¡Disco Fever!

Well, as I write this from one of the local cybers here in coastal Ecuador, the Nats are playing the Phillies on South Capitol Street in Washington DC.  What would normally be a very mundane early-June baseball game in the course of the six-month 162-game marathon that is the MLB regular season, has particular impact for me.  One of the first ballplayers I ever really truly tracked the career of is marking the beginning of a new chapter, which makes me feel somewhat old.  I mean I was the biggest Cal Ripken Jr. fan ever as a boy; seriously, I worshiped the Iron idol as the boys from the Sandlot did Baby Ruth.  Let us be honest, though, by the time I made my debut into this world in August of 1985, Cal already had several seasons under his belt and a World Series ring.  Ryan Zimmerman, however, is different.  He was the local kid.  A Virginian, a Wahoo, and even a peer as far as age is concerned.  My fanhood of Zim never approached Ripkenesque worship.  I mean I cannot even stand a grown man wearing another grown man´s jersey, much less bowing down and kissing his Mizunos.  No.  I respected Zim.  He was a professional.  Despite playing on a crap team in rickety RFK Stadium (it may be a dump, but it is our dump), he always said the right thing, always gave 110%, and always trotted out all over the DC Metro area to promote one of the worst disasters of a club MLB has ever seen.  Well, tonight he makes his first start in left field.  The product of injury-motivated errors, and an infield crowded with young talent, this Gold Glover is playing a defensive position that has been patrolled in the District by Wily Mo Pena, Elijah Dukes, Willie Harris, Adam Dunn, and Josh Willingham...not exactly the all-leather squad.  So having followed him from his days in Charlottesville, to his rookie call-up wearing #25, to playing catch every pregame with Alfonso Soriano along the 3rd base line in 2006, to his walk-off vs the Yankees in RFK and the Braves in Nats Park, it is an interesting moment.  This is when I truly feel as if I am getting older.  It was natural for me to see Ripken in the twilight, or Chipper, and even Jeter; however, this guy is my age and is making the turn to the back nine of what has already been a great baseball career.  Godspeed, Zim!

In other news, though, my host mom (Snra. Mari) was on-point with dinner tonight!  She unintentionally stumbled upon the closest thing to jambalaya that I could think of.  Seriously, the seafood was out-of-this-world.  She had fish, crab, skrimps, mussles, scallops, and calimari.  Of course there was also rice.  We are having a family workshop on chopsticks next week.  Stay tuned...

After dinner, an Ecuadorian television show in the background was playing the "Staying Alive", which prompted my obligatory attempt to explain disco to my host fam.  That did not go so well.  I even demonstrated the dance!  They get mixed-up with the wording because ´disco´ down here refers to any nightclub with dancing, rather than a time period.  They say a picture is worth a thousand words; well, I need to find a way to get internet to my house because ten seconds of John Travolta on YouTube would have saved me about two-thousand shotty-articulated Spanish words.

Finally, a plea for help.  There is a young man down here, a high school student, who is trying to be the first person in his family to attend university.  To help accomplish this, his incredibly poor family (full disclosure: it is my host family and my host brother) sacrifices and pays to send him to a superior school about 20 minutes away.  Well, for hours every night he goes to the cyber to do his homework and spends most of his time just waiting for a computer to open up.  His assignments suffer because he is unable to access some of the resources on the web with public computers and cannot proofread/edit his work since they are closed before his classes begin.  So I am asking, does anybody have a used personal laptop that has recently been traded-out for a newer model that they would be willing to donate or sell heavily-discounted?  This kid does not need the new MacBook Pro, the lowest of low netbooks sitting on the Walmart shelf would still be the nicest thing he has ever had.  If you know someone who is willing to help, or can yourself, shoot me a message and let us work something out.  This kid does all the right things, and it is time we help him catch a break.

Rory may have 99 problems, but....

We are leading off tonight with a huge shout-out to the country of Niger.  For the first time in their history, they have convicted someone of slavery. Most people might ask what took them so long, but I am choosing to focus on the positive that it actually happened.  Nowhere to go but up from here.  Also in Niger, President Goodluck Jonathan (yes, that is a presidential name and not the title of Nick Jr. show) condemned "international terrorism" and vowed to wage "war" against Boko Haram. Boko Haram, remember, kidnapped 300 Nigerian girls earlier this month.  There are lightyears of progress ahead of Niger in confronting terrorism within their borders, but let us give credit when it is due.  Chalk up a good day for our friends over in central Africa.

On a more lively front, I am pleased to announce that, on the advice of fellow PCV´s, I have discovered Hostal Aqui in Salinas.  Hostal Aqui is a joint owned by a retired man from Kentucky, they offer room and beverage discounts to Peace Corps folk, and most importantly, carry NFL Sunday Ticket.  In addition, they throw a kick-ass party for every American holiday...which sounds super fun considering only a specific group of gringos will be lighting fireworks on the beach down here come 4th of July.  This afternoon I indulged in the best cheeseburger I have ever had, or it seemed to be considering I have been deprived for five months, and watched the first round of The Memorial tournament.  Which, by the way, after Rory´s 63 today, do yall think he got in the car and started blasting Jay-Z´s 99 problems.  I mean I´m just saying, she ain´t one no mas.

This Wednesday´s Gringo Musings

Okay, so a few things are at play here.  One, I need to force myself to fight through the obstacles presented by a lack of internet (and laziness) to take better care of this blog. Second, there are a lot of things happening throughout the day down here that are either hysterical or profound, somtimes both, and deserve to be shared...or at the very least, archived.  Third, this forum is intended to help support the third goal of Peace Corps, which is the sharing of other cultures with Americans.  As a result of all of this, I vow to throw at least a little tidbit on here everyday of what the life of an Ecuadorian gringo is all about.  A few musings from today...

Most importantly, and I share this as an independent observer and not a spokesperson for either the governments of the United States nor the Republic of Ecuador, but I was outraged this morning, when reading my daily international affairs briefing (provided by the Foreign Policy journal), to learn of a woman who was stoned to death by her family in Pakistan. The twenty-five year old was accused of bringing dishonor to her family, thus, in front of the Lahore court building, in broad daylight, the males of her family attacked her with bricks and blunt instruments until she died. Sadly, this event drew several public spectators (including local policemen) who did not intervene. Even more outrageous, included in the spectators were local policemen and the girl's father. As I write this, I am bolstered in that third Peace Corps goal of cultural exchange. The people of Ecuador are a warm and vibrant people, who deserve to have their story shared. Unfortunately, other cultures are sorely lagging behind, and, I would argue, the laws of humanity demand progress.

A few less significant thoughts from my day that was...

*At our cluster meeting this afternoon in Guayaquil, I learned that if attending a futbol (aka soccer) game, or even if attending a large watch party at a bar or the likes, it is advised not to wear a belt or carry an umbrella. Seriously. Entering a soccer stadium is the equivalent of passing through American TSA at the airport, and a belt has apparently been used as a weapon in past hooligan-led scuffles. It looks like I will be reverting back to my Appalachian roots and using a piece of twine to hold my britches up.

*I almost dropped a very public F-bomb when my bus from Santa Elena to San Pablo started playing "Gone in 60 Seconds" IN ENGLISH!!!  I had to endure a horrid sci-fi flick in Spanish during the two hour ride from Guayaquil to Santa Elena, and for the final leg of my journey home (which lasts 10 minutes) I am teased with a Ford Mustang Shelby GT. Ugh!

*Today a news report out of Oklahoma City began to surface about a middle-aged man who called the police to report a robbery, and throughout the course of their questioning, the OKC PD focused their investigation on the very man who summoned them for help. Oh yea, the man was an African-American. I typically empathize, and sympathize, with police officers because on a daily basis they often deal with the underbelly of society and are forced to act more bluntly. I have zero issue with this type of profiling if there is a threat of imminent danger to the officer, after all, safety is the priority. When investigating a crime, though, it harkens back to the days of Jim Crow to ask a man, who was just robbed, if he was involved in an extramarital affair or seeking to buy drugs. I have known the man who is involved in this issue, and could not vouch more a more compassionate and trustworthy individual. Shame to those police officers, and the department spokesperson who dismissed the incident as simple occupational hazard. A link to the story is pasted below.

http://kfor.com/2014/05/27/metro-man-angered-over-police-line-of-questioning/

¡Ciao!

Long Time, No Talk.

Culture: such a clean and simple two-syllable word, but its ramifications are perhaps the most complex affects in world history. It's most often the backdrop for war, and the common ground for peace. It is the very fabric of our lives; defining whom we love, why we live, how we eat, where we play, when we worship, and so many other things. It can be blatantly obvious or excruciatingly subtle, but it's always there. It can be as broad and cliché-ridden as a star spangled banner and apple pie or as nuanced as the recipes stored in a dusty family heirloom. I have been an American expat living in South America for three and a half months now, with 100 weeks and change left on this twenty-seven month assignment, and the true impact of culture has never hit me more than it has during this initial phase of acclimation and integration. Really though, the only reason it has been so profound is because of my own blindness. Think about it, there is no need for international travel to experience the significance that culture has on our everyday lives. The United States undeniably has a national culture (refer back to the apple pie comment above), but even beneath that gigantic tent, there are hundreds of subcultures that can be felt in no more than a weekend getaway. Is the culture that defines the lives of most people in New England synonymous with that which defines the lives of Southerners, who live in a place where culture runs as thick as sweet tea...which is pretty damn thick where I come from? I'll boil it down even further. In my adopted town of Oklahoma City, the culture east of I-235 is significantly different than that in Nichols Hills, and the culture of Midwest City is nothing like you would see in my old neighborhood of The Paseo. In my birth town of Lynchburg, the Boonsboro neighborhood is no more than a long par-5 away from Rivermont, yet the lives lived by the natives of these neighborhoods are light-years apart. So while a truly cultural experience can be had in a short drive across town, the reality is that I went to another continent for it...so having said that, let me provide you with the greatest hits of Ecuadorian culture (thus far). *Much like the U.S., many subcultures exist in a country no larger than Colorado and with 5% of the population as the States *The Amazonian eastern region of the country is dominated by a heavy indigenous influence, as one would imagine in this type of rainforest setting. Many of these villages have never even seen an outsider. *The Andes-dominated sierra region in the country's center is very conservative. Women dress conservatively, act conservatively, and the indigenous language of Kichwa is still spoken in pockets. *The coastal region is an interesting animal. It is much more progressive and cavalier in its social activities: women are much more liberated with their bodies, much more aggressive towards men, and everybody gossips. Having said that though, there is a very sexist chauvinistic undertone as men dominate the social landscape, domestic violence is tolerated (even accepted), women assume the traditional housekeeping and motherly roles, and quite frankly spend a lot of their childbearing years, well, bearing children. *The fourth, and final, geographic region of Ecuador is a complete mystery as I have yet to set foot on the Galapagos. I have heard that it is mostly touristic with a few indigenous pockets, though. It is also VERY expensive to visit. *Everything here revolves around two things: the Catholic church and the family unit. *Three meals are to be eaten every day, no exceptions...and when I say meal I don't mean just a light salad...there is soup, though. Always soup. Three squares a day, deal with it. *EVERY lunch (almuerzo) and dinner (cena) comes with a heaping mound of white rice...a lot of times they will serve it with breakfast (desayuno) and just sneak it into your glass of lukewarm leche (milk) *Most of the country is Catholic; less of the country actually practices their Catholicism. The second-most popular faith is what is called Evangelism, which is a very strict no-drinking no-swearing no-fooling no-fun walk with God...and they are strict with it. *Parents here have no problem disciplining somebody else's children, but let their own get away with bloody murder. It will be a miracle if I make it without pulling a WWF move on the 5 year old in my house. Seriously, kid cries like a 2 year old girl at least twice an hour. Can't ride in the front seat: cries. Has to eat lunch: cries. Don't ride your bike on the highway: cries. Mom's cell rings, interrupting your game: cries. Realizes too much time has passed since his last cry: cries. *Social graces do not exist here. Ecuadorians don't understand the concepts of waiting your turn in a line, chewing quietly, not singing along to your iPod on a crowded bus, allow others to exit the bus before you enter, arriving twenty minutes late is a sign of disrespect. Garth Brooks, you have company...I'm blaming it all on their roots. *Privacy does not exist. Nowhere. People don't shut doors - even to sleep. During daytime hours, a shut door doesn't really prevent someone from walking in. *That cheesy "In the arms of an angel" save-a-dog commercial had to be filmed here. Dogs are everywhere! EVERYWHERE! This is not the adoption Saturday at PetSmart, though. Families have them for protection, and it is understood that people are also to take appropriate measures of protection from the protection. Not ashamed to admit I've thrown some rocks at a few dogs and taken a few cuts with a bamboo stick at what was sure to be a sure bet for rabies. *Ecuadorians have some strange obsession for volleyball, but don't understand the rules. It isn't really volleyball when you use every mean necessary to get the ball over the net in three or less hits. I should try teaching them that "setting" is not the same as catching the ball over your head and then throwing it up in the air. Baby steps. *Anything over a $5 bill is usually not accepted. If any of you visit, act like you're heading to Night Trips. Seriously, don't come with anything greater than a stack of singles. You will thank me when you go to buy a $.50 liter of water and are turned away because all you have is a ten...and hell, even the five may not be accepted depending on what the store has in the drawer. So there is much MUCH more, but we'll keep the greatest hits list at fifteen for right now. We won't get into how often my host mom sweeps the dirt or the epidemic fear of flushing toilet paper. Considering I haven't posted in awhile, I should probably update you on the last few weeks...okay, few months. The primary reason I have no posted is because much of that time has been spent fighting sickness. There is sick, and then there is developing world sick. Unfortunately, I had the latter. The PCMO (Peace Corps Medical Officer, for those who don't remember) diagnosed me with two separate infections: lower-intestinal and respiratory. First, the difference between lower-intestinal and upper-intestinal is the method in which you untimely dispel bodily waste...orally or rectally, if you're having difficulty connecting the dots. Believe me, this is miserable because it pretty much affects your entire day. It's a little challenging to explore a new land when every twenty minutes is spent looking for a bathroom (which public bathrooms here cost money to use, and extra if you want toilet paper). After about 3-4 weeks of pooping at the tops and bottoms of every hour, this cleared up and I got on with life. Well, I got on with some life because I still was hacking up everything. The combination of an infection, living two miles above sea level, an inconsistent climate (cool in mornings & evenings, hot in afternoons), and allergy season worked its magic in affirming the PCMO's recommendation back in week 2 that I be assigned to a site at sea-level. So how did this prevent me from blogging? Well, my cocktail of meds made me not want to be awake when I had to be, so once I get home I pretty much hit the sack every day. In hindsight, a lot of my bitching and moaning was the result of just feeling like crap. When you wake up every morning dreading just rising out of bed, your outlook for the hours that follow is somewhat lackluster. I sincerely apologize to my compadres in 111 for this. So moving on with life. This is my fourteenth week in Ecuador, and back during week six a group of seven of us (accompanied with a few from PC/E staff) set out on what is called "tech trip". Well, everybody is split into groups and goes to different places throughout the country, but my group was blessed to spend the week in Imbabura...about three hours northeast of Quito. The first day we got to explore the city of Otavalo, which is popular with tourists for its "Plaza de Ponchos", or a daily open-air market where some of the coolest Ecuadorian trinkets, fabrics, clothing, and hats can be had at bargain prices...if you know how to bargain for them, that is. I made off with a Panama hat, a U.S. soccer scarf (to accompany the Ecuadorian one I bought weeks before) and a gift - which I can't yet share since the giftee will be reading this. Really, the most valuable time in the market was being able to practice our Spanish with the locals, and a huge shoutout to them for being such great sports. The following day we drove for an hour and a half on a road in which I can't even begin to describe. If this road existed in the U.S., traffic wouldn't be allowed within a ten mile radius. It was a winding dirt road along the side of a mountain, two-lanes wide (at its widest), two-way traffic, often in zero-visibility fog, no guardrails protecting you from a plummeting death into the canyon below, and a constant threat of mud and rock slides. Our motorcade of SUV's traversing this was really the most hazardous thing I will probably ever encounter in Ecuador. On the other side of this, though, we were firmly implanted into what is called a cloud forest. A tract of land that literally exists amongst the clouds. The terrain was as close to jungle-like as you can imagine, except the altitude made the climate very chilly. We had an amazing visit with a guy from Vermont who had been living here for over twenty years and worked much of that time with Peace Corps; he was nice enough to show us around his "edible forest". This is really the top of a mountain that he has engineered to be a completely self-sustaining, 100% organic farm. He positions the plants in such a way where what one may dispel is exactly what the one beside it may need, where plants that act as insect repellants border land, where the only thing to till and fertilize the plot in his vegetable garden is a mobile chicken coup...it truly is an amazing concept. Peter, the guy from Vermont, kept repeating one mantra: we need to work with nature instead of against it. While he certainly is a fanatic, his words have purpose. Mass-producing agricultural conglomerates have tried to reengineer nature to the point of unsustainability, and the chemicals applied to the food (in the form of fertilizers and pesticides) are more likely to cause cancer than fulfill your dietary needs. The coolest point of the visit to his farm was seeing a coffee plant. Did you know that the coffee bean is actually a very bright green before roasting? I didn't. They also come two-to-a-pod....a very red pod. After all of this learning, our group found some time to relax in the thermal pools adjacent to our cabins. It really is something to be swimming in hot bath water at 10,000 meters altitude while the rain and fog sets in on the jungle-like mountain range that surrounds you. Now that I think about it, this ecstasy was probably ground-zero for the month of illness that followed. The other trip during training was our site visit. In which, during week ten, we spent six days in the site we would call home for the next two years. Considering I am now in that side for good, I will spare the details until my next post...which will introduce yall to San Pablo. Oh yea, I almost forgot. We found a really cool brewery in Quito's historic district! So this group of guys from Oregon came down years ago and opened a micro-brew. It's pretty legit, too. Doesn't hurt they play American country music. Always fun to hear Darius Rucker sing, "Walking to the south out of Roanoke..." while you drink a beer in South America. So what's left? I guess there are the final weeks of training. Which really, we all took tests, gave school presentations, had our language proficiency interviews, blah blah blah. It wasn't that fun going through it, so it damn sure won't be fun typing it. What was fun, though, was swearing-in with the best freaking group of volunteers that Peace Corps Ecuador has seen in its 50+ years. The ceremony was very well done, with encouraging words from Bibi (our training director, and PC/E alumna), Alexis (PC/E Country Director), and Ambassador Namm. While their remarks were greatly appreciated, fellow volunteer Chris Owen stole the show. He delivered the thoughts of the group...which awkwardly enough included a lot about me. For a minute it really was "The Roast of Corey". All in good fun, though. Afterwards, it was time to say good bye to each other (which certainly involved a lot of beer), to our Tumbaco host families (which involved a few tears), and to head to site (which involved a lot of anxiety). So many thousands of words ago I opened this post talking about culture, and really, two culturally significant events happened in my life and I would like to share just a few thoughts about each. First, Opening Day of the baseball season. This is more than a day of baseball games. It really is when the curtain is raised on something that has been the most steady marker of time my life has ever known. Events such as my first MLB game at Baltimore's Memorial Stadium, the countless summer nights at Lynchburg Red Sox (then the Lynchburg Hillcats) games, being glued to the old HTS network during the Oriole pennant chases of the mid-90's, looking up to Cal Ripken Jr. throughout my childhood, watching afternoon Cubs games on WGN after school when we were too poor to have cable, quickly flipping between TBS and WGN to watch the two different feeds simultaneously when the Braves played at Wrigley, forming the strongest friendships I have ever had while at Hampden-Sydney, making 2007 Washington Nationals season tickets my first major adult purchase, having RFK Stadium be the backdrop of when I really fell in love for the first time, and now having all those memories to share with someone else as I move forward in life. James Earl Jones had it right in "Field of Dreams"...America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers, it has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt, and erased again; but baseball marks the time; it reminds us all of once was good. Having said all that, missing Opening Day was really a struggle for me. Whether I spent it bundled up at the Nats game in Queens, with a beer and brat in Camden Yards with Andrea, or just in front of my MLB DirecTV package in OKC, it would have been a cherished day...instead, I spent it here, in training, sitting through another session on anti-malaria meds. The other cultural event that I truly missed out on has become my favorite week of the year: Masters Week. I always anticipated and appreciated the spectacle every spring, but having visited Augusta the first week of April in recent years, it truly made me miss catching up with old friends and reviving cherished memories beneath the tall pines of northern Georgia. They say that all growth comes with growing pains; well, they sure hurt the past few weeks. I would like to wrap-up with a favorite passage from Proverbs. It is a passage that I carry with me every day I am away from home, and I hope it is a comfort to some much loved people who are having a difficult time. Feel free to look up the passage in Proverbs 3:21-26, but I really like Eugene Peterson's take on it in his interpretive translation, "The Message". Dear friend, guard Clear Thinking and Common Sense with your life; don't for a minute lose sight of them. They'll keep your soul alive and well, they'll keep you fit and attractive. You'll travel safely, you'll neither tire nor trip. You'll take afternoon naps without a worry, you'll enjoy a good night's sleep. No need to panic over alarms or surprises, or predictions that doomsday's just around the corner, because God will be right there with you; he'll keep you safe and sound. Again, these words are a comfort to me as I forge my way in a foreign land, and I hope they are a comfort to those who need them. A very loved family member has just been diagnosed with a horrible disease, a cherished member of a family I have grown to love and value has gone home to be with the Lord, and perhaps the most grace-giving and righteous group of folks I have ever had the pleasure of knowing at FBC-OKC are enduring some very dark days...to all, "God will be right there with you; he'll keep you safe and sound." My new mailing address, as it should be written on any envelope or package (which are highly encouraged, and often). All previous rules as to weight and claimed customs values still apply. Corey B. Miles, Cuerpo de Paz EEUU Cell #: 0981623136 Correo General / CDE Salinas – Santa Elena, Ecuador

Twelve Weeks...

Well, it looks like we've made it to midterm week of Peace Corps Training.  This is an unofficial designation, but it seemed appropriate considering the timing and workload we all have the next five days.  Everyone who is selected for Peace Corps services goes through this time of training, and if completed, you then become a Peace Corps Volunteer (PCV) when sworn-in by the U.S. Ambassador in week twelve.  We are currently in week five, and it seemingly marks the transition of our training from conceptual to practical.  No longer will we be spending nine hours a day, five days a week, going from briefing to briefing, and class to class.  After this week, for week six, we will embark on a week-long technical trip, in which we get to travel through Ecuador and experience some of the work being done at other PCV sites.  We're allowed Monday and Tuesday off week seven off for Carnaval, and then will officially be assigned our sites on that Thursday.  Week eight is a week-long site visit, where we spend a week with our new host family in whatever locale we'll call home until April 2016.  Weeks nine and ten are spent preparing for all of our final exams and presentations, week eleven is "finals week", and we are then all sworn-in and depart for our sites in week twelve.

 

Coming down here a month ago, I had no idea what was in store for me during this training.  I thought it would be a time of team-building exercises, some health and security briefings, and a lot of language and culture classes...boy, was I wrong!  Let me paint you a picture.  In the next five days, I have two presentations (one for 40 minutes, completely in Spanish), to conduct a recycled art workshop for eighty school kids (in Spanish), my second language proficiency interview (LPI), an essay due on cultural challenges I face with my host family in Tumbaco, a second essay (Community Passport) due on Ecuadorian culture, an exam on Peace Corps Medical Officer health policies, and another exam on security policy.  This is intense, stuff!  To actually become Peace Corps Volunteers, we must demonstrate competency in five subject matters: language, technical training, CORE, health & nutrition, and safety & security.  Let's look closer at each of these.

 

I think it's safe to say that most of our time is spent in our language classes.  These are actually more than language classes; they involve a lot of cross-cultural training, too.  In our first week, we sat through an LPI to gauge our level of Spanish.  As a result, we were placed in a certain class with a specific facilitator.  The goal of these classes is to get us to test to the "Intermediate-mid" level of Spanish during the LPI in Week 11.  The LPI is just a Spanish conversation, which is tape-recorded, between you and a facilitator that doesn't instruct your class.  The topics range from describing your family (both in the US and EC), your likes/dislikes, hobbies, work history, and whatever conversational topic comes up in the 15-20 minute dialogue.  The lady entrusted to get me to this level is Teresa, and so far, she has been amazing.  Teresa's class has five people (three women, two men), and most of us seem to have a really nice chemistry.  She has also been fantastic to work-in several trips beyond the walls of our training center.  Other than Teresa, our host families have strict instructions to practice our language with us on a nightly basis...and Mama Roci doesn't take this lightly.  Anyways, if we don't test to that "Intermediate-mid" level by the final LPI, then we'll either be mandated to see a tutor once we get to site, or at worst, stay in the training center for another few weeks until our language is at a level that Peace Corps deems it satisfactory to be successful in our sites.  Needless to say, I'm going to doing a lot of studying before that final LPI!

 

After language, the next greatest focus of our time is in technical training ("tech").  Our omnibus of thirty people is split into two groups of fifteen.  Half with the technical assignment of teaching English in local Ecuadorian schools, the other half within the Natural Resources Conservation (NRC) side of Peace Corps mission here.  The NRC side of things is somewhat confusing, because I'm technically in the NRC group, but there are five of us in that group who have a more specialized-focus: business development.  Really, this can be a group unto itself...but they've stuck us here.  The NRC group will most likely spend their time working in organic farming, rainforest preservation, and environmental education; however, for the five of us who didn't know the first thing about planting a seed before this past week, we'll be asked to help educate small-business owners and spur some sort of grassroots economic development...albeit, ideally with an environmental focus.  Our tech training, though, really focuses more on the agricultural side of things.  We get lectures on environmental issues of Ecuador, organic farming practices, historic crop trends, and even are expected to maintain our own organic garden plot.  Seriously, I'm graded on if some seeds I planted last week will be sprouting anything green by when our time here comes to a close.  This week, I have to give a presentation on the toolkit we're expected to use when first entering a new community, and assessing their needs; AND, with a partner, teach school kids how to make jewelry beads out of old magazine pages.  Yea, when do we get to the small business part of this again?

 

Third, is CORE.  This is really what Peace Corps calls everything that doesn't fit neatly into another bucket.  It's actually, just beating the policies into our head over and over again.  There are a few non-negotiable things that, according to our Country Director, will get us sent home just as quick as she can sign the paper: no illegal drug usage, no relations with underage locals, and lying about your location when spending the night away from site...amongst other things.  So yea, if you want to go home and don't give a damn about the reference following you around, just bump a few lines with a 14 year old Ecuadorian while on an unauthorized trip to the beach.  Good thing I don't really go for that.

 

Now we come to the items that my parents and girlfriend are probably most interested in.  Well, definitely for my parents.  Andrea?  She'll just tell me to stop being such a pu**y.  The Peace Corps Medical Officers (PCMO) is a team of two M.D.'s and one R.N. whose sole full-time job is to ensure for our constant health.  Depending on the day, we could be getting briefed on malaria, reviewing common STD infections, talking about intestinal infections, and/or getting yet another shot.  Seriously though, I'm happy to have these folks on my side.  Our health is not screwed around with.  During our service, we're required to come into Quito for several routine appointments, submit stool and urine samples, send photographs of ANY injury, and report whenever we have a bloody poop.  Also, it is strictly prohibited to seek any medical attention without their approval...the PCMO is ALWAYS the first call.  Apparently, there is a network of in-country physicians that are specially cleared to treat us, if necessary.  And, at worst case, they'll petition Washington to medevac us back to the States.  We even have a black plastic box that is to go with us everywhere.  It's complete with any first-aid materials you can think of, whatever over-the-counter medication modern medicine offers, sunscreen, a rape whistle, and condoms.  All of these items are restocked on-demand, if requested.  All joking aside, I'm not sure I've ever felt as if my health was in better hands, and this coming from a guy who lived with a third-generation doctor before coming to Ecuador.  At the end our training, we have to record a sufficient score on an exam that covers policies and procedures for any medical incident.

 

Lastly, the safety and security competency.  Like the PCMO, there is a full-time office dedicated to keeping all Peace Corps personnel safe.  And apparently, the lady in charge of this office is a total badass.  I don't know personally, but I've heard stories that her law enforcement career in Ecuador is legendary.  Also, she's the person you need to call if the local cops are jerking you around (which happens)...she walks in, and things get done.  Really though, we're put through the ringer on briefings covering everything from common date-rape drugs, to restricted regions, how to avoid certain crime trends, and strategies on defusing common occurrences.  We even have multiple briefings on how to hail a taxi.  Anyways, the central piece of this involves what is called "Whereabouts".  Pretty much if we are ever to spend an evening outside of our home, we must report it.  It's just a simple text message, but its requirement has several meanings.  The American Embassy and the Peace Corps office in Quito must know where all personnel is for security incidents, in case of a natural disaster or political uprising, or even if just to contact that person with news from back stateside.  This makes sense because if a volcano erupts, and the U.S. Government doesn't know one of their people is backpacking through that forest that weekend, it would make it very difficult to rescue him.  So, yea.  Before the simulations and exams to declare us competent in matters of security, I'm almost positive there will be ten more briefings on how not to get kidnapped and the protocol necessary for traveling by bus.

 

So, there are the five pillars of these first twelve weeks.  We seriously eat, breathe, and live this crap.  We're actually kind of tired of it.  You can tell this week that everyone is just ready to move onto something else.  Double-I Double-U Double-I, though.  IIWII.  It is what it is.  I apologize if this was haphazardly thrown together, but as you’ve already read, I’m in the midst of quite a week.  I promise the blog postings will become much more organized, with much cleaner prose, once I’m out of training.

We Are Family!

Family: such an easy and simple word.  Its meaning, though, is anything but.  Yes, traditionally the word "family" labeled those with whom you shared blood; however, in my twenty-eight years and six months, I've come to define it as more of a concept than a label.  Maybe part of that is because I was one of the 61% of children who was a victim of divorced parents.  Don't get me wrong, I've never once had to question whether my mother or father loved me with all of their heart; however, growing up in such turmoil does give you a new perspective on what "family" is.  So with my broadened understanding of family, I can say that I'm incredibly fortunate to be blessed as being a part of several families.  Of course it all begins with the Miles and Siner families.  They're the bloodlines that I will ultimately pass onto my children, and the clans that have always been there for me no matter what.  How about these other families?  In chronological order (not order of significance), I'm also a member of the Brookville High School family, the Flaherty family, the Hampden-Sydney College family, the Camp Wahoo family, the First Baptist Church of OKC family, and now even the Covington family.  While each of these families are a vibrant part of who I am, these past few weeks I've been lucky enough to be welcomed into two more: the Hidalgo family and the OMN-111 family.

First, the Hidalgo family.  For my first twelve weeks in Ecuador, from mid-January to mid-April, I will be living in their home.  I would say I will also be a member of their family for those twelve weeks, but I've recently learned that family membership isn't subject to a strict three month term…more on that in a few.  Suddenly, on a Saturday morning, I had a new Ecuadorian father (Jorge), mother (Rocio), and two sisters (Pame and Carla).  Jorge and Rocio work in the local education system, Pame commutes to university in Quito, and Pame is in collegio (the equivalent of high school).  I am the eighth Peace Corps volunteer they have hosted, and it seems the Hidalgo gringos are quite the bunch.  Three of their previous PCV's were in Quito last week for some training, and if you're within 50 km of Tumbaco, Mama Roci isn't taking "no" for an answer!  Peace Corps actually goes through a pretty intense screening process for host families, both in Tumbaco and at-site.  Some of the highlights: each family must provide the PCV his/her own bedroom, it must have a lockable door (with the PCV having the key), it can't have visible electrical wiring, the family must provide breakfast and dinner (Mama Roci also packs my lunch), and the family cannot conduct business within the home.  That last thing may seem interesting to some Americans, where working from home often means shooting off a late email or joining a conference call from your basement desk.  In Ecuador, it has a much different meaning because a lot of small business owners often live and work out of the same structure.  It is not at all uncommon to walk into the corner tienda (aka convenience store), and the door behind the counter lead to the owner’s domicile instead of some stock room.  Needless to say, the United States Government has decided it is best for PCV's not to be hosted in this type of environment.  After 4+ weeks, I can fully say that I'm incredibly lucky to be a member of this family.  We have a two-level 4br, 3ba house within a gated family compound, I have a large bedroom with a ton of closet space, it has a full bed, several reliable electrical outlets, a desk, WiFi, and my own bathroom.  I'm also about a ten minute walk from the center of town, and three blocks to the bus stop.  This may look primitive through a first-world lens, but some of my colleagues are in homes that lack internet, has just one bathroom for the whole family, and/or the volunteer bedroom resembles a large closet with a mattress. 

My day with the Hidalgo’s begins at 0630, and breakfast is on the table by the time I emerge from my shower around 7ish.  Breakfast is usually an egg (hard-boiled or fried), some fruit, a piece of bread, and fresh juice.  Juice is a staple of Ecuadorian culture, and this isn't just a glass of Minute-Made or Ocean Spray.  In fact, one of the first things everybody buys for their kitchen is a blender.  My morning juices have varied from something that resembles cold apple cider, a frothy strawberry concoction, and what I’m convinced is a banana milkshake without the ice cream.  I'm always out the door by 0730 to catch the 0750 bus to our training compound.  The four mile bus ride from Tumbaco to "school" in Collaqui is a daily adventure that makes single-track sharing on DC Metro’s Orange Line seem luxurious.  Most often, the bus is already packed when it picks us up, and if I can get more than one foot on-board as we pull-off...then it's going to be a good day.  Not to alarm you, but that last sentence is not hyperbole.  More often than not, I ride with at least one leg, one buttcheek, or one arm hanging out the door as the only thing keeping me from a tuck-and-roll situation is a metal bar, or another gringo holding onto a metal bar.  Yet, Peace Corps policy prohibits us from riding motorbikes or in the back of a pickup truck…weird.  Training involves an 8-9 hour day of highly intensive and supremely structured culture acclimation.  I’ll spare the details of that for now, because my next post will be a deep dive into the training portion of my service.  When our exhausted day hits 1700 hours, we all typically make the 5-6 km walk from Collaqui back to Tumbaco along the Ciclo Via, which is a non-vehicular path cut through the Pinchinca countryside.  By the time I make it home around 1830, I have enough time to check some emails before dinner, after which I'll probably spend a couple hours studying, and then the night is capped off with family conversation around the table with cafe and pan (coffee and bread).

Despite having every minute planned out Monday through Friday, mi familia has made amazing efforts to show me Ecuador.  On my first weekend, Mama Roci, Carla, and Sonia (a family friend) took me into Quito's colonial district...which was absolutely gorgeous!  We walked the cobblestone La Ronda and toured Ecuador's Presidential Palace.  On that tour it was very easy to see the role of Catholicism within Ecuadorian culture, as just off of the state dining room sets a very obvious and ornate Catholic alter/chapel.  The strength of Catholicism is further displayed by a lot of Ecuadorians surface dismissal of any Christian faith other than theirs.  Now, I don't think this perception is rooted in evil or hatred; rather it is derived from confusion.  When I asked my host mom on our first Saturday if we would be going to church the following morning, she asked if I was Catholic.  My response, "No, I'm Protestant.”  She was then blown away that I wanted to go to church, and wondered why.  In her mind, in that moment, protestant me didn’t like Jesus and ignored the Virgin Mary.  Her reactionary interrogation included my adoration for Jesus Christ, the significance of fully-submerged baptism, a child’s eternity since devotion and salvation is dependent on a person's own response, why we Mary's story isn’t promoted more, and so on.  It really came down to me putting my English NKJV Bible directly beside her Spanish Bible, her confirming that they indeed matched up, and her acknowledgment the different understandings of our same faith were rooted in the same text.  The next morning I experienced my first Ecuadorian Catholic service, and I think me putting some money in the offering went a long way to smooth things over.  As a side note, the Catholics do offering right.  Rather than an open plate, which makes your level of tithing obvious to your neighbors, a velvet bag on a stick (similar to a hobo carry-on) is extended down the pew and everyone submerges their hand just into the bag and drops their offering.  I was also very surprised at how casual the service was.  It was like the LifeChurch (OKC reference) of Quito.  I mean the Christmas Eve service that Andrea and I went to in Tulsa was full-on pomp and circumstance, and that was my expectation for this service.  I’m not going to lie, I was a little disappointed.  They sing though!  Boy, do they sing!  They even broke out into a spanish rendition of "Battle Hymn of the Republic".  Even though the song was adapted to link the American Civil War with Revelations’ judgment of the wicked, I’ve never heard it in a church setting…and this is coming from a guy who grew up surrounded by Civil War battlefields.  So once I settled down from Ecuador’s tribute to Abe Lincoln, it came time to cross ourselves.  In addition to the conventional north-south-east-west crossing of your forehead and chest, they did one cross that I swear needed an instruction manual.  They went forehead, lips, back to the forehead, chin, chest, lips, chest, and it kept going.  I'm not sure whether I should've done the hokey pokey or stolen second base.  It was intense. 

The priest is a very young and energetic man, he freely walks through the aisles during the sermon; which is a challenge considering that the pews are full, people are standing ten-deep against the back wall, and all of the children are sitting in miniature plastic lawn chairs right at the steps of the stage....there's even a moment where all the children are invited up and the priest places his hands on each of them.  Interesting.  Just a piece of advice for all of you non-Catholic Christians who may find yourself in a Catholic church, when it's time to receive communion: DON'T GO!  I swear I would've gotten less weird looks if I had walked into the sanctuary dressed like Marilyn Manson.  My experience within the church wasn't as traumatic as a colleague's, though.  On the first night with his family, this young man (who identifies as an atheist) was taken to a movie at his family's church.  Little did he know, it was a very graphic "you're going to hell" type of flick.  I didn't know Hollywood had taken Dante's Divine Comedy to the big screen, but either way, there it was.  I can imagine it to be the equivalent of America's fear-based theology, which revolves seeking salvation this instant because the world will probably end in the next instant.  Just my opinion, but I'm a man of faith because I choose to sprint towards the love and grace of God rather than run away from the damnation and fires of hell...but again, that's just me.  Back to my colleagues, though. 

I said at the outset of this post, that I now have two new families.  One is the Hidalgo's; the other, Omnibus 111.  Seriously, these twenty-nine dedicated humanitarians are amazing people, if for no other reason than they chose to sacrifice two years of their lives to impact those within the developing world.  Having spent pretty much every day and night together for a month now, I can certainly say that we are family.  We are a diverse, passionate, vibrant, dedicated, fun group...and I honestly don't know if I would’ve survived the last four weeks without them.  There are new grads, young professionals, a middle-aged PhD, and retirees.  We come from Puerto Rico, the mid-Atlantic, the Great Lakes, Texas, Southern California, Northern California, the Pacific NW, Hawaii, and Alaska.  Some are devout believers, others are non-believers.  Some come here to teach English, others come to bring environmental and economic assistance to ignored villages.  I am so very proud to say that Peace Corps Ecuador Omnibus 111 (PC/E OMN111) is the perfect cross-section representation of the United States of America, and there isn't a better group to carry our star-spangled banner into a foreign country in the hopes of peace and prosperity.  It's almost comical at how harmonious we have been.  In a month, the only disagreements are where we wanted to do dinner, or what time to meet for the bus.  Seriously.  When's the last time you took a diverse group of thirty, put them together for four weeks and had zero issues?  Much less doing all that away from their comfortable lives and loved ones, while learning a new language, adapting to a new culture, and being constantly watched by everyone in our community (the gringo fishbowl effect is real, yall). 

Some of the highlights so far from OMN 111…  About half the group visited Mitad del Mundo a few weeks ago.  For those of you with spotty Spanish, it is the site about 15 km north of Quito that marks the equator’s passage through Ecuador.  Well, or so they would like you to think.  Mitad del Mundo is a very touristy village with a prominent monument and yellow line at its center, marking zero-degrees latitude.  Sounds cool, right?  If only it actually marked zero-degrees latitude.  Hundreds of years ago, European settlers decided on the equator being on this tract of land, and since then it has been the quintessential tourist stop; however, in the late 90's, GPS shot that all to pieces.  The actual mark for zero-degrees latitude is about 3km away from Mitad del Mundo.  If only those silly Euros had a robotic feminine voice telling it to turn left in .25 miles.  It was cool though, even if just symbolically, to stand with a foot in each hemisphere was significant.  After roaming around Ecuador’s version of South Of The Border, only those of you who have traveled I-95 through the Carolina’s will get that reference, we loaded onto our bus and hiked a few km's to Pululagua.  Pululagua is a now-dormant volcano that offers some of the best views mountain views I have ever seen.  Just to give you an example of the different subclimates within Ecuador, at Mitad del Mundo it was 90 and sunny, a few miles and twenty minutes later at the Pululagua crater, it was in the low 50's and rainy.  Most of the group decided to hike the steep and rocky path into the valley below, but with that old hiking attage of "what goes down must come back up" in the back of my mind, I decided to keep my perch and enjoy the view.  I mean really, I've been struggling with altitude my entire time here, and being medivac'ed out of this crater because my surgically-repaired heart exploded was not the Saturday afternoon I was looking for.  So Rachel (my Spanish partner from El Paso) and I spent the hour or so literally sitting amongst the clouds, and felt damn good about it when we watched our compadres return to the top.  I mean some of these folks are in amazing shape, and they were totally struggling...yea, I would've blacked-out for sure.

There are so many other amazing experiences I can share within these first four weeks: Super Bowl Sunday, our habitual Friday night dinner and beer group dates, and killing a turkey for a family bbq are all Top-10 play nominees.  With that though, this entry has just exceeded 2,600 words, and I still need to eat dinner and get some work done!

A quick note about photos: my WiFi connection is super spotty here, so they're unable to upload to Blogspot, but I'll try this weekend to get a Flickr account lined-up.  In the meantime, they're all visible on my FB page and on my FB Photo Albums page.

!Chao chao!

!Bienvenidos!

!Bienvenidos!  We've been getting that a lot this week, and for all of you back en los estados (the states) it means, "Welcome!"




As Brent Musburger would say, "You are looking live at Tumbaco, Ecuador...some 9,000 feet above sea level."  Yea, let that one sink in for a few minutes...we'll come to it later.  Well, how did we get here?




Last Monday night, after an amazing day seeing old friends at Hampden-Sydney, and an hour of ripping through boxes in my storage unit to find out where the OKC movers packed that one specific Under Armor base layer, I began cramming 27 months’ worth into a duffle, a weekend hiking pack, and a conventional backpack.  Peace Corps allows for two checked bags (totally 100 lbs, but no more than 50 lbs in one), and a carry-on (which is to contain clothes and hygiene items for three days).  Considering Tumbaco (a suburb of Quito) has mornings and evenings in the 50's and afternoons in the 80's, everything from Smartwool socks to a bathing suit wound up in one of my three bags.  I also managed to fit a blazer, three pocket squares and matching ties (insert your snarky "yuppy" response here), six pairs of shoes, a tent, a sleeping bag, full-sized sheets, a pillow, two bath towels, a Ralph Lauren Polo quarter-zip (second opportunity for snarky response), AND a laptop!




After a brief wait at the Lynchburg airport, I was off! I think it hit me when I switched planes in Charlotte, but this was my first time with a morning layover in which I didn't have a Bloody Mary.  I figured the funding for that $12 beverage would be better saved.  Yup, we're not quite to full impoverished humanitarian status, but we're most definitely not in Kansas anymore, Toto.




So two hours later I was in a Miami hotel ballroom with twenty-nine complete strangers, who would be my strongest support system for the next twenty-seven months.  This is what Peace Corps calls "staging".  It's really an afternoon of Peace Corps 101 with ice-breaking activities.  Most of them are really elementary and cheesy, but I guess it worked because we all left there with a pretty good feel for the identity of our group.  This would be affirmed over the following days, but it's a group of dedicated and smart people who truly have a heart for service and a motivation to impact.  I'm blessed and honored to be working beside them.  Together we are Peace Corps Ecuador Omnibus 111 - or, PC/E OMN 111!  Oddly enough, probably half of the group either came from California or Big Ten Country (aka the Great Lakes states).  There is one guy from Virginia, a Mary Washington grad, but none from Oklahoma.  Fasten your seatbelts OKC, but just for the sake of variety, I may claim you as my own.  After we were team-built out, we hit the hot Miami town Tuesday night...err, well, we went to the tapas restaurant in walking distance from the airport hotel.  Our evening plans may have lacked curb appeal, but it was great to sit with each other and share our first meal of many.  It really is true that relationships are built around the table.







During staging I was designated the group leader for documentation, thus, at the airport on Wednesday morning, I literally held the access cards of thirty brilliant and inspired people in my hands.  Within this yellow envelope were everyone's Peace Corps passport, temporary Ecuadorian visa, and airline tickets to Quito.  As if getting me and my 100 lbs of luggage to the airport for an international flight that would locate my life to another continent wasn't stressful enough, I was responsible for the immediate future of the entire omnibus.  Luckily enough everything went smoothly and, after a three hour wait and a five hour flight, we officially became expats.




Stepping off the plane was strange.  Honestly, I had been on longer domestic flights, but we most certainly were no longer in los estados.  Bibi, our training manager, and Giovanny, our master trainer, met us at the airport and loaded us onto the bus for the 45 minute ride to the training center in Tumbaco, a suburb just east of Quito.  This would be the last happy moment of a night that is easily in the top-3 worst of my life!




After arriving in Tumbaco, everybody was excited to see what our home for the next twelve weeks would be like.  Apparently, my excitement wasn't as persistent as that of mi companeros.  Everything conspired to just smack me right in the face that night.  As I began organizing my thoughts for this post, it was 4am (same time as US east coast, no daylight savings in EC) and I couldn't sleep because the satanic nocturnal roosters in our neighborhoods practice their American Idol auditions from 0100 to sunrise, and beyond.  To be fair to the devil cocks though, it was the dog fight in our complex that actually awoke me from my half-assed attempt at slumber.  The resident lady who takes care of the complex has three schnauzers, and I would like to think they were fighting over who got first crack at putting los pollos out of their misery.  So after a day of stressful international travel, I got about 40 minutes of sleep.  In addition, I also had some serious third world adaptation issues.  Mi companeros thought our accommodations were fantastic (and honestly, I came around after a day or so), but in that moment of entry into the developing world, I thought I had seen better rooms at a $29/nt highway motel in west Tennessee.  Really though, it was perfect for the setting and I appreciate all of the hospitality of the staff there.  Looking back to that night, if having the week that followed was my pay-off, then it was well worth it!  Note to future PCV's: don't let the final month in the U.S. include a VIP week at Bellagio and a weekend tour of the finest restaurants in Washington, and then expect a seamless transition into your new life.  Plus, all of these #FirstWorldProblems were set against the backdrop of legitimate altitude sickness. If Denver, the Mile High City, sets at 5,280 ft. above sea level, Quito is then the Two Mile High City.  Depending on where you stand, it measures anywhere between 9,000-10,000 feet.  For a kid from the Appalachians (approx. 2500-3500 ft.), that poses some major issues.  I couldn't breathe, my sinuses were exploding, my head was pounding, and I was instantly dehydrated.  The symptoms subsided over the next couple of days but to illustrate, everybody had to take breath and water breaks every four minutes when playing basketball one night.  I know most of you watched the NFL Championship Games while I'm typing this, but if beating the Broncos at home is difficult enough, then be glad Tom Brady doesn't have to lace 'em up in Tumbaco.




So that's all of my spoiled yuppy gringo whining...for now.  After just a week in-country, I know a few things for certain: my colleagues are dedicated, our support staff is committed, our training is intensive, and our mission is true.  Thursday and Friday were action packed days.  I had no idea that our support staff was at large as it is.  There are 17 people whose fulltime job over the next twelve weeks is to ensure that we are adequately prepared to go into Ecuador to fulfill our purpose.  I'll fill you in on the in's and out's of our training in another post...maybe this weekend.




One of the highlights of my first week most certainly had to be the trail that we all discovered behind our training center.  Well, first about the training center.  It's a walled compound just north of downtown Tumbaco.  It has a central building, basketball/soccer court, courtyard, and a ton of space out back for agricultural training.  The building contains all of the offices for the Peace Corps staff, the language & culture facilitators, and the Peace Corps Medical Officer (PCMO) quarters, as well as sufficient classroom space and dorms for all trainees (plus some).  The courtyard is filled with some of the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen, the lilies in the courtyard are ginormous, and there is a rooftop that offers a spectacular 360-degree view of the valley.  Okay, back to the trail.  One afternoon after training we all decided to go for a walk on what seemed to be an abandoned railroad path cut through the landscape.  The trail extends for kilometers, from the canyon at the northern end of the town, into downtown Tumbaco, and points beyond.  Entering the trail on our maiden voyage was somewhat intimidating as it looked like walking through the gates of Narnia, and after probably a half-mile walk down a cavernous path, it opened up to the most spectacular canyon!  It instantly dropped hundreds of feet to the river beneath us, and before we knew it, we were walking along this rock face, looking down at a tree canopy that was the lushest I've seen, and looking up to realize that we literally were walking amongst the clouds.  I certainly am very blessed to be living in this part of the Andes, for at least these next three months.




After spending three days at the training center, we all met our Tumbaco host families on Saturday morning.  Understandably, there was some anxiety palpitating throughout the group.  Everything turned out amazingly though, and I'm excited to introduce you to the Hidalgo's in my next post!




Monday morning was my first day commuting to the training center on the bus, and it honestly felt like the first day of school.  Sunday night mi mama walked me to the stop just to rehearse so I didn't get lost, and I awoke on Monday morning with my lunch packed (by mi mama and it was waiting for me on the kitchen counter), my bookbag on, and I was out the door!  The 5-6 km bus ride was, umm, interesting.  I would love to show you a photo, but honestly, I was too busy hanging on for dear life. I am not at all exaggerating (and I'll probably get a nasty email if the Peace Corps safety officer reads this), but I was literally hanging out the door for the first kilometer.  The bus was so packed, that there was seriously only sufficient room for me to get one foot on the bottom step, grab what little real estate was left on the handle bar, and hold on as tight as I could.  After a similar experience on Tuesday, I took a different tact this morning.  Leaving the house fifteen minutes earlier allows me to walk the 4 blocks to the bus stop in sufficient time to catch the "early bus" that is relatively empty, and is only carrying school children.  It was a much more pleasant experience.  The return commute back into town has quickly become one of my favorite experiences of this whole first week. Typically a group of 12-15 of us will set out on that same canyon trail (the opposite direction takes you back to town though) and head home, and that 3-4 mile walk puts to shame any organized team-building activity.  For instance, tonight, we all got to the main cross street in town (Gonzalo Pazzaro), realized we had some time, so we went into the little store, bought a $1 beer, a $.15 croissant, and proceeded to have happy hour.  There we were, a dozen gringos sitting on the curb of some street corner in the Andean town of Tumbaco, Ecuador, without a worry in the world. 




I think this Friday night a big group of us is planning to go rock climbing at a gym in downtown Tumbaco, then to have dinner and a few drinks after our first incredibly stressful week. It's been a helluva week!  There's been up's and down's, laughter and frustration (mostly in the language classes or with the Peace Corps policies), but I'm so happy to be able to have this experience in such a stunning masterpiece of nature, within an amazingly vibrant culture, and alongside the best team I could imagine.  I'm sure there will be tough days.  I'm actually guaranteeing it.  Luckily enough, my digestion issues have been non-existent (all we eat is rice, bread, and fresh produce), and most of my struggle has just been transitioning from my very yuppy lifestyle to broke expat life...and that transition is very slow.  I'll come around though.




I'm pretty sure you can now enter your email address at the top of the page, and be notified whenever there is a blog updated...if you're so inclined.  I should also be adding some informational tabs, along with a very official disclaimer.  Not to worry Washington and Quito, I haven't forgotten.  Stay tuned guys.  It's going to be a helluva ride.




!Chao!


(PS: I have a ton of photos, but the WiFi connection is too slow to handle uploading them.  I'll try to get them up in the next day or two!)