This week, I decided to go to the beach with Lorelai, an Americorps vet who is traveling for three months before pursuing a Psy. D. Lorelai and I have only known each other for one week. However, we get along extremely well. We feel totally comfortable talking about our bodily functions and bowel movements. It is like I am at home.
Lorelai and I began our journey on Saturday with a ten-hour bus ride to Guayaquil. Highlights:
Movies: An Italian porno followed by a docudrama about the Cambodian Genocide.
Creep: A food vendor who stepped into the seat behind me and stroked my scalp.
Confused: A woman who, believing that I was indigenous, tried to strike up a conversation in Kichwa with me in the bathroom. She was shocked to learn that I spoke Spanish.
Cute: A cop who boarded the bus and ordered all of the men to get off with their luggage. As soon as they disembarked, he ordered them to get back on.
When we arrived in Guayaquil at 8:30 PM, we discovered a three-story bus terminal with every fast food chain imaginable. I felt like I was back at O’hare Airport. Since Kate and I had arrived late, we were glad that we had already booked a hostel. We hailed a taxi and asked the driver to take us to Hotel Ecuador, which had been recommended by a prestigious guidebook. Planning does not always help you get ahead. We were greeted by cement walls, bugs, hot, stagnant air, yelling neighbors, and a pubic hair on my towel. Unwilling to search for another establishment and satisfied with Hotel Ecuador’s security, we stayed the night.
The next day, Lorelai and I woke up at 9 AM, breakfasted on chocolate croissants at a luxury hotel (even backpackers need to indulge), and hit up Guayaquil’s hot spots. My favorite was Parque Bolivar, a public park infested with iguanas, pigeons, and tortoises. Lorelai and I altered between taking flirtatious photos with the lizard life and screaming as we dodged swarms of pigeons and falling iguana poop (apparently, iguanas like to sit in trees). We also tried to avoid the small children who like pulling the iguanas´ tails. Nothing festers with disease like a huge, angry, biting iguana who hangs out with pigeons in a public park.
At five, Lorelai and I decided to go to the bus terminal to find a bus to Puerto Lopez. I say ¨find¨ because it is virtually impossible to obtain an Ecuadorian bus schedule. It is best to go to the terminal and tell one of the screaming bus representatives where you want to go. I have always been able to find a vehicle leaving within fifteen minutes of my arrival. Guayaquil’s terminal was too advanced to have screaming bus reps. It had fancy restaurants, maps, and electronic ticketing systems. Consequently, we were forced to figure out which companies went to Puerto Lopez and find our way around by ourselves. Progress had not led to a better system. When we finally found the right ticket counter, we found out that the last bus to Puerto Lopez had already left. However, we could ride to Jipi Japa (pronounced hippy-hoppa), where, the ticket lady promised, we would be able to hail a bus to Puerto Lopez.
One stressful ride later (we watched a loud action movie while breaking the sound barrier in the rain), we arrived in Jipi Japa. Lorelai and I ran into the bus terminal, eager to make our connection, only to have a group of locals tell us that there would not be another bus to Puerto Lopez until 5 AM. Lorelai and I decided to pow wow. We came to the conclusion that we were stranded in a town so obscure that it was excluded from our guidebook. Best of all, it was named ¨Jipi Japa¨ (Say it aloud. I promise that you will have fun.). We approached a sympathetic teenage girl who directed us to Hostal Agua Blanca, calling it the ¨safest¨ option. It turned out to be incredibly clean, cool, and friendly. Lorelai and I fell asleep watching a Michael Jackson impersonation contest on TV. The next morning, we woke up and took a brief tour of Jipi Japa. It had absolutely no tourism or beautification industry. We had spent the night in an authentic Ecuadorian town.
At 8:45 AM, we caught a bus to Puerto Lopez, our beach destination. One hour later, we arrived without incident. Sea at last. Sea at last. Thank God almight, we had sea at last.
That covers the first 48 hours of my relaxing beach vacation. I cannot wait to see what the rest will bring.
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
The Time I Told Shirley Temple That I Would Not Take Her To Meet Pablo Escobar
A girl at work is mad at me. ¨Why?¨ you ask. Because I will not accompany her to the jungle surrounding the Ecuadorian-Colombian border.
About one month ago, Shirley Temple (this name is only appropriate because the girl in question was a child star) told me that she was looking for a travel partner for a jungle tour. She had already done all of the research. All she needed was a companion. I signed up.
During the ensuing weeks, I asked Shirley about our jungle plans a few times. She said that I should not worry. All of her German friends had been to the jungle lodge in question. I said, ¨Okay,¨ and agreed to take the trip this coming weekend.
Fast forward to today. Shirley Temple finally agreed to go to the tour company’s office and book our arrangements.
Shirley: So, when would you like to go sign up for the tour?
Antigone: I have to run to a Spanish class. Could give me the company’s address? I think that it would be easier to visit the office separately.
Shirley: I would rather go with you. Would you mind waiting five minutes and going there with me on the way to your class?
Antigone: Fine. My class starts in hour.
Five minutes became twenty. When Shirley finished sending her e-mail, she realized that she did not know where to find the tour company’s office, and would have to track down a more knowledgeable friend. We eventually caught a bus, only to get stuck in traffic. As we went, Shirley told me about how she wanted to book that tour that starts on Thursday morning, meaning that we would have to leave on Wednesday night.
Antigone: But I told you last week: I cannot leave until Thursday or Friday.
Shirley: I thought that you meant you wanted a tour that started on Thursday when you said, ¨I cannot go until Thursday.¨ That’s a problem. I have to be back in Quito on Monday (this was news to Antigone). Maybe they will be able to cut out a day or two out of the tour for us.
A few minutes later, I looked at my watch and realized that I would not be able to go to the tour company’s office and arrive at class on time. I asked Shirley to go without me and text message me the details. I also suggested that she look into other options in case the company was not able to accomodate our schedule. She began to throw a temper tantrum of child star proportions as aroused Ecuadorian men stared, thinking, ¨Yes! Gringa gato fight!¨ Shirley accused me of abandoning her. She told me that she did not need any information about the tour. She had only come to help me (nevermind that she did not know where the office was, or that I was perfectly capable of collecting information on my own). I finally agreed to go to the office for five minutes just to make her shut up.
At the office, Shirley and I found out that we could indeed stay in the same place, but start our programs on different days. Shirley was not interested in this option. It turns out that she really wanted me to go because she was too frightened to take the bus by herself. Next, the friendly company representative showed me a map with the lodge’s location. If my knowledge of cartography served me correctly, it was a charming ecological reserve located deep in the jungle, mere kilometers from the Colombian border and the site where the Colombian military bombed a FARC stronghold, sparking diplomatic controversy (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/6178007.stm). I started to have serious misgivings. Not only would I have to survive three days in the middle-of-nowhere with a screaming child star. No. I would also have to spend the entire trip worrying about meeting Pablo Escobar and becoming the next Ingrid Betancourt. I told Shirley that I needed time to think.
In the end, I sent Shirley a tactful e-mail saying that I could not go to the jungle with her this weekend. I have not seen her since the electronic communication and can definitely wait to see her throw a hissy fit in front of our three-year-old students tomorrow.
About one month ago, Shirley Temple (this name is only appropriate because the girl in question was a child star) told me that she was looking for a travel partner for a jungle tour. She had already done all of the research. All she needed was a companion. I signed up.
During the ensuing weeks, I asked Shirley about our jungle plans a few times. She said that I should not worry. All of her German friends had been to the jungle lodge in question. I said, ¨Okay,¨ and agreed to take the trip this coming weekend.
Fast forward to today. Shirley Temple finally agreed to go to the tour company’s office and book our arrangements.
Shirley: So, when would you like to go sign up for the tour?
Antigone: I have to run to a Spanish class. Could give me the company’s address? I think that it would be easier to visit the office separately.
Shirley: I would rather go with you. Would you mind waiting five minutes and going there with me on the way to your class?
Antigone: Fine. My class starts in hour.
Five minutes became twenty. When Shirley finished sending her e-mail, she realized that she did not know where to find the tour company’s office, and would have to track down a more knowledgeable friend. We eventually caught a bus, only to get stuck in traffic. As we went, Shirley told me about how she wanted to book that tour that starts on Thursday morning, meaning that we would have to leave on Wednesday night.
Antigone: But I told you last week: I cannot leave until Thursday or Friday.
Shirley: I thought that you meant you wanted a tour that started on Thursday when you said, ¨I cannot go until Thursday.¨ That’s a problem. I have to be back in Quito on Monday (this was news to Antigone). Maybe they will be able to cut out a day or two out of the tour for us.
A few minutes later, I looked at my watch and realized that I would not be able to go to the tour company’s office and arrive at class on time. I asked Shirley to go without me and text message me the details. I also suggested that she look into other options in case the company was not able to accomodate our schedule. She began to throw a temper tantrum of child star proportions as aroused Ecuadorian men stared, thinking, ¨Yes! Gringa gato fight!¨ Shirley accused me of abandoning her. She told me that she did not need any information about the tour. She had only come to help me (nevermind that she did not know where the office was, or that I was perfectly capable of collecting information on my own). I finally agreed to go to the office for five minutes just to make her shut up.
At the office, Shirley and I found out that we could indeed stay in the same place, but start our programs on different days. Shirley was not interested in this option. It turns out that she really wanted me to go because she was too frightened to take the bus by herself. Next, the friendly company representative showed me a map with the lodge’s location. If my knowledge of cartography served me correctly, it was a charming ecological reserve located deep in the jungle, mere kilometers from the Colombian border and the site where the Colombian military bombed a FARC stronghold, sparking diplomatic controversy (http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/americas/6178007.stm). I started to have serious misgivings. Not only would I have to survive three days in the middle-of-nowhere with a screaming child star. No. I would also have to spend the entire trip worrying about meeting Pablo Escobar and becoming the next Ingrid Betancourt. I told Shirley that I needed time to think.
In the end, I sent Shirley a tactful e-mail saying that I could not go to the jungle with her this weekend. I have not seen her since the electronic communication and can definitely wait to see her throw a hissy fit in front of our three-year-old students tomorrow.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
Ethics
I have spent the past 13 years of my life sitting in classrooms, thinking theoretically. In September, I am going to start a block of at least four more years of intellectual existence (Parents, do not worry, I am not on the five-plus year plan. I am just leaving room for grad school.). In class, when teachers proposed moral dilemnas, I always said that I would take the high road. I said that I would intervene if I saw a man beating his wife, but that I would also try to respect the autonomy of foreign cultures. I wanted everyone to think that I was a hip, enlightened liberal.
Now, I am working in a developing country with people who live on less than one dollar per day and am having to accept that there often is not a clear, moral answer. Four of my students have reported being physically abused by their parents. I am confident that at least two of them are being habitually abused for reasons that exceed castigation. Teenage parents living below the poverty line do not always handle their emotions well. Each time, I have told the social worker at my organization what the children have said; each time, the social worker has spoken to the parents; and each time the parents have claimed that they have not layed a finger on their children, prompting the social worker to do nothing. Apparently three-year-olds who do not know how to imagine magical pairs of shoes can fabricate elaborate stories about their parents pouring boiling water on them and hitting them until they bleed. I asked my boss if Ecuador had a system for intervening in domestic abuse: foster care, counseling, anything. I was told that child abuse is illegal in Ecuador, but that I would be invited to leave the country if I were to report anything to the police.
Normally, when I face a problem or obstacle, I put it on my check-list, deal with it, and then cross it off. Now, I am in the midst of one of the most emotionally painful experiences of my life, and there is absolutely nothing that I, the ultimate get-it-doner, can do. The only solution is to change the system and the culture´s tacit acceptance of domestic violence. But let's be honest: I am a gringa hanging out in Ecuador for six months. The mob will not listen to me.
Feeling powerless in the face of injustice sucks.
Now, I am working in a developing country with people who live on less than one dollar per day and am having to accept that there often is not a clear, moral answer. Four of my students have reported being physically abused by their parents. I am confident that at least two of them are being habitually abused for reasons that exceed castigation. Teenage parents living below the poverty line do not always handle their emotions well. Each time, I have told the social worker at my organization what the children have said; each time, the social worker has spoken to the parents; and each time the parents have claimed that they have not layed a finger on their children, prompting the social worker to do nothing. Apparently three-year-olds who do not know how to imagine magical pairs of shoes can fabricate elaborate stories about their parents pouring boiling water on them and hitting them until they bleed. I asked my boss if Ecuador had a system for intervening in domestic abuse: foster care, counseling, anything. I was told that child abuse is illegal in Ecuador, but that I would be invited to leave the country if I were to report anything to the police.
Normally, when I face a problem or obstacle, I put it on my check-list, deal with it, and then cross it off. Now, I am in the midst of one of the most emotionally painful experiences of my life, and there is absolutely nothing that I, the ultimate get-it-doner, can do. The only solution is to change the system and the culture´s tacit acceptance of domestic violence. But let's be honest: I am a gringa hanging out in Ecuador for six months. The mob will not listen to me.
Feeling powerless in the face of injustice sucks.
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
The Latest
THERE'S A HOLE IN THE STREET, DEAR QUITO, DEAR QUITO, A HOLE IN THE STREET, DEAR QUITO, A HOLE
Whereas in the good ole U.S. of A. we have four seasons, Quito only has two: really rainy and not really rainy. Right now I am slogging through the really rainy season. On Monday, all of the rain caused the most important local highway to develop a 40-meter wide hole at one of its most important junctions. Fortunately, no one died. Unfortunately, there are now copious amounts of traffic. This morning, I spent almost two hours taking a normally 25-minute bus ride to work. It was enough time to make friends with guy whose job it is to stand in the bus's doorway and scream out the intended route (do not worry if you have no idea what I am talking about; it is an Ecuadorian thing). He was nineteen, enjoyed volunteering for the Ronald McDonald Foundation, and had a penchant for tongue twisters. I hope that the Ecuadorians fill up the hole soon. This traffic is driving me nuts. Tomorrow it will only get worse. Students and teachers will be back on the busses, going to school after a 2-day, hole-induced break.
I WORK FOR THE UN!
I just became a United Nations Online Volunteer. The UN has a website where people from all over the world can sign up to do Internet-based projects for NGOs and UN bodies in every continent. Right now, I am updating a database (in Spanish) for a Brazilian NGO with an English name. Go figure... I really enjoy being a UN Online Volunteer because it means that I will be able to work in Spanish after I return to the States and network with nonprofits from all corners of the globe.
OTHER EXCITING NEWS
I just got an apartment. I have a bedroom (with faux hardwood floors), walk-in closet, and bathroom just off of a large, rooftop garden overlooking Quito (needless to say, if this apartment were in NYC, the rent would be ten to twenty times as expensive and I would not be able to afford it for a very long time). I share a sizable kitchen with several other tenants. The set-up is perfect because I have plenty of my own space. However, if I want to eat a meal with someone else, I do not have to worry about being lonely.
My university released its fall course catalog yesterday. I think that you can all guess what I did for two hours.
Whereas in the good ole U.S. of A. we have four seasons, Quito only has two: really rainy and not really rainy. Right now I am slogging through the really rainy season. On Monday, all of the rain caused the most important local highway to develop a 40-meter wide hole at one of its most important junctions. Fortunately, no one died. Unfortunately, there are now copious amounts of traffic. This morning, I spent almost two hours taking a normally 25-minute bus ride to work. It was enough time to make friends with guy whose job it is to stand in the bus's doorway and scream out the intended route (do not worry if you have no idea what I am talking about; it is an Ecuadorian thing). He was nineteen, enjoyed volunteering for the Ronald McDonald Foundation, and had a penchant for tongue twisters. I hope that the Ecuadorians fill up the hole soon. This traffic is driving me nuts. Tomorrow it will only get worse. Students and teachers will be back on the busses, going to school after a 2-day, hole-induced break.
I WORK FOR THE UN!
I just became a United Nations Online Volunteer. The UN has a website where people from all over the world can sign up to do Internet-based projects for NGOs and UN bodies in every continent. Right now, I am updating a database (in Spanish) for a Brazilian NGO with an English name. Go figure... I really enjoy being a UN Online Volunteer because it means that I will be able to work in Spanish after I return to the States and network with nonprofits from all corners of the globe.
OTHER EXCITING NEWS
I just got an apartment. I have a bedroom (with faux hardwood floors), walk-in closet, and bathroom just off of a large, rooftop garden overlooking Quito (needless to say, if this apartment were in NYC, the rent would be ten to twenty times as expensive and I would not be able to afford it for a very long time). I share a sizable kitchen with several other tenants. The set-up is perfect because I have plenty of my own space. However, if I want to eat a meal with someone else, I do not have to worry about being lonely.
My university released its fall course catalog yesterday. I think that you can all guess what I did for two hours.
