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.

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.

 

On the dinner table.

 Viola!

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.

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. 

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.

 

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.