Pale Blue Eyes

Reading: A People's History of the United States by Howard Zinn

I am blessed with the burden of being an average looking female in a family of gorgeous women. Then to add salt to the wound, I have managed to surround myself by a set of beautiful friends, both physically and intangibly. For the final cherry, I chose to attend a college where the female student body looks like they walked out of a J. Crew advertisement and a regularly ranked on of the best looking college campuses. (What misogynistic ass decided that such a ranking was necessary?) The combination has always left me with a long list of self-criticisms in regards to my body image.

Luckily, the gorgeous women of my world have been coupled variety of wholesome and supportive men. (For all fairness, they are equally attractive, just as the women in my life are as wholesome and supportive as the men.) They have shown me time and time again that beauty is goes beyond your looks and that as a woman, I will always be their equal. It has left me with a sense that am I capable and entitled to my own accomplishments, counteracting my bouts of insecurity.

Joining Peace Corps and moving to Ecuador has thrown that reality into complete chaos. Suddenly, my worth as an individual human being and more so, as a woman, had little to nothing to do with my wit, intelligence, and values. Instead, I became an object of my physical attributes—my Scandinavian blue eyes, my golden brown hair, and my light complexion—and how those are valued in Ecuador’s machismo-driven culture. Here I am faced with the consciousness that I was attractive and desirable based solely on my appearance while being marginalized and objectified by this desirability. The incidents that these circumstances have bore a very visceral backlash—never have I have so vehemently hated my own skin and reactions in incites in others.

Feliz Navidad

Reading: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon

Posing for the Holidays

Discúlpame, dear readers, as it has been over a month since I last posted. With Christmas right around the corner, I have been rather busy with work, visiting amigas, despididas, street dances, getting ready for my mom, aunt, and uncle to visit, and planning a trip to the Galápagos with my dad and step-mom.

A few quick things:

• I finally hiked El Altar, which has been on my ecua-bucket list for a while. Despite all the horrible stories I have heard about bad weather and knee deep mud, we had absolutely gorgeous weather for our entire hike. Besides getting to enjoy a bit of snow in December, we were graced with morning sundogs—one of my favorite natural phenomena and something I only thought existed on the Great Plains, Scandinavia, and Siberia.
• At a very gringo-y Thanksgiving, I attempted to make lefse, in honor of the great state of South Dakota. It hardly turned out the way that I had intended it to, that is, like how my family makes it. But people swore it tasted good... probably because they have never had legitimate lefse. Their loss, my gain. 

The Layman’s Anecdotal Guide to Running in Ecuador

Reading: 1493 by Charles Mann

Two years ago if you were to have asked me if I enjoyed running, I would have scoffed at and called you crazy. After years of competitive horseback riding and spending eight-hour days in the saddle, running was my trainer’s ultimate punishment for a horrible ride. So, it would be all too cliché to say that I came to love running while finding myself serving in a developing country.

Embrace running the trails

Instead, it happened during the three months prior to coming to Ecuador. I was seeing a guy who was training for a marathon, working a part time job as a sales clerk and had nothing better to do with my time than drink beer while worrying how I was going to survive the next two years of my life without IPAs. (My horse was injured and it was hellishly cold—bars are a great substitute for the barn.) Plus, one of my equestrian friends from college, who was serving in Senegal, had warned me that riding would not be an option while in Peace Corps. She advocated expanding my yoga practices, the boy suggested running. For some reason, the boy won.

By the time I made it to training in Tumbaco, my need to be obsessively involved in something had prevailed and I was hooked. As in, I have stopped pouring of Eventing Nation riding forms and now subscribe to Runner’s World emails. However, all of you who do run know that running in Ecuador is completely different than running in the States. Thus, I present you with the Layman’s Anecdotal Guide to Running in Ecuador. 

Remember, Remember the 6th of November

Reading: 1493 by Charles Mann

After working the last two major election cycles (2008 and 2010), today has been excruciatingly long. Without have no doors to knock, lists to call, or walk packets to organize, I have spent most of the day wallowing in my inability to do "my part" in this election. After 2010, I may have sworn off working for another campaign, but this antithetical situation is driving me crazy. So in my best efforts to retain my sanity as I impatiently wait for the polls to close across the United States, I will leave you with a few things:

POTUS at the historic moment of the upholding of the Affordable Care Act.
The 21st century echo of "Dewey Defeats Truman."

This American Life's election week episode: Red State Blue State. It surveys and interviews "hundreds of people around the country, from every part of the of political spectrum, about the ways in which politics are interfering with their friendships and families." Practical advice for cross-political spectrum relationship included. No te preocupes familia, I took notes. 

Finally, I leave you with a little something beyond politics, a taste of the album that has a been playing in my life these last few weeks. They hail from the great country of Canada, which could be my potential destination post-Peace Corps, depending how America looks at the end of this evening. 

 

Para ser una machona...

Reading: Homeric Hymns

The clothes line off my balcony

I often joke that I could never been an Ecuadorian housewife. Half of that is due to an intrinsic part of my nature that is not cut out for being any type of housewife, be it an American, British, Ecuadorian, or Nepalese one. The other half is due to the fact that if one was to make a list on all the typical duties of an Ecuadorian woman towards her family, I would grossly fall short.

Here in Ecuador there is a term for such a woman—machona. I am not sure if there is a textbook definition of this term, but if there was it would be something like this:

machona
noun
a girl who is considered to be a tomboy, marked by the inability to:
• cook standard Ecuadorian dishes with perfection, e.g. seco de pollo and rice
• maintain a respectable and clean house
• care for children in a motherly and nurturing way
• properly dress herself to the local standards of acceptable style 

Given that loose definition, I am probably in violation of all four criterion. But I think it is safe to say that my two worse offenses are my inability to cook (and eat for that matter) rice and my inability to wash clothes by hand.

Where did October go?

Reading: Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking by Malcolm Gladwell

It appears that I have forgotten that I have a blog this past month. While things are not always what they appear, I have certainly been negligent and we will leave it at that. But there that is not to say that things have not been going on during my hiatus. Here is a quick run through:

'Melo enjoying the view of her new domain from above

• I started a world map at the elementary school and made the mistake of buying oil-based paint. It has turned into a messier project than originally anticipated.
• I am now the owner of not one but two cats. Denali is less than thrilled about her new housemate, Carmelo or 'Melo for short. My neighbors and host family are in complete agreement. Apparently there are now death threats out on the two unless they start behaving themselves.

Alfalfa Pineapple Cucumber Lime Juice

Reading: The Heart Is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers

When I was a junior in high school I had a short stint where I worked at one of those health-freak juice and smoothie shops. I only worked there for a month and a half before quitting – but not without learning two very important things before hand.

Seriously, green tastes good.

• Having a boss that you respect and respects you makes all the difference in a work environment. 
• Green tastes good.

(I left the job for a paid internship on the 2004 Bush campaign, where I learned my next important life lesson:

• I am not cut out for the GOP.

I quit that job three weeks later and decided I was better suited for working outdoors and with horses.)

Today, we’re focusing on point number two: green tastes good. Seriously. All those bottled fruit drinks that look like someone blended spinach and is now selling it at an absurdly high price – so deliciously worth it. Who is a sucker for wheat grass shots? This girl. In fact, I think they taste sweet and flavorful. I like salads without dressings and am not afraid of swiss chard in liquid form.

Fermenting Cow Poo: Lessons in Homebrew Biol, an Organic Liquid Fertilizer

Reading: A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway

La Casa de Abonos

Seeing as I have been in Paccha for nearly six months now, I suppose that a few of my faithful readers are scratching their heads and asking, “what would ya say you do here?” A fair question, given that this blog leaves one to assume that I travel, go to rodeos, rant about women’s station in the world, provide a running social commentary on all things unimportant, listen to music, and photograph flowers – none of which resemble a Peace Corps project… sure I have left hints here and there of said project, but it has been pretty on the DL until now.

I will forewarn you, it’s going to get a little dirty…. it struck me yesterday while I was ankle deep in cow poop that the most satisfying jobs I have had in life have always involved me shoveling large amounts of poop. Not only could this be some sick metaphor for my life, but it reminded me of a recent Radiolab episode that described the afterlife as reliving “all your experience but this time with the events reshuffled into a new order… all the moments that share a quality are grouped together… for instance two years of boredom staring out a bus window, sitting in an airport.” In such a world, I wonder what my time count would be for shoveling poop or even just moving poop... but I digress.

My inflated LinkenIn profile states, “currently, I oversee an organic fertilizer project with a small group of sugar cane farmers. The goals of the project include improving individual annual harvests, as well as providing a secondary source of income. The project is heavily focused in agriculture sustainability.” Yes, I would really, really like a job or to go to grad school when I finish Peace Corps and am hawking myself on online résumé sites.

Soapbox for Chris Stevens

Reading: Even Cowgirls Get the Blues by Tom Robbins

Libyan child with a sign reading " Sorry People of America this
not the Behavior of our ISLAM and Profit"

The recent attacks on the American Consulate which resulted in the death of four American weighs heavy on the Peace Corps community. Not only does an attack on American citizens abroad strike a little too close to home, Ambassador Chris Stevens was as a returned Peace Corps volunteer who had served Morocco. But in light of all of that (and the sound bits, rumors, responses, etc.), it is important that we remember the difference between the actions of a few individuals and how we project our reaction to those onto an entire community. It would be unfair to judge the entire Christian community because of the recent shootings in Colorado and Wisconsin, assuming that is, that the culprits where Christian. (It is interesting to note that the religious practices on non-Muslim murderers is seldom mentioned in mainstream media these days.) Likewise, it would be unfair to presume the same for the greater Muslim community. That is how we end up in endless wars and unsolvable conflicts. It would seem that the citizens of Benghazi wanted to make that known as well.

And since I'm already standing on my soap box, I will leave you all with this -

Las Orquideas de los Andes

Reading: Even Cowgirls Get the Blues by Tom Robbins

I know, not an orchid... but seriously? Awesome.

Okay, so it’s no secret that I have a small flower obsession, although small might be an understatement. I could easily bore you all with why this is… it has a lot to do with my awe of Nature and the fact that flowers are, in my opinion, the zenith of sexuality, beauty, and evolution all wrapped into this vibrant living thing, which has the sole purpose of reproduction. Seriously, what other living organism has done something as impressive as that? (Please let me enjoy this moment and spare me the endless examples of birds, insects, fish, etc.) So, basically being in Ecuador, the country that boastfully is home to more orchid species than anywhere else in the world, is like being in heaven. Piñas, one of the closest cities to me is know as the “Orquidea de los Andes,” or the “Orchid of the Andes.” Not a bad epithet if you ask me.

All of this has led me in a couple of directions... with lots of pictures.

An Irresolvable Riddle

Reading: Latin American Folktales by John Bierhorst

An Ecuadorian wildflower

Another riddle for you:

Fuí a un cuarto,
Encontré un muerto,
Hablé con él
Y le saqué el secreto.

I entered a room
And found a dead man,
Spoke with him
And came away with his secrets.

Many of us who find ourselves in Peace Corps, come because of a certain incoherent skepticism we have of the United States. What we find abroad is something that is even more difficult to articulate to anyone outside of our experiences. It is a longing and love for a perceived essence of our home country while still maintaining an assortment of criticism for how that essence plays out in reality. It is a complicated and complete contradiction.

My personal inconsistency, in this sense, has been weighing on me the last few months, with little resolve. Until this morning and with the unlikely help of a guest DJ on a weekly radio show that I like to listen to. I can't say that Dan Deacon has cleared everything up for me... but his opening words to his newest record are certainly heading in the right direction.

Rodeo Days

Reading: Latin American Folktales by John Bierhorst

Opening procession

Here’s a Latin American riddle for you:

Monte blanco,
Flores negras,
Un arado,
Y cinco yeguas.

White mountains,
Black flowers,
One plow,
Five horses.

Paccha and the Canton of Atahualpa have spent the last three weeks celebrating their founding with a series of fiestas. The drawn out affair started out with a pregón dedicating the new coliseum to the canton (equivalent to a county) that involved dancing until all hours of the morning to a Maná cover band. This precursor gave way to a series of fiestas throughout the canton cumulating last weekend in Paccha with several more dances, including the beloved and gratuitous street dance. Let it be noted that Atahualpa is the only place in this country that I have encountered where it seems that Club beer is preferred to the national staple of Pilsner. Pacchenses like to keep it classy with personal 12ozers, a novel practice in this country.

Writer's Block

Reading: Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen by Christopher McDougall

Life above the clouds

The last week and a half have been nothing but one epic blockade for my being capable of  writing anything remotely coherent. This applies to blog post, personal statements, album reviews, emails, etc. So instead I give you websites you should read (and that are some what relevant):

1. Hilary loves Peace Corps. If Madam Secretary giving some love to PCVs doesn't warm your heart, you just might not have a heart to warm.

   I’m very proud of our Peace Corps Volunteers because they are standing up for the idea that every young woman can make a difference in her own life and in her community. And it is a great pleasure for me always, as I travel around the world, to meet Peace Corps Volunteers, who represent the great values and ideals of our nation.
   - Secretary of State Hilary Clinton during her visit to a Camp GLOW (Girls Leading Our World) in Malawi run by Peace Corps Volunteers. 
   

The First Attempt

Reading: Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel García Márquez

A beautiful day in Paccha

Paccha has a new pastime. That is to say a few paragliding aficionados have discovered the beautiful hills of Atahualpa and its great wind currents. Being that they are some pretty hip, young Ecuadorians, naturally I befriended them. After some genuine coaxing, they had me convinced that I absolutely had to go paragliding with them.

So after a late night of celebrating the founding of Ayapamba, I found myself hiking up the very large hill overlooking Paccha with a pack full of harnesses. After taking a moment to enjoy the spectacular view, the guys went to work setting up the paragliders. They had spent the previous day flying and repeatedly assured me that they knew what they were doing (the one I would be flying with is an instructor after all) and after my first flight I would be hooked.

What they didn’t tell me is that paragliding involves literally running and diving off the side of a mountain while strapped into a very cumbersome harness and attached to another person. Consequently, my first two attempts were in vain. The idea of running off the side of a mountain and the idea that it would lead to me flying several thousand feet above the Andes is a rather difficult thing to wrap your head around. I quickly found out it is also not very successful if you even think about hesitating.

Nine Things

Reading: Hospital by Julie Salamon

Capuchin monkey, Misahuallí

1. Some how my blog has become famous... as in, it's on some random website unbeknown to me. But that's cool, I'll take it. So check out #22. (Ignore the fact that my name is spelled wrong, or as I like to think, the Spanish way. That silent 'h' really isn't necessary)

2.  The best gratification for a very last minute environmental ed. lesson plan is to rush out of your house only to learn that school has been let out early today. Praise be to exam week! I should have assumed as such, considering that next weeks marks the start of Paccha's founding fiestas. Who has time to study during founding fiestas?

Eight Months, Twelve Hours

Reading: Absalom, Absalom! by William Faulkner

Sobralia rosea

Many of us who join Peace Corps immediately after graduating from college can quickly point out the similarities of the life style of a PCV and college student. There is a close-knit community between PCVs, much like students on a college campus. More so, we have a lingering sense of the fleeting nature of our time here as we are shuffled in and out of our host country in omnibuses that bear resemblance to graduating classes. And like every good college student, when PCVs find themselves in the final lap of their service, they are faced with the overwhelming feelings of “senioritis” juxtaposed with wistfulness.

After successfully sending Mary Rae off to the states, I was able to spend the afternoon with another PCV friend of mine. We leisurely chatted about the only topics we know how to talk about while in the Peace Corps: things we miss from the states, frustrations with our community, and PC gossip. Somewhere in the conversation, it really started to hit me – I only have eight months in this country. Granted, eight months sounds like a really long time. However, it is very little compared to the 27 months with which I started. Even more, it is a whole four months less then the year that I have been repeatedly telling everyone that I have left here in Ecuador. And, it is one month away from the ¾ mark of my service. Meaning: Omnibus 105, we have officially made it to our “senior year.”

Travel Updates

Reading: How We Are Hungry by Dave Eggers

What do you do when a friend from the states visits and you have some vacation days to use? Explore all of Ecuador!

So far this has included:

Hiking the rim of Quilotoa

Inti Raymi

Reading: The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz

Andean flute players, Cotacachi

When you google image search “Ecuador,” the first picture that pop up aside from the maps is an idyllic scene of an indigenous market. The second – traditionally dressed indigenous children riding a llama. It’s a justifiable assumption that first thought to come to mind when one thinks of Ecuador is a picturesque Andean scene, with snowcapped volcanoes and high-cheeked, fedora-wearing people (the general American population does not remember that Ecuador is home to the Galapagos). To be fair, it is a rational supposition, given that a third of the country could more or less be accurately described as so.

One of the perks of being in the Peace Corps is that, as a volunteer, we are often placed in the less known and less visited (and consequently, less idealized) parts of the country. That is to say, neither Chimbo nor Paccha fit the above description. Which is probably why neither make it on the typical “backpacker’s map.” Justified for the former and a shame for the latter.

Opt. Dup Zuck

Reading: Drift: the Unmooring of American Military Power by Rachel Maddow

My very sparse sala

It often feels like every month is a celebration of something. In the States, we love to dub whole months in honor of groups, ideas, or causes. Here in Ecuador, we love to commemorate children, mothers, fathers, founding of towns, founding of churches, founding of foundings. While chatting with my host dad the other evening, he explained to me with a childlike animation how we were now entering the time of fiestas here in Paccha. He then proceeded to list off some sort of celebration in every month, minus the month of April. That is to imply that eleven months of the year Ecuadorians are partying. April sucks.

So in true form, I am going to christen June my personal month of visitors. As I have managed to have someone come visit me in Paccha every weekend in June. That theme will continue into the following week as Mary Rae is coming to pasear three whole weeks on the equator with me. Our party itinerary will include, but is not limited to: Inti Raymi, the Incan fiesta del sol, and a good ol’ ‘Merican Forth of July.

Dooowop: Ecua-music

Reading: Gather the Fruit One by One: 50 Years of Amazing Peace Corps Stories, Vol II the Americas edited by Pat & Bernie Alter

I hereby dedicate this post to music. Specifically, music of the latino variety, or that is to say, music that I have become increasingly attached to while in Ecuador.

Basically, I’m feeling lazy and figured that instead of writing something lengthy I’m just going to leave you, my dear readers, with a list of songs that will forever be place holders in my mind for Ecuador. Like Don McLean’s American Pie is for summer trips to camp, the Darkness’ I Believe in a Thing Called Love is to high school, the Moldy Peaches’ Anyone Else But You is to college, and Lady Gaga’s Just Dance is to the campaign days, these songs are my quintessential Ecuador. Many may have reached that point through circumstance not allure, but alas, they are there to stay. Hopefully you will enjoy this small sampling as much as I have or if nothing else, enjoy the suspense of slowly loading each one on youtube.