tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53774205808503653532024-02-07T03:05:10.422-08:00TBB: Tom Beyond BordersWritings and entries from my travels with Thinking Beyond Borders, an adventure in international development through Costa Rica, Ecuador, Peru, South Africa, India, China, and Cambodia.Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.comBlogger16125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-87297018264733158532012-05-29T15:04:00.002-07:002012-05-29T15:04:17.414-07:00Technology Re-Entry and an Identity Crisis<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">As the end of the trip neared and we all
stressed throughout our State Park stay in Virginia, reflections of the trip
continued to barrage me. Our experiences
seemed even more distant and absurd with each day back in the United States,
and above all I feared that I would slip back into my home routine. Sitting inside on the computer, watching
movies, eating ice cream, losing touch with the ambition and curiosity I had
spent all year trying to foster. </span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">In Virginia
thankfully, still with the group, I could work with a clear head and try to
focus on what I learned most from the trip: interconnectedness. What a large and vague word that is…oddly it
took a lot of journal writings and thinking to find what I learned most from
the trip, and that what I learned most was not necessarily about the world or
global issues, but myself. That I am not
independent, that I rely on others on a day to day basis for support,
motivation, food, resources, more than just the members of the group but those
around the world who make my clothes, grow food, etc. In such an individualistic country and
culture, it became hard for me not to place individualism and independence as
the pinnacles of character. But more and
more I learned that I needed to become aware that I could never truly be
independent, and needed to learn that I could grow from relying on others. But as with many lessons, TBB doesn’t solve
the problem, and I continue to have to reassess what independence means to me
and how I interact with others according to my definitions of such terms. Nothing is solved, I just reach a new set of
questions or experiences to redefine my previous solution to a problem. As a student and learner searching for
concrete answers, that was probably the hardest lesson to learn: for the most important problems/issues, often
there is no solution. All my life I was
told that learning is a journey but never really understood why before TBB.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">After an elegant graduation ceremony in the
Capitol building, speeches, food, tears and hugs with the group, we left and the
program ended. Home didn’t hit me until
I actually left the company of the group, and felt the deep silence of being
alone. I had to reintegrate myself with my
family, my house, my culture, my “old life” and self. I stayed silent for the whole plane ride and car
trip home, bursting out when I saw such trivial items like a plate of fruit or
my house and garage. I couldn’t talk, I
couldn’t open up, and I could no longer rely on the group for support like
before. Seeing a plate of fruit meant “where
did this come from?” and seeing my garage meant “why do we have so much stuff
we don’t really need?”. TBB taught me
critical consciousness and now I would have to experiment with how I could fit
into my life. The scariest part was that
my “self” I had evolved into over the trip wasn’t who I was the first few days
and weeks of being home. Thankfully I
came to realize that I hadn’t lost the group, and the cliché “don’t be sad that
it’s over but happy that it happened” became more true. I understand now that as I think of TBB I know
I have not lost the group, but gained a new family I can rely on at home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Being home has
meant many things. Up and down moods,
boredom, sloth, fatigue, apathy, and I realize now it will take months to
really acclimate back to US lifestyle. I
look more at my values with each action, which means that though I feel more
conscious of my choices, when I choose to ignore my values the cognitive
dissonance becomes more severe. As I
think about my lifestyle now I don’t really know where to quite begin. I need to refigure my values, apply them to
my lifestyle and become comfortable with my way of life again. I may have been comfortable before but now
seeing how I have lived I don’t know if I want to continue living the same
way. People keep asking me what my
favorite country was or my favorite experience, and though I answer that my
favorite countries were Ecuador and China, I have no idea how to offer a
favorite experience. There really was no
favorite experience. The culmination of
all these events and experiences changed who I am now, and I feel that I can’t easily
convey such a massive year in a simple conversation. I have to redefine myself and reincorporate
my TBB self into my day to day life and actions. All the opening up, interconnectedness I
experienced with the group I now must apply again. I never realized before how comfortable I was
with the group until I see now how inwards I have acted in the past few weeks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Certain activities
and quirks frustrate me. I spent what
seemed like an hour standing in the supermarket staring at the food as I
struggled to find the mere five items I needed.
Trips to the movie theater have left me angry and tired rather than
excited and satisfied like before.
Looking into my closet and at my room I scowl at all my clothes I never
wear that just take up space uselessly. I
visited my cousin Peter’s school and as I sat in the foldable plastic chairs in
the cold gym, I took the time to count eight people on cell phones. And still I cannot find how to incorporate
the lessons I learned from the trip to motivate myself to act now. I do feel myself slipping into old routines,
and though I realize that change isn’t linear and I may regress, I find myself
attacked by pangs of pure indifference and laziness. Periodic apathy over the trip has become more
frequent now and I need to rediscover how to combat such feelings. It’s scary.
I need to relearn how to talk with my family, and have been unusually
quiet in comparison to TBB, very uncomfortable in big groups of people and
shocked by stores and malls. All very
exhausting, but thankfully with time many of the confusions and frustrations
become more clear and easier to sort out.
Exercise becomes a bit more regular, structure slowly returns. With time, incorporating my TBB self into day
to day interactions has been cyclical and very dependent on time of day and
circumstance, yet in moments it shines through unhindered. I realize progress will be slow, but somewhat
certain.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Reengaging with
technology has been a major challenge. I
expected so much of facebook to make me feel better the first week, so much
time spent checking posts from the group, sending texts, and making phone
calls, but with all of the reliance on technology I relied little on other
people around me for help. Thus I
secluded myself more. In an attempt to
understand my situation I went more inward when I had learned the whole year
that most often what had helped the most was to reach outward. The importance of engaging other people. After a year of being with people constantly,
facebook doesn’t quite seem like enough, a phone call or text not as satisfying
anymore. Face to face, personal
conversations remain the most satisfying way of communication for me, but if I
rely on such a small setting I limit myself to the connections I could make
using technology. Talking with my Dad he
told me that technology, phones, etc allow me to have those conversations with
others that don’t need to be next to me to have meaning and purpose. I do know he’s right, but through my love for
the small community feels of Ecuador or China, I must try and incorporate
technology into my life without letting it invade my personal time. My Mom shares such feelings, that technology
can take time away from one’s day, can take away the 100% attention that I feel
others deserve from me. But then not
answering a call or text also becomes taking away attention from a friend, and
balancing how much time I spend with such devices/connections remains a
challenge. A big help in trying to
understand such a struggle came from a TED talk by Sherry Turkle called “Connected
but Alone”- it’s pretty awesome.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Overall the questions
I have been asking myself on TBB continue.
Who am I? What are my
values? How do I want to travel? And unfortunately none of these questions
have answers, and as I go through these struggles thankfully I learn more about
myself every day. My expectation that
TBB would make sense of the world for me has certainly not come true, and each
problem “solved” just reveals a new set of questions to ponder. TBB gave me an environment to try out a new
me, a me that I would want to become in the future. Now I just need to bridge the gap. My progress embodies my asking these
questions, and continuing to ask myself these questions while not forgetting the
past year immersing myself in the “home routine”. And the biggest question of all that
continues to persist and drive me insane:
how do I want to live? Hopefully
it will continue to persist and pester me for a few more years at least. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-46114882449297048012012-05-29T13:45:00.002-07:002012-05-29T15:07:08.940-07:00The Big Apple and A Bigger Bagel<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-size: 18px;"> After a week with my head in the clouds in Cambodia, we returned to the US to reconnect with our home culture and our families in New York. A rough fever on the 13 hour flight didn’t make me feel too great, but nonetheless the girls sang in excitement as we approached New York. The weekend was chaotic as I didn’t quite know how to act around my parents, what to say, what to do but sleep. I had my first good steak in a year, saw “Spiderman”, went to a fancy lunch with the rest of the TBB families, had a great weekend looking solely at what we did. Our hotel was incredible, an atrium with statues and stone floor, but it all didn’t quite fit. My stomach couldn’t take the steak I had eaten with ease before the trip, the hotel seemed absurdly big compared to the modest hostels I was accustomed to. My first meal in New York was a bagel with salmon and cream cheese, but the first thing I noticed about it was the size. It was massive. After hounding food over the trip from the rest of the group, I barely ate that weekend and had little ambition to see any parts of New York. Commercials appeared excessive and foreign, and with so many people and lights in the city I felt constantly lost and distracted…a space cadet’s worst nightmare. Everything around me just felt too complex, too complicated, and why did everyone go so fast everywhere? Everyone was in a hurry, and I struggled to make sense of a lot of what I saw. Going back would definitely prove harder than leaving. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Throughout NY and DC we continued to visit
different organizations and the confusions continued. I committed myself to asking questions at
meetings like Planned Parenthood, Iris House, the UN, Global Financial Integrity,
but after immersing ourselves in a country and a service project, I couldn’t
grasp many of the organizations’ purposes, and more importantly how those
purposes related to work on the ground.
With such short meetings, I couldn’t understand actual work that the
organization accomplished- it was all general, all statistics, all abstract
ideas and motives and reasons that had little meaning compared to the detail we
went in with each country. I could no
longer nod my head in satisfaction that an organization fought poverty or
helped empower others because such words no longer have a set meaning or
definition. Development has become more
broad, and thus harder to understand in an office when the actual work does not
happen in that setting. I expected to
feel satisfied with such examples of change in the US, and I did feel hopeful,
but generalities no longer mean as much as work on the ground.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> In DC we had the
chance to learn how to lobby with an organization called RESULTS, a chance to
do our own research on bills and budgets, to voice our support to our actual
representatives in our home states. I
had no idea that anyone could really do that!
But looking through the bills and acts I understood the incredible
difficulty of policy. I didn’t know what
to support and even if I did find a bill or appropriation ask that interested
me, I couldn’t begin to understood how the language of the bill translated to
action. It was too large scale, too
sweeping for me, so disconnected from the real implementation. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">My fellow Connecticut resident Katherine
and I set out prowling the streets of DC in search of a bagel before our
meeting with staff of Joe Courtney, Jim Hymes, Richard Blumenthal, and Joe
Lieberman. I felt a bit stiff in my suit
but thankfully I fit right in with the citizens of DC. I guess there are a lot of important jobs
there or something. We were off to lobby
for the Education for All Bill, and surprisingly got through security in all of
the buildings, it was pretty easy really.
They didn’t even ask who we were seeing or if we had an appointment…US
security. I felt very intimidated
looking at all the flags and plaques of the representatives lining the stone
interior of the building, the immaculate carpet in the office, the tv showing
live broadcast of voting on a recent bill in the House. But all of the staff agreed with our points,
agreed that we should support education, and in many cases our representatives
already supported education. I’m not
sure if I really felt that fulfilled because the meetings were so short, and
though the staff did take notes they have many meetings a day with many
different issues to try and solve. Did I
make an incredible difference? Probably
not, but at least I could have the chance to, and never before did I realize I
could. We met another Connecticut couple
with a man lobbying against budget cuts for science classes in school, and even
being so close to DC, I never had interest in such political procedures. I probably won’t in the future either, at
least for a job, but unfortunately I need to realize that change can happen in
that environment, and politics is a vital part to making change anywhere else
in the world. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-12294972336687253722012-05-29T13:37:00.001-07:002012-05-29T15:06:38.720-07:00Pools and Leisure in Cambodia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">It has been quite a while since my last
post, but since I have been back in the US after a trip to Cambodia, I haven't
really felt like I have been "abroad" anymore. Oddly, even
though I was still travelling, I didn't feel as motivated to blog, take
pictures etc. because it felt like I was finally home. In a gray area between being home yet still
having to visit organizations and work on my presentation of learning for our
DC portion of the trip.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">After the end of China and moving to our
last village called Caicun, another farming village outside the city of Dali in
Yunnan, we took a plane over to Cambodia for a week of poolside leisure before
jumping into our last core country: the United States. We stayed in an
eco-friendly hostel much like in Costa Rica, owned by a Swiss German couple.
Very personal feel, banana smoothies by the pool, very much different
from Indian slums or a South African township. Almost too much leisure as
time seemed to lag in the Cambodian heat and humidity. It was a tourist trip, and after little
experiences such as a cooking class and pottery introduction, we made sure to
hit the biggest tourist destination in Siem Reap: Angkor Wat. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Angkor Wat’s beauty truly goes way back
and although it looks monotone, as I looked more I saw many shades of whites,
grays, blacks that endured centuries, and the depth and intricacy of the stone
carvings. Unfortunately as a tourist
destination everyone can see the sites, so many were somewhat crowded and I
felt as though to experience the site fully I needed more solitude. In such majestic temples I wanted to wander
on my own but as part of the group I needed to keep up and we couldn’t roam as
much ourselves- not to mention the crowds of other tourists looking for
pictures too. It is almost a shame that
we visited at the end of the trip as I felt that my overall energy was waning,
anticipation to see parents, summarize our learning from the trip in our final
presentations. I expected to be full of
vibe, fully awake in the presence of such amazing temples but I really wasn’t,
and much of the responsibility falls on me.
After such a long trip travelling, so many sites, the extraordinary
became ordinary and I couldn’t wrap my head fully around the site’s aura. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Around town I preoccupied myself with
tourist oddities- fish eating at my feet, looking at artwork, cooking class. The entire town has been transformed for
tourism- markets, shops, land mine victims selling books for the travelers. I even saw a man jumping through a ring of
fire on the side of the street in the hopes of money from foreigners. Our floating village tour didn’t feel real,
genuine, as we stopped to see crocodiles sitting cramped in a stagnant pool,
waiting to be sold. Shops littered the
central docking area as tourists scattered; one woman pointing at different
objects to bring back as souvenirs, with seemingly little care as to what she
was even buying. I felt the incredible
awkwardness of sitting on a boat knowing that we paid to drive and see a
lifestyle that has now become a way to make money. And with only a day to visit, trying to “understand”
a culture becomes near futile, a mere excuse.
I always came into a conflict with myself of expecting to see “traditional”
clothing, culture, etc, when in many ways I have no idea if such tourism
actually helps the people at all. I was
careful not to point the camera at the little kids’ faces for sake of decency,
careful not to disturb someone for a shot of “poverty” to bring back home. It is such a delicate issue for a tourist,
how I want to travel and how I want to affect others while I try and make my
own experience. And as I sat looking
into the eyes of children holding snakes around their necks as they floated in
metal bowls down the brown river, asking tourists for a dollar in exchange for
pictures, I couldn’t help but feel sad. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-258147296817743302012-03-18T20:27:00.000-07:002012-03-18T20:27:31.997-07:00From Dusty Air to Fertile Soil<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Moving from the incessant dust and noise in India to China feels like the discovery of a long lost oasis.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can hear my thoughts, see green again, and remain surprised once again at the beep of a car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The end of India came quickly with the closing of media projects, saying goodbye to our project leaders exchanging email addresses and taking pictures to moving out of our homestay off to Agra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Standing in line early in the morning to see sunrise at the Taj Mahal, what a sight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dull bright morning light glancing off the curvature of the building made it look two dimensional, like a backdrop from an old movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it only got brighter as the sun rose in the sky, becoming almost transparent white.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I only wish I could have been there alone without the other tourists; I feel that I could never really have spent enough time to do the site justice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tourists sat sketching, I snapped pictures, but I’ll always wish I had more time to enjoy its aura.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Time moved quickly form Agra to visiting some famous tombs and sneaking pictures to New Delhi, the ultimate backpacker location.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quirky shops lined the main street and I saw many other tourists and backpackers, maybe the most this trip other than Macchu Picchu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quite an odd moment when I find myself staring at foreigners more than the Indians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From seeing a modern Lotus Temple to witnessing Muslim prayers, navigating shops to find the most resonant meditation bowl, I enjoyed exploring Delhi’s side streets before leaving tuk tuks for the quieter streets of China.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After long flight through Hong Kong, we arrived in Kunming for the week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I filled my lungs with fresh air, no exhaust, no dust, no dirt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No piles of trash or urine stains on the walls anymore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We started our venture in China with the more basic part of travelling to a new country- learning the language. Learning the difficult tones and some common phrases, I could go on my own to breakfast, ordering a noodle bowl, pizza-like dough, or pork dough balls with sweet soy milk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One night we even ventured to try add hot water noodles, but as I expected they did not taste amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One of our first meals astounded me, the welcome dinner to China.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all sat around a giant table with a revolving center, accommodating all different dishes in larger bowls for the table to share.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We struggled to grab the different items, all different vegetables, fish, meat, eggs, and of course the staple: rice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The meals represented the most sharing in our food we have seen this trip, and reminds me of how different such a meal stands from a microwaveable tv dinner someone eats alone in front of a movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I have read and seen, China is a collectivist society, putting the group’s needs before the individual, much different from the American individualistic mantra.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In my homestay I remember seeing a job training commercial emphasizing the group, lines of organized uniform workers, rather than in the US where the same commercial would emphasize the personal attention each trainee might receive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I delighted in the funny English tee shirts, Angry Birds paraphernalia, and the generosity of the store owners to be patient with my Chinese.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt more comfortable as classes continued, but once we moved out of Kunming into the rural farming village for our homestay, communication became a bit more trying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we scaled down the winding mountain roads, Scott distracted me from my movie to see several farmers hiding behind giant backpacks of sticks they shouldered down the slope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Diving into the village to the sound of drums with the looks of hardened Chinese farmers, I felt a rush of excitement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were really rural.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Feelings of Atahualpa rushed back as we were introduced to our homestay parents, me alone in a family with several daughters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I walked in I noticed the animals, the dog chained at the entrance, no door to the courtyard area leading to several rooms including the kitchen, family area, and bedrooms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After meeting the pigs, cow, and chickens my host father leads me in front of the television with a cup of green tea before leaving for other errands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It kind of surprised me, no formal introduction, no conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ho could I communicate beyond hello, being majority Bai, a minority in China, they speak a different dialect than I am learning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our Chinese teacher sometimes does not even understand their conversations.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At our first meal I finally introduced myself as an American, but did not learn their names until several days into the visit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Privacy is not as private here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My host sisters may peer into my room, even come in as I sit reading or studying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Communication remains difficult and mostly a game of pointing and repeating the word from my host father.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost all foods include rice, maybe some dough or bread like meal for lunch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vegetables like beans are cycled with eggs or pig fat, most likely slaughtered by the family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Any food we don’t eat we eat the next meal, and some also goes to feed the dog or pigs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No waste.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And they don’t hesitate to give me more rice as it becomes a challenge is I can reach the rice bowl before my host Mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>3-4 bowls of rice a meal, and even if I said I don’t like the meat, they’ll laugh and give me a little bit more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s all the culture of having a guest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The meal schedule is bit od with a late breakfast, around 10, with a 3 o’clock lunch and dinner between 7 and 8.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other than meals I spend time with the family watching tv or playing soccer with the kids- the Chinese soap opera like show we watch entertains me, and they always laugh as I try to speak Chinese or say their names.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My host father will make sure to show off how I know their names to any new guest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knows my name too, despite a strange pronunciation, and is always excited as I nod my head when he says “drink”.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>My host family is a farming family, and my host father is also a plumber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We do not have too many material comforts, just a squat toilet and a shower I can use at someone else’s house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The town houses several hundred people, so the community is tight knit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The majority of families are farmers, and for our work project we accompany our family in the fields.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have done a lot of weeding, one day hitting a rock over and over to break it into smaller parts, or even harvest garlic scapes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s amazing that I did not know where garlic came from, or even what broccoli looks like in the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We visited an organic farm near Kunming where virtually everything in the meal was grown on the farm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Working close to the land is rewarding but hard, as meditative and satisfactory as weeding feels I ache towards the end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I work only a few hours- my host family does most of the work and they are almost like grandparents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The aging of farmers and the lack of younger labor on farms is becoming a bigger issue in farming, especially with more labor- intensive sustainable farming practices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We visited a market recently and I got to see an actual pig cut and sitting out for the consumer to see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Vegetables sitting on a cloth by the side of the street next to other farmers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I even saw live fish in a little pool for people to buy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why is it that I have never seen my food so live, so raw before?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Live fish!?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember seeing live lobsters in the supermarket, but now that becomes more rare to see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of these issues with food transparency become more apparent when I eat the family’s own food, and most of the food I see here has no plastic packaging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How did we become so far removed from our food?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These are the topics of sustainable agriculture we study here in China.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><a href="" name="_GoBack"></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-78155262615488819732012-02-04T02:43:00.001-08:002012-02-04T02:43:48.663-08:00An American High Schooler's Thoughts on Teaching in India<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>966</o:Words> <o:Characters>5512</o:Characters> <o:Company>Thinking Beyond Borders</o:Company> <o:Lines>45</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>12</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>6466</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>14.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> <o:OfficeDocumentSettings> <o:AllowPNG/> </o:OfficeDocumentSettings> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> 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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Over the course of these few weeks attempting to teach English and Math to Hindi speaking children, I have come to greatly appreciate preschool and elementary school teachers. We help to teach a government school in Katputali Nagar, an urban slum. Mud, dirt, fields of trash with pigs and goats scavenging for food. Dirty kids squatting in broad daylight. One day a beggar girl asked for some water, and strangely the students urged me to say "no". I felt awful, not because of the beggars but that after shaking hands, I would need to sanitize back at Idex. It just felt insensitive as the first thought to pop in my head. We heard some of the beggars here have "pimps", and when offered food they decline and ask only for money. But every time we climb out of our auto rickshaw kids run up to try and shake our hands, saying "hello" and "how are you". For many of these people, we are probably some of the first white people they have seen, not to mention Americans. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">The school is fairly large, with kids both younger and older than the ones we teach in 2nd and 3rd grade, our class averaging around 20-30 students. The school attendance fluctuates because of family or even religious duties, so some students may not come to school for 5-6 days at a time, where we will need to visit their family. Then some days students will not be in school because they are flying kites instead, so the rules for coming into school are not nearly as strict as in the States. One day we visited some of the families, and the kids were so excited to drag me by the hand towards their family houses in the back alleys of their neighborhood. They seemed so comfortable, knowing every turn and climbing on roofs, jumping around to take shortcuts. Expecting to see glum, morose faces, everyone looked very happy and intrigued to see us. We heard about the puppet making traditions of the parents, but that because of television the job is becoming less and less supportive. Though passed down through generations, the parents recognize that their children should not become puppet makers and instead enforce the importance of schooling by having some children attend extra classes. I learned recently that they all go to school through Saturday too! I did not expect to hear that at all. One man in the slum mentioned that he had been to Spain, and even spoke Spanish! The slum looks desolate only in appearance, not character or intellect.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Learning about liberating education in our seminars has made me question my own education as well as the way I approached education in the slum. One of the first impulses that struck me when I saw the kids was the yearning for order, for discipline as they ran around and tried to shake our hands, grabbing and clawing for attention. I knew that I shouldn’t want to place myself above the students, but in that instant I realized how easy it is to do. Easy for control, and as the teacher, older and physically bigger, I thought I should have authority in order to teach. That though I wanted to be the students’ friend, I also needed to exercise authority. What also struck me was the difference in sound between classes outside and our own- kids outside were silent, slaving in workbooks while the teachers supervised silently, while ours yelled and ran around the room. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Over time I began to realize that I had to cater my teaching style to multiple abilities and learning styles, every day an experiment for the one worksheet or activity that would work for everyone. I discovered there was none, that one of the best activities for the class was “Boom Chicka Boom”, and that was not a lesson. Every worksheet had a takeaway, every lesson a plan, every activity a guideline. One day the leaders challenged us to use no worksheets for two days, and over those days I discovered how much we relied on them. But thinking of fun, engaging activities made their learning much more fun, though it did not help to calm them down. Their sheer amount of energy and vigor drained me every day, excited to leave the chaos for a quiet group lunch back at Idex. Often I woke up unmotivated or felt weighed down by the challenge of our own lesson plans, but now seeing them progressing and becoming more confident in their learning I don’t want to miss a day. Ironically, I have found that often the less control I impose on their lesson, the more they discover and learn for themselves. They learn more when I am not a teacher but a facilitator, when resisting my urge to give the answer becomes incredibly challenging. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> A recent remark one of the leaders stressed was that these programs, our work is not meant to create meaningful change, that our six weeks here give us a service learning experience. I find it strange that volunteers from everywhere come searching to make a difference, but yet as teachers we have no experience and do not even know the native language. The kids learn from us, but we have no training. I’ve found the nature of volunteering here absurd, that students or other volunteers can come to India and not even know the project they will work on or the nature of the work. As part of development, working on a project to make change without even knowing its nature or the credentials astounds me. And our leader, Kayce, is right—this work gives us an experience, for our benefit as well as that of the students. Yes, we do make a difference, but changing the world takes an incredible amount more of commitment. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> I’ll end with a story. One day we were trying to catch an auto rickshaw to go to work and though many pulled up to offer rides, they gave prices much too high because we were foreigners. After walking away from multiple drivers, bargaining down to a fair price, one driver finally agreed. Expecting him to be frustrated at our bargaining, I smiled when he called us “intelligent” instead. Contrary to my belief, though the drivers may try and rip us off, many remain good hearted and want only to test our cultural intelligence. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Very little time remains in India, and in the whirlwind of media project work and IST, wrapping up with teaching and seminars, I have had little time to slow down and enjoy each moment. In the bustle of cars and motorcycles and beeping, India continues to drive on, and in less than two weeks we will be on a plane to China, our last core country before returning to the US. The world tour is sadly winding down. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><!--EndFragment--></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-32556229009887040342012-01-07T21:33:00.000-08:002012-01-07T21:40:55.951-08:00India: Aggressive Driving and Primary Education<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">After a long eight-hour flight into Jaipur and a six-hour layover attempting to sleep on the cold airport floor, we got into our host families and settled down. Jaipur struck me right away as much more foreign than South Africa. Though there are American touches, such as malls and fast food restaurants littered around the city, the immense language barrier and absurd traffic make India much different than our other countries. Jaipur as a city is very urban, with cars, motorcycles, and rickshaws bustling everywhere. The fumes permeate the air, and I miss the clean mountain air from Ecuador. The streets are very dusty, a kind of mix between truck fumes and dirt, and looking at the sky I often feel as though I am looking through a shroud. Beeping is constant, and the rickshaw rides into work are a mess of organized chaos. Motorcycles mostly occupy the road, but bikes, pedestrians, cars, tractors, and even camels and cows use the streets too, and using Chris’s words, it looks like a go-kart race. The amount of weaving and beeping motorcycles astounds me, as few have rear view mirrors or blinkers. Almost all of the roads have no lines, and often a rickshaw driver will drive against traffic in order to make a u-turn into oncoming traffic. I laugh everyday at how close we come to accidents, but realize now all the seemingly chaotic beeping signifies that someone is passing or close to your vehicle. Although we are almost always close to another vehicle, so close I could touch the driver next to us. The rickshaw drivers frequently become lost, prefer not to use the required meter, or try to rip us off as Americans. Most rides cost about a dollar fifty, or 70 rupees, with about 50 rupees to the dollar. There are speeding laws in place, but I have not seen one traffic cop. Though a motorcycle handle did touch my leg, I otherwise have not seen one accident. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Hindi is the main language spoken here, but we learned that really no one speaks true Hindi, but a dialect called Urdu. We have picked up on some basic phrases like “Namaste”, meaning “hello” or “aapka naam kya hai?”, meaning “what is your name”. Interestingly enough, I knew of Namaste already from yoga in the US, and this morning I had a chance to do yoga with my host father, who does jewelry. He showed me multiple meditation exercises with short, fast lung breathing and stomach breathing, along with slower breathing towards the end with ohms. I didn’t expect to be doing short fast breathing with meditation, but he said that the breathing gives energy. There are many volunteers in our house, from the US, Brazil, and even Poland. Much like South Africa, with so many people coming in and out, the house feels like a hostel. The family has one servant who helps with the cleaning, and the inside feels very spacious with gorgeous white marble floors. All of the boys live in the basement, and we use the bathroom water heater for our bucket showers. Humorously, I jumped on my bed expecting a soft mattress and instead found my bed to be a table with a slight cushion on top. Despite the rather hard sleeping surface, I have slept wonderfully- Chris also sleeps great on a piece of plywood. Recently, we have even seen the basement transform into a construction zone, as we wake up to screaming metal saw blades. In many of the India households and offices, everyone must take off their shoes before entering, and one weekend we visited an outdoor market in order to buy some “camel leather” sandals to wear inside. For about four dollars, they have proved a great investment. The place we went was incredibly crowded with people, but the owner ushered us towards the back in order to try on certain pairs. Once I found the pair I liked, I asked if they had a darker pair. Instead of getting another pair of shoes with a darker shade, a boy brought me the same pair of sandals dripping slightly. I could smell the strong aroma of paint thinner. Welcome to India.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Being a foreigner, many people stare at us. Between our American accents and incredibly white skin, we stick out and receive a lot of stares. On one occasion where we visited an outdoor mall area with blaring club music, a man flipped us off and proceeded to direct beggars toward us. Nice guy. Once again, I felt so struck by the effects of globalization once again here. I ordered a frozen yogurt at CocoBerry, taking about twenty minutes because of the language barrier, the other guys bought food at a nice McDonald’s, Chris ordering a Big Maharaja Burger, with chicken instead of the traditional beef burger. Cows here are considered sacred by the Hindi religion, so slaughter of a cow for food is viewed as a sacrilege. I even saw a woman with YouTube flip flops, along with a Bollywood movie sponsored by YouTube. We saw a Bollywood action movie called Don 2 with Shah Rukh Han, a famous Hindi actor, in a ridiculous action movie, all in Hindi. After the absurdly embellished two and a half hour film, we caught little of the Hindi humor. No English subtitles. Back to our mall experience, I saw that the Pizza Hut, a run down beat up food chain in the States, presented itself as a sit down family restaurant with shiny tables and folded napkins. Even McDonald’s looked very clean and organized, adorned with flashy New Year’s messages as people filled all of its tables. The format of the mall struck me the most, that as I went to the mall in order to find traditional Indian clothing, I looked around and saw all these younger Indians sporting Western, brand named clothing instead. The strange relation between my trying to understand and embrace their culture while they sought to escape from their own jarred me. The sound of Sean Paul played on a cell phone belonging to a small Indian boy in a slum really shook me. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">New Year’s Eve in Jaipur, for our family, amounted to a fairly simple night. We asked if they had any traditions surrounding New Year’s, and although they said they sometimes go out, our host father mentioned that he was alone this year. As the other volunteers left to go to some restaurants and parties later that night, we were left alone to decide how to spend our New Year’s Eve. So Chris and I crossed the street to go to a kite store. Crossing that street gave me the first legitimate fear that a car or motorcycle might hit me. The cars do not necessarily yield to passengers, and darting across the road proves very dangerous because of the weaving motor bikers. Timing the cars made reaching the other side like a Frogger game. Being kite season in Jaipur, I thought to fly one on the roof. We bought four paper kites, and after seeing many kids in the city flying kites effortlessly, I thought I could do it too. I was wrong. Unfortunately, flying a kite requires more than an occasional tug, and Chris and Conner watched as I proceeded to shred the kite with repeated crashes on the hard, cement roof. After our failed kite attempt, we decided to go up on our roof overlooking the city to watch a movie on our laptop and to catch the fireworks at 12 in the center of the city. One of the next days, we saw some of the volunteer girls in the newspaper, from the New Year’s Eve party. The city still looked beautiful from our rooftop all the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> The food here is incredible, and because of the huge population of Hindus and Muslims, beef is practically nonexistent. Only some of the bigger corporations and hotels, like the Marriot, have a license to sell meat. I learned the other day that hurting a cow results in three years of prison, and killing a cow results in ten years of prison. So we have not yet had beef. Nonetheless, I love the almost vegetarian diet, and realize that meat for me has been an addition rather than a necessity in my food choice. Although we have a similar menu every day, our host parents serve great porridge, papaya shakes, banana, a tortilla like dough called chapatti, vegetables, and curry dal or lentils to serve over rice. Instead of utensils, we use the chapatti to scoop up the vegetables while we pour the dal over our rice to eat with a regular spoon. What surprised me even more was that the family grows the papayas in their garden! Tea also plays a big role in the culture here, and our group loves the chai breaks at Idex almost as much as ice cream. Though we have gone to the McDonald’s twice now, I have not bought any of their food, and every time I think about going out I miss our home cooked Rajasthani meals. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Our work project for India revolves around the education system, so we chose between three venues, including a primary school, a government-run school, and a women’s computer literacy program. Both of the schools lie in an area called Katputali Nagar, also known as the Puppet Maker Slum. Upon arriving, I noticed the multitude of flies on many of the kids sitting in school. The first school children invited us in with screams and shouts of joy, reaching to introduce themselves and shake all of our hands as we crammed into the small school room. All of the children sat on the floor cross-legged with backpacks in front of them, ranging from a generic knapsack to others more colorful, including one with Mr. Bean’s face blazoned across the front. The kids kept pointing at which of us they wanted to teach them, and moving from the bustling children to the government school I noticed quite a change. The kids at the government school remained much more quiet on our entering, and though they waved at us they remained seated on the concrete outside floor as the teacher watched over them. The head teacher appeared hardened and stolid as we entered, and I watched as flies continued to bombard some of the students. I learned later that we would help to teach kids from classes 2 and 3, about 8-10 years old. Hairy pigs nosed through the trash piles outside the schools, and I noticed other mangy looking dogs and animals trudging through the mud road. One day as we walked out of the school, a man accosted us and asked if we spoke Spanish, and continued to chat in Spanish with us. Many of the other children greeted us as I was reminded of the housing from the Qolweni township in South Africa, looking at the beaten down shacks.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Teaching, so far, has been incredibly difficult, and the most difficult of our projects so far. Without any training, teaching children very excited to learn but not always excited to calm down and listen, I’ve found correlating my idea of fun learning to fun teaching very challenging. I think of fun learning as interactive, creative, but so far I have found that I move toward repeat-after-me style learning from the board, with worksheets as a supplement. The kids understand simple English, but explaining activities to them remains a task we often need to ask of our project leaders. Attempting to standardize the learning in order to ensure that they all learn the same material is also difficult, especially with a broad range of talent in certain areas. Because of kite flying season, many kids do not come to school, so with each day we have had more kids coming in, providing more children who we know little about. Splitting them into four tiny groups led to slight chaos, with more attention to each student but moving and distraction between groups, yet two larger groups of about 12 each proved a huge number of kids to try and have focus. I found that while on student would be eager to make sure he spelled 1-10 correctly, another student would not know the quantities of 1-10, and would instead hit another of the students and play with the black board eraser. On one occasion I also noticed the head teacher hitting a student on the head during a morning song. I begin to wonder how common teachers use corporal punishment in classrooms. Without giving them worksheets and tests, I find it hard to gauge ability levels and sort them into groups depending on their level. Even more difficult is that their levels differ by subject, so we would need to make different groups for English and Math classes. I still feel excited to teach, but the patience and work behind making curricula and teaching plans remains daunting. After seminars about whether our educations have been subjective or objective, oppressive or liberating, and starting to examine the ways of influencing a liberating education, I find myself thinking about how I can apply what I liked in my education to teaching here. Though teaching styles in high school differ greatly from those in primary school, and finding the most fun and effective teaching style may require a lot of experimentation. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-14896019165381028152011-12-31T01:19:00.000-08:002011-12-31T01:19:58.602-08:00South Africa in One Post<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <o:DocumentProperties> <o:Revision>0</o:Revision> <o:TotalTime>0</o:TotalTime> <o:Pages>1</o:Pages> <o:Words>2851</o:Words> <o:Characters>16256</o:Characters> <o:Company>Thinking Beyond Borders</o:Company> <o:Lines>135</o:Lines> <o:Paragraphs>38</o:Paragraphs> <o:CharactersWithSpaces>19069</o:CharactersWithSpaces> <o:Version>14.0</o:Version> </o:DocumentProperties> </xml><![endif]--> <!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:WordDocument> <w:View>Normal</w:View> <w:Zoom>0</w:Zoom> <w:TrackMoves/> <w:TrackFormatting/> <w:PunctuationKerning/> <w:ValidateAgainstSchemas/> <w:SaveIfXMLInvalid>false</w:SaveIfXMLInvalid> <w:IgnoreMixedContent>false</w:IgnoreMixedContent> <w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText>false</w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText> <w:DoNotPromoteQF/> <w:LidThemeOther>EN-US</w:LidThemeOther> <w:LidThemeAsian>JA</w:LidThemeAsian> <w:LidThemeComplexScript>X-NONE</w:LidThemeComplexScript> <w:Compatibility> <w:BreakWrappedTables/> <w:SnapToGridInCell/> <w:WrapTextWithPunct/> <w:UseAsianBreakRules/> <w:DontGrowAutofit/> <w:SplitPgBreakAndParaMark/> <w:EnableOpenTypeKerning/> <w:DontFlipMirrorIndents/> <w:OverrideTableStyleHps/> </w:Compatibility> <m:mathPr> <m:mathFont m:val="Cambria Math"/> <m:brkBin m:val="before"/> <m:brkBinSub m:val="--"/> <m:smallFrac m:val="off"/> <m:dispDef/> <m:lMargin m:val="0"/> <m:rMargin m:val="0"/> <m:defJc m:val="centerGroup"/> <m:wrapIndent m:val="1440"/> <m:intLim m:val="subSup"/> <m:naryLim m:val="undOvr"/> </m:mathPr></w:WordDocument> </xml><![endif]--><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:LatentStyles DefLockedState="false" DefUnhideWhenUsed="true"
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<div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Unfortunately, this entry sums up all of my time in Africa, so sorry ahead of time for the sheer length. Many of these paragraphs are directly from a previous post I wrote for a travel website called worldwinder.com, and to view that entire post you can go to their website under guest blog entries. There are also some pictures from the area there. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">My time in South Africa has been incredible so far, visually, emotionally, mentally, and even physically. I don’t know where to start with the sheer wonder of the landscape. Off the 13 hour plane from New York, after several connections, I felt like I had stepped into Florida. Palm like trees, ocean breeze, nothing like the Africa advertised on television. After a sojourn at a nearby hostel playing a game called bitong (not sure if the spelling is right), like bocce ball, and watching cricket, we made out way exploring the area. As we entered the townships I saw the first signs of visual poverty here. Shacks with dirt floors, the poignant smell of urine and body odor, kids playing in garbage heaps, garbage and glass cemented into the rocky, dirt paths leading to some of the houses; these sights and smells defined poverty for me. Though the American advertisements are incomplete- South Africa is one of the most developed and modernized parts of Africa, and although shantytowns exist, most of the area where we are staying has highways, cities, shops, supermarkets, and industrialized infrastructure. Even stranger is that across the way from the poorest and most dangerous township lies a township lined with standard, government funded housing with pristinely paved roads. The landscape looks like an old American suburb, except without the white picket fence and smiling families, child in hand. Dogs lie as guards outside houses as kids run up and down the street as some mothers wash clothes or sit inside with their family watching television. Amazingly, despite living in almost destitute conditions, almost every house I have visited has had a sound system and television. Satellites poke out of the shacks’ roofs, and one day I saw a house with cardboard lining the outside wall. Yet only minutes away by car lies an amazing downtown area with stores lining the streets, and a pristine beach waiting for the feet of tourists and their open checkbooks.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Our work project here involves studying public health through an NGO called PlettAid, as we follow around home based caregivers and record psychosocial data regarding the patients’ moods before and after our arrival. Unfortunately recording the patients’ moods can be difficult, especially with the language barrier. In the townships, the two main languages spoken are Afrikaans and Xhosa, and while some of the people know English, many do not. Often I find myself entering a home and feeling like an intruder because I am unable to communicate with that person- other than a simple hello and goodbye I know little of either language, and the clicks in Xhosa especially make it different than other dialects. So every day we report to one of the clinics depending on where the patients live, but everyone was assigned a different clinic, so while I am with some of the people in the group, others work at different clinics. We wait there every morning as residents file in and sit down, usually pretty full during the week, and as our caregivers arrive we either visit patients at their homes or go to another clinic with a patient using van transport. Here are some anecdotes that I hope shed light on the biggest learning moments of my time in South Africa thus far. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> The walls of my clinic are lined with signs and promotions regarding HIV/AIDS- free condom signs, family support organizations, and responsibilities and rights of the patients jump out from the white painted walls. People fill the waiting area to see the sole Sister in the clinic. On one of my first home visits, a talkative man asked me about America and where I lived. What struck me was how he talked as if all of America were rich, and if all of the country looked as it did on television. I assured it didn’t, and it made me think that when I first came to Africa I thought of the moving images of impoverished children clothes in rags peering at me through the screen. But all of Africa is completely different- within each country, and within each region even city the landscape changes. Shack towns to standardized, white government housing to supermarkets and tourist filled beaches. Just like the US, all of Africa does not resemble television commercials. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Another huge part of the experience here involves immediate signs of both globalization and westernization. From American Dracula movies to huge sound systems to blaring Rihanna pop music, I have found that even halfway around the world I can’t escape American culture. Nike sweatpants, Hong Kong tee shirts, even a Washington D.C. sweatshirt that one of the caregivers wore. I saw a man with an Eminem hat, Lil Wayne blazoned across a man’s wall outside his house, signs lie everywhere. Inside one patient’s house, an older woman with high blood pressure, a poster of the pop star Jennifer Lopez resides right over her bed, and in that same visit I heard Pink Panther music from the South African radio frequency. One of the most striking and stunning forms of globalization, and especially the world influence of corporations is the Coca Cola logos paraded next to the store names. Little food stores and barbershops litter the townships, and many of the food stores have their names flaunted next to the global Coca Cola logo. My caregiver explained to me that they pay less to have their signs made by the Coca Cola Company, so as they advertise their store name to township families Coca Cola reaches its arm further across the world. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> One of my most poignant and shocking experiences of the public health aspect of the trip here involves my proximity to HIV and TB patients. We visited an AIDS patient who weighed about 26 kg, or about 70-80 pounds. As I helped to lift her from the wheelchair into the van to see the Sister at another clinic, I felt every bone in her chest and the shaking of her breath with the pain and discomfort. At only 39 years old, she lived off ARV treatment and looked as if she were in the final stages of the disease. Incredibly weak, swelling in her chest, legs and arms as skinny as twigs, she looked at least twice her age. I learned that they discovered the disease late, and that her CD4 count was already low when she began ARV treatment. The second time we saw her she looked worse. Her stomach swelled with a fluid, and as we took her to the clinic to drain off the more than 2L of fluid, she started to fade. At first I thought she felt tired, but the Sister and nurses called the ambulance to bring her to the hospital. Another lady in the room could barely speak from a stroke, and threw up right next to me. In the next bed, a young couple sat next to their young son with epilepsy. A few days later I found out from my caregiver that the AIDS patient had passed away in the hospital. I didn’t cry, I didn’t feel sad or depressed, just a bit shocked. I didn’t know her that well, and couldn’t talk to her, only lift her into the van and accompany her in the hospital. HIV/AIDS is the leading cause of death in South Africa. Because her cause of death was HIV and TB, she must wait longer and pay more for her funeral policy. Normal deaths involve a waiting period of six months while a TB or HIV related death involves a 1-2 year waiting period. Openness and testing are highly encouraged, yet phrases like “do you eat sweets with the paper on?” referring to condom use perpetuate detrimental decisions. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> My reaction to her passing scared me a bit because I did not feel shocked. Looking forward on these experiences I thought that I would be hit very hard, crying after work or feeling depressed. Each day brought mental exhaustion and emotional drain, but I did not cry over the patient’s death. Many of the township stories and experiences I heard sounded and looked so abstract to me, so foreign, that I struggled to grasp their reality. I felt worse that I did not cry over her death, that I did not feel particularly sad, and after I brought that up in one of our group processing meetings I saw that others felt very moved by certain experiences. It felt wrong, my seemingly indifferent outlook, but now I see that everyone processes these experiences differently. With such an abstract and surreal experience, there’s no right way to feel or react, even if I think there is. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> The public health system here involves aspects incredibly helpful and affordable to the people. Home-based care is provided free to the people, along with visits to the clinic and medication such as antibiotics or ARVs. Despite effective parts, there also exist complexities and weak points. One of the controversial ways to support the patients is a disability grant, money given for healthy living and supporting oneself and their family if needed. Yet underlying addictions in townships such as alcohol and cigarettes lead some to abuse the disability grant to buy alcohol, leading some to intentionally grow sicker in order to receive the grant. When one becomes well they need to find a job to support themselves, but the scarcity makes finding a job difficult. And the cycle continues. My media project involves the reasons and factors behind one’s making detrimental decisions to his health. Unlike my assumptions on arrival, laziness and ignorance play almost no role.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Though the main part of town remains relatively safe during the day, a recent event in one of the townships changed many of our perceptions of their actual safety. One night a man raped a seven year old girl, murdered her, and proceeded to show a neighbor the grave. The town responded in a mob, beating the man and burning him to death instead of leaving him to the faults of the justice system. One of the patients mentioned that the man had offended two previous times, the first for five years prison time and the second for fifteen years prison time. The patient believed that the man deserved his death, and that killing him was just, elaborating that murderers should be killed, rapists should have their genitals cut off, and thieves should have their hands cut off. They also continued that walking around at night one could encounter drug addicts on the street looking for a fix or get robbed. He blamed these criminals for racial distrust, and that the racial distrust makes it even more difficult to find jobs. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> December 1<sup>st</sup> was world AIDS Day, so as part of our project to raise awareness during the two-week party called Plett Rage, we pitched a tent on the beach to attract people to our activity. Due to rain we conducted the activity the next day, including a bit of education on condom use through a race to put condoms on cucumbers. Though a humorous activity, we tried to remind many of the intoxicated partiers who do not know much about the danger of HIV/AIDS in South Africa to use condoms as an easy way to prevent infection. Changing mindset and consciousness is incredibly difficult in such a short exercise, but I hope we at least made some people think about the issue for at least the day. Many of the beachgoers, to our astonishment, did not know much about the HIV epidemic raging right in their backyard. I struggled with not feeling patronizing informing them of an issue in their own country, especially as a foreigner. Before this trip, I didn’t even know there was a difference between HIV and AIDS. But it affects everyone from children to parents, and if no one knows about it or talks about it, then no one will be open about their contracting it. As part of the patients’ rights, a patient with HIV has the right to keep secret their status. In the US, I feel that the use of condoms is advertised as a way to prevent pregnancy primarily, but many leave out that condoms also prevent HIV infection. Being able to talk about HIV at the dinner table eliminates the stigma and tension around the disease. If no one knows, no one can help. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;"> Despite continuing hardships that some South Africans face everyday, the joy and happiness I saw every day amazed me. Kids playing in the dirt with little food and broken down houses still smiled and laughed like any other child, and as I entered the houses the families would smile and greet me warmly. Talking with one of the Sisters at the clinic, she told us that whenever she leaves she always yearns to come back, and that despite the medical difficulties, she loves the character of the people. She felt that most of the people she saw living in the townships appeared much happier than those living in the more developed city area of Plett. I felt that especially the African women, the mothers, had such pride and responsibility in the household, many of them taking care of the entire family and siblings on their own. I admire their strength. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Being in South Africa for the holiday season, we have experienced two major American holidays here, Thanksgiving and Christmas. We spent Thanksgiving at Rocky Road, the hostel we sojourned at intermittently during the trip. Our homestay mother Steph also prepared a great meal, but the willingness to accommodate a holiday they don’t celebrate astounded me, and the meal at Rocky Road was one of my best Thanksgiving dinners. Soft atmosphere, a nice fire, such a personal and relaxing atmosphere. Due to the feeling of family here in the group and with the people we’ve met, I’ve hardly felt homesick the entire trip. The food has been excellent, with the highlight being the number of braais we have had. The braai is basically a barbecue, and the family we stayed with loved it, so many times we would have a braai with our host brothers and host mom. I felt amazed that she handed us the house so happily, and she treated us more as friends than guests in her house. The amount of people that she knew in town, the kids that felt so comfortable talking with her and staying over for the night, astounded me. She really is Plett’s mom.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">Our Christmas week we spent doing safari activities with an organization called CrissCross Adventures in Addo. A young couple led us on amazing activities that week including visits to a raptor and reptile center, cheetah center, Addo Elephant National Park, and a river safari. I let some snakes wrap around my neck, and hold them, as I learned that snakes are very misunderstood, and many are not aggressive. Good to learn as I let one slither around my windpipe. We saw a crocodile, very aggressive animal, an ostrich, even a goat ramming its head repeatedly against the fence. We got to pet lion cubs and even a cheetah, along with seeing some sirvals, which reminded me of Egypt a lot and the jackals alongside mummies. The cats were so majestic, and I can see now why Egyptians saw them as royalty. Yesterday we went out on the river in canoes for a little river safari, learning about different plants and how ancient the land is. Our tour guide Chris found a huge elephant tusk up on the bank of the river, and he told us that most likely it aged back to the days of ivory hunters. Our funny guide Moses told us about his life growing up as a kid in the Xhosa culture, stealing honey from bees nests by burning a plant, sticking a plant in a termite hole to get them stuck to fry and eat as protein, even run 6 km to school then grab a branch with which to brush his teeth. We tried the aloe vera plant, which tasted horrible, and even smelled a potent mint leaf. The spearfishing and other hunting stories of the Xhosa bushmen amazed me, that everything they needed they could find in the bush. My favorite day with CrissCross was our safari day in the National Park. We drove through in a fish tank or pope mobile, as Moses called it, where we could see the animals out the huge windows. We saw a rhino, ostriches, bunches of elephants, warthogs, jackals, kuddu, elands, and even a lion at the very end of our tour. At one watering hole, we saw maybe thirty or more elephants sliding into the water to bathe and drink, some even coming close to the van. Little warthog babies ran next to their mother, and we saw the most interesting ostrich mating ceremony. The male sat on the ground, swaying its feathers back and forth in order to impress the female, and once they started mating it looked like a dance. A strange site to see, but very intriguing to watch.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">For IST, the whole group went to Cape Town. The city was huge and bustling, and one night some went out to the clubs on the main street, even after we had already gone out multiple times during Plett Rage. The amount of activities Cape Town offered was immense, so we had to pick and choose. Hope and I couldn’t get tickets to Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela was held, but we still climbed Table Mountain, visited the Cape of Good Hope, Cape Point, Boulders’ penguin colony, Chapman’s Peak, and a seal colony off Hout Bay. Table Mountain was one of my favorite activities, which involved a mere hour and a half to summit but offered great views of the city, ocean, and another hike called Devil’s Peak. Recently named one of the seven Natural Wonders of the World, Table Mountain is available to everyone to climb by cable car, and because of time we took it down. I felt mixed about the cable car; I feel that a Wonder of the World should be harder to see, to make it more fulfilling to reach that summit, but doing so would leave many without the opportunity to see it. Our bus day tour hit many of the big attractions near Cape Town, and we hiked and biked through the Cape of Good Hope to Cape Point, the southern most tip of Africa. Practically surrounded by water, I liked the endless blue save the numerous tourists seeing it with me. With so many people it felt pretty crowded. Seeing the penguins on the beach was cool too, especially because I wouldn’t think to see penguins on a beach at all. Hope and I both enjoyed the market type shops too, being able to bargain and look at all the crafts people offered. Thankfully the atmosphere was not as overwhelming as the Otavalo adventure. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-size: 13.5pt;">As far as other fun activities, earlier in the trip some of us went skydiving and bungee jumping. I did both, and the surreal nature of the jumps was awesome. With coastline and beach hikes scattered throughout our work project, we have experienced many sides of South Africa. Whether a seal colony basking in the sun, bright flowers spotted on a hillside, or dogs sitting in dirt with ticks invading their faces, little children playing soccer on a dirt field, and garbage fires. Yet throughout all the hardship, the people remain energetic, loud and lively, with the woman especially exuding an air of supreme confidence and pride, which I envy. Through the work of PlettAid and caregivers, change is happening here in South Africa. <o:p></o:p></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin: 0in;"><br />
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</div><!--EndFragment--></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-82037816026853713652011-11-11T09:08:00.000-08:002011-11-11T09:08:45.154-08:00End of Atahualpa to Tena to Cusco Up A Peruvian Wonder of the World<!--StartFragment--> <br />
<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Well it has been a while- my last entry was right before we left for Tena- Mijal, Arden, Julia and I left on a super early bus, around 6 to start an approximately seven hour venture on public buses to Tena, which lies near the jungle very close to sea level.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a weird scary movie called Vertigo and lots of random stories to entertain ourselves, we arrived to get situated in our hostel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took a wooden canoe across this little river to a kind of zoo, a shelter persay for certain animals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We saw a tapir, monkey, capibara, turtles, a massive tree and even a tree with cinnamon leaves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tree we saw was over 100 years old!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As it grew, it grew down into the ground and then grew out until its death, so that the tree was symmetrical upside down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The amount of species and biodiversity in the region is unreal- the baby monkeys scrambling around in tree branches especially entertained and touched us all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We saw the other kids from EIL as we stripped into bathing suits and played in the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The next day was our last day, really, because of the long travel time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We managed to find a package deal for only 60 dollars- rafting in the morning, jungle tour in the afternoon, followed by a night in an indigenous home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The White water rafting was one of my highlights that weekend- I didn’t know what to expect really, and as I realized that we did not actually sit in the raft I began to worry a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we have to sit on the side of this raft as we paddle and make sure to stay in the boat when the white water carries us into the rocks?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I started to think about falling out when we learned the proper body position should we fall out of the raft- on our back, knees bent so we don’t ram into rocks as hard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure enough, I fell out the first rapid, called the butterfly rapid- freakn embarrassing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily there were two German guys with us too, and one fell out with me so it wasn’t too bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of us fell out for all the next rapids, over about two hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a lot more fun in the front-as my dad says, “the view from the back never changes”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s very true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We passed some native people, cleaning some metals in the river and looking for more, bathing, washing clothes, or some kids playing in the rapids with old tires.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It made me think how much the river meant to these people, going back to the title of one of the group’s media project titles- Water is Life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think they realize the importance of water more than I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We stopped towards the end of our trip on the river to jump off a 6 meter bridge- it looked rickety.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I saw each plank bend under the weight of a car passing by and also wondered how deep the water was where we would land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our guide assured us that as long as we ben tour knees as we hit the water we could be fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Great- so I hesitated a bit as I climbed up onto the metal railing but it wasn’t bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Barely hit the bottom on impact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even better was that all these locals on the shore watched us, most of the kids naked too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They looked pretty excited to see foreigners, but they probably see many other rafting groups along those rapids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On our jungle tour, our guide found a plant called achiote whose seeds gave a deep red natural dye, used in some of the indigenous tribes to dye their hair red.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we got some neat face paint, although in the sweltering heat and humidity I sweated it right off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our guide led us up onto this ridgeline overlooking the jungle, and we got to look out across the expanse of trees and clouds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We continued past an elastic tree, where once sliced under the bark, the tree would ooze a black liquid, then hardening to form rubber, a natural elastic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pretty awesome the amount of resources found in the jungle- it seemed like every other plant could be used to alleviate an ailment- stomach problems, coughing, sore throat; everything the people in the indigenous villages could need came right from the jungle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can now see why they are so angered by petroleum companies’ taking their jungle- the jungle <u>is</u> their way of life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We passed by a natural waterfall pool for a quick dip and a water massage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So cool- literally everything is in the jungle! <o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The place we stayed at for the night was not really an indigenous village- a father and his son lived there, but were not what I thought of when I heard “indigenous”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That night a shaman visited the house to go through a cleansing ritual with the girls in the group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He uttered incantations as he shook a leaf around their body, shaking away the evil spirits.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was quite the ritual to watch, and we payed for only a small sample.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Usually the rituals the shamans conduct are much longer and more grandiose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a very neat side to see of the Ecuadorian culture, and we experienced only a tiny bit of the real culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day we ate there and rode in the back of a pickup in order to get back to Tena, catching the bus back to Atahualpa and meeting with everyone else.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Seeing everyone felt a bit strange at first- I got used to the small group and all of a sudden I felt surrounded by smiles and stories and talking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bit overwhelming- it took me a few days to become accustomed to the big group again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We left Atahualpa forever, hopefully not, but I’ll see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My host brother gifted me a beautiful wood recorder and pictures, and everyone asked me to come back sometime in the future.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a hard question to answer- I wanted to say yes but I have no idea where I will be in one, five, ten years, so I answered a vague “I hope so”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The families of Atahualpa voiced that their doors will always be open should we return- their hospitality is unbelievable. I felt odd accepting the gorgeous recorder as a gift, but the effort made to remember Atahualpa was astounding, so David must have really wanted me to have it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried to play it unsuccessfully, but have since learned “hot cross buns”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Working on it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">My last night in Atahualpa was pretty unforgettable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The whole town practically showed up to see our media presentations; except the funny part was that they arrived about a half hour later than the scheduled time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Very relaxed in Atahualpa as far as getting places on time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all presented, a local pan flute and guitar band performed as we danced, tons of food was passed around, including a traditional colada morada, a rich dessert drink made of berry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all sat and talked with our families, and each of us, including the leaders, received certificates/graduation recognition from the parroquia of Atahualpa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later as the food dwindled, we had a huge dance party to electronic music.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My host brother said I could be a professional, which flattered me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not quite the professional grade dancer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We watched 10,000 BC as a family before all going to bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The last morning before leaving, I made sure to get some family pictures on the roof- at first I was worried because I did not think my host dad would make it back from Quito in time, but luckily he came back the night before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Worrying about not saying a proper goodbye or getting a picture reminded me how much they meant to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>David went off to school, my host Dad to Quito for treatment, and my host mom still there with me as I stuffed all my belongings in my backpack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I ran down to pick up my pants, getting mended for a hole, but the store was closed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hated that- making everyone know that I left something, being the limiting factor in the group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But more than that was the town’s reaction to my problem.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two women from the store next to the one with my pants immediately pulled out cell phones and called her house, offering to get a car to run down, practically mobilizing the town to get my pants back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They suggested sending them to Quito to pick up, everything; eventually the storeowner ran up from her house down the hill to give me the pants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At that point I felt so bad for making everyone run around for me I was ready to get another pair of pants- but the happiness and willingness to get me those pants stunned me- they were worth about four dollars.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We returned to Quito for a day, back to the mission from before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had a cool bowling night with the Ecuador semester group, cosmic bowling in the Quicentro mall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Really fun to be with some of the other kids going through a similar experience- they studied public health in Ecuador instead of environment, and we got to see their media projects too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Modern vs. Traditional medicine focused, and it was interesting to see how many plants could assuage a cold, or stomach problems, or other minor symptoms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next day we were free to walk around the city before evaluations and a night city tour, where we got to see La Garda, a statue of the Virgin of Quito overlooking the city.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pretty spectacular at night with the soft purple aura around it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After our last meals at the mission and a really early wake up on Halloween, we navigated the airport and took a flight to Cusco.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got a lot of strange looks- not every day the Ecuadorian sees a hippie jester, batman, zombie, reindeer, or bumblebee walking through an airport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">After climbing Machu Picchu and about to be off to South Africa, I have much more to write about.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately, the internet in South Africa is speculative at best, so it will be difficult to post any pictures.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll see what I can do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I can say is that we’ll be in a lot of airports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Cusco was a lot like Otavalo- big market scene and a ton of opportunity for shopping.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We took a roundabout way to land- big banking turn into a skinny valley for a long runway- funnily enough, there were some seats lined along the sides of the runway should locals want to watch the planes land.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The city is pretty big- some market like setups but mostly streets lined with stores, and multiple squares mixed into the normal city block style.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was a relaxing few days before Machu Picchu- cafes, shopping, and Alpaca craze set in, along with a lot of holiday shopping too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still had some bouts of buyer’s remorse, but I think after initially regretting some purchases, now that I realize I might not ever be back in Cusco, I do not feel as bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Although the need to stuff my big backpack and have two carry ons made me think a little bit about the reality of having all that stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And of course whether or not I would actually use those items- I keep struggling with the idea of buying new items, especially clothing, and how easy it is to justify any action I make.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Either it’s “I’m supporting the economy”, or “it’s a better form of consumerism in a market…at least they get all the profit”, or “you’ll never be in Cusco again.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end of the day, I still needed to leave a whole backpack of Ecuadorian and Peru clothing with Andrea in NY.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still don’t know if I am happy with my choices, but I’m leaning yes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We did find some amazing stores in Cusco- one in particular with a Native American man selling great quality leather- expensive, but in my eyes worth it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My friend Chris bought a gorgeous hand painted drum with the three spirit animals painted on- the condor, the puma, and the snake.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The condor represents peace, the puma represents energy, while the snake represents intelligence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s fascinating the meaning behind these symbols.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These red and black seeds used for bracelets and necklaces represent protection—also the stone turquoise represents creativity and mental health.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The owner was very animated and proud of his work, happy to explain to us the greater meaning behind his work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The most common way Hope and I spent most of our time in Cusco was looking at art.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet we did not look at art in galleries or stores, just peering over the shoulders of young, walking artists in the squares.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The artists carried with them their entire portfolios- paintings with oil, charcoal, or watercolor on paper or even felt for better transportation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After the first day when an artist stopped us in the square, we seemed like targets for all the artists.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We spent at least over an hour looking through vibrant shaman faces, the Indian in the mountain of Machu Picchu, spirit animals, or the Peruvian ladies’ hats and dangling braids of midnight black hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fascinating and incredibly detailed work, requiring days of toil- almost all of the work shown was by the student, maybe one or two by their instructor, and the artists we saw were all still in art school.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of the themes shown were the same, but each had a slightly different style or preferred medium, and spending all the time looking and arguing down a price seemed a bit annoying at the time, but getting to know the artist behind the work felt rewarding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t think I would’ve got that experience at a gallery- plus the pieces in the street were far less expensive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bargaining the price of a gorgeous piece of artwork down made me feel degrading almost- I ended up buying one beautiful piece a bit overprice, but stood outside this restaurant while my lunch got cold trying to be reasonable with the man.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hope explained it pretty well- I did not want to cheat him for a price too low, but in a way a price too high cheated me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A delicate process.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Machu Picchu hike began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Much like other hikes, well some, Machu Picchu has a train option to get to the top; we took the longer, four day trek on foot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet we did not have to carry any of our necessities, save clothes, toiletries, etc- we had a team of 18 porters carry everything from chairs to tables to food and water for us up the mountain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These literal mountain men astounded me- I thought carrying a 50 pound comfy pack was hard- these guys literally tied tarps together with rope, threw a few tarp straps on, and powered up the trail in sandals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some wore shoes, some sandals—some had better packs too, but almost all of the packs I saw had no sturdy, comfortable waist belt.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The waist belt is the most important part of a pack really, especially a heavy one, because it transfers most of the weight from the shoulders to the hips.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt pretty pathetic standing in a stretching circle about to shoulder my cushy, 20ish lb pack as the porters saddled up 50 lb behemoths in sandals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not only would all the weight be on these guys’ shoulders, but they would practically run up the trail, especially downhills.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every day by the time we got to camp, the tents were set up, food being prepared, no sweat for us at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus they would clap upon our entry- too bad we weren’t there first to clap for them, they deserved it most.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On top of the porters, our two formal guides were aptly named Socrates and Jesus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They introduced us to plants and gave insight into the Incan culture as we hiked—what better leaders to follow up to Machu Picchu than Socrates and Jesus.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On top of physical demands, the trip did not demand very much preparation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The porters provided all meals and even hand and feet washing buckets for us, as well as bathrooms at every camp site and the rest points along the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The bathrooms did not have seats or provided toilet paper, just a hole with some for grips for the natural squat position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Uncannily comfy really- once I got used to it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They even had trash barrels for the used toilet paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our meals were incredibly luscious- pancakes, rice, meat, vegetables, even flaming banana with alcohol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Popcorn, tea four times a day, once each meal and a five o’clock tea time- the quantity of food was incredible for a hiking trip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It made the hiking part that much easier.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Over four days, we covered a little over 40 km, up and down hill about evenly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our second day was the most challenging- seemingly endless stairs up, and seemingly endless stairs up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wind and rain pummeled us for the duration of the day, and drying our clothes in the tent worked to a point- even my Gore Tex 3L jacket was absolutely soaked, either to sweat or water, or most likely both.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was not pleased.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily after day 2 the weather cleared for our long day three- for our early five wake up the porters not only woke us up, but also brought us coca tea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The leaves are most potent chewed, causing more energy and less need to eat or drink.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot of the porters used the coca leaves on the trail, occasionally stopping on uphills to change leaves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried it one day but didn’t feel much effect, though I could have used too few leaves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Interestingly, one break spot I saw one of the porters intentionally spill his drink, a sort of murky looking drink I thought was chicha.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I later learned that in the Inca culture, they frequently offered the first sip of their drink to Pachamama, or Mother Nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One lunch break we made sure to give Her some of our orange juice for good luck with the weather.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Our last day hiking up to Machu Picchu we had a very early wake up, about 3, in order to make a checkpoint before 5:30- there were many other groups on the trail, and all the groups needed to make it through the checkpoint in order to continue to Machu Picchu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At al the check points we could receive stamps in our passports, evidence of our trek- six all together, with the most awe inspiring stamp of course at the gates of Machu Picchu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a stimulating conversation regarding religion, psychology, and the death penalty, we made it to the sun gate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Strange how my mind wanders during a hike.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Unfortunately the clouds hid our first view of Machu Picchu for a few minutes, but once it cleared all the cameras came out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt that as many pictures I took of the view, I cold never get enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every few seconds down the trail a better view emerged, better light, better clouds.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yet at the top of the Sun Gate I could not help but feel oddly unsatisfied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It wasn’t the view, or the fact that I just walked to one of the new 7 Wonders of the World- it was me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I kept thinking that it would’ve been better if I had worked harder, or if there weren’t as many people there, or that no matter how long I gazed upon that site I knew it would not be enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought how I could not be like the Huoruani tribe; I knew the beautiful moment had to come to an end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One quotation that Conner told me stuck, although this might not be phrased correctly, “Don’t be sad that it’s over, be happy that you’re there.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The quotation intertwines wonderfully with my goal of staying in the moment, a goal at that moment I did not fulfill.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I escaped my snit little by little as the tour progressed, but I still felt tired in all the beauty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tourist groups walked by, security guards stationed around the site to guide traffic and beep at the walking on the grass or taking jumping pictures, which I found out first hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The face in the mountain looks much stronger in pictures and paintings, but gazing at the site I did recognize the face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Words can’t describe the awe of Machu Picchu, or the brilliance of the Inca culture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Incas had a compass rock, facing almost perfectly in all four directions, a rock to determine the solstices and equinoxes depending on shadow, and most importantly their most important symbol, called the chacana, or Andean cross.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The symbol embodies their entire culture- the spirit animals, levels of life, numbers, even the seasons, geography, four parts of the year, everything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Their way of life can be interpreted from that sole symbol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The architecture of the site was also unbelievable- water canals, structures stronger than our current houses- their rock walls appeared rudimentary, but inside all the rocks had grooves, making them fit together like puzzle pieces.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of just flat rocks, the grooves strengthened the wall exponentially- brilliant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All the water flowed underground, or above, into certain pools, like little fountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything revolved around nature and the Earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A few aspects of Machu Picchu disappointed me, mainly the tourist aspect of the site itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>American food at the bottom, one of the most expensive hotels in the area near the base, and overall a commercialization of the area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But without that commercialization, my visit to Machu Picchu would not have been possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still, all those people and the American, tourist touch to that Incan site takes away from its beauty- everywhere so far I’ve seen American aspects and highlights, for better or for worse; all the while it makes me feel strange.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The idea in globalization that despite travelling, you can never leave home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Incas never said goodbye in their culture, only “see you later”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So until my next South Africa entry, as the Incas say, spelling probably a bit off, “Tupananchiscama”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><!--EndFragment-->Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-46540366486341522112011-10-20T17:53:00.000-07:002011-10-20T17:53:49.114-07:00Atahualpa Cultural tid bits<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh9H-xvg75aDe6m9yGzBY6jYbV69VLxlAjvS18MS98UJSkhaWA1KaXymWiYZ9srYs1ADshCiSEJJkVioahv-1Yq5oglxsqC_dPliiVNPD2jhU8ccSdVbpCHaOWnslTWPPX1Zc1fptXBag/s1600/DSCI1081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh9H-xvg75aDe6m9yGzBY6jYbV69VLxlAjvS18MS98UJSkhaWA1KaXymWiYZ9srYs1ADshCiSEJJkVioahv-1Yq5oglxsqC_dPliiVNPD2jhU8ccSdVbpCHaOWnslTWPPX1Zc1fptXBag/s320/DSCI1081.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq-zO6nY-4l91vQuRbOIUmtdNT0anOxKz92aYQwc5jeTIMGV7DvKEtKB-QkJy8NVw-ePLaid5b6ZXlsm8CRa7LfE90Vo3k6NyYRpEvWeokvW1xxnfMLBIc77utNC0icc7qi057zzvFb9M/s1600/DSCI1221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq-zO6nY-4l91vQuRbOIUmtdNT0anOxKz92aYQwc5jeTIMGV7DvKEtKB-QkJy8NVw-ePLaid5b6ZXlsm8CRa7LfE90Vo3k6NyYRpEvWeokvW1xxnfMLBIc77utNC0icc7qi057zzvFb9M/s320/DSCI1221.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><!--StartFragment--> </div><div class="MsoNormal">This week a lot of cultural aspects of Atahualpa hit me in a way I had not before recognized, partly spurred by seminars and partly by host family meal conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One bit about Otavalo I forgot to mention was the presence of beggars in the market- many would hold out their hats or bowls for money, and one even blocked my walking path in an attempt for some coins.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt awful not giving them anything, but when Mijal offered one woman part of her fruit, she denied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How can you ask for money but not accept food?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Education here in Atahualpa runs the same as in the States, except their days are much shorter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My average school day at home would go from 8:30 until about 3:30, whereas days here go from 7:50 to about 1:30.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Almost all half days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even more interesting was one of the textbooks that my host brother was studying- on top of biology, chemistry, and physics he is also taking a class called Vademecum, which includes a textbook full of medicines and pills for different ailments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was astonished- such a practical subject taught in high school, yet I never would have thought to even ask to have that in school before now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes complete sense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Over one lunch time question about family here in Atahualpa, my host mom explained that all of her sisters live in Atahualpa, and all of her children live nearby in Quito.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her niece also lives in Atahualpa, so almost all of her family is very close, within driving distance.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt a bit odd responding that my family is very spread out, some in New Jersey, New York, Florida, and that I visit them only on holidays, and visit some by plane because they live so far away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Family and people mean everything here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Food plays a big role in the town too- all of the food is grown in or around the town, and some is delivered from Quito, but my host mom knows the origin of almost all of their food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Other than maybe Coca Cola, everything is local.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had a hard time thinking that I buy my food from a supermarket, which probably takes countless stops around the world or by plane or bus to get to those shelves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know where several items of food come from, but do I know how they are grown?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chemicals used?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Antibiotics in meat?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have no idea- all I have is that plastic packaging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">The work project has been going very well- recently we have been working on constructing viveros, or greenhouses, for the planting of both medicinal plants and trees for possible reforestation of Atahualpa.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Deforestation of palm trees affects the area, so if Atahualpa can successfully plant palms, they can sell the trees to Quito.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We take wood and bamboo strands, cut them into table supports, nail three wood sheets as the top, dig some holes in the dirt and finally nail the top down into the supports.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The tables are not exceedingly strong- a bit wobbly, but for plant work they work fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is really quite amazing that we have built these greenhouses- most of the planning has been done by the Atahualpa locals, but the accomplishment of making a workable table out of wood from their backyard astounds me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Before now, my first thought would have been, “well, I can find a plastic greenhouse”, or “maybe I’ll find a construction worker to help.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A little cutting and hammering and soon enough tables lined the home-constructed greenhouse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Between media project and seminars, my mind feels at times like silly putty.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every new idea, every new challenge crushes my head and remolds it a bit stronger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But the process is never ending, and this is only the first core country.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our media project took us into the depths of ecotourism, with questions ranging from simply “What is ecotourism” to “Why does ecotourism matter, and to whom?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During one session where we had to come up with our narrative, our driving idea, I had to pace around and moan and groan to come up with these ideas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Such basic but complex ideas, where I didn’t know the destination but had to get there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ambling and stumbling through ideas that twisted my brain to the point of annihilation, I think we finally came to a consensus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hardest part about the media project includes that it changes/challenges my assumptions, and there is no right answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No leader can say if we have reached the end because there is no end.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We know there is a beginning, but we have to keep going deeper, simpler but more probing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The media project, unlike any other project I have done, is not a book report.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another seminar about gender roles and he environment reminded me how strong gender roles are.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’re just like advertisements- there are so many examples we don’t even notice them anymore.<o:p></o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Today in work project we got to work with Atahualpa’s upcoming generation, classes of students between the ages of about 6 or 7 to 10 or 11.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Fairly little kids, and we presented to them a short presentation about TBB, their nature, and the nature rights in Ecuador’s constitution.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ecuador is the only country in the world with nature rights in its constitution!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We interacted with the kids, asked them to draw their favorite aspects of nature, taught them some English nature words, and finally made them repeat a promise to take care of their nature.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What did I learn when I was their age?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first environmental science class I took was in 11<sup>th</sup> grade- these kids live in a sanction of nature, and they already understand partly why they should protect it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking at them and hearing their answers- don’t burn the forest, throw trash in the cans, don’t cut down trees, protect species from extinction, made me wonder how many of these things I know but ignore or detach myself from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one seminar we touched on how despite being modernized, we now deplete our resources and make a bigger negative impact than ever before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even worse, I feel as though we distance ourselves from nature, so all of the issues are out of sight and out of mind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I thought about how walking through a mall I never think about the petroleum that goes into plastic, or how all of those bottles might end up sitting in landfill for years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess that is what TBB is about- bringing us closer to these issues.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly I am starting to think more about these issues, slowly I am realizing that just recycling or reusing or reducing might not work long term.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Slowly I start to learn that saving the world, saving the environment is no simple task.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div><!--EndFragment-->Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-34718617832662056092011-10-19T17:57:00.000-07:002011-10-19T17:57:57.206-07:00Atahualpa Nearing the EndMy time in Atahualpa is coming to a close- about a week left here, and three days if those I will be in Tena for Independent Student Travel, or travel away from the leaders. It should be great, but I am starting to look back on my time here and think about how I will miss the atmosphere. Here are some of my latest adventures. <br />
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Last weekend we took a trip to Otavalo, a touristy market area about 4 ish hours away from Atahualpa by bus. We did a lot, but one of the highlights was visiting a huge craft market on Saturday morning. Apparently the craft market is one of the biggest in South America, and we arrived early in the morning to see rows and rows, blocks and blocks of stalls and shops lined up. Vendors yelling up the walks, the bustle of people, and store owners negotiating with customers screamed through my brain. I could barely think through all the peripheral debris- we had to walk from the center down all of the individual walks before we could even think about buying anything. Cloth pants and shirts, alpaca jackets, tapestries, bracelets, necklaces, I did not even know where to start. I ended up buying pants and a few jackets, plus a bowl as a gift for my host family and some other items. But what I bought did not really matter- the more intriguing experience was interacting with the stall owners. In the market, it is customary and almost courteous to negotiate a price with the owner. Almost all of the items I looked at were made by hand, the materials collected or bought by the owner, so I felt bad negotiating down a product that was made by hand. The backpack I bought was about thirteen dollars, but the materials were collected up in the mountains, painstakingly by hand, and then hand sewn to make the backpack. 13 dollars. But still I continued to try an lower prices at every stall- a girl in my shopping group named Mijal mentioned that they would not sell the item if they did not profit, so I felt a bit better. We spent about four hours walking around the market, and after I left with my items I still did not feel satisfied. I felt strange- mad at myself for splurging on items that I wanted, but did not really have time to assess and make sure it was a product I would love. The market was so huge that I knew there was another item there I missed or overlooked, an item I knew I would love more than the one I bought. I felt slightly consoled that profits went directly to the stall owner, but still had a huge bout of buyer's remorse yet buyer's hunger, I guess. Yet going back to the owners, rarely have I talked to someone about their product. I learned that making some necklaces requires a lot of drying time and effort, and that the makers are very willing to talk about their products and how they are made. Interestingly, one bracelet maker was wary of our taking pictures of his collection for fear of reproducing the same bracelets for vending. The vendors exuded happiness and friendliness, amazingly courteous to us, even agreeing to teach some of the girls how to make similar bracelets to those they were selling. I never really had that kind of experience with any of my previous consumer experiences. Even stranger was that many other foreigners were in the market, Americans and Europeans. I saw many older Americans snapping pictures, taking videos of a lot of vendors without even asking the slightest courtesy. I saw an American couple trying to negotiate and talk with a vendor in English, which struck me as almost rude. It was an odd feeling, seeing other Americans in that market.<br />
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Later that day, after lunch, all of the guys in the group, 4, went to a Condor park where some of the condors and other birds such as owls and eagles are kept. All of the birds were kept in cages, and in some places with signs for the birds, no birds really stayed. The park was semi under construction or addition of other cages, but the birds we saw were fascinating. The faces on some of the owls looked like warped pieces of wood, and when we passed they stayed dead still. The condors though were massive- their wingspan must have been about 8-10 feet, and when they flew they needed huge flaps of their wings to stay aloft. Towards the end of the visit, we got to see a free flight of some of the smaller birds; the birds were trained, and they easily walked, flew, and snagged meat around us without any danger. I got to hold one, with a glove on, and comically brought my face closer to the bird to examine it. I did not realize it at the time; luckily nothing happened. Seeing the birds in cages felt strange- one even had a mask over its eyes, probably so it would not panic at the sight of visitors. I tried to really look at them, more than a casual glance at its claws or wings, really try and imagine how they live. Being in a cage, they probably couldn't show me much about their way of life. <br />
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That night, we went to an even more interesting cultural event in Ecuador- a rooster fight. Many aspects of the fight struck me, but even more was the atmosphere in the ring. Literally a ring with feathers everywhere, beers passed out like tickets for a sports match, cages surrounding the area above the ring, all filled with roosters bred to fight. Very odd to watch- I did not see a single woman there, besides the girls in our group, and a lot of the men bet. We had to pay a dollar to enter, and we saw one fight. I was pleasantly surprised that there was no blood or death, but the men would intentionally hold the roosters next to each other to rile them up, to snap their beaks and encourage anger before the match. They would handle the roosters like toys- after flapping and snapping and biting out feathers, the men would snatch up their rooster, lick its feathers, suck out the feathers from its mouth, and give it a nice pat before shoving it back in the ring. I did not figure out the system for points or how one rooster wins, but eventually the aggression died down and the roosters sort of layed on each other. We only stayed for one match, and watching became quite repetitive after the first few minutes of the ten minute match. Though I am sure betting and yelling and beer add to the excitement of the experience.<br />
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After game nights and food outings and an amazing pie shop, two other activities stood out for me in Otavalo. One was an Ecuadorian bar/night club. Having a guy in the group for such an outing is essential, and despite my somewhat frail figure, I played the role of bodyguard for four girls in this bar with excess smoke, beer, and guys. Quite the role to play- I basically gave mean looks and danced around the girls to deter any Ecuadorian guys from them. Even more interesting was that the party was actually a birthday party- being obviously foreign, I do not know how the man at the door let us in without any questions, while he shoved others away and even patted some down. We stayed there for about two hours, constantly dancing while under practical surveillance by everyone around us, mainly the guys. We were the only Americans there quite clearly- we recognized a few American songs but most of them were electronic spanish songs. Despite the aroma of smoke and beer, I enjoyed the experience- eleven o'clock when we left and the party was still going strong. Quite the birthday party- I did not even know whose birthday it was, but it didn't really matter.<br />
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The last activity near Otavalo was climbing Fuya Fuya, a peak near a lagoon that reaches over 14,000 feet. The group split into two groups, one that would circle the lagoon and one that would summit Fuya Fuya with a guide. The climb up took about an hour and a half and was not that technical, but more than that was the altitude. 14,000 feet is the highest altitude I have reached, and reaching that altitude took a bit of a price. At times, especially after trying to run a short section, my chest pounded and my heart ached for oxygen. I didn't notice it right after or during the burst, but a few seconds after stopping my chest exploded. No headaches or anything, but at times my chest heaved for air. The terrain was steep in sections too, but crazier was that the guide summits four times a week with other groups, and with one group of Frenchmen, they summited in 45 minutes. The hike totaled about 2 km, so 45 minutes is blazing fast. Two of the group climbed in loafers, which was quite the accomplishment. After a bit of lake gazing and four hours in a bus back, some watching a movie with little sound called <i>Universal</i> <i>Soldier</i> and some squeezed in the back of a pickup truck, I arrived back in Atahualpa under a red-orange sunset and the welcoming handshake from my host dad, my host mom's soup and rice, and a hot cup of tea. The smell of food here will be something to miss. <br />
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I'll try and post some pictures in my next post sometime soon- gotta run to dinner. Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-49866874700048804412011-10-10T15:43:00.000-07:002011-10-12T17:02:47.753-07:00Atahualpa Activities<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih4htbB2o6JBSBwromjMJEkbpUs67hDxNIw8oWySldFbxAJbT7-zv78tionYWcrCU5dZMBsQyRF6OYmzjForNW5jeiVZ7dphJORSER48HXslqlZRHUEwyKnSWNM33tw6a9VFOMFARjjEw/s1600/DSCI0870.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih4htbB2o6JBSBwromjMJEkbpUs67hDxNIw8oWySldFbxAJbT7-zv78tionYWcrCU5dZMBsQyRF6OYmzjForNW5jeiVZ7dphJORSER48HXslqlZRHUEwyKnSWNM33tw6a9VFOMFARjjEw/s400/DSCI0870.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So here are some tid bits about the past few days. Here is a picture of the Ecuador-Venezuela World Cup qualifying match. There is unfortunately, or fortunately, a lot to say about the game. First, it blows US soccer out of the water- there were fireworks before the game, standing room only, and tons of screaming and singing. Even people with seats were standing up pretty much the whole game! There were no seats when we got in, so I stood the whole time. Ecuador dominated pretty much the whole game, especially the first half when they scored two header goals. They missed some golden opportunities second half, but still won 2-0. One pretty neat event/tradition that happened was that when Ecuador scored a goal, people would throw their beer everywhere! Never would happen in the US. Even crazier was how packed the stadium was- people were sitting on the very edges of the stadium, overlooking the ground in order to see over the crowd. Nobody really sat down the entire match, except for halftime, so I kind of ached by the end after all the standing and screaming and jumping. Two of the girls in the group had things stolen out of their pockets on the way to the bathroom, sort of a big reality check for me. The environment was so packed and pushy I was very afraid my camera would disappear, but luckily not. The other TBB semester group kids came with us too, which was neat- although strange to meet new people, especially new Americans, outside of the group. We've grown so close that I feel meeting new people awkward and a bit daunting even. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Another highlight of the trip here so far was milking cows. Last weekend, I went with Arden's host family at 8 to milk cows a little ways up from their house. Comically, the truck had no seat belts, a speculative engine that would sometimes break down, but a USB port in the radio for music to work. Pretty funny how much music is valued in this town. I felt pretty helpless during the whole experience because I had no idea how to help. I just stood around watching, frantically searching for ways to help "herd" the cow, tie up her legs, get water to wash off the teets, and then get the bucket to start milking. It was difficult- I watch videos of people milking cows and it looks so easy, but the rhythm and the warm feeling of the cow are strange. I got milk out, but it was tiring, and especially slow. The cows like being milked, and actually need it to remain healthy, so the process is crucial. If one does not milk the cow fast enough, some of the milk will be absorbed for the calf to suck out. Because I was not fast enough milking, they needed to let the calf "warm up" the milk to come out. The two sisters in the family squeezed out approximately 2 L in seconds, and we left with about 20 L of milk from three cows. Some of the families here walk miles for only 6-7 L of milk for their family. That milk goes to be processed, mostly for drinking but some also for fresh cheese. I realized how difficult but rewarding farm life really is, and looking at myself compared to these rugged farm families, I feel pretty soft. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Last week I ate my first guinea pig. Yep- it tasted pretty good actually, but the final, crusted product of a fried guinea pig did not scare me that much. It was more the process of killing the guinea pig and seeing it pre-cooked. My host mom would kill the guinea pig herself, crushing its head down and breaking its neck only hours before lunch. I did not see her skin it, but I did see the guinea pig split open, covered in a slimy sort of liquid before being cooked whole. The skin became very crunchy, and compared to other meats, it was not that meaty. Kind of like a rich chicken taste, which was good, but there was not much meat and it was difficult to eat- although guinea pig is a delicacy here. Most likely it will not be the last guinea pig I eat in Ecuador. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Lately I have struggled with feelings of apathy and normalcy in Atahualpa. At times, I have felt as though I want to be somewhere else, even though I don't really know where. TBB warned us of our days' feeling normal, and ordinary, despite the amazing adventure embedded in every moment. Slowing down has helped me see the extraordinary- like this morning glancing outside to see the first snow of the trip blanketed on one of the tallest peaks. Snow only amounts there every four years, and stays for a mer few hours. I looked out tonight and saw clouds rolling off the mountains, gray and red streaks complementing the night's black. For me, slowing down is difficult- I always look to do something, read a chapter, walk around, do pushups, whatever to remain efficient, make the most of the time I have. But sometimes I find that being efficient defeats the purpose of efficiency. Sometimes, being efficient and running around to accomplish tasks makes me lose sight of my surroundings, of my family here, and all of Atahualpa's subtle hints of culture I will miss and dream about in a few weeks. In almost all of the interview my group has conducted we hear about the tranquility, the peace in Atahualpa. There is no crime here- every time we glance into the police station we see facebook's emblem laden across the screen. The town is so personal, so grounded, so slow in time. I try to reach this state, the state where I can forget readings, forget stomach aches or whatever bothers me and just be- yoga today helped a lot, just focusing on the movements, the breathing, the simple actions and processes of living. Slowing down helps me appreciate where I am. I am in Atahualpa under the constant gaze of mountains, overlooking verdant, rolling hills spotted with cows, and I try to remember that every day here is extraordinary.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-19929335416948617712011-10-03T17:36:00.001-07:002011-10-03T17:36:48.563-07:00Atahualpa First ImpressionsWe arrived in Atahualpa about 5 days ago and met up with our host families- I underestimated how amazing that experience really is. Sitting in Quito comparing host brothers, sisters, etc. seemed very odd and wrong somehow, to compare families, but now after settling in I really love where I am. I have five brothers and two sisters, so a huge family, but only one brother lives in the house full time- his name is David. So everyone else lives elsewhere and works- some in Quito that come to Atahualpa on Sundays, but the others live farther away and don't visit as often. It's pretty crazy how everyone thinks I am freakishly tall here- and it is because I kind of am. The ceilings in the house are very short- especially doorways, so I have to duck so as not to hit my head every time. I have already hit my head multiple times-- but everyone in the family is relatively short, especially the parents. So I am very tall relative to everyone around me. The house is not really a house, but a connection of rooms- kitchen, bedrooms, and bathrooms with a shower. Lucky for me, a bucket shower but with hot water. The bucket shower felt a bit awkward, but really isn't all that different from a regular shower. So pretty small house setup, but cozy-- everyone knows each other, there is a balcony overlooking the town area, and everything feels quaint. My spanish has improved tremendously- especially my comfort with speaking with my family. I was playing bananagrams in spanish and struggled a bit, but after switching over to english I kept thinking of spanish words to play, so I struggled even more. Thinking in spanish is pretty neat- hard to switch back and forth between languages though. <br />
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The town is very remote- about a 2 hour bus ride to Quito, and direct access to a lot of mountains nearby. When we go out for work projects, we see farmers on sloped mountainsides, cows, horses, chickens, a slew of farm life. My host mom always says "tranquilo", which means calm, and I get the impression that life here is calm but very trying. When I woke up for a 6 am run I was not alone in the least- many other farmers were walking for milk or other farm duties/necessities here. Gladys, one of the main figures in the local government, says that many people need to walk miles for milk, and that the milk economy is not very efficient. Being in so remote a place involves a lot of walking, especially because farm life is so busy. Yet, contrary to my assumption of food in Ecuador, I have eaten a ton. Some meals I have not been able to finish because of the sheer mass of food. A lot of soups, rice, empanadas, tea, chicken, and some beef too. One of the most different customs here with food is the eating of guinea pigs. My family here thought it strange that we did not eat our pet guinea pig, Star, because on the roof of the house, they take care of 20-30 guinea pigs for selling and eating. But to my knowledge, I have not yet eaten any guinea pig- though I hear it is a treat. The amount of fruit here is amazing too- my mother makes a lot of juices, including melon, tomato, pineapple, and mandarin. Really sweet too. <br />
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Much like Quito, many of the material goods here are extremely cheap. Instead of a one or two dollar ice cream, most ice creams here are 30 cents. Tissues were only 75 cents, but buying select goods like sunscreen cost 13-15 dollars! The other day I saw a car with toilet paper on the dashboard- here they place toilet paper only in the trash. Apparently, even an item like an X-Box or Playstation amounts to 1,000 dollars, whereas in the US they are only about 200. So it depends on what kind of items to purchase. The first few days everyone went crazy on the ice cream because of the novelty of it being so cheap- we've tapered off a bit, but the ice cream craze still continues. <br />
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Our work project here revolves/focuses around the study of the environment and natural resources. Our main focus for all of our trail work and other projects to come is ecotourism for Atahualpa. We have had two days of work thus far- one digging paths for water to travel down the side of a road, and today working on widening a path to waterfalls in the mountains. The road we worked on led to the Fuya Fuya- one of the highest mountains here. The road was incredibly bumpy- so we dug ditches for water runoff on the side of the road while using that dirt to fill ditches in the middle of the road. It was a bit of a fragile situation- we were worried that rain could wash away all of our work and make the road even worse. We don't know yet because we haven't returned, but it has rained a lot. Very gray in the afternoons- we arrived on a bluebird day, but have had pretty steady gray, cloudy afternoons. We are a little lower here than in Quito, but not much, so the clouds are very close. Every night so far I've looked out from the balcony and thought that we were in a cloud. We actually might be. The other day of work, for today, was clearing a path to the waterfalls. A bit sketchy of a path to get there, but we widened it a bit. At some parts the path drops off to cliffs, more or less, and we had to cross a waterfall at one point to get to another. So a bit scary at times. We saw three waterfalls, the biggest of which was about 20-30 meters tall, so maybe a little less than 100 feet. Really big- the water crashing down looked like the spray from a Coast Guard helicopter hovering above the ocean. Really gorgeous- we'll get to work near them more in the future. I can't help but think about what ecotourism will mean for Atahualpa- I keep thinking that the more ecotourism they attract, the less culturally beautiful Atahualpa will become. More stores, more urbanization and other such forces might attract more visitors, but at what cost to Atahualpa's remoteness and unique culture? I am sure I will learn more about these questions as I continue to live and explore here.<br />
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Weekends are completely different from weekdays- weekdays it is a ghost town, little commotion or people on the street. But on weekends, families reunite, kids run in the street, and soccer games continue all day in the stadium. There is also a pool here! A dollar for admission, but very new- barely a week or two since we arrived. But soccer is HUGE here- a lot of different towns have their own teams, and they play every weekend. I was watching a game where there were two red cards and almost a fight. Really intense- ecua-volley is another sport here, similar to volleyball but played with a soccer ball and a much higher net. I had a cold this weekend so I couldn't play much unfortunately, only watching. <br />
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Other little tid bits- seems that everything is very family oriented here. The first night I showed maybe ten or so photos of family and friends, and then they showed me about three albums worth of pictures. Lot of family value, and very friendly too. Everyone says hi to each other as they pass in the street, and the vibe is calm, but focused and serious too. Music resonates a lot here too- instead of ipods, the people I've met have songs on their phones instead, and have showed me some of their American songs, mainly electronic. There is only one clock in the house that I have seen, and time is regarded as a guideline but not a necessity. Sort of reading time with nature, or time in relation to meals. All the food is fresh and local too- meats, fruits, vegetables everything. Very different from the supermarkets of the US, where we don't always know where the food is coming from. Although the food is not perfect- I was eating some toasted corn and ended up finding a needle in the little bag. Very scary to see that I almost ate a nail. But otherwise no problems with food- I can't drink tap water, eat vegetables cold, or fruits with the skin on them, but otherwise all the food agrees with me.<br />
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No mosquitoes either, which I love. Mountains all around, thin air, lot of readings and deep thoughts. I think I am beginning to understand that this gap year is very different from my average vacation. Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-48315037116092704502011-09-27T16:59:00.000-07:002011-09-27T16:59:17.193-07:00Quito ContinuedWalking through the Quito markets, I felt amazed by how cheap everything is. Rubber boots cost about seven dollars, bracelets only about 50 cents to a dollar, and food for about 3 dollars. Everyone else found rubber boots for working, but unfortunately the store only held yup to size 11. Big feet are often a curse. It really is remarkable- when I was walking down to one of the large malls in Quito, a little girl selling gum for 50 cents followed me to the entrance of the mall. Neither of her parents sat with her on the side of the street, if she had parents at all. I thought she would follow me into the mall just to buy a 50 cent pack of gum, probably worth about one to two dollars in the US. I ended up giving her a dollar for the gum- I couldn't say no to her desperate eyes. In parts of the square near the Basilica, many homeless people lined the sides of the streets holding their hands out for money. Old, wrinkled ladies wrapped in sweaters and hats, children playing with rotten looking corn or fruits that they try to sell. Some younger people were juggling or using the diablo in the middle of the street, even a man juggling on a unicycle. A huge danger here is crossing the street- on one occasion, a driver sped up when our group tried to cross the street. Pedestrians do not have the right away in Quito.<div><br />
</div><div>The park in Quito fills with people in the morning- volleyball, soccer, BMX, even a bowl style skatepark there. Pullup bars, parallel bars, everything I could imagine-- even a plane! A legitimate plane sits in the middle of a fenced area, covered in art and graffiti. I love the active atmosphere. <br />
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</div><div>One of the days we visited a massive, ancient looking church called the Basilica. We got to climb one of the tall towers in the church, crossing this janky, wooden cross walk and ascending an almost vertical set of metal stairs. The scariest moment of the trip for me so far-- makes me scared for skydiving and bungee jumping in South Africa. The church was beautiful, ornate with stained glass and gold colored arches. The architecture was stunning-- one of the strange moments for me happened when we moved through a live mass with our cameras clicking photos left, right, up, down, everywhere. Even as we walked into a private room with people praying in silence, the sound of our cameras pierced the air. I tried not to disturb their praying-- I felt so touristy. Walking out of the church there was a small procession of old women with their hands outstretched, yearning for pennies, anything. </div><div><br />
</div><div>The food in Ecuador has been amazing- a lot of rice has continued from Costa Rica, but not as many beans. In the mission, a typical breakfast includes tea, bread, juice and a hot meal, such as eggs and spinach or a fried dough consistency pastry, sometimes yogurt or a fruit cup. They serve soup a lot too, all different kinds, most of which have potato in them, one even with quinoa. Dinners range from meat and rice to quiche like foods, and one night we had an amazing pan dessert. I am not sure what a staple food in Ecuador is, but rice is certainly a main component. I enjoy all of the tropical fruits- mora, gaunabana, maracuya, pina, all of these amazing tastes. People use them for juices, ice cream, tarts, everything really. Nothing like that in CT. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I had some spanish lessons to refresh and remember all of my high school knowledge, everyone did. Right after the lessons, I found myself talking more spanish than english, and loved how I could talk so easily compared to the beginning of Costa Rica when I fumbled to even order a water. My teacher was so energetic it astounded me-- very interpersonal here too, as far as greetings. A kiss on the cheek and a hug is customary when meeting someone, except guy to guy. Greetings are essential- even leaving or entering a room it is expected that you say hello and goodbye, or buenos dias etc. Generally people like company, and during our cultural talk our host named Myriam said that most Ecuadorians do not like being alone, contrary to the American cultural value of privacy. Today we went to see the Itchimbea park, and got to see the Virgen de Quito. The view was unreal- Quito lies in a valley next to the Pichincha mountain, and looking across the verdant, rolling hills I see houses of all colors creeping up into the mountains. So awesome- Cotopaxi, the highest mountain in Quito, has summit at over 19,000 feet, and still holds snow. Very tempting to think about climbing, but it reminds me about how difficult the glacier environment was. Soon we will be retreating into the Atahaulpa villages at 11,000 to 12,000 feet with our host families. My family has seven sons! I feel nervously excited for meeting me new family-- like I am entering a house that is not mine. New culture, foreign language, new home, new people- infinite room for learning through mistakes. Soon I will probably be sitting taking a cold, bucket shower dreaming of surfing, tea, and endless rice. </div></div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-84210992739573986032011-09-27T05:20:00.000-07:002011-09-27T05:20:38.556-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So we are wrapping up our 5 day trip to Quito, Ecuador. Only about a 2 hour flight away from Costa Rica, Quito stands at about 9,000 feet right in the valley of the Pichincha mountain. We were staying at a Mission called Mision Carmelita, right in the middle of Quito. Airplanes are always flying over and the mountain scenery here is gorgeous, despite the lack of oxygen in the air. Walking up stairs and hills is difficult. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">All through the 5 days I have been thinking about topics I have never though about before- after finishing <u>Savages</u>, a look into the lives of the Huorani tribe in Ecuador, I learned how much the indigenous in Ecuador are exploited by oil companies such as Petroecuador. As we discussed our everyday consumption, I saw that all of our daily items such as a toothbrush, tea bag, shampoo, or anything, comes from petroleum. The line of production/extraction required to even make a single tea bag is phenomenal. Such daunting and overwhelming cycles of the life of material goods makes me think about how many toothbrushes I have, and the impact each one makes as it travels across the world to American supermarkets. It is scary to think about. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The picture below is the view coming out of the airport in Quito, and the one below that is the Basilica, a famous church in Ecuador that we visited, and will explain more about in my next entry. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-55894282283037083652011-09-20T20:15:00.000-07:002011-09-20T20:15:16.909-07:00Costa Rica OverviewWell this might be a bit long- I have not really wanted to be on the internet too much because of all the cool activities in Costa Rica-- here is a bit of a spiel on what I have been doing<br />
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Driving in I noticed some strange aspects of Costa Rica- I saw some nice houses followed by little shanty style shacks, along with some brick barrios. The first hostel we stayed in had semi bars on the outside, and we were located in kind of a city neighborhood with a park across the street. The stop signs here read Alto instead of Stop- spanish. We moved from our first hostel to our main hostel in Avellanas, where we are about a ten minute walk from the beach. The vibe here embodies pure relaxation- reggae mixed with some Pink Floyd, an owner named Gustavo who boogie boards almost every day, and the countless times hearing "pura vida", meaning "pure life". The air is incredibly thick, and unfortunately being so close to the beach the mosquitoes bite a lot. All of the Costa Ricans are incredibly courteous- we always get a "buenos dias" or other greeting from strangers on the sidewalk, and the restaurant we have gone to for lunch and dinner almost every day called "Cabinas de las Olas" gives discounts to the Program Leaders. One of the highlights for me so far has been the food- I have had a lot of beans and rice, and surprisingly french fries. Like a special burger, which consisted of cheese, ham, and bacon with lettuce and tomato on a burger. Rice and seafood, pesto pasta, fish, chicken; I have eaten very well, especially considering that I have established myself as the garbage disposal of the group. So any uneaten food drifts my way every meal. I don't complain. One day we visited the touristy area and beach called Tamarindo- lot of surf shops, everywhere really. I would say there are definitely more surf shops than supermarkets or other more "practical" shops. What really surprised me was these sketchy guys on a street corner offered me weed. Wow- apparently the drug problem in Costa Rica, where we are, is huge. A few other kids in the group got offered too- yikes. Where we are, Costa Rica is a surfer town full of beach bums- kind and always willing to reach out and say hello.<br />
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My activities so far have ranged from early morning surfing, at around 6-8, to ziplining, and tomorrow a catamaran ride. I am definitely hooked on surfing- I picked it up reasonably fast but now have leveled off and possible regressed-- nose dives and water up the nose to dehydration headaches to just fatigue are a bit frustrating. I always look over at the locals and they always stand up, always ride the wave perfectly-- plus no cursing or yelling in frustration. Pura vida. Ziplining was awesome- I got going pretty fast through the canopy, and on one cable went upside down, with some help from one of our guides. They have a pretty great job. In between serious seminars about development and our assumptions as Americans, we have a lot of fun. The seminars and meetings are mind boggling- a good relation to the feeling of pondering our existence in the world is like putting together a 1000 piece puzzle only to realize that you bought the wrong puzzle. I sit in a circle of kids my age talking about the meaning of international development in the context of the world and can't help but feel overwhelmed and mentally exhausted at times. Crazy stuff that simmers in the back of my mind but almost never comes out; critical thinking on steroids. We have to start self critiquing our own assumptions about the world and development while also understanding the assumptions of authors whose books we discuss. I think I already have learned that there is no simple answer to the end of poverty or world development. <br />
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So here I sit in a bungalow in the middle of Costa Rica feeling ready to move onto Ecuador. The mood of Avellanas is other worldly, but I feel like I need to move. Soon I will be sitting with a Spanish family in Ecuador, talking spanish and exchanging cultures and stories. I'll be learning about the environment, and unfortunately probably not eating as much as I am now. No reggae music, no surfing-- the real trip begins. Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5377420580850365353.post-19016415907383918692011-09-06T20:18:00.000-07:002011-09-06T20:18:44.801-07:00IntroAlright so here is my blog- it's pretty neat so far. I still am getting ready for the trip, and have not entirely packed yet. But I still got a few days- started my doxycyclene medicine about two weeks age and thankfully no side effects, and I am still wrapping up my innoculations. Just went to the dentist, will get my last rabies vaccine tomorrow, and soon I will be off to Costa Rica. Hopefully it won't rain out there while we are surfing. Tomhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01725318158130710849noreply@blogger.com2