coffee y toffee (R), 24 horas

I try to tend and avoid coffee shops that have a registered trademark symbol after their name.

the house music is driving me crazy, it´s all in English, and when I talk to the other girls in spanish they respond in English. IN ENGLISH.

I didn´t come all this way, leaving all the people I love and hold dear, to hold conversations in ENGLISH.

okay now that my kvetching is over.

this city is completely empty on sunday’s. it’s not that we’re the only people here that are gringas, we are the only people here. I know there is an extremely small population of Ecuadorian jews, I am going to try and seek them out. It would be interesting to see my own culture refracted through another.

that being said, I’m trying to write my essay on ¨la mujer y sociedad’ by hand. if my internship is in the jungle I better get used to living without technology. however, I think my topic…trying to explain the origins of the mind body divide in Englightenment philsophy and its repurcussions on western modern  conception of gender, leading to the domination of women by men through a cultural-historical process of socialization, is maybe a tad too sophisticated for my abilities in spanish.

I. hate. eurotrash. house. music.

I should really be working on my paper.

why oh why can’t the internetz be eazy

because I’m not in the United States anymore!!!

took a whole afternoon, and I do mean a whole afternoon, to manage to upload 5, and I mean 5, photos to flickr. (see right, click link)

currently I have about 260 on my laptop

auuughhh

also I find this font hard to read on my page but can’t currently change the theme due to similar slow interwebz problemz.

anyway, not much to update with as I have spent most of the week in bed. I have three more days of school…tues wed thurs…and then ANOTHER week off before my “semester” really starts. Where to go? Is the question of the day.

Followed immediately by,

where is a second hand bookstore? (quest to find one via the webznet: FAIL)

why is going to the shopping mall here so incredibly intimidating? (quest to buy second pair of jeans as I foolishly brought only one, thinking myself a savvy light packer: FAIL)

how am I handling knowing feeling I walk down the street and everyone, everyONE, EVERYONE is thinking, look, there goes a gringa! SHE’S NOT FROM HERE. (quest to fit in with local population, banking on “strong” nose and dark hair coloring to make me not stand out quite as much but even if I can get by on looks the minute I open my mouth it’s obvious I have an extremely tenuous grasp on Spanish, perhaps that of a prodigious 6 year old: FAIL)

am I full and satisfied after a typical ecuatorian breakfast of nescafe coffee, fruit, bread and a little bit of fresh cheese? (quest to learn how to eat like an ecuatorian, which in this house essentially means bread and coffee for breakfast and dinner with a huge lunch in between: SUCCESS!!!!!!)

woooooooooooooooo

p.s. to those who weren’t around when I used to have a xanga…ahh, early high school.

sometimes I write posts that make use of something called “hyperbole”. I often use this to what I find to be a comic effect, perhaps utilizing what could be called, “hyperbolic humor.” This means while I may write that I can speak at the level of a 6 year old, I am being hyperbolic. I’m sure it’s much more along the lines of a 4 year old.

just kidding. if they grew up with spanish they both speak better then me, although I doubt they are using their Spanish to stiltedly talk about SISTEMAS DE OPRESION (systems of oppression.)

okay I’m done.

EDIT: No I’m not.

Flickr say I have used 20% of my storage this month! For FIVE photos! out of TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY.

Seeking solutions. Help?

Hello all. You might have heard a rumor I had swine flu. Before you read the following post, written before a definitive diagnosis that I DON’T HAVE SWINE FLU, remember…I don’t have swine flu!

—————————–

To Be (infected with swine flu) or Not To Be (infected with swine flu)

Well, I’m back from the beach (more on that later.) 8 hour bus ride there and back…for five dollars for the ticket, I’m not complaining.

The current news is that I am sick; the question is, with what. Regular influenza, or influenza of the SWINE?!?!?!?!?!?!??!

During the bus ride back, I was beset with chills, headache, swollen lymph nodes, sore throat, fever, etc…..it was not a fun bus ride. I came back, rested for a day, and when the symptoms had not abated and I had developed a cough my host mother took me to a hospital. The doctor examined me and declared I was a suspect of swine flu – no other test was done to confirm this, because I guess it is government policy if you have a certain set of symptoms for over 48 hours you get treated like you have it whether you do or not. I got Tamiflu (the medicine for flu of the pig) right away and was sentenced to 7 days in quarantine.

I took the meds and immediately started to feel better.

However

Final Diagnosis issssssssssss…..

REGULAR FLU!!!!

Woooooooo.

I still feel like E.T…..whenever my host mom or Lourdes comes in they’re wearing masks…..Overall, right now I just feel tired with a mild headache and cough that I’m sure will abate soon.

And now, TO THE BEACH.

Atacames

Atacames beach is one of the hot spot vacation places for the Ecuadorian population…I believe my friends and I were the only, and I mean the ONLY, gringas there. Here is the set up of Atacames, each layer outstretching for the length of the beach:

-Ocean.

-Sand.

-Tents with Chairs available for rent, Ceviche huts (avoided for health reasons).

-Bit more sand.

-Bars, more like huts open to the elements, blasting music seemingly 24/7…mostly salsa/merengue/cumbia etc., but including such choice American songs as “You’re the One that I Want” from Grease and “Hammertime” from MC Hammer, disco lights, small dance floors.

-Stands selling multiple kinds of jewelry, things made from shells and coconuts, a lot of Che Guevera and (who’s that rasta guy) paraphernalia, leather bracelets, sundresses, pipes etc.

-Tiiiiinnny little sidewalk, covered with people.

-Tiiinnny little street, covered with cars.

-Stands selling every conceivable type of fruit, batidos (milkshakes), etc.

-Restaurants. Mostly seafood, occasionally pizza.

I’m sure there was an actual town behind this parfait, as the last day we retreated into it to find a panderia to buy some bread for the ride back, but I would say 90% of the people who come never venture deeper then 150 yards into the town.

To me, Atacames seemed impossible….the noise and the lights and the movement and everything never stopped. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but it’s big enough you kind find places that have some lull. Atacames is small enough that there is no escape. I don’t know how I slept….I guess the different music blasting from all the different bars right next to each other, the rumble of the huge crowd in the street, car alarms, sounds of the ocean, people selling things, the sizzling of cooking food, it all cancelled each other out to the kind of white noise I needed to sleep.

There were mostly clouds, for which I am grateful, because on the coast the sun is so powerful it cooks your flesh straight through the cloud cover anyway. You’ll be lying on the beach, eyes closed, feeling the heat and swearing that when you open your eyes the sun will be blaring down; but no, the sky was all grey.  I didn’t get sunburned, thank god, just a little tender on my shoulders, although I don’t know what would have happened if it was sunny. Probably roasted up like a pig.

Ahh! I’ve circled back the beginning topic. I’ll write more later.

Can all my readers read this size font with ease? Yes? Yes? Bien.

I’m going to the beach tomorrow…5 hour bus ride to the coast, 5 dollars for the ticket. I’m exciting to rent a boogie board and boogie it up in waves that don’t freeze me to the bone, to see the pacific ocean from a completely different latitude, to eat a lot of FRESH FISH!!

My spanish is improving rapidly, if not my ability to communicate my own wishes then at least my ability to understand others. What I love about this culture is that it is a PERFORMATIVE culture….everyone tells stories and waves their hands around and acts out all the parts, even my host padre, who is at other times somewhat formal. I can´t wait to meet some local theater folk and see what they are like…I am the only creative type in my program (everyone is great, but so far all political science or economics or buisness majors) and so I kind of stick out at times. I miss having people I feel comfortable being foolish and acting out the clown with, who take performative theory seriously, etc. etc. etc.

But the stories! Lourdes, who I mentioned earlier, has truly an incredible story. One thing about television here is that shows that are popular with kids in the states seem to be popular with…everyone…here…think Spongebob, Pokemon, etc. (Simpsons as well! My host mom told me the government actually banned the show some months earlier under the justification that it was bad for children, and the people protested so much they brought it back.) Anyway, I thought it was kind of odd until Santiago, my host brother, and I managed to exchange some ¨Isn´t this kind of quaint¨ glances as Lourdes and my mami watched Pokemon….but one of the other reasons I think Lourdes enjoys kid´s shows and the Jonas Brothers and revistas de celebrities so much is that she never had a childhood….she was telling me how her mother was always sick, her father abandoned her family, she was given her newborn brother to raise at the age of ten, mother died, couldn’t go to school….she is the sweetest person I know here and I find it truly incredible that she managed to come into Quito and create a life for herself that she truly enjoys. She turns 18 in November.

I won´t be updating until Sunday when I come back from the beach, so expect more prose poetry then. I hope when my mind has fully adjusted I’ll be able to post more significant ponderings then what-did-I-do-today.

A Flickr link is soon to follow. I´ve managed to upload some photos. Not all because I felt bad spending so much time on the computer, but enough to prove I made it here.

FALSE ALARM: after waiting several minutes for my photos to upload it didn’t go through…I have managed to find a computer I can upload my photos onto in the first place, and made a flickr account, so I´m several steps closer. The problem is energy is more expensive here and I feel guilty leaving the computer on so long just to try and upload photos. When I’m writing my next essay I’ll try again. Or, anyone have any tips of how to speed up the uploading process?

Someone asked me about quotidian life in Ecuador and I really can’t say that I know that yet. It’s only been one week but it’s been a very…dense…week to say in the least. I don’t know if I could describe what is exactly different yet, except for extremely obvious things like mountains…(speaking of which, still trying to figure out how to get my photos on this old lap top, a flickr link will come soon.)

So I thought I would interest you all with what everyday life things have established a pattern thus far:

Breakfast: Nescafe coffee. Jugo de mora, naranjilla, tomate, etc. (blackberry, fruit we don’t have in the states, orange.) Pan. (Bread – think rolls and croissants instead of loafs.) Fruta, muy fresca. (Fruit, very fresh. Papaya, pineapple, melon, etc.) Occasionally an egg.

Lunch:  This is the basic construction of a plato tipico here, with some variables thrown in: Arroz. (Rice.) Un tipo de carne. (A type of meat.) Platanos. (Plaintains, boiled or fried.)

Dinner: Repeat above.

Pets: A golden retriever (not spayed) named Samuel, a smallish mop of fur perhaps a shishitzu named Muneca (doll), a cat whose name I don’t remember who doesn’t like me. The dogs LOVE me. They are slowly changing my mind about dogs…the whole unconditional love no matter who you are thing is helping out through these first lonely moments. The golden retriever is a beautiful dog, truly golden, and whenever I walk past practically begs me with his eyes and tail to come play with him (he lives outside.) Muneca is a ball of greasy black shaggy fur that likes to fall asleep on my lap as I try to understand spanish TV cop shows. The cat is about the size of my thumb with eyes that take up half her little face but she avoids me mostly. Still like cats better, but definitely seeing the appeal of dogs….they have made me feel so much less lonely, so much more loved.

Really wish I could post photos. Soon soon soon. Internet is fizzing in and out, so hasta luego.

It’s been I don’t know how many days since I landed in Quito…a little under a week. I still don’t quite believe that I am here. I have to keep reminding myself that it has not even been a week and I will not be able to speak fluent Spanish for a long while yet; that being said, I have been able to communicate much better then I anticipated. Last night I missed not my home or my family as much as I felt pangs for English; not for the language itself, but the subtlety with which I was able to craft sentences, understand meaning, mold the malleability of the language to my own means. I can’t do that in Spanish…my host family is gracious however, and I have already had conversations that most definitely go beyond the basic functions of life.

My host family is affluent…I almost have a whole floor to myself. The buliding was designed by my host padre, an architect.  Each floor has two bathrooms, kitchen, sitting room, two bedrooms, etc. On the bottom floor is me and the bedroom of their domestic help, Lourdes, who is sweet, eats Trix cereal for every meal I have been present for, loves the television shows Pokemon, Simpsons and Spongebob, and comes from a very conservative and traditional community on the coast of Ecuador. From what I understand, it was an arranged marriage that finally pushed her to move to Quito with her cousin. She came illiterate and without a job but has been working with the Herrera family for two years and now knows how to both read and write. She says she doesn’t miss her family back home, as they were too controlling and too cold.

My host father, Rodrigo, is an architect; I haven’t seen him much because he works long days but he is kind and gracious. My host brother, Santiago, is studying architecture and isn’t around much either, but when he is likes to joke a lot and teases pretty much everyone in the house in a good-hearted sort of way, me included.

My host mother, Cecilia is remarkably similar in terms of health to my own mother…i.e. diabetes, hypertension, thyroid, etc. She used to work for the police but is now retired. I have spent a lot of time with her and she has been very comforting; I understand her best because she takes pains to speak slowly and clearly to me. Her mother, my host abuelita, is beset with anxiety and is frail like a bird, hands aged and brown like leather but soft to the touch…I went with them to the public hospital as my host mother wanted her mother to be seen by a psychiatrist for her agoraphobia and insomnia. It was an experience best left to another post…very interesting, but also unsettling. Mi abuelita gripped my hand the whole time. I told her I take pills for anxiety and that they would make her life much more easy and that seemed to comfort her a little.

Quito is remarkable to me in that everywhere there are glimpses of mountains, little slips of sight down alleyways or out windows where suddenly you gasp because there is this great heaving animal of green and brown; they aren’t sharp mountains, but rather soft, crowned with clouds. The clouds are so close here.

They call me Anita here.

I’m not quite sure who that is, but it’s the name I now answer to.

Quito is clouds and mountains, sun on cobblestones, sudden rain.
Quito is dogs on roofs and balconies, taxis that stop for no pedestrian, thirteen cent rolls of sweet bread.

New Quito is like a man with two faces, one ugly and one dashing, ice cream colored apartment buildings clashing with the grey sky, everywhere stores everywhere advertising rising up pristine clean from derelict lots, everything concrete everything cement.

Old Quito is a flash through a bus window, a hurried guided tour, a glimpse of beauty of churches made of gold of churches made of cream stone of churches made of volcanic rock of condors, angels and saints. A promise to myself to come back tonight and explore on my own pace.

Quito is the smell of gasoline soaked pavement in the rain, of every kind of fruit you can imagine, of Nescafe and cheap bread.

No se Quito todavia; ese es un poema de mi imagnacion, mis pensimientos lindos pero quizas sin hechos, sin hechos, pero quizas, mas acera a el verdad.

First impressions are always important.