each. We're the DC metropolitan area, but we're in MD. I'll probably bring them some Old Bay and something to do with the blue crab, which our state is obsessed with.
2. Fun games. I keep seeing Bananagrams on sale everywhere I go. The universe obviously is trying to tell me that this is essential to a successful PC experience.
3. A robe?
My bedroom currently looks like a chaotic maze of labels, bags, and clothes. Things are strewn everywhere...sandals, cardigans, plastic bags, big backpacking backpacks, and the trusty, beautiful blue Peace Corps invitation packet. I've gone to REI and gotten clothes that blow my mind with their technology: clothes that wick moisture, clothes that have UV Ray protection, wool that somehow keeps you cold when it's hot, and hot when it's cold (still scratching my head over how that works).
In true Andrea fashion, I've put off organizing the beast of packing in favor of playing GRE word games with the hose, seeing my friends and family, and figuring out how to scrapbook. This whole week will be fantastic and tiring, filled with good friends and delicious food (how I will miss thee, Guapos, Nava Thai, and the Vegetable Garden!). I have the last week with the girls this week. I'm going to miss their insatiable dog, discussing the latest MTV/Hunger Games gossip, being introduced to Youtube gems such as Rebecca Black's "Friday", and helping them navigate the very tough world of middle and elementary school. When I come back, Mags will be driving. How crazy.
Everything I feel now, I feel deeper. I appreciate the sun and the cool evening breeze. I laugh more deeply at jokes, and take more time to talk to friends. It may be unwise of me to be spending so much of this week with other people, but I want to celebrate and soak it all up before so that when I'm alone in a hut somewhere I can remember how good it really is here. Let the American good times roll until the drumbeat of Ecuador comes along and changes up the beat.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
bobby d. and packing woes
I do love this blog, I do. I just constantly forget about it. Either I start to type and one of the loveable dumb Golden Retrievers jumps up on my bed, or I get really into a Wire episode (which everyone should watch for its brilliance, but especially if you are from MD or know Baltimore...the local references are off the hook), or I'm out shopping. The theme of this week would be called: Neurotic Shoptime. Almost every day, I'm in and out of stores, or talking to the folks over at Backcountry. It's like this sickness, and the only cure is more shopping. I've been to Marshalls, to Forever 21, to REI. And I'm not a girl who loves shopping- the bright lights, unflattering dressing rooms, and long lines all make me cringe. But being as prepared as possible is all I care about at this point. I'm terrified I'll forget something important, like wool socks, and then me and my size 10 feet will have to wait months until they can be sent to me. So, my mind is constantly thinking about things like capris, Chacos, and hiking backpacks. Today I thrust myself away to help lay mulch with my mom and Del. The cool evening rain and the smell of the chicory grain, the dogs rolling around in the grass reminded me that there is beauty and ease everywhere, and that this shopping odyssey will be over soon.
Twelve. Days. Left. And there are only 12 minutes left in today, meaning that tomorrow, there will be 11 days left. It's crazy. I've been running around, trying to soak up as many people as possible in the shortest amount of time, to absorb as much of them as possible before I leave. I want to be as relaxed and focused on them as possible in this next week and a half, and not focused on packing, packing, packing. My goal is to be done with all the packing by Tuesday, and then chill out for a week.
Good news on the address front! I have an official address for the first three months of my training. It is...
PCT (short for Peace Corps Trainee) + My name
Cuerpo de Paz
Casilla 17-08-8624
Quito, Ecuador
South America
Mail takes 7-10 days to get there, so if you write something by Saturday and send it, it will get there by June 1st! I've largely abandoned snail mail in favor of the quickness of email, but I'm getting swept up in the romance of mailing and receiving letters. Also, you can only send padded envelopes, not boxes. So no wonderful American foodstuffs for the first few months. BUT, letters would be greeted with the utmost delight.
In other news, I just downloaded Bob Dylan's second record, "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan." Listening to this album is like having a spiritual revelation. You simply can't be stressed or distracted when good ole Bobby plays the harmonica and sings his poetry. People jone on him voice, but I think his 60s-voice, while not beautiful, is the most important thing in the world: utterly true.
From "Girl of the North Country":
"If you're traveling to the north country fair
Where the breeze hit heavy on the borderline
Remember me to the one who lives there
She was once a true love of mine."
until next time,
A
Twelve. Days. Left. And there are only 12 minutes left in today, meaning that tomorrow, there will be 11 days left. It's crazy. I've been running around, trying to soak up as many people as possible in the shortest amount of time, to absorb as much of them as possible before I leave. I want to be as relaxed and focused on them as possible in this next week and a half, and not focused on packing, packing, packing. My goal is to be done with all the packing by Tuesday, and then chill out for a week.
Good news on the address front! I have an official address for the first three months of my training. It is...
PCT (short for Peace Corps Trainee) + My name
Cuerpo de Paz
Casilla 17-08-8624
Quito, Ecuador
South America
Mail takes 7-10 days to get there, so if you write something by Saturday and send it, it will get there by June 1st! I've largely abandoned snail mail in favor of the quickness of email, but I'm getting swept up in the romance of mailing and receiving letters. Also, you can only send padded envelopes, not boxes. So no wonderful American foodstuffs for the first few months. BUT, letters would be greeted with the utmost delight.
In other news, I just downloaded Bob Dylan's second record, "The Freewheelin' Bob Dylan." Listening to this album is like having a spiritual revelation. You simply can't be stressed or distracted when good ole Bobby plays the harmonica and sings his poetry. People jone on him voice, but I think his 60s-voice, while not beautiful, is the most important thing in the world: utterly true.
From "Girl of the North Country":
"If you're traveling to the north country fair
Where the breeze hit heavy on the borderline
Remember me to the one who lives there
She was once a true love of mine."
until next time,
A
Monday, April 25, 2011
packing packing oh boy!
I can't believe it's been a MONTH since I posted. In one more month, it will be May 25th, five days before my 24th birthday, and seven days before staging begins for the Peace Corps. We got our staging information today: we will first meet in Philadelphia and then fly over to Quito together as a group on June 2nd. Getting the staging information, after not hearing from the PC for a few months, makes the process feel so much more real. In a week, we get our tickets and our hotel information for staging, and then poof! We go. There is hardly any waiting time left.
Since my internship is ending this week, I've resolved to get most of the stuff I need to bring in the next few weeks. I'm currently contemplating whether I should bring my beautiful two year old Mac with me. What do you think...is it too risky to bring, or would it be useful to have?
My list for this week is:
-Figure out the Chaco discount and get Chacos, ASAP.
-Get a shortwave radio.
-Buy Ecuador-appropriate shorts (though I will bring a pair of my beloved Soffes, if only to wear them in the house).
-Buy a robe (one of my Peruvian friends constantly wears a robe over her pajamas- this could be a Roxana-thing or a South American thing, but it couldn't hurt to have. It is better than awkwardly walking around in a short towel in front of my host family).
-Figure out whether or not to bring a backpacking backpack (Eagle Creek has a PC discount, woohoo! I love these discounts).
Maryland weather (and the general East Coast weather) has been hugely strange for the past couple of months. On Friday, I shivered my way through the streets of DC, suffering the brutal cold and gusty winds of U Street for the redemption of a chili half-smoke from Ben's Chili Bowl. Today, it is 85 and MUGGY, and I'm indoors avoiding it. Currently parked in the living room with the pups, enjoying as much air conditioning as possible before June.
Since my internship is ending this week, I've resolved to get most of the stuff I need to bring in the next few weeks. I'm currently contemplating whether I should bring my beautiful two year old Mac with me. What do you think...is it too risky to bring, or would it be useful to have?
My list for this week is:
-Figure out the Chaco discount and get Chacos, ASAP.
-Get a shortwave radio.
-Buy Ecuador-appropriate shorts (though I will bring a pair of my beloved Soffes, if only to wear them in the house).
-Buy a robe (one of my Peruvian friends constantly wears a robe over her pajamas- this could be a Roxana-thing or a South American thing, but it couldn't hurt to have. It is better than awkwardly walking around in a short towel in front of my host family).
-Figure out whether or not to bring a backpacking backpack (Eagle Creek has a PC discount, woohoo! I love these discounts).
Maryland weather (and the general East Coast weather) has been hugely strange for the past couple of months. On Friday, I shivered my way through the streets of DC, suffering the brutal cold and gusty winds of U Street for the redemption of a chili half-smoke from Ben's Chili Bowl. Today, it is 85 and MUGGY, and I'm indoors avoiding it. Currently parked in the living room with the pups, enjoying as much air conditioning as possible before June.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Hello from the land of lobster sculptures
I'm in MAINE, visiting a girl I've known since I was a fetus. This is the last time I'll see her, or her family, for two years. It's weird to think of the Peace Corps service in those terms, but it's true. It'll be two whole years until I see about 99 percent of the people in my life. Crazypants. I'll be 26 years old when I come home- a number which seems incredibly old, refined, and ancient to me right now. Twenty six year olds have cars, retirement plans, husbands, and dogs. It seems like an age where people have their shit together. I wonder how different it'll be than 23.
I'm excited about getting to teach in Ecuador. The Welcome Book says that we will have classes of up to 70 children- gaaaaah! Will they be teenagers, or five year olds? Unruly or well behaved? Gung ho about English or apathetic? Only time will tell. I do hope that I'll be a good teacher, and learn to practice my PATIENCE skills that I've acquired during the Peace Corps process. I hope that the TEFL group can help the school systems update their methods of teaching English. We were invited specifically to do this. Some of my favorite memories in class involve playing games, and making shit up, so I plan to incorporate a ton of that into lessons. And candy. Candy is magic. I want to give out candy. And, unlike my wicked French teacher J. Feld, I will NOT act bitterly towards the students, and will hide any semblance of favorite playing. I still rem
Today is my last day in Maine. It's been 33 degrees all weekend, and there is a wicked strong wind blowing through the state tonight. We saw Acadia today, which is one of the most beautiful places I've ever laid eyes on. Pine trees, bare birch trees with their white bark facing the sky, and clear, blue (freezing) water make up Acadia. And there were lobster symbols EVERYWHERE. Will post them later on.
I'm excited about getting to teach in Ecuador. The Welcome Book says that we will have classes of up to 70 children- gaaaaah! Will they be teenagers, or five year olds? Unruly or well behaved? Gung ho about English or apathetic? Only time will tell. I do hope that I'll be a good teacher, and learn to practice my PATIENCE skills that I've acquired during the Peace Corps process. I hope that the TEFL group can help the school systems update their methods of teaching English. We were invited specifically to do this. Some of my favorite memories in class involve playing games, and making shit up, so I plan to incorporate a ton of that into lessons. And candy. Candy is magic. I want to give out candy. And, unlike my wicked French teacher J. Feld, I will NOT act bitterly towards the students, and will hide any semblance of favorite playing. I still rem
Today is my last day in Maine. It's been 33 degrees all weekend, and there is a wicked strong wind blowing through the state tonight. We saw Acadia today, which is one of the most beautiful places I've ever laid eyes on. Pine trees, bare birch trees with their white bark facing the sky, and clear, blue (freezing) water make up Acadia. And there were lobster symbols EVERYWHERE. Will post them later on.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Talked to my sister today. It is her first month in Asheville, North Carolina, in massage school, found a fellow hippie classmate, has friends and is hiking. She is living in a city with a weekly communal drum circle, the best portabello mushroom burgers in the world, and yoga studios everywhere you turn. Heaven.
This is for you, Codie:
"We live our days as we live our lives" -Annie Dillard
Annie Dillard's words have been getting to me. If, as she says, life is a collection of days, some more memorable than others, I wonder what this past year would say about my life. It's brought into my life new love, new people (the refugees I work with, the little girls I babysit for, the ragtag team of travelers/writers/artists that was the Census crew), new music, and new books. I look the same as I did when I graduated, and many of the things thoughts that ran through my head then still do now, like a record on a two-year repeat.
But since last year, I've been yearning for more. It was a year to this day that I applied for the Peace Corps, 13 months since I got home from Israel and was not satiated, but filled again, with the desire to travel. Peace Corps has been a pipe dream of mine since high school, when my godmother told me stories of being a PCV in Senegal with a Belgian boyfriend.
Now, it's two months away. Two and a half, to be precise. I haven't thought about packing. If I think too much about it, I almost explode of excitement. And then there is a thought that gnaws at me. What if it is not great? What if I'm not enough?
I have to believe that I am, and that it will be hard, lonely, and frustrating, but amazing. Hannah and Kristen, returned PCVs I work with, both tell me to keep my mind open. "Don't go in with expectations," they say. Which is hard- hard because the human mind wants to plan, to research, to figure out exactly what to bring and what we'll be eating, and who we'll get to know, and all of that jazz. But, like we saw from the earthquake in Japan, or the chaos in Libya, you never know. Embracing the chaotic world is hard. But the pleasant, relative stagnation of this past year, at home in my Dad's house in Silver Spring, is not something I can continue doing if I want to live a realized life.
Will start making a packing list in April. Next week, I go to Maine to say "bye" to my oldest, and first to be married, friend. The only time I've ever studied abroad, she was there too, one country away, talking about this strange intellectual guitar player from Tennessee who she couldn't figure out. Now, he's her husband. Strange world.
But since last year, I've been yearning for more. It was a year to this day that I applied for the Peace Corps, 13 months since I got home from Israel and was not satiated, but filled again, with the desire to travel. Peace Corps has been a pipe dream of mine since high school, when my godmother told me stories of being a PCV in Senegal with a Belgian boyfriend.
Now, it's two months away. Two and a half, to be precise. I haven't thought about packing. If I think too much about it, I almost explode of excitement. And then there is a thought that gnaws at me. What if it is not great? What if I'm not enough?
I have to believe that I am, and that it will be hard, lonely, and frustrating, but amazing. Hannah and Kristen, returned PCVs I work with, both tell me to keep my mind open. "Don't go in with expectations," they say. Which is hard- hard because the human mind wants to plan, to research, to figure out exactly what to bring and what we'll be eating, and who we'll get to know, and all of that jazz. But, like we saw from the earthquake in Japan, or the chaos in Libya, you never know. Embracing the chaotic world is hard. But the pleasant, relative stagnation of this past year, at home in my Dad's house in Silver Spring, is not something I can continue doing if I want to live a realized life.
Will start making a packing list in April. Next week, I go to Maine to say "bye" to my oldest, and first to be married, friend. The only time I've ever studied abroad, she was there too, one country away, talking about this strange intellectual guitar player from Tennessee who she couldn't figure out. Now, he's her husband. Strange world.
Monday, February 28, 2011
falala
This weekend was pretty spectacular, which was a complete surprise to me. The week dragged on and on. The internship is going well, but sometimes I feel small and unimportant, like a field mouse. The girls are fun but it's never a relaxing day with them- there is always laundry and cleaning to be done, fights to break up, and friendship drama to navigate. Friday, I was spent, and looking forward to immersing myself in a good Netflix movie and some War and Peace and shutting out the outside world.
Then I got a text from Matt, one of my oldest friends from high school. "Come with us to Nellies," it beckoned coyly. Since we hadn't seen each other since 2010, and Nellie's is the best gay sports bar I've ever been to (think brightly colored lanterns hanging from the ceiling and a giant sparkly ball on the top of the roof), I relented.
Being at a gay bar is an interesting experience as a straight female. Everywhere you turn, there are men. All types of men! Burly men, effeminate looking men, older men, men with earrings and long hair who look like they stepped off of a 90s grunge album. And all of them don't give a damn about you. As a straight woman, you are a wisp, welcome but not noticed. It was nice. Basically the same as any other bar but with more men, less cleavage, and better clothes.
Somehow, I got dragged into going to the drag show at Town, a gay club across the street. I've never seen a drag queen up close and personal and was wildly curious. The host of the drag show was sassy, asked questions like "If you've got a big package, make some noooise!" Then, the performance started. These drag queens were decked out in gorgeous wigs, the longest eyelashes I've ever seen, glitter, and NO body hair whatsoever. They must've paid dear money to a waxer to remove it. One of them, Tatyanna, was on Ru Paul's Drag Race. She looked like a woman, sounded like a woman, and danced like a woman. It was hard to believe she was a dude. I'm still scratching my head over how makeup and clothes managed to morph her so amazing. I wonder if you call drag queens "he" or "she".
Then, Saturday was my cousin's son's bar mitvah. Shimmy is 13, and his story is amazing. He was born deaf, but thanks to cochlear implants and an unshakeable will, he was able to read all of the Hebrew at the service. Saw all of my cousins and their kids. It's weird to be one of the "adults". I am the oldest cousin who does not have kids now. The girl three years older than me, Shoshi, already has two. It seems like only yesterday we were talking about dating, and now, she has two toddlers!
Saturday night I went to meet an old college friend to see Beach House. On the way there, transferring from the Red to the Green lines, I ran into a girl with fabulous fishnet tights. We started talking, and I learned she was a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer who served in West Africa for three years. She was awesome. She said being in the Peace Corps was like being in Survivor; hard as hell, but totally worth it at the end. I love all the international people who crop up everywhere in DC.
BEACH HOUSE was awesome. In a weird twist, one of Kellie's friends at the concert brough another friend with her. This girl turned out to be the roommate and good friend of Kimmy, Justin's brother's girlfriend. We got really close to the stage, and, even with people pushing us trying to get up to the stage, we managed to stay close. The lead singer has a raw and powerful voice, and I love their mix of electric guitar riffs and keyboard sounds. Their lightshow was filled with twinkling white lights on a black backdrop, so it looked like stars in the sky. They used a defogger too, which gave the whole concert a dreamy, ethereal feel. It also made me hella dehydrated, but I didn't want to get out of my spot. I spent half of the concert wondering if I was going to pass out. But they were so great, I hardly cared.
Sunday, I helped Jane run some errands and saw Justin for the first time in ages, since he's been working everyday at a conference. CODIE left for Asheville for massage school, making her the first of the two of us to head out on her own. I can't wait to visit her.
Tomorrow is March. Where is the time going? Just three months left until the Peace Corps. I've STOPPED obsessing over it- I really don't think mulling over the details will make the transition any easier. I just want to enjoy warm showers, good beer, and the beauty of here as much as possible before heading crossing hemispheres.
Happy end of February!
Anrea
Then I got a text from Matt, one of my oldest friends from high school. "Come with us to Nellies," it beckoned coyly. Since we hadn't seen each other since 2010, and Nellie's is the best gay sports bar I've ever been to (think brightly colored lanterns hanging from the ceiling and a giant sparkly ball on the top of the roof), I relented.
Being at a gay bar is an interesting experience as a straight female. Everywhere you turn, there are men. All types of men! Burly men, effeminate looking men, older men, men with earrings and long hair who look like they stepped off of a 90s grunge album. And all of them don't give a damn about you. As a straight woman, you are a wisp, welcome but not noticed. It was nice. Basically the same as any other bar but with more men, less cleavage, and better clothes.
Somehow, I got dragged into going to the drag show at Town, a gay club across the street. I've never seen a drag queen up close and personal and was wildly curious. The host of the drag show was sassy, asked questions like "If you've got a big package, make some noooise!" Then, the performance started. These drag queens were decked out in gorgeous wigs, the longest eyelashes I've ever seen, glitter, and NO body hair whatsoever. They must've paid dear money to a waxer to remove it. One of them, Tatyanna, was on Ru Paul's Drag Race. She looked like a woman, sounded like a woman, and danced like a woman. It was hard to believe she was a dude. I'm still scratching my head over how makeup and clothes managed to morph her so amazing. I wonder if you call drag queens "he" or "she".
Then, Saturday was my cousin's son's bar mitvah. Shimmy is 13, and his story is amazing. He was born deaf, but thanks to cochlear implants and an unshakeable will, he was able to read all of the Hebrew at the service. Saw all of my cousins and their kids. It's weird to be one of the "adults". I am the oldest cousin who does not have kids now. The girl three years older than me, Shoshi, already has two. It seems like only yesterday we were talking about dating, and now, she has two toddlers!
Saturday night I went to meet an old college friend to see Beach House. On the way there, transferring from the Red to the Green lines, I ran into a girl with fabulous fishnet tights. We started talking, and I learned she was a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer who served in West Africa for three years. She was awesome. She said being in the Peace Corps was like being in Survivor; hard as hell, but totally worth it at the end. I love all the international people who crop up everywhere in DC.
BEACH HOUSE was awesome. In a weird twist, one of Kellie's friends at the concert brough another friend with her. This girl turned out to be the roommate and good friend of Kimmy, Justin's brother's girlfriend. We got really close to the stage, and, even with people pushing us trying to get up to the stage, we managed to stay close. The lead singer has a raw and powerful voice, and I love their mix of electric guitar riffs and keyboard sounds. Their lightshow was filled with twinkling white lights on a black backdrop, so it looked like stars in the sky. They used a defogger too, which gave the whole concert a dreamy, ethereal feel. It also made me hella dehydrated, but I didn't want to get out of my spot. I spent half of the concert wondering if I was going to pass out. But they were so great, I hardly cared.
Sunday, I helped Jane run some errands and saw Justin for the first time in ages, since he's been working everyday at a conference. CODIE left for Asheville for massage school, making her the first of the two of us to head out on her own. I can't wait to visit her.
Tomorrow is March. Where is the time going? Just three months left until the Peace Corps. I've STOPPED obsessing over it- I really don't think mulling over the details will make the transition any easier. I just want to enjoy warm showers, good beer, and the beauty of here as much as possible before heading crossing hemispheres.
Happy end of February!
Anrea
Sunday, February 20, 2011
snapshots of sunday
Learnin "Banana pankcakes" on the guitar...
Annie Dillard's "The Writing Life" itching to be read...
Just downloaded some Manu Chao and National...
Room begging to be cleaned...
Hello, Sunday afternoon.
Annie Dillard's "The Writing Life" itching to be read...
Just downloaded some Manu Chao and National...
Room begging to be cleaned...
Hello, Sunday afternoon.
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
I am currently eating:
-lettuce
-hummus
-a big ole carton of blueberries
-feta cheese,
all gloriously mixed into a salad bowl. Whenever the weather starts getting warm, I start craving lettuce and tomatoes. Inside feels like a trap. Today was one of those days: it felt like 70 degrees, the sky was a perfect blue, and there was a steady, invisible humming outside of grateful people and grateful animals. While Jane got her hair done,, I walked around Woodley Park. I saw two old men in sweater vests standing in front of an old-fashioned barbershop, waving their hands and talking to eachother in rapid Italian. Saw the National Cathedral for the first time today. I knew it was a big church but I didn't know how big. It's enormous- it looks like a Gothic castle! People were sprawled out on the lawn, soaking up the sun, studying, and talking. I laid out and smelled the grass for the first time this year. It was amazing, self gratuitous, and free.
The girls came home, rushed through their homework, and went right over for a playdate. They played outside for hours and didn't even touch the Wii. Talked to my mom and am getting ready to see Sara at the Quarry House, a dive bar in Silver Spring.
It's days like this that make me feel like I'm back in Sevilla, walking around in the sun, lying on the grass, and watching people pass by. Three years ago, I was there, but sometimes it feels like I've never left.
-lettuce
-hummus
-a big ole carton of blueberries
-feta cheese,
all gloriously mixed into a salad bowl. Whenever the weather starts getting warm, I start craving lettuce and tomatoes. Inside feels like a trap. Today was one of those days: it felt like 70 degrees, the sky was a perfect blue, and there was a steady, invisible humming outside of grateful people and grateful animals. While Jane got her hair done,, I walked around Woodley Park. I saw two old men in sweater vests standing in front of an old-fashioned barbershop, waving their hands and talking to eachother in rapid Italian. Saw the National Cathedral for the first time today. I knew it was a big church but I didn't know how big. It's enormous- it looks like a Gothic castle! People were sprawled out on the lawn, soaking up the sun, studying, and talking. I laid out and smelled the grass for the first time this year. It was amazing, self gratuitous, and free.
The girls came home, rushed through their homework, and went right over for a playdate. They played outside for hours and didn't even touch the Wii. Talked to my mom and am getting ready to see Sara at the Quarry House, a dive bar in Silver Spring.
It's days like this that make me feel like I'm back in Sevilla, walking around in the sun, lying on the grass, and watching people pass by. Three years ago, I was there, but sometimes it feels like I've never left.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
thursdaysss are almost as good as fridays, more understated yet quietly hip
One of the great things about living in DC and working for a refugee agency is all of the cool people you come into contact with on a regular basis. Yesterday, I got to take one of the loveliest clients in the world, Leyla, to the DSS to figure out how to get her food stamps. While the PG DSS is one of the LEAST lovely and most frustrating places on the planet, Leyla is always smiling, always positive, and incredibly patient. For the two hours we waited in the waiting room, I studied for the GRE and she read a children's English book. Never once did she complain or look frustrated. After we got her food stamps reinstated, she told me "Thank you" with a smile full of gratitude. This is a woman who has had family members die, who had to flee from the Congolese war, one of the hotbeds for gender-based violence, a woman who is living in poverty, yet she still manages to smile and be grateful for every little thing she has.
THEN, in a second dose of African awesomeness, I saw the movie "Pushing the Elephant" last night at a new, independent theater in DC called West End Cinema. The movie followed the story of Rose Mapendo, a Congolese woman who was seven months pregnant when the war broke out in 1998. Her husband, her seven kids, and herself were all put into a death camp. Her husband was killed immediately, and she gave birth to her twin boys on the concrete floor of the prison. She and her family lived in the death camp for fourteen months, and then escaped to a refugee camp, where they then went on to be resettled in the US. The movie is about her reunion with her 17 year old daughter, Nangabire, who she hadn't seen in 13 years. The movie also follows Roses' work with her organization, Mapendo International, and her work helping foster peaceful dialogue between women in conflict regions. You can read more about the organization here:
www.mapendointernational.org
More info about the movie, which is playing on PBS in March, and is coming out to DVD in April, is here.
http://www.artsengine.net/pushing_the_elephant/
Her courage, her incredible strength and love, and her ability to forgive and triumph, is incredible. I left the small theater filled with hope that people like her exist.
Today has been pretty good. I'm about to go over to the girls house. They are starting to get a little snarky. One taped the other's mouth shut during homework time yesterday when I was folding laundry. I gotta step up my A-game and have eyes on the back of my head. They are constantly making me laugh. My favorite quote of theirs from yesterday is:
"Old people are so cute. They look like teddy bears."
Tonight is my second GRE class, and then I'll go to IHOP to get a Make A Face pancake with one of my favorite people from Birthright. THen, this weekend will be filled with delicious New Orleans food with friends, the pups, and, possibly some yoga and dancing. I haven't shaken my tailfeather in quite a long time, and frankly, it needs to happen.
LOve and happy Thursday,
Andrea
THEN, in a second dose of African awesomeness, I saw the movie "Pushing the Elephant" last night at a new, independent theater in DC called West End Cinema. The movie followed the story of Rose Mapendo, a Congolese woman who was seven months pregnant when the war broke out in 1998. Her husband, her seven kids, and herself were all put into a death camp. Her husband was killed immediately, and she gave birth to her twin boys on the concrete floor of the prison. She and her family lived in the death camp for fourteen months, and then escaped to a refugee camp, where they then went on to be resettled in the US. The movie is about her reunion with her 17 year old daughter, Nangabire, who she hadn't seen in 13 years. The movie also follows Roses' work with her organization, Mapendo International, and her work helping foster peaceful dialogue between women in conflict regions. You can read more about the organization here:
www.mapendointernational.org
More info about the movie, which is playing on PBS in March, and is coming out to DVD in April, is here.
http://www.artsengine.net/pushing_the_elephant/
Her courage, her incredible strength and love, and her ability to forgive and triumph, is incredible. I left the small theater filled with hope that people like her exist.
Today has been pretty good. I'm about to go over to the girls house. They are starting to get a little snarky. One taped the other's mouth shut during homework time yesterday when I was folding laundry. I gotta step up my A-game and have eyes on the back of my head. They are constantly making me laugh. My favorite quote of theirs from yesterday is:
"Old people are so cute. They look like teddy bears."
Tonight is my second GRE class, and then I'll go to IHOP to get a Make A Face pancake with one of my favorite people from Birthright. THen, this weekend will be filled with delicious New Orleans food with friends, the pups, and, possibly some yoga and dancing. I haven't shaken my tailfeather in quite a long time, and frankly, it needs to happen.
LOve and happy Thursday,
Andrea
Monday, January 31, 2011
Ecuador and Snow!
I'm up at 3:25, waiting to talk to the Boyfriend, who is nicely driving his brother, J, and his brother's girlfriend, K, to the airport. Afterwards, J and K will embark on their first ever international trip together, to Cancun. We are supposed to get an icy winter blast here this Tuesday night. J and K will, hopefully, be sipping margaritas and getting tanned while we Washingtonians deal with this impending snow and ice in the only way we know how: by writing long letters of complaint to Pepco, by flooding into the nearest supermarket and stocking up on food, on buying pounds and pounds of salt, and by updating our Facebook/Twitter statuses constantly so that they read something like "OH NO THIS SNOW IS RUINING MY LIFE! I AM FREEZING/DYING/NOT ABLE TO WATCH JERSEY SHORE." Obama himself essentially told the DC region to grow a pear last year, during our very own Snowpocalypse. He said that this is nothing compared to Chicago so, really, we need to buck up.
I've enjoyed being a refugee in Boyfriend's home all weekend. Our power went out Wednesday and returned Thursday night. For reasons unbeknownst to me, the power decided to go out AGAIN in the middle of a tranquil Friday afternoon. So, I packed a down blanket into the heatless wild beast that is my car, Old Faithful, and drove to Frederick, to the land of electricity and heat. My weekend consisted of homecooked meals, Forrest Gump, and a Boy Scouts roller derby with J's seven year old nephew. Boy Scouts are so jovial- all front teeth and gumption and nerve. His nephew's car did well in the first round (first of four), which was good. Before the race, he was biting his upper lip and looking quite worried, like he was about to fail a test. Good thing his camouflage Army tank seemed to triumph.
Good news from the Peace Corps front:
I've been invited to teach secondary English in ECUADOR in June 2011! I've known about this for about a month now and still have trouble believing it's true. The Parentals have reacted in an overly joyous manner, mainly telling me that it is going to be my duty to "take them to the Galapagos."
I joined the Peace Corps Ecuador Facebook page. The members post incredible pictures. I am amazed by the flowers and the plants they take pictures of. Some of the petals look like they were dreamed up by Dali or Picasso or John Lennon during his LSD days. They look supernatural- almost like they have a mind of their own. I've begun reading about the fruit in Ecuador. Apparently, being so close to the Amazon, they have fruit that is completely foreign to the American palette, such as passionfruit. I can't wait to get there and try it. I can't stop thinking about everything- about what it will be like to once again live with a host family...will my host mother be telepathic and ALWAYS KNOW WHAT I AM THINKING like Maria Teresa? Will I have privacy or not? Will I be in the mountains or on the sweltering coast or in the jungle, with monkeys as neighbors? The Peace Corps makes it clear that we will not know our site placement until we finish our three months of Pre-Service Training in the capital, Quito. This means I have little clue of what my living environment will be like, or if I've packed for the correct environment. But, neither will the other PCVs in my group, so it should be a grand, ole adventure.
It's hard to think about Ecuador too much because of how far away it is. The ice and snow on the ground here and the constant business of life keep my mind from thinking about it too much. I've been nannying for three girls since November, two 9 year old twins G and T, and their 13 year old sister M. M has recently friended me on FB and texted me this weekend, thus capping off my strange friendship with her. I want to protect her from all the harms of adolesence, to tell her to think about homework more and boys a little less; I want to tell her that the "weird" kids in her grade may actually be worth talking to and that she doesn't need to wear thongs yet. Nannying has been a good experience- tiring, but in a strange way, it makes me feel more competent. There's nothing like having to get two girls in full hockey gear in 10 minutes and then navigate them to practice to boost your sense of efficiency.
I'm looked up Maya Angelou today. I've got to read "I know why a caged bird sings." I did a project on her in sixth grade, but I didn't realize until now all of the people she married, all the countries she lived in, all of the jobs- from prostitute to dancer to writer to actress- she has had. Truly, a magnificent woman.
That's all for now. I'm going to call J now to wake him up on his long car ride back from BWI.
Until next time,
A
I've enjoyed being a refugee in Boyfriend's home all weekend. Our power went out Wednesday and returned Thursday night. For reasons unbeknownst to me, the power decided to go out AGAIN in the middle of a tranquil Friday afternoon. So, I packed a down blanket into the heatless wild beast that is my car, Old Faithful, and drove to Frederick, to the land of electricity and heat. My weekend consisted of homecooked meals, Forrest Gump, and a Boy Scouts roller derby with J's seven year old nephew. Boy Scouts are so jovial- all front teeth and gumption and nerve. His nephew's car did well in the first round (first of four), which was good. Before the race, he was biting his upper lip and looking quite worried, like he was about to fail a test. Good thing his camouflage Army tank seemed to triumph.
Good news from the Peace Corps front:
I've been invited to teach secondary English in ECUADOR in June 2011! I've known about this for about a month now and still have trouble believing it's true. The Parentals have reacted in an overly joyous manner, mainly telling me that it is going to be my duty to "take them to the Galapagos."
I joined the Peace Corps Ecuador Facebook page. The members post incredible pictures. I am amazed by the flowers and the plants they take pictures of. Some of the petals look like they were dreamed up by Dali or Picasso or John Lennon during his LSD days. They look supernatural- almost like they have a mind of their own. I've begun reading about the fruit in Ecuador. Apparently, being so close to the Amazon, they have fruit that is completely foreign to the American palette, such as passionfruit. I can't wait to get there and try it. I can't stop thinking about everything- about what it will be like to once again live with a host family...will my host mother be telepathic and ALWAYS KNOW WHAT I AM THINKING like Maria Teresa? Will I have privacy or not? Will I be in the mountains or on the sweltering coast or in the jungle, with monkeys as neighbors? The Peace Corps makes it clear that we will not know our site placement until we finish our three months of Pre-Service Training in the capital, Quito. This means I have little clue of what my living environment will be like, or if I've packed for the correct environment. But, neither will the other PCVs in my group, so it should be a grand, ole adventure.
It's hard to think about Ecuador too much because of how far away it is. The ice and snow on the ground here and the constant business of life keep my mind from thinking about it too much. I've been nannying for three girls since November, two 9 year old twins G and T, and their 13 year old sister M. M has recently friended me on FB and texted me this weekend, thus capping off my strange friendship with her. I want to protect her from all the harms of adolesence, to tell her to think about homework more and boys a little less; I want to tell her that the "weird" kids in her grade may actually be worth talking to and that she doesn't need to wear thongs yet. Nannying has been a good experience- tiring, but in a strange way, it makes me feel more competent. There's nothing like having to get two girls in full hockey gear in 10 minutes and then navigate them to practice to boost your sense of efficiency.
I'm looked up Maya Angelou today. I've got to read "I know why a caged bird sings." I did a project on her in sixth grade, but I didn't realize until now all of the people she married, all the countries she lived in, all of the jobs- from prostitute to dancer to writer to actress- she has had. Truly, a magnificent woman.
That's all for now. I'm going to call J now to wake him up on his long car ride back from BWI.
Until next time,
A
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