Last night, I had a nightmare about being stuck in a third world country, with street scenes quite reminiscent of Ecuador. And it lasted, all night long. So this morning I thought to myself, "Self."
"Yes, self?"
"I think we need to bring closure to our equatorial meses."
All right, apologies for the inner monologue. I didn't actually do that, but I had a Latin teacher in high school who did, every single class.
For example:
"Self?"
"Yes, Mr. Hearty."
"Um, self, I think today we should visit noun-town and verb-burg."
"Why, I think that's a great idea, self!"
Then our lesson on nouns and verbs would commence. You can imagine how something like this daily might become seared into, well, your "self."
With the help of Anita and Fabiola we settled our departure with the landlord. We also spent an epic day scrubbing the entire household, including the windows, only for the landlord to hardly glance at anything. We gifted Fabiola with numerous half-used food items, including the remaining chocolate chips. She was more concerned that we didn't leave the half-empty roll of toilet paper in the bathroom. She was also appalled when she crossed paths with Andy on his way to the dumpster to toss our mop and broom. She then joked with me about how he was going to throw them away, implying, with a head shake and a laugh, an exasperation for the silly men who would throw away cleaning materials. I didn't tell her I was the one who told him to toss them. We spent Monday night at her house. She made fried bananas, chicken, green beans, and rice for dinner, a nice traditional Ecuadorian meal. For breakfast we had scrambled eggs with cut up hot dog, salted until you questioned whether you weren't eating yellow tinted salt curds, and arepas, a favorite of "Dr. Jay," as he is known.
Tuesday, 2/16 Guillermo drove us into Quito. It was nice to not struggle with our 200+ pounds of luggage, relentless, overcharging taxi-drivers, and the bus system, a system Guillermo and Monica deemed so unsafe that he drove us himself. Although we simply anticipated a direct hostal drop-off, Guillermo had it in his mind to spend the day touring Quito. For a sense of how epic (-ically long, enduring, guided) the tour was, let me point out that the first stop was a solid forty minutes before we ever reached Quito's boundaries, the Church of God Seminary, which somehow Guillermo thought Andy would be attending, you know, after medical school (also after a car-ride conversation about Lutheranism). It was an enclosed area next to a cemetery and perhaps the most serene site we've seen in Ecuador thanks to its landscaping. Guillermo explained that the man who they bought the property from had planned to sell it to the person who already owned the cemetery next door for quite a bit more money than the Church of God folks could offer. A little charismatic bargaining ensued from the church representative. He told the property owner the following, "It all comes down to this. In God's eyes, do you want to grow life or death?" The man sold the land to the Church of God.
Oh, we met the President of the Seminary, the librarians, a few professors, a couple students. We had a private, guided tour of the Bible Museum, which did contain one of four, Oso Bibles, the first Bible published in Spanish in 1569. Guillermo complained that the seminary had just as many if not more books than any university in the country, yet is considered a university. How many books is that? 21,000. We did our best to look impressed though it looked like Andy had nearly as many books in his bedroom. For another comparison, Dartmouth has roughly 2,000,000 books. Also, the students cannot enter the library. They can simply request a book through the online catalog.
After leaving the seminary, Guillermo asked if we were hungry, then if we wanted to eat in the food court of a nearby mall. We replied in the negative, only to be met with the following information after we had passed the turn-off. Guillermo bemoaned, "There was a hamburger place in that mall owned by an American, called Rusty's. The only place in Ecuador that has root beer." Root beer, along with Velveeta cheese, being his two favorite food items from the States. Well, we did feel sort of guilty but not too much so considering the method in which it was extracted.
At last we arrived at our hostal. We had a private room with two double beds. We slept in one and arranged our luggage on the other. As Andy checked if our room was locked, I found myself alone with Guillermo who asked what we wanted to do next and suggested quite a few tourist sites as possibilities. Trying to gently say I wanted no part in any tourist activities in Quito, I told him I would actually like to take a nap. Which only served to generate a lecture from Guillermo on how I am a bad traveler, sleep too much, and need to take more risks. I didn't tell him the thought that immediately came to mind, "I drove here with you, didn't I?" I also didn't point out the inherent risk of us spending time in the country of Ecuador. Andy arrived in time to save Guillermo from my quips. We offered to take him out to lunch, anywhere he wanted to go. He chose a different mall food-court. We ate ropa vieja, translated old clothes, at a Cuban spot. It was basically pulled beef with peppers and onions served with white rice mixed with some black beans. Naturally, we topped it off with orange Fanta, our go-to soda in the country.
After lunch, Guillermo wanted to shop. The mall was the ritziest in the country—with Armani and other high-end stores. Guillermo was appalled we hadn't bought presents for everyone. He stood us in front of a tourist shop filled with purses and tee-shirts emblazoned with Ecuador. A few items were marked with 15% and 20% off signs. He declared that discounts are unheard of in the country. He declared that people would think the store was crazy for having discounts of that amount. The majority of stores we passed all had discounts of 50% and 70%. I suggested, "No discounts? I'm pretty sure all we've seen are discounts." After shopping we visited Ecuador's version of the Christ statue in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
Our conversation on the way:
Andy: "Oh the angel?"
Guillermo: "No, the virgin of Ecuador."
Karli: "I'm pretty sure she'd have to be an angel to be the virgin of Ecuador."
When Guillermo left, Andy and I capped off our day with Pizza Hut and hot chocolate, then did our final luggage re-packing.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Monday, February 7, 2011
"The time has come,"
the walrus said, "to talk of many things: of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings. And why the sea is boiling hot and whether pigs have wings." —Lewis Carroll
I'm not sure whether to appreciatively credit my sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Batey, for forcing us to memorize those lines or to wish she had forced us to learn something else. In all fairness, we also memorized Robert Frost's Nothing Gold Can Stay, but it didn't stick with me quite like flying pigs and sealing wax—though I suppose it's wrong to assume that because an animal has wings that it can fly.
Anyway, speaking of flying, remember the two month two week countdown? Go ahead and remove the two month part from your calendars. What? You weren't counting down our arrival back to the States on your calendars? Well, I guess it's a little less dramatic then, but we're excited none the less. Thanks to our savvy travel agent, Dr. Jay, we now leave Quito on February 16th and reach Whitefish on February 18th, via our saucy, did I say saucy? I meant speedy, chauffeur, Margaret Ann, who will retrieve us from the Missoula airport at midnight on February the 17th. Don't worry, we're going to have a grand sleep-over in Missoula before tackling the wintry Montana roads the following day.
With our internal source of optimism running dry, seriously, high-sixty degree weather in February is draining, we conversed with Mom and Dad Erickson and considered our options. Although we hopefully pursued another opportunity down here, alas it seems we would not be filling a need. We continue to feel a little bit like we're quitting, but our realistic side insists we're being pro-active and making the best decision for our mental and physical well-being. The week long migraines thanks to our metal-hammering neighbors are getting old, after all. Furthermore, upon reviewing our goals for our time here, we found that every goal within our control has been met. Thus, we announce that we will be returning to the United States in the very near future. Despite a flight schedule that takes us from Miami to Los Angeles to an overnight and a day in Seattle until we finally head to Missoula, and then drive back to Whitefish, oh yeah, and two separated middle seats on that six hour flight from Miami to Los Angeles, we look forward to seeing the snow, doing our taxes, um, kind of, and preparing to move to Bozeman! Watch out Cades, here we come!
Also, for any of you who read the second to last sentence of that paragraph and thought, "My goodness, she didn't mention baking, you know, that thing you need an oven for," never fear. We fully recognize restored oven access is in our future and have ordered three new baking books—two on bread, one on pizza. My brownie book collection is already bursting. I know, there I go again with the unnecessary alliteration. Blame it on the beckoning brownies.
Oh, and because I'm a proud sister, here's one of my favorite shots of Max's latest photos.
I'm not sure whether to appreciatively credit my sixth grade teacher, Mrs. Batey, for forcing us to memorize those lines or to wish she had forced us to learn something else. In all fairness, we also memorized Robert Frost's Nothing Gold Can Stay, but it didn't stick with me quite like flying pigs and sealing wax—though I suppose it's wrong to assume that because an animal has wings that it can fly.
Anyway, speaking of flying, remember the two month two week countdown? Go ahead and remove the two month part from your calendars. What? You weren't counting down our arrival back to the States on your calendars? Well, I guess it's a little less dramatic then, but we're excited none the less. Thanks to our savvy travel agent, Dr. Jay, we now leave Quito on February 16th and reach Whitefish on February 18th, via our saucy, did I say saucy? I meant speedy, chauffeur, Margaret Ann, who will retrieve us from the Missoula airport at midnight on February the 17th. Don't worry, we're going to have a grand sleep-over in Missoula before tackling the wintry Montana roads the following day.
With our internal source of optimism running dry, seriously, high-sixty degree weather in February is draining, we conversed with Mom and Dad Erickson and considered our options. Although we hopefully pursued another opportunity down here, alas it seems we would not be filling a need. We continue to feel a little bit like we're quitting, but our realistic side insists we're being pro-active and making the best decision for our mental and physical well-being. The week long migraines thanks to our metal-hammering neighbors are getting old, after all. Furthermore, upon reviewing our goals for our time here, we found that every goal within our control has been met. Thus, we announce that we will be returning to the United States in the very near future. Despite a flight schedule that takes us from Miami to Los Angeles to an overnight and a day in Seattle until we finally head to Missoula, and then drive back to Whitefish, oh yeah, and two separated middle seats on that six hour flight from Miami to Los Angeles, we look forward to seeing the snow, doing our taxes, um, kind of, and preparing to move to Bozeman! Watch out Cades, here we come!
Also, for any of you who read the second to last sentence of that paragraph and thought, "My goodness, she didn't mention baking, you know, that thing you need an oven for," never fear. We fully recognize restored oven access is in our future and have ordered three new baking books—two on bread, one on pizza. My brownie book collection is already bursting. I know, there I go again with the unnecessary alliteration. Blame it on the beckoning brownies.
Oh, and because I'm a proud sister, here's one of my favorite shots of Max's latest photos.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Counting Down and Shutting Down
We are nearly two weeks and two months shy of our planned departure date. As of late, our daily life remains calm. Maybe it's homesickness, maybe it's excitement for our next phase of school, maybe it's the desire for quiet and grass rather than noise and concrete, and maybe it's just the desire to feel at home, at the very least at home in the United States, but we've reached a point where it feels like we need a change. Which, if you consider the following, seems about right.
We learned a week before our flight South that the orphanage would be closing in the new year, but were assured of the continued need for extra-helpers and the existence of things to help with. Despite the reassurance, our experience at the orphanage has been different than we imagined. Cultural differences and the circumstances surrounding the orphanage has made a shared purpose with the tias hard to achieve. We often feel frustrated and discouraged. We feel we are not being utilized well and are cutting back on our involvement and are seeking out other opportunities within the country.
We do think, however, that we have grown through our experiences at the orphanage. We spend time with individuals with all sorts of difficulties in their lives and have gained both exposure and awareness of the issues surrounding the mentally and physically handicapped and the behaviorally challenged. Our capacity for understanding and compassion has been both tested and augmented. In addition, our time there provides a microcosm of cultural norms representative of the country as a whole, thus allowing for greater perspective in many facets of our lives–granted, this wasn't on our list of goals for our time here.
In other news, related to the aforementioned cultural differences, when Andy and I showed up at the orphanage on Tuesday, 1/25, for the afternoon homework routine, we discovered a significantly reduced population of students. Monday, in the wee hours of the morning, just before the tia arrived, the majority of the kids left. Left? What could I possibly mean by left? Well, it appears that the kids devised some sort of plan and just before dawn, 65% of the kids climbed out of the boys' cabin's roof-top and ran-away. The extremely handicapped and a few behaviorally challenged kids, who the tia had caught, remained. Twenty-three kids reduced to nine, literally, overnight.
The tia on duty explained the above to us, but I questioned the two kids left who had the capacity to answer.
Me: "The other kids left?"
Girl: "No, they escaped."
Me: "What are they going to do?"
Girl: "Rob."
Me: "Rob what?"
Girl, looking at me like I'm an idiot: "Money."
Second informative conversation.
Me: "What are they going to eat?"
Boy: "I don't know."
Me: "Where are they going to live?"
Boy: "I don't know."
Ironically, the individual with the most street experience, having taken-off and returned at least five times while we've been here, is the deaf-mute girl. On Thursday, four kids had returned. It was all just a fun adventure. The point, which relates to the cultural differences, is that the kids escaped through the roof of the orphanage.
Wednesday brought bad news for the Budding Bread Baker. We showed up with a loaf of bread to bake in the compound's oven, only to find it unconnected and the apartment being emptied. By strangers. Who looked at us for an explanation, which we did not offer. Which got a whole lot more awkward considering the kitchen was blocked off by a bed frame that we skirted around holding a kitchen towel on the edge of cookie sheet of tin foil and a large lump of dough. If I wrote enough words to justify a blog post on the end of our oven access the title might be one of the following:
Major Bummer
The Fun is Done
We Look Like Stupid Americans, The Never-Ending Series
An Uncooked Loaf
The worst part wasn't that we returned home with the bread in the exact same state from when we left the house, although I guess a joke about a chemical reaction might fall flat, but rather, the oven solution, albeit inconvenient, arrived in December at the height of our holiday blues. To have it taken away made us feel disheartened all over again. At least I have peanut butter to make no-bake cookies on the stove-top, Andy's wild yeast sits untouched in the refrigerator.
This post was a little bit all over the place so how about a quick recap?
-2 months and 2 weeks until we set down our feet in the good ole' USA.
-The orphanage is closing, the process remains unclear.
-The kids escaped from the orphanage, through the roof. A few have returned.
-We no longer have access to an oven. Our bread making is done.
We learned a week before our flight South that the orphanage would be closing in the new year, but were assured of the continued need for extra-helpers and the existence of things to help with. Despite the reassurance, our experience at the orphanage has been different than we imagined. Cultural differences and the circumstances surrounding the orphanage has made a shared purpose with the tias hard to achieve. We often feel frustrated and discouraged. We feel we are not being utilized well and are cutting back on our involvement and are seeking out other opportunities within the country.
We do think, however, that we have grown through our experiences at the orphanage. We spend time with individuals with all sorts of difficulties in their lives and have gained both exposure and awareness of the issues surrounding the mentally and physically handicapped and the behaviorally challenged. Our capacity for understanding and compassion has been both tested and augmented. In addition, our time there provides a microcosm of cultural norms representative of the country as a whole, thus allowing for greater perspective in many facets of our lives–granted, this wasn't on our list of goals for our time here.
In other news, related to the aforementioned cultural differences, when Andy and I showed up at the orphanage on Tuesday, 1/25, for the afternoon homework routine, we discovered a significantly reduced population of students. Monday, in the wee hours of the morning, just before the tia arrived, the majority of the kids left. Left? What could I possibly mean by left? Well, it appears that the kids devised some sort of plan and just before dawn, 65% of the kids climbed out of the boys' cabin's roof-top and ran-away. The extremely handicapped and a few behaviorally challenged kids, who the tia had caught, remained. Twenty-three kids reduced to nine, literally, overnight.
The tia on duty explained the above to us, but I questioned the two kids left who had the capacity to answer.
Me: "The other kids left?"
Girl: "No, they escaped."
Me: "What are they going to do?"
Girl: "Rob."
Me: "Rob what?"
Girl, looking at me like I'm an idiot: "Money."
Second informative conversation.
Me: "What are they going to eat?"
Boy: "I don't know."
Me: "Where are they going to live?"
Boy: "I don't know."
Ironically, the individual with the most street experience, having taken-off and returned at least five times while we've been here, is the deaf-mute girl. On Thursday, four kids had returned. It was all just a fun adventure. The point, which relates to the cultural differences, is that the kids escaped through the roof of the orphanage.
Wednesday brought bad news for the Budding Bread Baker. We showed up with a loaf of bread to bake in the compound's oven, only to find it unconnected and the apartment being emptied. By strangers. Who looked at us for an explanation, which we did not offer. Which got a whole lot more awkward considering the kitchen was blocked off by a bed frame that we skirted around holding a kitchen towel on the edge of cookie sheet of tin foil and a large lump of dough. If I wrote enough words to justify a blog post on the end of our oven access the title might be one of the following:
Major Bummer
The Fun is Done
We Look Like Stupid Americans, The Never-Ending Series
An Uncooked Loaf
The worst part wasn't that we returned home with the bread in the exact same state from when we left the house, although I guess a joke about a chemical reaction might fall flat, but rather, the oven solution, albeit inconvenient, arrived in December at the height of our holiday blues. To have it taken away made us feel disheartened all over again. At least I have peanut butter to make no-bake cookies on the stove-top, Andy's wild yeast sits untouched in the refrigerator.
This post was a little bit all over the place so how about a quick recap?
-2 months and 2 weeks until we set down our feet in the good ole' USA.
-The orphanage is closing, the process remains unclear.
-The kids escaped from the orphanage, through the roof. A few have returned.
-We no longer have access to an oven. Our bread making is done.
Friday, January 21, 2011
The Budding Bread Baker
Monday, 1/10, we planned to go to the orphanage, but a pounding headache that started with me on Sunday switched to Andy overnight and rendered us home bound. We did little besides bemoan our neighbors—who have transitioned into metal workers over our time here. Of all the weeks to weld week-long, this was not the ideal one.
Tuesday, 1/11, brought a slight improvement, enough for us to trek to the orphanage. As nice as a day it was, the kids were inside, some doing homework some being devious. We helped a young, brother and sister with their math homework. We colored different shapes different colors--red, brown, blue, green, yellow, purple. Then I helped the girl find, color, and count the axis, vertices, and angles for a triangle, square, and rectangle. The boy's older sister took his homework and filled in that part before Andy got a chance to do it with him. But he confirmed my answers, that the axis, vertices, and angles should all be the same number. The tia left for five minutes, and seeing as we have zero authority, the majority of the kids got into a baby powder fight. When Andy wrangled one bottle away, they called him bad. When I got possession of it, a twelve-year old boy climbed all over my back trying to rip it from my hands. Not to worry, their fun was not ruined, they just found another bottle, albeit smaller. At least it smelled good. They also took their freshly laundered sheets and used them to drag each other down the hall. The worst was discovering that two boys held down one of the oldest special needs individuals and colored in dark green and blue marker all over his face. It wasn't just lines, it was a no-inch-spared mask that extended to his ears and into the inner corners of his eyes. He was hysterical. When the tia came back, we were standing in front of the door with this individual wrapped around my waist sobbing, holding on to Andy's arm on the other side. The tia sent a girl to fetch the social worker. The tia explained to her, "I was gone for five minutes." Needless to say, we can feel a bit useless. We spent the rest of the time sitting on the couch with the individual rubbing his back and what not.
Wednesday, 1/12, we planned to stay home. We made bread and went to the movies.
Yum.
Also, in addition to celebrating with lots of clowns, this country has a lot of random parades with thirty members or less, but always a band. We think this one was for Epiphany.
This one too.
Friday, 1/14, more bread. This loaf included some barley flour. It was delicious.
Saturday, 1/15, more bread. Andy let me try to score it.
The dough, pretty before the oven.
A little blurry, but beautiful! This loaf contained some cooked oats and oat flour.
It was the weekend, so why not make two? French bread, anyone?
Don't they look nice together? Sorry I'm apparently not so good at holding a camera.
Sunday, 1/16, my brother Max turned twenty-one. Happy Birthday Max!
He helped carry-in from the snow a calf that had been born on his girlfriend's family farm. He has an album aptly named, There's a Calf in the Kitchen.
Also, much to our jealously, he has been capturing the ceaseless winter storms in New England. Enjoy some of his snowy-scenes and fun-frolics in Connecticut. All photos are courtesy of Max T. Beitel Photography.
Our friend Kevin's family dog.
Kevin in the woods.
Sunday morning I woke up in a marvelous mood, so we skipped church, which has the tendency to make me grumpy after nearly three hours of service, and well, ate bread.
Monday, 1/17, we made bread, but not just any bread, sourdough bread. For over a week, Andy tended to his sourdough starter as it collected wild yeast. You will note a cookie sheet in this picture. We had been baking the bread on tin-foil, which prevented the bottom from browning, and sometimes, even cooking. So we splurged on a cookie sheet.
Not too shabby for our first sourdough. I say our, but really, it's all Andy.
Yet, when we examined the loaf, we realized that although the bottom of the bread had cooked on the cookie sheet, so too had the cookie sheet cooked on the bread. Even the areas that don't look like they had a run in with a spaceship or silver spray paint were glittery. We cut the bottom off on each slice. Bummer.
The crumb, however, was perfect.
Oh yes, and I made peanut butter blondies with chocolate frosting. Except, I never wait long enough for the bar to cool and rarely make stiff enough frosting, so it's a little melty looking, but it stayed on just great. Oh, and that hole in the middle? Let's just say we don't have any toothpicks.
Tuesday, 1/18, Happy Birthday Mom! In case you haven't noticed, January is a big birthday month for my family. Here is one of my favorite shots of Mom and my brother Christian. Photo by Max T. Beitel.
Wednesday, 1/19, we made this enormous beauty. It proofed a bit too long, but turned out quite alright.
More than alright, actually, deliciously. It was a little bit of everything loaf, but was primarily flavored by cooked quinoa and quinoa flour.
Wednesday was a big day for us. We went shopping at AKI, the close(ish) grocery store. We went to the mall and saw the movie Tangled, dubbed in Spanish. We then hit Mega Maxi for other items. One item we could not find at AKI and traditionally found at Mega Maxi, was brown sugar. No luck. Where the brown sugar is stocked, organic cane juice solidified was in its place for nearly twice the cost. We've deduced that there is a brown sugar shortage in the country. Our morning oatmeal and cookie dough will suffer until it returns, which we sincerely hope it does soon.
In other news, we discovered the other week that I have single-handedly, my right hand if you're wondering, eaten 8 kg of white sugar, plain and in various recipes, all before we even found oven access. That's um, 17.6 lbs of white sugar according to my googled conversion. I don't really think it's possible, but Andy swears he only uses brown sugar. We don't have a scale, but I'm pretty sure sugar, stress, and poor-sleep all cancel each other out, but because you might not believe that, I'll take visual evidence that I still have cheek-bones. Actually, you'll just have to take my word for it or not believe me; I don't really care which. Also, Andy informs me that we're, okay I'm, half-way done with another 2 kg, making my total 10 kg of white sugar consumption in three months. That seems so crazy to me it is having little preventative impact. Andy says I ate that much in the States. I never had actual proof of it. There were always other people around to help eat what I made. What really puzzles me, is that, like Andy, I prefer brown sugar to white sugar, and usually put more of that in my recipes.
Another observation, flour is very expensive down here. It is roughly $3.00 for a 2 kg bag. Between cookie dough and bread making we go through at least 4 kg a week. In the States, I tended to think of sugar and flour as the cheap ingredients. Not so down here. The plus side is that vegetables are the most inexpensive items to buy, e.g. a head of broccoli for thirty-four cents or a small bag of pre-cubed butternut squash for fifty-five cents. Most vegetables at least, mushrooms, for example are quite pricey. Other food items, like bacon or sausage, and home supplies, like toilet paper and dish soap, are extremely expensive. Besides flour and meat, our biggest budget buster is butter. I couldn't resist the alliteration, sorry. It may be bad for the body and weighty for the wallet, but we are not deterred. Our copious consumption remains. Have I made the following claim before? Butter and bacon make everything better.
Speaking of butter, what could go better with homemade bread than homemade butter? Olive oil and salt or some jam, perhaps, but the point is, we made homemade butter. We bought the cream, we cleaned out an empty jam jar, and we shook—a lot. I spilled on the floor, myself, and Andy, obviously, but it was exciting and a fun little project. While were on the subject of cream, my thoughts jump from food to food, it is yummy. I grew up drinking skim milk, but I drink lots of whole milk down here. It is cheaper than skim milk by a few cents, but Andy says it is two times cheaper because we could add water to the carton of milk to produce two cartons of skim milk. I don't mind because it tastes good. Cream tastes even better, though.
Tuesday, 1/11, brought a slight improvement, enough for us to trek to the orphanage. As nice as a day it was, the kids were inside, some doing homework some being devious. We helped a young, brother and sister with their math homework. We colored different shapes different colors--red, brown, blue, green, yellow, purple. Then I helped the girl find, color, and count the axis, vertices, and angles for a triangle, square, and rectangle. The boy's older sister took his homework and filled in that part before Andy got a chance to do it with him. But he confirmed my answers, that the axis, vertices, and angles should all be the same number. The tia left for five minutes, and seeing as we have zero authority, the majority of the kids got into a baby powder fight. When Andy wrangled one bottle away, they called him bad. When I got possession of it, a twelve-year old boy climbed all over my back trying to rip it from my hands. Not to worry, their fun was not ruined, they just found another bottle, albeit smaller. At least it smelled good. They also took their freshly laundered sheets and used them to drag each other down the hall. The worst was discovering that two boys held down one of the oldest special needs individuals and colored in dark green and blue marker all over his face. It wasn't just lines, it was a no-inch-spared mask that extended to his ears and into the inner corners of his eyes. He was hysterical. When the tia came back, we were standing in front of the door with this individual wrapped around my waist sobbing, holding on to Andy's arm on the other side. The tia sent a girl to fetch the social worker. The tia explained to her, "I was gone for five minutes." Needless to say, we can feel a bit useless. We spent the rest of the time sitting on the couch with the individual rubbing his back and what not.
Wednesday, 1/12, we planned to stay home. We made bread and went to the movies.
Yum.
Also, in addition to celebrating with lots of clowns, this country has a lot of random parades with thirty members or less, but always a band. We think this one was for Epiphany.
This one too.
Friday, 1/14, more bread. This loaf included some barley flour. It was delicious.
Saturday, 1/15, more bread. Andy let me try to score it.
The dough, pretty before the oven.
A little blurry, but beautiful! This loaf contained some cooked oats and oat flour.
It was the weekend, so why not make two? French bread, anyone?
Don't they look nice together? Sorry I'm apparently not so good at holding a camera.
Sunday, 1/16, my brother Max turned twenty-one. Happy Birthday Max!
He helped carry-in from the snow a calf that had been born on his girlfriend's family farm. He has an album aptly named, There's a Calf in the Kitchen.
Also, much to our jealously, he has been capturing the ceaseless winter storms in New England. Enjoy some of his snowy-scenes and fun-frolics in Connecticut. All photos are courtesy of Max T. Beitel Photography.
Our friend Kevin's family dog.
Kevin in the woods.
Sunday morning I woke up in a marvelous mood, so we skipped church, which has the tendency to make me grumpy after nearly three hours of service, and well, ate bread.
Monday, 1/17, we made bread, but not just any bread, sourdough bread. For over a week, Andy tended to his sourdough starter as it collected wild yeast. You will note a cookie sheet in this picture. We had been baking the bread on tin-foil, which prevented the bottom from browning, and sometimes, even cooking. So we splurged on a cookie sheet.
Not too shabby for our first sourdough. I say our, but really, it's all Andy.
Yet, when we examined the loaf, we realized that although the bottom of the bread had cooked on the cookie sheet, so too had the cookie sheet cooked on the bread. Even the areas that don't look like they had a run in with a spaceship or silver spray paint were glittery. We cut the bottom off on each slice. Bummer.
The crumb, however, was perfect.
Oh yes, and I made peanut butter blondies with chocolate frosting. Except, I never wait long enough for the bar to cool and rarely make stiff enough frosting, so it's a little melty looking, but it stayed on just great. Oh, and that hole in the middle? Let's just say we don't have any toothpicks.
Tuesday, 1/18, Happy Birthday Mom! In case you haven't noticed, January is a big birthday month for my family. Here is one of my favorite shots of Mom and my brother Christian. Photo by Max T. Beitel.
Wednesday, 1/19, we made this enormous beauty. It proofed a bit too long, but turned out quite alright.
More than alright, actually, deliciously. It was a little bit of everything loaf, but was primarily flavored by cooked quinoa and quinoa flour.
Wednesday was a big day for us. We went shopping at AKI, the close(ish) grocery store. We went to the mall and saw the movie Tangled, dubbed in Spanish. We then hit Mega Maxi for other items. One item we could not find at AKI and traditionally found at Mega Maxi, was brown sugar. No luck. Where the brown sugar is stocked, organic cane juice solidified was in its place for nearly twice the cost. We've deduced that there is a brown sugar shortage in the country. Our morning oatmeal and cookie dough will suffer until it returns, which we sincerely hope it does soon.
In other news, we discovered the other week that I have single-handedly, my right hand if you're wondering, eaten 8 kg of white sugar, plain and in various recipes, all before we even found oven access. That's um, 17.6 lbs of white sugar according to my googled conversion. I don't really think it's possible, but Andy swears he only uses brown sugar. We don't have a scale, but I'm pretty sure sugar, stress, and poor-sleep all cancel each other out, but because you might not believe that, I'll take visual evidence that I still have cheek-bones. Actually, you'll just have to take my word for it or not believe me; I don't really care which. Also, Andy informs me that we're, okay I'm, half-way done with another 2 kg, making my total 10 kg of white sugar consumption in three months. That seems so crazy to me it is having little preventative impact. Andy says I ate that much in the States. I never had actual proof of it. There were always other people around to help eat what I made. What really puzzles me, is that, like Andy, I prefer brown sugar to white sugar, and usually put more of that in my recipes.
Another observation, flour is very expensive down here. It is roughly $3.00 for a 2 kg bag. Between cookie dough and bread making we go through at least 4 kg a week. In the States, I tended to think of sugar and flour as the cheap ingredients. Not so down here. The plus side is that vegetables are the most inexpensive items to buy, e.g. a head of broccoli for thirty-four cents or a small bag of pre-cubed butternut squash for fifty-five cents. Most vegetables at least, mushrooms, for example are quite pricey. Other food items, like bacon or sausage, and home supplies, like toilet paper and dish soap, are extremely expensive. Besides flour and meat, our biggest budget buster is butter. I couldn't resist the alliteration, sorry. It may be bad for the body and weighty for the wallet, but we are not deterred. Our copious consumption remains. Have I made the following claim before? Butter and bacon make everything better.
Speaking of butter, what could go better with homemade bread than homemade butter? Olive oil and salt or some jam, perhaps, but the point is, we made homemade butter. We bought the cream, we cleaned out an empty jam jar, and we shook—a lot. I spilled on the floor, myself, and Andy, obviously, but it was exciting and a fun little project. While were on the subject of cream, my thoughts jump from food to food, it is yummy. I grew up drinking skim milk, but I drink lots of whole milk down here. It is cheaper than skim milk by a few cents, but Andy says it is two times cheaper because we could add water to the carton of milk to produce two cartons of skim milk. I don't mind because it tastes good. Cream tastes even better, though.
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
An Oven Uncovered
On New Year's Day, we hid in the house. On Sunday, we endured a two hour and forty minute church service. The rough break down of what can possibly fill that much time is about an hour of songs, an hour sermon, and forty minutes of praying. As previously mentioned, Guillermo used our Chimborazo adventure as a starting point in his sermon. Later in the sermon he asked one boy to stand up, then he asked Andy to stand up in order to compare the height and the build of them. He made the point that even though the other guy was smaller, by practicing a lot, I assume at soccer, he is really good. We have no idea what that was in reference to in the sermon, but you can bet that Andy felt really comfortable with the congregation actively trying to compare him physically with the other guy. That took it out of us for the day.
On Monday, we went to the orphanage. Nothing new there. Miraculously the rain that threatened all day held off during our walk to and from the orphanage to the bus stop. The kids were playing a version of hide and go seek outside, which we haven't figured out yet. The funniest part was the special needs boy I'm closest with. He would continually peek around the corner of the building he was hiding behind. Then, when the person who was 'it' saw him and called his name, he would run laughing and screaming to base, even though he'd already been caught.
Tuesday, January 4th, was my twenty-third birthday! We celebrated by making homemade bread and brownies. How did we manage this feat? Well, New Year's Eve dinner was held at the compound because the festivities were in our region of the city, San Antonio. We noticed that the oven there had been connected to propane. Since we have not returned our keys to the compound we received for our first few days stay in this country, we took advantage of being able to unlock the four doors necessary to get into the compound apartment. We toted our batter and dough, we even bought an 8x8 brownie pan for the occasion, over to the compound. Once there we turned the oven on only to realize a minute later that the smell of gas was overtaking the kitchen. We turned off the oven, opened the window, and aired out the room. Then we noticed a match in the oven. We, of course, failed to bring matches with us and there were none to be found at the compound, so Andy quickly trekked back to get some. Yet, once we had matches in hand, we could not find any place to light. We tried each hole or crack. We pulled the oven out from the wall to see if we could find the entry point of the gas. No avail. Finally, I pulled out our cell phone, I conveniently brought, and called Guillermo. His phone was off. Next I tried Anita. Apparently we needed to light a piece of paper on fire and stick it down a hole under the oven where a burner was. Obviously. Anita was in the middle of saying that her Mom recommended a very long piece of paper, when Andy ripped out the only form of paper we had, a three inch sheet from the mini-notebook. Eight minutes later, after she talked with both me and Andy, we, Andy, managed to light the oven.
Brownie batter pre-oven.
Bread dough pre-oven. Admittedly, not so good looking.
But, viola! Bread post-oven.
Next to the brownies. Note the spoon in the right hand corner of the brownie pan. It was our snack while the bread cooked.
Then, as we left the compound, with three doors locked, it started to drizzle. On our way out the gate, I realized I left the window open. Seven locks later I was out again. As we prepared dinner, Guillermo called to wish me a happy birthday. He asked if Andy had bought me a cake. I said no. He said that he would be at the church later that night, if Andy ended up buying me a cake, I should have him come over. I told him not to count on it. Dinner was nice. Fresh bread with olive oil and salt with butternut squash soup, followed by a copious amount of brownies and later, popcorn and cookie dough.
Wednesday brought its own adventure. Our alarm went off at 6:30am. We dragged ourselves out of bed at 6:45am. I showered while Andy heated up water for tea and breakfast. We were out of the house at 7:30am, caught a taxi to the bus terminal, and were seated on a bus to Quito by 7:44am when the bus pulled out of the station. On the ride to Quito we had great views of Cotopaxi, the highest active volcano in the world. On clear days, which we haven't had since our first week here, you can see it from our rooftop.
Here it is from our bus window.
Two and a half hours later we arrived in Quito. We were meeting a family-friend who was doing a short school term, a J-term, in Quito and had brought us supplies. Vital things like chocolate chips, peanut butter, oral scabies medication, eye drops for allergies, headphones, and books. Of course, we failed to use the internet to figure out exactly where in Quito the two streets, Av. el 6 de diciembre y Av. Naciones Unidas were. Eventually we figured out where to go. We took a bus to a bus/trolley/above-ground-subway to downtown. It took over an hour. We had a gross lunch of poorly done KFC in the mall where we were meeting him, the best part of lunch being orange Fanta. Then Andy got a black coffee as we waited for him to arrive. He arrived on time at 1pm and shared in our happiness that for once in this country, other people also had arrived on time. We chatted for a bit before heading over to his school to pick up the bag. We were back on the inter-city bus system by 1:45pm.
This time, since we started at the other end, there were no seats available. We crammed with everyone else all the way back to the bus terminal. It was 3:00pm before we got there. We bought a ticket back to Ambato, $2.50 per person, we think it's a dollar per hour on the bus. The bus driver insisted on picking up random group of people after random group of people on the way home, even when all they could do was hover in the aisles over you holding on to a bar above your seat. It was an unpleasant ride home. Eventually, however, we arrived back in Ambato. Took a taxi through lots of miserable traffic, and were home by 6:30pm. We had been on a bus for ten of the last eleven hours, and were quite tired. We did make it home in time, however, to catch this pretty rainbow after a rain storm, above the church roof. The sunset's reflection in the church windows is also lovely.
Thursday brought the conclusion of our consecutive Lord of the Ring movie nights. Friday centered on baking bread and brownies again. With slightly altered recipes, the bread came out even more delicious and the brownies became the best chocolate cake I've ever made.
Andy inspecting his work.
Viola!
On Monday, we went to the orphanage. Nothing new there. Miraculously the rain that threatened all day held off during our walk to and from the orphanage to the bus stop. The kids were playing a version of hide and go seek outside, which we haven't figured out yet. The funniest part was the special needs boy I'm closest with. He would continually peek around the corner of the building he was hiding behind. Then, when the person who was 'it' saw him and called his name, he would run laughing and screaming to base, even though he'd already been caught.
Tuesday, January 4th, was my twenty-third birthday! We celebrated by making homemade bread and brownies. How did we manage this feat? Well, New Year's Eve dinner was held at the compound because the festivities were in our region of the city, San Antonio. We noticed that the oven there had been connected to propane. Since we have not returned our keys to the compound we received for our first few days stay in this country, we took advantage of being able to unlock the four doors necessary to get into the compound apartment. We toted our batter and dough, we even bought an 8x8 brownie pan for the occasion, over to the compound. Once there we turned the oven on only to realize a minute later that the smell of gas was overtaking the kitchen. We turned off the oven, opened the window, and aired out the room. Then we noticed a match in the oven. We, of course, failed to bring matches with us and there were none to be found at the compound, so Andy quickly trekked back to get some. Yet, once we had matches in hand, we could not find any place to light. We tried each hole or crack. We pulled the oven out from the wall to see if we could find the entry point of the gas. No avail. Finally, I pulled out our cell phone, I conveniently brought, and called Guillermo. His phone was off. Next I tried Anita. Apparently we needed to light a piece of paper on fire and stick it down a hole under the oven where a burner was. Obviously. Anita was in the middle of saying that her Mom recommended a very long piece of paper, when Andy ripped out the only form of paper we had, a three inch sheet from the mini-notebook. Eight minutes later, after she talked with both me and Andy, we, Andy, managed to light the oven.
Brownie batter pre-oven.
Bread dough pre-oven. Admittedly, not so good looking.
But, viola! Bread post-oven.
Next to the brownies. Note the spoon in the right hand corner of the brownie pan. It was our snack while the bread cooked.
Then, as we left the compound, with three doors locked, it started to drizzle. On our way out the gate, I realized I left the window open. Seven locks later I was out again. As we prepared dinner, Guillermo called to wish me a happy birthday. He asked if Andy had bought me a cake. I said no. He said that he would be at the church later that night, if Andy ended up buying me a cake, I should have him come over. I told him not to count on it. Dinner was nice. Fresh bread with olive oil and salt with butternut squash soup, followed by a copious amount of brownies and later, popcorn and cookie dough.
Wednesday brought its own adventure. Our alarm went off at 6:30am. We dragged ourselves out of bed at 6:45am. I showered while Andy heated up water for tea and breakfast. We were out of the house at 7:30am, caught a taxi to the bus terminal, and were seated on a bus to Quito by 7:44am when the bus pulled out of the station. On the ride to Quito we had great views of Cotopaxi, the highest active volcano in the world. On clear days, which we haven't had since our first week here, you can see it from our rooftop.
Here it is from our bus window.
Two and a half hours later we arrived in Quito. We were meeting a family-friend who was doing a short school term, a J-term, in Quito and had brought us supplies. Vital things like chocolate chips, peanut butter, oral scabies medication, eye drops for allergies, headphones, and books. Of course, we failed to use the internet to figure out exactly where in Quito the two streets, Av. el 6 de diciembre y Av. Naciones Unidas were. Eventually we figured out where to go. We took a bus to a bus/trolley/above-ground-subway to downtown. It took over an hour. We had a gross lunch of poorly done KFC in the mall where we were meeting him, the best part of lunch being orange Fanta. Then Andy got a black coffee as we waited for him to arrive. He arrived on time at 1pm and shared in our happiness that for once in this country, other people also had arrived on time. We chatted for a bit before heading over to his school to pick up the bag. We were back on the inter-city bus system by 1:45pm.
This time, since we started at the other end, there were no seats available. We crammed with everyone else all the way back to the bus terminal. It was 3:00pm before we got there. We bought a ticket back to Ambato, $2.50 per person, we think it's a dollar per hour on the bus. The bus driver insisted on picking up random group of people after random group of people on the way home, even when all they could do was hover in the aisles over you holding on to a bar above your seat. It was an unpleasant ride home. Eventually, however, we arrived back in Ambato. Took a taxi through lots of miserable traffic, and were home by 6:30pm. We had been on a bus for ten of the last eleven hours, and were quite tired. We did make it home in time, however, to catch this pretty rainbow after a rain storm, above the church roof. The sunset's reflection in the church windows is also lovely.
Thursday brought the conclusion of our consecutive Lord of the Ring movie nights. Friday centered on baking bread and brownies again. With slightly altered recipes, the bread came out even more delicious and the brownies became the best chocolate cake I've ever made.
Andy inspecting his work.
On the dinner table.
Viola!
Monday, January 10, 2011
New Year's Eve
In the previous post I mentioned the road-blocking, people-charging individuals who celebrate the New Year doing just that. However, as innocent as that might have seemed, which it most certainly wasn't, the extortion on New Year's Eve night was far, far worse. And yet, it wasn't the blatant outwresting of money that stole the show, rather it was the individuals who did so. On our ride through the highlands, the Indian men, those who dressed up as women instead of wearing masks, wore the traditional Indian woman garb, a knee-length, wool, black skirt. Nothing too noteworthy, particularly with any previous exposure to men in kilts. But the "men," for I hesitate to call them that, who held up the grid-locked city at every intersection donned wigs, make-up, fake breasts, and short, tight, strapless dresses. Then, perhaps in an effort to make the car ride worth the peoples' money, they grinded on the hood of people's cars, put their leg on the hood and grabbed their crotch, bent over and squeezed their fake-cleavage together, or danced with each other in a fashion that is found in the back corners of skeevy dance clubs for a reason. One of the most tame outfits of the night were the men who wore red and yellow thongs on top of black stockings.
Here are some mild images. At each intersection there was a group of "men." Some of them were organized in matching outfits and performed a group dance. Despite the risque moves, the one or two groups out of many who did this were a welcome change.
This group, on the main road going downtown, included the traditional element of paper-mache sculptures in their car-stopping performances. You can see the cars and bus that started to line up. The sculpture is to their left. It was a fifteen foot tall, Iron Man.
The latter group's Iron Man. Many were quite impressive. Movies are often used as inspiration. We saw multiple Iron Mans, Avatar figures, and Toy Story figures. The police department, which creates a stage of sculptures, did the main cast of the movie Twilight. There are also just as many political figures, often the president, who have manifestos written below them from the peoples' prospective.
Buzz and Woody.
Most vehicles had the paper-mache figures on their roof, hood, or tied to their bumper. Some had dogs, Sponge-Bob, or random figures too.
The streets were packed with cars and passersby. The main street downtown was filled with vendors of food, clothing, shoes, and New Year's Eve paraphernalia including masks and sparklers. The white truck has sneakers spilling out of the back of it.
We did not take many pictures because not paying attention to your surroundings was dangerous. We were with Guillermo, Monica, their daughter Lily and her boyfriend, Javier, their adopted daughter, Delia and her young daughter, and three teenage girls. Guillermo walked ahead and had Lily and Javier walk behind us to get us out of trouble if we walked into it. Unfortunately, despite zig-zagging the streets, the crowds, and the cars, trouble could not be avoided. Back to the cross-dressers. I asked Guillermo just how drunk the "men" were. He replied, "Not at all." He then preached on how hard they work all year long, they need to have fun, and this is nice for them. Now, if individuals want to cross-dress and dance disgustingly and if the city of 300,000 people wants to flock in their cars and to the streets with their young children to witness this, so be it. But the moment that the "fun" extends into the crowd, the moment I believed Guillermo that the "men" weren't drunk because I was close enough to smell the lack of alcohol on their breath, that's when an uncomfortable situation became a threatening one. That's when laughing in disgust and disbelief transitioned into me on guard, literally.
It seems another common practice is for the "men" to take the lap-dances they gave the cars and provide them to the individuals trying to walk down the street. They only target other men. As you can imagine, Andy stuck out quite a bit. What the women are supposed to do is pay them to leave the men alone. What I realized very quickly is that very few "men" wanted the money without first rubbing themselves on Andy. Instantaneously, I went into a protective mode. It was like a bully was picking on my brothers on the bus. I swerved from Andy's right and left blocking the men off from him. When that didn't work I grabbed one by the waist and threw him off. I warded others with my arm like I was on the football field. I flat out shoved a couple on the chest with their shirts and fake breasts coming off in the process. It was bad. On the route back we took every side street imaginable. Andy claimed it was not to protect us from them, but rather to protect them from me. Guillermo, who just kind of reciprocated the dancing, didn't quite understand my reaction. There were two "men" who did just take my money, leave Andy alone, and said thank you. Another persistent bugger didn't and looked confused when I glared at him and put my arm up, though he seemed entertained when I threw the coin down his fake-cleavage. Guillermo and entourage found that amusing as well. It did not get to the point where Andy, who appeared to be in shut-down mode or surprised by my actions, needed to engage. Nor did it get to the point of throwing punches or kneeing them in the groin. As controlled and measured our actions were, it was, none the less, rather violent and unpleasant. I dreaded each street corner.
We had left the compound at about 7:00pm and returned at about 9:30pm. We ate a delicious meal of turkey, gravy, fried rice, and mashed potatoes. There was also a spiced, fruit cake and an orange cake that one of Monica's clients did not pick up that day. Below is a picture of that one. She decorated it herself. Then, we conversed with Guillermo for 2.5 hours until midnight, all the while ready for bed.
The fried rice which we ate for lunch the following day. It has bacon in it. Bacon, like butter, makes all things better.
The orange cake.
When we returned home, the highlight of the night turned out to be my ichat with my brothers shortly after midnight. They were at a New Year's Eve party and ushered me around the room of well-wishing, familiar faces. It was nice to share a holiday with more of my family, even if the music was a bit loud. I miss them.
Here we are before we left the apartment that night, ignorant of the extent of "festivities" yet to come.
Here are some mild images. At each intersection there was a group of "men." Some of them were organized in matching outfits and performed a group dance. Despite the risque moves, the one or two groups out of many who did this were a welcome change.
This group, on the main road going downtown, included the traditional element of paper-mache sculptures in their car-stopping performances. You can see the cars and bus that started to line up. The sculpture is to their left. It was a fifteen foot tall, Iron Man.
The latter group's Iron Man. Many were quite impressive. Movies are often used as inspiration. We saw multiple Iron Mans, Avatar figures, and Toy Story figures. The police department, which creates a stage of sculptures, did the main cast of the movie Twilight. There are also just as many political figures, often the president, who have manifestos written below them from the peoples' prospective.
Buzz and Woody.
Most vehicles had the paper-mache figures on their roof, hood, or tied to their bumper. Some had dogs, Sponge-Bob, or random figures too.
The streets were packed with cars and passersby. The main street downtown was filled with vendors of food, clothing, shoes, and New Year's Eve paraphernalia including masks and sparklers. The white truck has sneakers spilling out of the back of it.
We did not take many pictures because not paying attention to your surroundings was dangerous. We were with Guillermo, Monica, their daughter Lily and her boyfriend, Javier, their adopted daughter, Delia and her young daughter, and three teenage girls. Guillermo walked ahead and had Lily and Javier walk behind us to get us out of trouble if we walked into it. Unfortunately, despite zig-zagging the streets, the crowds, and the cars, trouble could not be avoided. Back to the cross-dressers. I asked Guillermo just how drunk the "men" were. He replied, "Not at all." He then preached on how hard they work all year long, they need to have fun, and this is nice for them. Now, if individuals want to cross-dress and dance disgustingly and if the city of 300,000 people wants to flock in their cars and to the streets with their young children to witness this, so be it. But the moment that the "fun" extends into the crowd, the moment I believed Guillermo that the "men" weren't drunk because I was close enough to smell the lack of alcohol on their breath, that's when an uncomfortable situation became a threatening one. That's when laughing in disgust and disbelief transitioned into me on guard, literally.
It seems another common practice is for the "men" to take the lap-dances they gave the cars and provide them to the individuals trying to walk down the street. They only target other men. As you can imagine, Andy stuck out quite a bit. What the women are supposed to do is pay them to leave the men alone. What I realized very quickly is that very few "men" wanted the money without first rubbing themselves on Andy. Instantaneously, I went into a protective mode. It was like a bully was picking on my brothers on the bus. I swerved from Andy's right and left blocking the men off from him. When that didn't work I grabbed one by the waist and threw him off. I warded others with my arm like I was on the football field. I flat out shoved a couple on the chest with their shirts and fake breasts coming off in the process. It was bad. On the route back we took every side street imaginable. Andy claimed it was not to protect us from them, but rather to protect them from me. Guillermo, who just kind of reciprocated the dancing, didn't quite understand my reaction. There were two "men" who did just take my money, leave Andy alone, and said thank you. Another persistent bugger didn't and looked confused when I glared at him and put my arm up, though he seemed entertained when I threw the coin down his fake-cleavage. Guillermo and entourage found that amusing as well. It did not get to the point where Andy, who appeared to be in shut-down mode or surprised by my actions, needed to engage. Nor did it get to the point of throwing punches or kneeing them in the groin. As controlled and measured our actions were, it was, none the less, rather violent and unpleasant. I dreaded each street corner.
We had left the compound at about 7:00pm and returned at about 9:30pm. We ate a delicious meal of turkey, gravy, fried rice, and mashed potatoes. There was also a spiced, fruit cake and an orange cake that one of Monica's clients did not pick up that day. Below is a picture of that one. She decorated it herself. Then, we conversed with Guillermo for 2.5 hours until midnight, all the while ready for bed.
The fried rice which we ate for lunch the following day. It has bacon in it. Bacon, like butter, makes all things better.
The orange cake.
Here is a sample paper-mache person that a family might have.
At midnight, the paper-mache figures are burned figuratively as the year that just came to a close. The sidewalks were full of these burning figures. On the corner in front of the compound, our group joined a family from church as they burned their paper-mache person. After rounds of, "Happy New Year!" were exchanged, Guillermo broke out in Adeste Fideles as we helped clean up from dinner and carried some leftovers home.
When we returned home, the highlight of the night turned out to be my ichat with my brothers shortly after midnight. They were at a New Year's Eve party and ushered me around the room of well-wishing, familiar faces. It was nice to share a holiday with more of my family, even if the music was a bit loud. I miss them.
Here we are before we left the apartment that night, ignorant of the extent of "festivities" yet to come.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Chimborazo
On the morning of Wednesday, 12/29, we received a phone call from Jenny, Guillermo's daughter on Guillermo's phone. She said that on the following day Guillermo was taking us on a trip, he would pick us up at 9:30am, but they didn't know where yet, and he would call later to let us know. We waited until 11pm before we deduced that he wasn't going to call. The following morning, without any indication of where we were going or what we were doing, we showered and gathered a few items, before we waited some more. 9:30am came and went. At 9:50 Guillermo called to say he was waiting outside. When I inquired about our destination and appropriate attire, he informed me we were going to Chimborazo, the mountain we discussed climbing at that Monday night dinner. Except, because he was unable to borrow a car to ascend it, we would just be looking at it and we should bring a coat. Once in the car, Guillermo informed us we needed to pick up Monica, his wife, because she wasn't ready to go when he left the house this morning. Except, we ran an errand first and checked on a church-family who Guillermo had been unable to get in touch with via phone to make sure everything was okay. Then, once at his house, we waited for Monica, who had finished preparing a pineapple upside down cake for a woman to pick up that day, to get ready. Finally, about 10:30am or so, we were off.
The car ride took about an hour and a half. Except there were some slight diversions. No, I did not mean detours, I meant, diversions. As part of their New Year's Eve celebration down here, men dress as women, stop cars on the road and do not let them pass until they have given money. The money is supposedly for the viuda, the widower, whose wife is the year that's about to end and hence die. It would seem they get ahead of themselves a little bit, since all of this nonsense is done before her death at midnight. However, in short, this practice makes highway robbery legal. Even on the day before New Year's Eve apparently. We drove through Indian villages in the highlands and stopped every few miles or so to pay the tribute. The widower can also represented by a paper-mache figure.
I confess the following photos were not taken until our return home, when we had recovered from out shock of the tradition. There are several ways the individuals blocked the road. In the first picture they used heavy rocks. Commercial vehicles and taxis are forced to pay much more than private cars like us. We got away with paying five cents or so. They must pay from fifty cents to a dollar at each stop. The truck below has already paid his way.
Some of the men, instead of dressing as women, wore creepy masks. The most frightening was a masked teenager wielding a late 19th century rifle; unfortunately, we were to slow on the draw to get a picture of him.
Others used logs.
The most dangerous form is rope. We passed two little boys alone holding a rope across the road. Guillermo said that not everyone sees the rope.
Often, many villagers congregated on the side of the road to watch the affair.
One of the Indian villages we drove through, Pilahuin, had pigs like this lining the street on either side. It seemed each family had one hanging outside their residence along with cooking materials. Notice that chunks of the pig have been skinned. The skin is particularly prized when it is fried. The pigs are for sale for tourists and any passerby.
We passed a great deal of llamas and alpacas. The difference between them is that alpacas are smaller and only come in one color, tan. I do not think we have any photos of them. So, all of the following are llamas. The hut you see in this first picture is built for the children who watch over the animals in all sorts of weather. It provides them some protection from the elements, primarily a lot of wind.
This is the mountain, Chimborazo, we drove to.
The llamas were particularly daring the closer we came to the mountain. They strolled right to the edge of the road. Also, Guillermo stopped the car every time we saw llamas to take pictures. He might have taken more than us. That is why we have so many.
As we got closer, the mountain become more impressive and the cloud cover greatly increased.
We were in the clouds. This is where the paved road ended. Guillermo, who did not think his car would be able to make it up the gravel road, was pleasantly surprised to find the roads in improved condition. Visibility, however, was practically non-existent. The below shot, comparatively, is quite clear to what we soon ascended into. The object in the photo, by the way, is Andy who desperately had to go to the bathroom.
Now, neither Andy or I have done any cardiovascular activity since we've arrived here. Yet, our legs seemed okay. Rather, it was almost like no matter how controlled, slow, or deep our breathing, we weren't getting enough air. When we finally reached the second shelter, the sign said 5,000 meters, roughly 16,400 feet above sea level. That explained it. It began to snow lightly which was very welcome having missed out on winter weather back home. Here is part of the mountain view.
Us outside the second shelter.
The view from the rock we were seated on looking up beyond the shelter.
The same direction as the above picture with the shelter for reference.
Exhilarated and content in the elements.
In front of the rest of the climb to the peak. Same direction as the other shelter photo.
Going down, despite the burning calves and staring at our foot placement, felt great in terms of respiration and some accomplishment. In fact, we had even passed a native man on the way up who managed, believe it or not, to sit on more rocks than I did. The fun of it was not even dampened on Sunday when Guillermo opened his sermon with the story of our adventure, yet stating that one can always go farther. He connected that to farther into your faith and donations to the church, though for Andy, it simply meant peak-bagging.
On our way home the views were picturesque in the afternoon sun.
The hills that bordered much of the roads.
When we returned to Ambato, once again passing through the tolls, Monica wanted to eat at the mall. So, despite the fact that we would have liked nothing more than get home and eat there, we went to the mall and had disgusting fast-food tacos. Not the perfect ending to a great day, but a great day nonetheless.
The car ride took about an hour and a half. Except there were some slight diversions. No, I did not mean detours, I meant, diversions. As part of their New Year's Eve celebration down here, men dress as women, stop cars on the road and do not let them pass until they have given money. The money is supposedly for the viuda, the widower, whose wife is the year that's about to end and hence die. It would seem they get ahead of themselves a little bit, since all of this nonsense is done before her death at midnight. However, in short, this practice makes highway robbery legal. Even on the day before New Year's Eve apparently. We drove through Indian villages in the highlands and stopped every few miles or so to pay the tribute. The widower can also represented by a paper-mache figure.
I confess the following photos were not taken until our return home, when we had recovered from out shock of the tradition. There are several ways the individuals blocked the road. In the first picture they used heavy rocks. Commercial vehicles and taxis are forced to pay much more than private cars like us. We got away with paying five cents or so. They must pay from fifty cents to a dollar at each stop. The truck below has already paid his way.
Some of the men, instead of dressing as women, wore creepy masks. The most frightening was a masked teenager wielding a late 19th century rifle; unfortunately, we were to slow on the draw to get a picture of him.
Others used logs.
The most dangerous form is rope. We passed two little boys alone holding a rope across the road. Guillermo said that not everyone sees the rope.
Often, many villagers congregated on the side of the road to watch the affair.
One of the Indian villages we drove through, Pilahuin, had pigs like this lining the street on either side. It seemed each family had one hanging outside their residence along with cooking materials. Notice that chunks of the pig have been skinned. The skin is particularly prized when it is fried. The pigs are for sale for tourists and any passerby.
We passed a great deal of llamas and alpacas. The difference between them is that alpacas are smaller and only come in one color, tan. I do not think we have any photos of them. So, all of the following are llamas. The hut you see in this first picture is built for the children who watch over the animals in all sorts of weather. It provides them some protection from the elements, primarily a lot of wind.
This is the mountain, Chimborazo, we drove to.
The llamas were particularly daring the closer we came to the mountain. They strolled right to the edge of the road. Also, Guillermo stopped the car every time we saw llamas to take pictures. He might have taken more than us. That is why we have so many.
As we got closer, the mountain become more impressive and the cloud cover greatly increased.
We were in the clouds. This is where the paved road ended. Guillermo, who did not think his car would be able to make it up the gravel road, was pleasantly surprised to find the roads in improved condition. Visibility, however, was practically non-existent. The below shot, comparatively, is quite clear to what we soon ascended into. The object in the photo, by the way, is Andy who desperately had to go to the bathroom.
When the ascent of switch-backs ended and Guillermo's manual, Mazda Coupe finally reached the end of the road we were at the first shelter on the mountain. It was nearly 1pm, for lunch we bought Guillermo and Monica tea, we had hot cocoa, and a package of something equivalent to Ritz crackers. Lunch of champions. Afterward, Monica retired to the car to wait while Andy, Guillermo and I climbed to the second shelter, about 500 feet in elevation up. Every fifty yards, I found a rock to sit on and to rest. Initially, Guillermo said he'd let us climb alone, since he figured we would climb much faster than he could. I quickly rid him of that assumption and he started to point out the good resting rocks for me. He also sang a couple tunes, maybe to take my mind off things. It reminded Andy and I of the time we skinned up Big Mountain with Dr. Erickson. When I faded, Jay climbed behind me and sang the rest of the way up. Here is me on one of my many resting rocks with Guillermo behind me.
Now, neither Andy or I have done any cardiovascular activity since we've arrived here. Yet, our legs seemed okay. Rather, it was almost like no matter how controlled, slow, or deep our breathing, we weren't getting enough air. When we finally reached the second shelter, the sign said 5,000 meters, roughly 16,400 feet above sea level. That explained it. It began to snow lightly which was very welcome having missed out on winter weather back home. Here is part of the mountain view.
Us outside the second shelter.
The view from the rock we were seated on looking up beyond the shelter.
The same direction as the above picture with the shelter for reference.
Exhilarated and content in the elements.
In front of the rest of the climb to the peak. Same direction as the other shelter photo.
Keeping your footing was a little difficult with all the rock. Chimborazo is an inactive volcano, so much of the rock is volcanic!
Going down, despite the burning calves and staring at our foot placement, felt great in terms of respiration and some accomplishment. In fact, we had even passed a native man on the way up who managed, believe it or not, to sit on more rocks than I did. The fun of it was not even dampened on Sunday when Guillermo opened his sermon with the story of our adventure, yet stating that one can always go farther. He connected that to farther into your faith and donations to the church, though for Andy, it simply meant peak-bagging.
On our way home the views were picturesque in the afternoon sun.
The hills that bordered much of the roads.
When we returned to Ambato, once again passing through the tolls, Monica wanted to eat at the mall. So, despite the fact that we would have liked nothing more than get home and eat there, we went to the mall and had disgusting fast-food tacos. Not the perfect ending to a great day, but a great day nonetheless.
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