At the risk of sounding trite, Ecuador is a fascinating place. Describing my trip in full would be highly difficult, and would inevitably serve as an injustice to the beautiful, difficult lifestyle maintained by the nation’s people, as well as bore you readers to tears. Thus, I shall focus upon a few select highlights…
Transportation
Multiple hours of my life in the Southern Hemisphere were passed on buses. Unexpected heavy rains crippled key roads in the capital and the nation at large, resulting in ample traffic and LOTS of time to reflect upon our precarious proximity to the edge of many a cliff from our bus windows. On one eventful bus ride, the driver and his wing man (whose job is to open the bus door and scream out the destination of said bus at random passer-bys in the event that they will spontaneously decide to join us on our trip and leap onto the moving bus as it continues. Clearly, this practice would not exist if this decision-making-process to travel was not employed A LOT by Ecuadorians), decided that playing kung-fu movies at full volume would be the best way to pass the time. The kung-fu movie boasted Chinese actors, dubbed with Spanish voices that impersonated Chinese accents. Cinematographic excellence.
Economy
Spanish conquistadors long ago banished the indigenous farmers of Ecuador to the steep pitches of the Andes; the colonizers settled in the better situated valleys and attempted to convince their indigenous victims that the sides of the mountains were actually the best locations because they would be so much closer to their Sun God. The jury is still out on whether the Inca’s bought that story. About mid-way through our trip, sister Dancing Queen dubbed me an “Indigenous Magnet”; los indigenos gravitated toward me and wanted to tell me about their lives, their families, their pasts…anything. One indigeno, Juan, told me of the demise of the co-op that had sustained him and his family for years. Another, Miguel, excitedly recounted the volcano activity of the previous night, drawing the direction of the resulting lava in the dirt with his 3-foot machete. Later, after wildly swinging his machete around in excitement, he assured me that the weapon was for removing weeds- not for violence toward me. Miguel, roughly 70 years old, then tried to kiss me. I coyly deferred to the cheek and hustled away from him, and his machete, as fast as possible. A third, also wielding a machete, held my arm as he implored me to believe that he and his people were not aggressive but rather gentle and loving. A smile, nod and reflection later, I started thinking about how old, Spanish-imposed stereotypes still sustain themselves and maintain a vastly inequitable and, frankly, inefficient economy that is more feudal than globalized.
Home-slice
There are a few people in the world that I would love to pocket-size; I’d like a mini-version of them to carry around with me to make me laugh, give me strength and challenge me to think. If I ever tell you that I want a pocket sized version of you, you should take it as the highest form of complement.
I’d like to introduce you to the newest member of my action-figure collection of favorite, pocket-sizable people in the world- my Ecuadorian host mother Consuelo. My love for Consuelo began almost immediately after I met her when she recounted her experience at the snobby, euro-centric Spanish ambassador’s office when she was denied a visa into the European Union. The story ended with, “I do not even WANT a visa from you ignorant people. You WILL NOT treat me like this. I would rather not go to Europe than deal with such stupidity.” Touché.
Transportation
Multiple hours of my life in the Southern Hemisphere were passed on buses. Unexpected heavy rains crippled key roads in the capital and the nation at large, resulting in ample traffic and LOTS of time to reflect upon our precarious proximity to the edge of many a cliff from our bus windows. On one eventful bus ride, the driver and his wing man (whose job is to open the bus door and scream out the destination of said bus at random passer-bys in the event that they will spontaneously decide to join us on our trip and leap onto the moving bus as it continues. Clearly, this practice would not exist if this decision-making-process to travel was not employed A LOT by Ecuadorians), decided that playing kung-fu movies at full volume would be the best way to pass the time. The kung-fu movie boasted Chinese actors, dubbed with Spanish voices that impersonated Chinese accents. Cinematographic excellence.
Economy
Spanish conquistadors long ago banished the indigenous farmers of Ecuador to the steep pitches of the Andes; the colonizers settled in the better situated valleys and attempted to convince their indigenous victims that the sides of the mountains were actually the best locations because they would be so much closer to their Sun God. The jury is still out on whether the Inca’s bought that story. About mid-way through our trip, sister Dancing Queen dubbed me an “Indigenous Magnet”; los indigenos gravitated toward me and wanted to tell me about their lives, their families, their pasts…anything. One indigeno, Juan, told me of the demise of the co-op that had sustained him and his family for years. Another, Miguel, excitedly recounted the volcano activity of the previous night, drawing the direction of the resulting lava in the dirt with his 3-foot machete. Later, after wildly swinging his machete around in excitement, he assured me that the weapon was for removing weeds- not for violence toward me. Miguel, roughly 70 years old, then tried to kiss me. I coyly deferred to the cheek and hustled away from him, and his machete, as fast as possible. A third, also wielding a machete, held my arm as he implored me to believe that he and his people were not aggressive but rather gentle and loving. A smile, nod and reflection later, I started thinking about how old, Spanish-imposed stereotypes still sustain themselves and maintain a vastly inequitable and, frankly, inefficient economy that is more feudal than globalized.
Home-slice
There are a few people in the world that I would love to pocket-size; I’d like a mini-version of them to carry around with me to make me laugh, give me strength and challenge me to think. If I ever tell you that I want a pocket sized version of you, you should take it as the highest form of complement.
I’d like to introduce you to the newest member of my action-figure collection of favorite, pocket-sizable people in the world- my Ecuadorian host mother Consuelo. My love for Consuelo began almost immediately after I met her when she recounted her experience at the snobby, euro-centric Spanish ambassador’s office when she was denied a visa into the European Union. The story ended with, “I do not even WANT a visa from you ignorant people. You WILL NOT treat me like this. I would rather not go to Europe than deal with such stupidity.” Touché.
As the week progressed, Consuelo gave frank advice and reflections and became the Ecuadorian mother that I never knew I had. After several impassioned arguments, she nearly convinced me that a. my Spanish was EXCELLENT and that b. smoking doesn’t kill people, stupidity kills people. I still have work to do on the subjunctive tense and am not planning on picking up a cigarette at any point in the near future- but the passion Consuelo put into every element of her life and the humor she brought to every situation was quite an inspiration and balm to the anxieties inherent to cultural immersion.
…Highlights to be continued at a later date…Hasta Llugo mis amantes!
…Highlights to be continued at a later date…Hasta Llugo mis amantes!
1 comment:
did you know that during thets spanish conquest, the jamon serrano-loving studs also studied the sun patterns and then built a church with a in the middle of the ceiling. They aligned the hole with the sun so the sun would perfectly shine through at the the time of mass. They used this to convince the indigenous people that their god was present in the church.... lame
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