Glass houses, crack houses

I've got two days left in Ecuador. It's a little sad, but I have a feeling I'll be coming back some day (hopefully soon). We've visited most of the big museums by now. Honestly though after the run-ins we've had with would-be thieves, I don't feel too bad about leaving Quito. I love the family I'm staying with, but the fact is, as my Peace Corps friend Zac told us, Quito is the most dangerous city he's lived in. It comes with all big cities, but nevertheless.

Yesterday, Brad (a student at the Spanish school) invited us to a presentation he was to give today. He's from South Carolina, so he spoke about his state and its relation to dance. At the end of his presentation he demonstrated the Carolina shag and taught us the step. Then after fifteen minutes of shag, he momentarily stepped out and returned wearing a baggy hoodie and talked about hip-hop in the South. Rapping in Atlanta (Ludacris, Lil' Jon?, and Souldjaboy) is much faster than in Cali or NY, at 160 beats per minute. Then we learned how to dance to Souljaboy...



After getting some tres leches cake at a pastelería, Land I visited La Casa de Urrutia. Afterwards we visited El Parque Itchimbia, and the crystal palace around it.

This was not before we walked down some of the shadiest streets in Quito, though. I'm talking about a crack house, with barbed wire fencing, busted out windows, broken furniture on the lawn, and vagrants skulking around the yard. It was the first time in Ecuador that L wasn't willing to explore a new neighborhood. I didn't complain.

More Rain

It rains every day in Quito.

It's sunny in the morning, until about noon. Clouds start rolling in over the mountains, and by 2:30 p.m., you're looking at a downpour. Carrying an umbrella is already a regularity for me -- $2.25 from a corner tienda.

If you get caught in the rain, don't expect your clothes to dry out quickly. It took nearly a week for my pair of tennis shoes to go from soaked to damp. My jacket doesn't dry out if I don't wear it in the morning. Last week after three days of frustrated waiting I just broke down and threw it in the dryer. The fact is you pretty much have to get used to walking around town with wet pant cuffs. But, hey, at least I'm not in Bolivia.

I tried finding my way to the Teleferico this morning with L. It's a cable car that climbs the volcano Pichincha and gives you one hell of a view of the region. You can even see Cotopaxi from the summit! After twenty minutes or so of wandering we just hailed a taxi nstead. As it goes, we were walking in the opposite direction! Apparently I don't know Quito as well as I thought. All you really need to know though is where the Avenida diez de agosto is though. It's the avenue that the trolley bus runs on, and essentially bisects the city (as far as I'm concerned).

Because of a power outage, the Teleferico was closed so we walked the mile back to our home base in La Gasca. While following the highway, L noticed two young guys dash across a flurry of traffic. Since last week both our guards are up. Additionally, I'm a little wary of any group of guys not wearing backpacks. If they're already carrying backpacks how can they rip ours off?

These two guys asked L the time, and then started grabbing my arm and asking me for a dollar (as a gift, mind you). L took off while I was ripping the guy's arm off of me and shooting them a dirty look. Either they didn't have knives or I have one hell of a stare. I'd rather it be the latter, but they just aren't serious criminals I guess.

At 12.30 p.m. we went to the Academia de Español, because Jacqueline (another student) was throwing a going away party of sorts. Additionally, she is a "holistic healer" who performs curacions and helps focus energy, and is holding a seminar at the school this weekend. She's similar to a woman I once knew in my life, except Jacqueline stylizes herself as more of a shaman. To celebrate, she made fresh salad, and bought wine (like any good French woman) and fresh bread. We all hung out on a seventh story patio for two hours, watching a storm move in.

L and I also visited the museum of Oswaldo Guayasamin, a huge painter in Quito. His family runs a museum that features pre-Colombian, colonial, and contemporary art. Some blocks away lies la Parilla del Hombre, which looks like this massive monolith, and is capped with a covered cone. The place closed down at five o'clock, so we only got some shots of the exterior. If I have time, I'll return. Probably not though.

I'm going to watch Liga play with Manolo. It's in Ambato, but don't worry... we've got cable.

Mindo es Lindo

For the last week or so, L and I have been arguing over whether or not to go to Baños. It's an interesting city and popular visit for tourists, but the three and a half hour bus ride has been turning me off to the idea.

So for the time being, we decided to go to Mindo. It's a city about two hours to the west of Quito. Located between two different ecological zones (mountains and coast), it's sports some magnificent biodiversity. For example, Mindo offers the largest variety of hummingbirds in the world. After hearing about the area from our family, L and I decided to take the trip with our new friend Lorena (or Lauren in the US).

On Sunday morning, we met Lorena in front of the Academia of Español above the Avenida 15 de Agosto. We walked eight blocks to a bus station near Flota Imbabura. On the street Manual Larrea, two older men started following us. I was several paces ahead of the girls so I didn't notice that one was carrying a bottle of mustard. He sprayed both with mustard, all over their backpacks and pants. The other guy was waiting on the corner with napkins, trying to tell us that a bird took a shit on their backpacks. Lenay was ready and didn't buy it. "Keep walking, KEEP WALKING!!!" She realized that these guys were trying to rob us. I didn't come to grips with the situation until we were 50 feet away from the would-be thieves. I was fuming, but the girls wouldn't have me turning me around and challenging two criminals singlehandedly. It was the prudent decision to make, but by not acting they probably robbed several other people on Sunday.

In Mindo we found a hostel called the Bijao on Avenida Quito. It is one of the many accommodations in Mindo, and can host 1600 people, which is massive for a town of it's size. The tourist business in town offer canyoning, rafting, butterfly-watching (extreme man!), four-wheelers, swimming, and zip-line rides.

We decided to rent bikes to reach the top of the mountain. it would have made for a pretty exciting day except that they were the worst.bikes.ever. I was begging for my bike back home. I spent an equal amount of time pushing it as I did biking up a muddy, rocky excuse for a road. At least L was optimistic, while my frustration was making me a little crabby (sorry guys). At the top, we rode a cart attached to a zip line across the canopy of the jungle. In L's words, "a cheap, sketchy carnival ride... and worth it!" Going down the hill was awesome, especially with the frayed rear brake line that I was putting my life into. I will admit though, L, that it was definitely an experience I won't be forgetting soon!

Late in the afternoon while we were hiking we ran into a fellow gringo. Zac, a 27 year old Peace Corps volunteer, manages this farming complex in an effort to improve the diet of the local people. Specifically, they are landscaping the farm and operating a chicken farm. He invited us to volunteer the next day, so we jumped at the opportunity, not knowing quite what to expect.

We had to wake up at 5:30 a.m. the next morning so we found a restaurant, ate pasta (incredible after nearly two straight months of rice!) drank some pilsner, and played cards. Actually I practiced shuffling -- my skill is abysmal -- while L taught Lorena how to play cuarenta, an Ecuadorian favorite. We crashed at the hostel around 9 p.m.

The next morning, after suffering 45 minutes of roosters cawing (every family has a cock here) we hiked to Zac's complex. There he showed us our task: de-feathering and cleaning chickens. While one worker electrocuted and decapitated the birds, and the other removed the innards, our job was to remove all of the feathers and peel the skin off of the feet. It was pretty much a unique experience for me. We had to dip the recently expired bodies in a vat of boiling water before, and after to soften up the feathers. The smell... oh the smell... earthy at best. At worst... well, try it yourself.

It was a rewarding experience, both because we helped Zac deliver the chickens afterwards, and I got an inside look at what Peace Corps volunteers can do. Afterwards, he took us to his favorite spot in Mindo, five kilometers outside of the city where we enjoyed the hummingbrds, river, mountains. Oh yeah, and the best fresh tilapia I have ever eaten in my life.

One Million Screaming Piggies

My current host mom Zaida told me last week about the biggest market (fería) in Ecuador. It's located in Otavalo, a two hour bus ride north of Quito. We should have left in the morning. But instead, I slept in until noon for the first time in a month. It was worth it.

After lunch, L and I took the Barrio Nuevo bus line down from our house on La Gasca to Flota Imbabura, a bus station in the middle of the city. As well prepared as I was, neither L or I had more than three dollars in our pockets after buying tickets. I felt even better after finding the copy of my passport ruined from the rain. Nerves were a little high for the bus ride, needless to say.

After getting to Otavalo, and finding an ATM, L and I found Los Pendeneros, a hostel two blocks away from the central plaza. Maria, the owner, charged us each five dollars (and I got cable, sweet!). I didn't want to sit in the hostel all night, though, so after five minutes of exploring I ran into an old acquaintance from Cuenca. Gregor, a Swiss guy who also studied at Sampere, has been slowly making his way through Ecuador to Colombia. The three of us found this reggae restaurant: cheap beer, cheap falafel, and cheap Andean music made my night.

The next morning started at 6 a.m. so we could go to the animal market. Every Saturday, Otavalo hosts this huge sale of pigs, cows, and goats. It's a huge squealing mess. One can buy a huge hog for less than one hundred dollars at this market. This pig seemed pretty savvy to what was going on though...



After an hour and a half of gawking at the livestock, I made my way over to the main square, where they were selling everything else. All the local farmers bring their fresh produce here for sale. I'm talking guayanaba, papaya, tomato de arbol, yuca, all of the inaccessible fruits and veggies some gringos have never heard of. Other notable goods for sale include artisan crafts, such as ponchos, local cotton shirts, alpaca scarves, paintings, headdresses, knick0knacks, and all the crap you'll never need but every gringo wants. I found my vaunted Deportiva Cuenca jersey, the one that I was too stupid to pick up while I was actually in Cuenca.

For anyone that's actually been to the market, they know that haggling is half of the fun. A month ago I couldn't haggle to save my life; I was getting proverbially slapped by the vendors. In Otavalo... aim low, act disinterested, and walk away if you've got to. The vendors want to sell their merch, and are pulling the same tricks on you.

At about noon, we walked across town to the bus terminal and caught a ride to Peguche. It's a national park with a roaring waterfall, and pretty much the closest tourist attraction apart from the market itself. L got her phone ripped off on the bus though... we were pretty bummed out after that. Anyways, we explored the park for an hour and caught a ride home.