MCD

MCD

So who is this girl?

A silent reader pointed out maybe I should identify myself a little better... "who the hell is this girl?"

Yeah so I come from the USA..(upper left)... This is my family

This is their dog and the sheep. An extravagant peacock in the yard....yes domesticated ....more or less.... it is still balzy and might bite you....and it will definately wake you up with a bloody mary scream.

Here is the house in snow. With climate change there has actually been alot more snow in the winter... but it doesnt show any major contribution to the yearly water deficit because alpine storage is also affected here, as in Ecuador, by the increasingly hot summers.

Things i like about the netherlands (where i'm working on my master degree)....

1. there are people who put up posters of bikini island explosion over their desk...and when you ask "why the hell did you put that up????...." they say "its to keep things in perspective...like for exams....you are studying and freaking then you look up....and 'oh yea. there are bigger things to worry about' " smart people
   


2. this is actually more important to me. even though rural villages can be extraordinarily racist (also like US)....i am happy about the viewpoint that the world and problems are bigger than the netherlands. they also have a history of being conquered. the government and i think the majority of the people put their money where their mouth is and invest in NUFFIC scholarships and other international development projects with, i believe, a drive to make things better for people and nature. but it is still only 2 % of the GDP

Ok. so now we know each other and can be friends.... some folks just told me they have actually been reading the blog....that makes me feel absolutely great...thanks guys : )

Camino Antiguo

There was one day I left early for the control and took my poncho, as it was raining in the village. I walked up higher and higher and became more and more irritated as my hands stopped working on my bastons and it was too damn dark to see them. A little further up I remember thinking that I had holes in my poncho...then I realized it was snow! I was walking slower and slower by now the realization definately chilled my nerves a little. I was worried becuase if I turned around now...I was going to be damn cold by the time I arrived in the pueblo...but if I kept climbing I would stay warm as I entered colder and colder air. Then in one of the curves I saw a weak light and about a minute later I heard the distinct buzz of moto. Slowly Klebber approached me. I wave and he stops...what luck. "ESTA NUBLANDO!" he shouts and we are off. But it was difficult to get going as I weigh one an a half of Klebber. Then once we get moving the moto dances in the slush from side to side under the top heavy ness of two people...one burly gringa and one built indigeno. I cling to the seat and squeeze my knees to his pelvis while I also grab his shoulders...sincerely frightened I hunch behind his smaller frame as the snow cuts my face with its tiny crystals, but I know I have to hang on with my hands that I can hardly feel.

"I have to match his hip moves and leans in the corners...or we go over... and be damn ready to protect my face and head when we crash"... I think to myself. "Man! I should have just kept walking, that would have been the smart thing to do...."


It was strange to feel the fishtailing of a smaller moto as it swims beneath you and a friend. At the control Klebber yells, in English no less "Oh My GOD!!!" Beating his arms "SHIT!!!" really good English. He is frustrated with the cold.

Later he told me that he HAD fallen off earlier when he first hit the snow above the pueblo. But still stopped to pick up the big gringa girl.Here he is bringing a new born calf back to the village from over 30km away. It is tied to his waist. I have a lot of appreciation for the park gaurds. They really helped me out alot...

Later the bus passed and I got in for the run to Cayambe. But we arrive at 6 so I slept there along with most of the passengers waiting for my appointment, an interview with a NGO at 8. After the interview there was still time and nowhere to go...so back to the bus...to wait for the one return run of the day. We do one loop no more, no less. So there I sat with the driver and his friend, sharing orjitos (small sweet bananas) and mani (peanuts). We chat about US, Europe. He slyly takes my phone to get my number but is offed by the menu in English. We decide to go to lunch, the driver, a friend and me. They swagger as they strol, two handsome indigenous men with a tall gringa in tow.

Everything was quite nice until we arrived at the restaurant. Something about a gringa sitting with some of the most handsome dark men in the place obviously irritated the young women who were serving us. First only two plates for three people was all we got. They were completely cold by the time the thrid arrived. But still only two sets of silverware. I felt extraordinarily uncomfortable...We finally finished our cold plates and payed. I tried to make some pleasing comment... saying that the food was quite rich. But you really cant shake the racist looks. I dont know maybe it was all a natural accident but it felt extraordinarily racist.

But its just like that sometimes huh? I notice it. The Spanish are gone but the social stratification is emaculately intact....maintained by Ecuadorians themselves. But day by day it gets weaker, and indigenous movements are rising again in Ecuador.

Thermal healing...

When you arrive in Oyacachi you see the houses and the people, you will walk to the river and nothing else will really grab you. It is like being in a B movie without a soundtrack; beautiful, but kind of boring if you are not participating. But stay a while, plan on it so you can relax. Pay for three days, not one. Why not? It is still under 20.00 USD. Then you have time to chat and ask the questions you have.

I think that you will find restaurants, that will open for you if they know you are comming, and what you want, and with how many people. You will probably be staying in the large wooden hotel with four stories and a view of the whole valley. There is also no doubt you will learn about the hot springs...

Across the river from the village, there is a gorgeous nook. It is dripping with climbing vines that explode in pink flowers as big as your fist. These suspended firecrackers in reds and pinks are always accompanied by small black, green or yellow irridescent hummingbirds. This is where in the 1930's, long after the independence of Grand Colombia from Spain, the first mestizo visitors to Oyacachi encountered the thermal hotsprings of the village. At that time there were one or two small natural ponds. Bubbling up from the rocks came the extrordinarily hotwaters, and the villagers would come after the work day to wash before returning home.

Although this ritual hasn't changed, the hotsprings have. After the access road to the village was built, the hotsprings were developed quite quickly. Now a large cable suspension bridge helps visitors to cross the river. The architect who designed "Las Thermas de Papllacta" was commissioned to develop the thermals in the village. Tourists say they recognize the curvy feminine masonry walls stained by the iron and magnesium rich waters, as well as the emaculate gardens and paro-thatched gymnasium. Although the local villagers contributed the latter two, not the architect.

This is how they look today, gorgeous even with clouds and rain. The waters are at 47C and rich in Mg, Ca, Na, and Fe. You can tell it is raining by the raging river...the same one I have been trying desperately to measure discharge on.

On the lucky days...when I manage to catch a ride for one of the legs of my daily data gathering (up to the control or down from the control) I actually have some daylight time and energy left for myself. On these days I go to the pools "Las Piscinas" as the villagers call them. It is nice to get there at four (when I took the pics) and shower, then soak and watch the people arrive, families comming all together to bathe, infants, adolescents all the way to grandmothers and grandfathers. Also a very hot spot to "vasilar" = flirt and expell pent up hormones. The pools are generally ringed with earlier bathers as the young men arrive. They walk slowly... muscular, with hard faces but eyes excitedly looking below the badass eyebrows and half closed lids, their heads are thrust back... With this mix of elation and conceit they come down the stairs, reaching deeper and deeper waters. Then they casually naturally reach down and splash their chests with water.

Women and girls (myself included) are much more likely to drop in quietly from the wall and quickly submerge, or start to chat with cousins neighbors and sisters. They calmly continue talking, apparently oblivious to the handsome roosters strutting and damply flashing around the pool. But they are watching .....

Not every young man is extroverted and flirty...here is one of my friends in his kitchen....very shy even with his brother taking the pictures.

Speaking of heating qualities and being warm, the stove (fumeless stove of the things that escape my camera post) is back. Unfortunatley it has re-surfaced for some of the saddest reasons. A friend's father in the village has been diagnosed with what I understand to be a form of lung cancer or chronic respitory infection. But this is a little ironc since the village is Evangelical (protestant) and therefore smoking, alchohol and other drugs are not allowed so how did this otherwise very healthy medium aged man become so sick? Some of the regular readers probably already know.... the nice warm cookhouses. This man has been cooking for decades in a small, unventilated, smokey cookhouse and can now barely breathe. So all the appparent effects of smoking cigarettes...lung cancer and/or emphazema where caused by naural wood smoke.

I passed on the manual for the stove to my friend and tried to explain as best I could the sonstruction process I witenessed with two kinds of mortar, cutting of bricks to maintain perfectly exact dimensions, constant measuring and importance of sealed long chambers in the stove. Unfortuately not until I wanted to pass on the information did I realize how incomplete the manual was...With NO references....so you start your search with nothing not even a standardized name for the type of stove....All this on top of the fact that my friend can barely use a computer and a google search is pretty much out of the question.......almost garuntees he will not be able to construct the stove...So I do the search in the Netherlands in English then Spanish, and try to print new better complete directions. The concept I believe is a very hot insulated low oxygen burn....

But the learning will do me good eh?? To understand so I can then properly teach and share the information and resources......

Paisajes, Landscapes

One day I was looking for the Thomas who does the announcements on the loudspeaker in Oyacachi and passed the door of the subcenter of health...it's a crowded place when the doctor is in town...a woman was standing with her daughter waiting to be attended, and I asked her if she had seen Thomas...she said no. When I inquired as to what was the matter she said her daughter had sever cramping and they were waiting for medicine. Causually I mentioned that I had Ibuprofen and did she want it? She suddenly became very passionate and said "Por Dios!" Literally this mean Please for God. So I walked quickly back to my house and got the pills, "six is good..." I thought, "because she will want to take some later as well." When I returned they were gone but the doctor was free. I asked where they had gone? He said they left with painkillers and they could have more tomorrow. I said "ah,...then they wont need these" He said "No no no. They can have more tomorrow..."

Never did it occur to me that these wonderful people could poisen themselves with Ibuprofen if given the chance. I come from a culture and family that understands the valors and possible consequences of Ibuprofen, a cheap readily available painkiller. Take a little every 4-6 hours as needed. Eat something with every dose to avoid liver and kidney damage. I just never thought that this woman could, and would, take ALL of the pills I gave her at once. Naive, I am.


Here is the old local health center and the newly constructed one. The new health center is very impressive and was constructed by the villagers...but I understand they are still having staffing issues. Again the problem where no one wants to live in Oyacachi, very unfortunate considering the terrible need.

The station above is a cold and empty place but it is also beautiful. The woodwork is gorgeous but the silence is un-nerving. Especially on cloudy days when the solar cells cannot charge the battery, and there is no soft whine. On these days obviously the radio won't work...and the Guarda Parques cannot communicate with the other stations in the 3700 square kilometer park. All of this adds to the sad ominouness of cloudy days when the silence is large....Those days especially, we start when we hear the far off buzz of a moto or the scratch of car wheels on the gravel road. No other human sounds pass. One cloudy misty day, I saw benados mating...I think. How beautiful! Then they dissapeared in the paro grass and mist.

But on some days...special days...Oswaldo has his harmonica out on the desk. These days are different. Here he was filmed by a friend who was learning how the camera works. Try to apreciate the sound more than anything visual, but it is nice to have some idea what it looked like there...



Salve Faccha is more lonely, becuase almost no one passes...no one. There are 8 guards who do rounds on the drinking water emprezza for EMAAP-Q. That's all. For 8 days, then 8 days off. Lots of time to think......

There is a plant called sumpfo that grows in the Paramo where it is extraodinarily cold and wet. It likes precipices of rock, corners basically where enourmous quantities of water pass in clouds. We would make herbal infusions of it. You really feel when you are trying, with icy blue hands, to clutch the cup of steaming sweet liquid.

Here are horses that belong to Gloria. How beautiful. Just roaming around paramo...grazing and being beautiful.

But when you go to Oyacachi take care.... When you are invited..."Vamos a ver ganado" this means lets go to look for the cows. You will be taking a small path that is filled with mud to your hips, as you dodge spiny vegitation for 3 hours in minimum. I had a love hate relationship with the grasses because you need them to hang on tofor dear life as your feet slip in every direction...but they will also slice your hands deeply, and this apart from the fact that they are filled with water that will leave you sopping wet for the rest of your day. Then you arrive at the bottom of the glacial valley to sludge through swamp at least to your knees as your companera yells in a shrill "keeeeeeeeech keech keech keech keech!!!"
The cows will slowly gather around you...

When you have finally seen all the cows...you can hike back up the valley to where hopefully your ride is still waiting. It's burly. You have been warned. But you will love the views.

Bus......

One day when I arrived in Cayambe, a Saturday...I was totally late and I missed the Oyacachi bus by like an hour. It turned out to be one of the best things I have ever done.

Here in the Cayambe Pichincha/Napo region there are some strong movements...one of them is Leftist Labor and the other is Evangelical.

After realizing how late I was in Cayambe I got a room in a hostal $6, put down my bag and started walking the town. I wandered back to the place where the bus would leave the next day...it was dark lonely and quiet. For me walking at night is not such a big deal...I see women and men in Quito with their bags slung over their stomach not back. These are my tricks...

1. Walk with confidence
2. Carry hardly any money
3. Be intelligent, alert and have a plan
4. Know where the police are
5. If you feel unsafe you probably are in danger...go where there is a significant population of women and children.
   

But it also helps that I am medio tall and of a bigger build. However Size is definately not everything and I sure as hell don't know how to fight...a gentle football game is enough to scare me.

Anyway near the bus stop I found a place called El Colliseo which is a indigenous evangelical meeting place of grand proportions. They were selling food for 1.50 I got a mountain of cow stomach and rice and egg with aji and salad. Not bad....
Church people are generally not stingy with food...money is another thing but food, that they consider a basic human right..

There was a group of conservatively dressed women probably 15 women, tending the kitchen and one man who was considered in charge. I was gently watched and exactly after my last bite a woman came to wisk away my plate and clean what was one of the limited spaces, for the next patron of the church. It is a forceful gesture from a beautiful, small, strong woman.

One of the women cooking was with me at the door and was extremely convinced that I should enter the coliseo...much more so than I was, being the only gringa in sight.

Of course eventually slowly I went in with a group of people and tried to be as unobtrusive as possible about it. Once inside I found William Parion the president of the community, already there watching the festivities. I introduced myself and then the next time he passed he smiled energetically. Later with good luck I also found Edgar Parion my neighbor and he indicated where exactly the bus would leave from.

Later I drank something with milk, sugar, and choclo(huge white maize) from a thin plastic cup that wrinkles and almost collapses in your hand when you move it. To acompany the milk chocolo drink we ate "pan" which is bread in English, but folks from the US will know it as frybread. This was the main alimientation of Native Americans after conquest of Indigenous lands. Limited ammounts of flour of questionable quality arrived as a gift from the government that had stolen the territories of Native Americans.

Here is an excerp from a paper in the US where I live...

'Games notes that fry bread is more a survival food than a native tradition.
"In the concentration camps called reservations, the agents woul give you flour, " Games said, "and that's what you used to make fry bread."'

-Food for the spirit
~Bart Ripp
Tacoma News Tribune

Really sad eh?

Anyway I bought a bike in Cayambe and it is really cool. I hope it will make the daily commute to the station a little easier...But I think I will paint it ugly white, same as we do in Holland eh? Makes its less attractive to steal...


The next day after my religious experience...I made it to both the market and bus. The market in Cayambe runs throughout the week, for anything you could possibly need that walks flies or squaks. I got up super early and left to bargain...but who wants to bargain at 7AM? You have the whole day to sell your goods, why deal with a single gringa? Still I walked around until I found what I wanted....potatoes; small, purple and cheap. I bought from a woman from Ibarra, we were talking for about 10 minutes, when suddenly a man yelled in our direction "Papas, Papas Catoooorce!" at just the right time. So I ended up getting out of there with a huge sack 50kg of potatoes for 15 bucks. Astonishingly cheap. But you are 12 blocks away from where you need to be with 50kg of potatoes. So you hire a bike cart and the man pedals and ride on top of the potatoes. Really fun. Of course later my neighbors taught me that 10 (0.20 USD cents a kg) is more reasonable but hey you gotta be happy about what you can get.

Cayambe has a really well organized transportation coop. They will never overcharge you...and they do a damn good job at getting you where you need to go.

After this I got to the bus and after hefting the earthy potatoes into the luggage compartment with help from the cyclist, I boarded to find my buddy sitting in the back of the bus already at 7:30AM. He introduced me to his friend who is also in Quito at the carpentry school. Oyacachi has a different dynamic...even when the teenagers go to Cayambe to have a good time, buy things and divert themselves....they are awake at 6,7,8 AM and go to the one bus from their community before it leaves and sit there, conversing with friends and neighbors...almost singing to each other "Eeemanaja?" How are you..."Aleeeja." Good. They go to the bus and sit in it...its a foreign idea for me...sit in a vehicle when you will not be traveling anwhere in it. I go to the bus to go... I was totally confused when my new friends got up and left the bus as we started to move... they still had business in Cayambe but came to the bus...as if they were closer to their home and more comfortable. This is unique, to sit and talk to each other then leave.

I guess its the same reason why I put in this video. It's just nice to have friends that recognize you. We are social animals.