Amateur Encounters with Mountains

Just to be clear: I am referring to myself when I say "amateur." I grew up in Cleveland, where the biggest mountains were landfills and the most thrilling outdoor adventures to be had involved tunneling out of the house on winter mornings. My hiking partner last weekend, none other than Latacunga-based Fulbrighter Chandra, moved past "amateur" ranking long ago. She was patient with me. Here's a brief overview of our Mt. Iliniza hiking weekend:

Day 1, 2pm: After two bus rides and a thirty minute wait on the side of a highway, we arrive at a lovely hostel in El Chaupi, Ecuador. It is about 2 hours from my house in Ambato. Our goal for the weekend to get to the top of Iliniza North, a volcano we can see in the distance. In the hostel lobby, a large, rambunctious group of Eastern European climbers are sharing a bottle of whiskey. Eastern Europeans apparently don't like to wear pants very much.

2:30 pm: We drop our things in our room (warm clothes, large quantities of peanut butter, GRE study materials for Chandra) and look for the hostel owner, who has promised to drive us to the foot of the mountain so we can begin climbing. We would like to reach the refuge by nightfall, so that we can stay there overnight and do the final summit early the following morning.

3:30-6 pm: Vladimir informs us that the weather is terrible, and there has just been a tragedy on the mountain. Although the Ilinizas are usually NOT very dangerous mountains, we won't be able to do the final summit without equipment (ice picks and such) and a guide. We give up our dreams of reaching the peak, but decide to stay the night and hike to the refuge in the morning. We take a long walk around the countryside, and run into some unattended alpacas.

Day 2, 6:30 am: The weather has completely turned around. From just outside the hostel, we can see the sun rising over Volcano Cotopaxi.

7:30 am: The Iliniza Mountains (Iliniza North is on the right, Iliniza South on the left) on the morning of our hike.

8 am: We catch a ride to the foot of the Ilinizas with a Swiss man, who has driven this SUV from Alaska. Yes, Alaska. Like where Chandra is from. He is a pretty incredible man. Cotopaxi is mesmerizing and continues to dominate the countryside.

9:30 am: About 1/4 of the way to the mountain refuge. The first wave of altitude sickness hits me, hard. My vision blurs, I spend about 20 minutes sitting and trying not to barf while Chandra offers a pep talk. I never consider turning back, but I realize I'll need to do this at snails pace or risk passing out.

10:30 am: About 1/3 of the way up to the mountain refuge. Those are Chandra's ski poles, which significantly help the hiking endeavor.

11 am: We encounter packs of wild bulls at various points during the hike. This is by far the scariest part of the day, since these are notoriously dangerous animals. We reroute.

1 pm: We reach the Iliniza refuge, which was our goal.

The view from the refuge. That's the first snow I've touched since leaving Ohio. And those are clouds... below us.

1:30 pm: Inside the refuge, an Ecuadorian family and their mountain guide is cooking lunch and invites me to join. I wonder how the 10 year old made it up the mountain. I pass on their lunch for my mushy PB+J, mostly because Chandra and I want to get back down the mountain before the rain/snow/cold comes. I notice that the people who signed the refuge guestbook the previous day were from Canton, Ohio.

4pm: We get lost going down the mountain. We find ourselves again, nearly miss some wild bulls, and finally reach the bottom. There are no cars leaving the mountain, so we begin another 8ish kilometer walk to the hostel, completely exhausted and in the middle of nowhere. After 90 minutes, a car drives past and picks us up. It is an Ecuadorian couple. The woman asks us what we're doing in Ecuador, and we mention Fulbright in passing. She tells us in perfect English that she is a former Fulbrighter.... she got her MA in Environmental Planning from Yale. There are probably 200 current/former Fulbrighters (either Ecuadorian or American) in this entire country right now, so it was probably the strangest coincidence of all time.

7 pm: Back in Ambato in bed. My entire body hurts for the next 3 days, but it was completely worth it.

New Camera's First Steps

I finally have a camera. All electronics in Ecuador are imported/ absurdly expensive, so I spent 3 1/2 months pouting and staring longingly at my old camera's screen-of-death before purchasing a new one. My amigo Raaj saved the day by bringing me a new one from the States. Here are some semi-pointless pictures I took while testing it out:

While other finalists to Emory's PhD program in Anthropology were flown to Atlanta this weekend to interview with faculty members, I had my interview via Skype in this bedroom. My face was awkwardly projected into a classroom. I wore a collared shirt and sweatpants.

Driving past Quito's airport, which is treacherously situated in the middle of one of the busiest parts of the city. Planes hit houses every few years, making it one of the most dangerous airports in the world. The government has been building a new airport, arguing about it, running out of money, and re-starting building for several years now.

Old-town Quito. Beautiful colonial architecture; unique topological features; high crime.

Facebook Pet Peeves

Disclaimer: I'm not directly targeting your Facebook usage patterns (don't send hate mail!). You can read about other people's Facebook pet peeves here and here.

1. Using Facebook as the Exclusive Way to Make Contact and/or Communicate Important Things: I have 1,027 Facebook friends. When you write on my wall, 1,027 people have the option of seeing it. In terms of communication, I consider that the equivalent of shouting across a crowded mall. Don't get me wrong...I love when people write on my wall. It makes me feel loved, and more importantly, proves to the public that other people love me (important to my online identity construction). But Facebook doesn't exactly communicate "I care about you deeply" or cultivate the trust/intimacy important to real-life relationships.

I appreciate Facebook for disseminating the mundane and hilarious, as well as the superficial connections it preserves. It can be leveraged for things of importance (like special announcements, or consciousness-raising) in certain, carefully-thought-out ways. Other things just deserve a phonecall. Or a blog.

2. Abuse of the "like" and "meta-like" buttons: When used properly, the "like" button becomes a sort of internet nod-- a way of saying, "yeah, I saw this, and even though I'm too lazy to write an actual comment, I appreciate it showing up on my mini-feed." But the more recent feature of being able to "like" individual comments-- what I have deemed the "meta-like"-- is almost never permissible in my opinion. In particular, I dislike when people have entire conversations through Facebook comments, mutually "liking" every single thing the other person says. I present the following short exchange as evidence:

In this example, person M initiates conversation by writing on Person A's wall. Person A "likes" this, since he/she likes EVERYTHING anyone writes on his/her wall (thus devaluing the "like" button, in my assessment). Person A writes a response, which Person M then "meta-likes"-- as if the fact that he/she just said "I adore you" can't be validated unless a meta-like occurs. Although I consider myself a forward-thinking progressive, I implore Zuckerman & company to remove the meta-like. I also ask my Facebook friends to consider reserving "like" for things you appreciate in a special way.

3. Overuse of caps lock and/or exclamation points: I perceive this as screaming, and I'm not a big proponent of screaming. Comments that might warrant exceptions to the all caps/multiple exclamation points rule include, "I JUST WON 16.3 MILLION DOLLARS IN THE LOTTERY!!!!!" and "THERE IS A HUGE TSUNAMI HEADED IN THE DIRECTION OF OUR CITY!!!!!" 

Acceptable phototags (I am present).

4. Being tagged in photos that aren't actually photos of me: When I get a notification that someone has tagged me in a picture, I am simultaneously filled with dread and excitement. I love looking at other people's pictures, especially when I might appear (the internet cultivates a kind of self-obsession, doesn't it?). Dread because roughly 50% of the tagged photos are unsuitable for the light of day or just plain unflattering. That said, I feel extreme (seriously irrational) disappointment when I get a tag notification and it turns out to be a party invitation, an e-card, a shameless marketing campaign, etc. Huge let-down.

5. Excessive expressions of love and happiness through status updates: Excessive online perkiness kills me, because it reads as false. I agree that love is a special thing, and, as your friend, am pleased that you are bubbling over with joy. But you needn't notify the world every time you and your partner share a special moment together.

Love in the time of Facebook.

Peripheral/ Beloved Characters

 Character (noun): While they may be minor figures to outsiders viewing Kim's "real" life, characters are of central importance in her action-packed, half-imaginary inner narrative. They are judged according to one or two defining traits. Characters tend to be either beloved or despised (grey area is reserved for people with whom actual relationships are built). In this installment, I bring you a few of my most beloved characters:

1. Leonardo the Laundromat Owner (or Ecuadorian Mister Rogers): Leonardo is the soft-spoken grandfather who owns a laundromat 3 blocks from my apartment. He is also known as "Ecuadorian Mr. Rogers" for his kind demeanor and impressive assortment of wool knit cardigans. Each Monday afternoon, when I bring him a stack of clothes that smell like equator sweat, chlorine and second-hand smoke, he greets me with a smile and a warm "Hola Senorita Kimberly!" Then he gives me every cent of the money which fell out of my pockets in the dryer during the previous load. Growing up, the rule in my house was that if someone else had to remove your clothes from the dryer, they were entitled to whatever bills were left behind. This provided motivation to do your own damn laundry. Also, to be clear: I HAVE figured out how to use the concrete pit to wash clothes by hand. However, it turns out I'm too lazy to do so. I do not feel guilty since I am supporting Leonardo's business, which, by the way, is decorated like a preschool classroom. Sometimes I imagine Henrietta Pussycat herself in the back washing my underwear.

I never claimed to be a photoshop expert.

2. Short Shorts Dude at Bakery: A block from Leonardo's laundromat-of-love, I frequent a bakery and pay 50 cents for a delicious loaf of bread made approximately an hour before my arrival. If I am lucky, Short Shorts Dude will be there to serve me the bread. SSD's family appears to own the bakery, but SSD himself seems more committed to soccer than baked goods. He is constantly sporting very short Umbros, a grass-stained jersey, flip-flops, and a playful attitude-- not really something you see everyday in ultra-conservative, chilly Ambato. To be fair, he does have extremely impressive thighs that deserve to see the light of day. I often linger on the white versus wheat decision in the hopes that Short Shorts Dude, young and wedding-ring-less, will cease to be a character by making a crucial move into the "acquaintance zone." My carbohydrate intake has gone through the roof.

3. Children on the First Floor Who Are Terrified of Me:

Proof that I don't terrify all Ecuadorian children.

There is a family that lives on the first floor of my house. The family includes multiple young children and young cousins-of-those-children, all of whom enjoy playing loud games in our front gated area between the hours of 2-4 pm. Since I like children as long as they are not my responsibility whatsoever, I wave and try to initiate friendly contact whenever I pass by. At the sight of me, they-- without fail-- scream and run inside the house. Once inside, they promtly peek their eyes through the curtains, watch me open/close the gate, and make sure I am at a safe distance before reemerging and resuming their game. Although I initially thought they were just nervous around strangers, I have lived here for three months and once-- only once-- gotten so far as a quiet "hola" out of any of them. I am a bit offended, but they remain beloved because I am hopeful we will be friends some day.

Adjustment, Home, and Anthropology

Ambato,  or the left side of my terrace

(i have been writing about and pondering some of these ideas for well over a year-- hoping to do them a tiny bit of justice in one tiny blog post):

I am hardly ever shocked when I walk out my front door anymore. Volcano erupting in the distance? Yup. Ten year old selling me chocolate on the bus to support his sick mother? Avoid eye contact. Armed guard watching a robbery occur, instead of stopping it? That sucks.

I assume the lack-of-surprise is a normal consequence of spending 8 months living/working in Ecuador, as well as a few years researching Ecuadorian cultures and politics. This is my real life (normal, slightly boring), not a vacation (absolutely thrilling!) or some sort of self-congratulatory challenge to overcome ("I am adventurous and bilingual and awesome and learning SO MUCH!"). The vast majority of days I simply get up, drink coffee, work, pay bills, and hang out with my friends. Probably what I would be doing in the States.

Childhood tree in Cleveland, Ohio

I'm beginning to identify as a resident of Ambato instead of a perpetually culture-shocking student. This has added a new dimension to my interest in "home" as a concept-- both cultural (in my research) and personal (in shaping my own identity). Let's start with this conversation, which I have at least 2x/week:

Random Eucadorian (usually a cab driver): So where do you live?

Me: I live in Ambato.

Person: No, no, but where are you from?

Me: The United States.

Person: Where?

Me: I was born in Cleveland. My family lives in South Carolina.

Person: So are you from South Carolina or Cleveland? 

Me: Both. Actually... neither. I think I might be from Virginia.

Person: But when you return to the United States, where is your home? Where will you live?

Kim: ... I don't know the answer to either of those.

"Ecos en el Muro," Enrique Estuardo Alvarez

I frustrate people. Ecuadorians want me to claim a place that is not Ecuador-- that is other-- so they can understand why my Spanish is a bit off, and perhaps recommend tourist destinations to me. Likewise, people in the United States want me to claim a singular locale as "home." They want to ask "where are you from?" and get the same answer every time. Yet I remain perplexed-- what is the socially correct definition of "home": Where I was born (Cleveland)? Where my sister is buried (Newport News)? Where my family lives (South Carolina)? Where I live now (Ecuador)? Are we counting my most recent four years in college (Granville), or was that just a stopover?

In one of my favorite self-relexive anthropological texts ever-- The Vulnerable Observer-- Professor Ruth Behar illustrates how struggles for "home" are at the heart of many anthropologists' intellectual and personal endeavors (and how the intellectual/personal divide is totally false). They straddle borders. They often had childhoods of movement which prepare them for “the professional rituals of displacement that are at the heart of anthropology” (21). They go elsewhere, but eventually end up "confront(ing) the self who observes" no matter how far they travel.

"Quito de la nube negra," Guayasamin, 1987

Clearly, I'm an outsider here in Ecuador (I'm also not an anthropologist yet). There are days when I feel so outside-- SO other-- that I can hardly understand how I ended up here or what right I have to be doing research here. However, there are lots more days when everything just is. Totally normal...normally awesome, normally tragic... like a home.

Along with the satisfaction of adjustment (theories of culture shock might put me at the final stage), I admit to feeling a bit stagnant-- almost guilty-- about adjusting. My research questions are changing, but I'm not sure how. I don't get angry about the same things. Often, I find myself overlooking the suffering and poverty that saturates this place. I travel and don't notice mountains that once literally brought me to tears. I'm certain this has significant implications for both my personal life and the direction of my research (again, not that those are terribly different). I can't, however, say what that direction is yet.

And next year's words await another voice

Both of my parents are now blogging. While we recognize that few people care, this confirms that, as Lewis', we also believe we have things worth saying. Here they are:

Marcia's One New Thing, wherein she remembers a friend who recently died of cancer by committing to learn/do/experience something new every day in 2011. This allows her to write about topics as varied as pre-Ecuador elliptical training, to our family fish Orangy-McOrangy-Pants (and the occasional fish baby massacres that occur in our tank).

Jim's Visionary Gleam, wherein he reconciles former identities as an "English major, poet, aspiring novelist and teacher" with current undertakings as a school administrator and gardener. And, in his first blog post, discusses the prospects for teaching the French Revolution through Lady Gaga.

Electronic Holidays

Sophie

I officially survived my first Holiday season away from home. It appears Christmas does go on, even if I'm not partaking in the many where-did-this-even-come-from Lewis family rituals. It didn't feel the same. But I still had some pretty great bonding time with friends/stand-in family here in Ambato.

Me

I consider Skype a miracle for anyone living in-between or far-away.The highlight of Christmas Day was opening presents with my family via webcam. Calling home and seeing your dog's nose pushed up against the computer can seriously take the edge off homesickness. And what fun is it to give a present if you don't get to see the other person open it? Or at least have the opportunity to defend your choice (I'm telling you Dad, people are going to LOVE the llama design on that sweater)?

Jenny

I was in good company during my electronically-mediated holidays. About 10% of all Ecuadorians have migrated out of the country (that's almost 2 million people). Everyone here has someone close to them working abroad. In Ambato, I've met at least 3 of my friend's family members via webcam-- I've been Skyped into Miami, L.A., and New Jersey in the last week. At midnight on New Years Eve, Marco and I went into the streets to watch the fireworks and dolls burning (...another blog post). A friend held her laptop up to the chaos in the streets. On the screen was an Ecuadorian woman sitting in her Los Angeles apartment, waving and crying. It reminded me I wasn't the only one trying to make sense of the Holidays away from home.

Fiestas de Navidad and Some Good People

Today I feel very lucky. Although the last few weeks have not been the easiest (I was mugged at knifepoint, then I was robbed in a taxi, then I got homesick, then I started to question what I'm doing here), my friends and family here in Ecuador have totally carried me through. As I prepare to spend my first Christmas away from my parents and sisters, I am trying not to dwell on what is far away. I have a lot close by.

Holiday parties have taken on a new level of importance since I'm away from my family. I'll highlight two of the best. First, Chandra hosted a cocktail party for all the Fulbrighters in Ecuador last weekend. About half of us traveled to Latacunga for potentially the most American thing to ever hit highland Ecuador. AMAZING. Cultural exchange is great, but I think anyone who has lived abroad for an extended period of time would agree it's sometimes necessary to speak your first language, eat familiar food, and jam to your tunes.

 Chandra's face says it all. At the end of the day, we're lucky people.

The spread: deviled eggs (...my suggestion, making the Lewis' proud), sweet potato fries, hummus, bread, guacamole, cookies, sangria.

From left: Shannon (studying Afro-Ecuadorian culture in Quito), Lindsay (English Teaching Assistant in Cuenca, her research is about special education), Maria (making a film about sex trafficking in Quito), and Chris (Maria's Husband, our favorite Fulbright "dependent" currently in Ecuador).

 

Dancing. Age range 2- 65.

Me and Raaj. Raaj studies parasites and other gross things in Quito and Esmeraldas, but he just returned from a slew of med school interviews in the good ol USA.

And second, I hosted a little Christmas fiesta in my apartment Wednesday. It was a notably less classy occasion than Chandra's, featuring jeans, pizza, beer and some serious reggeaton beats. And here you thought I left college. Although I only had enough chairs for 1/2 the people who attended (I own 5), my completely empty apartment makes for an excellent dance floor. And don't scoff, dancing is serious business here. I don't think I've ever been to an Ecuadorian party where there wasn't a (usually multi-generational) dance session. Love it.

Marco is one of my best friends here. He is also my neighbor. Also my brother. I'm spending Christmas Day with his family.

Some amigos. That's happiness written on my face.

And finally, I swear I actually am a teaching assistant. This is one of my classes-- 5th semester English students (juniors)-- in the lobby of our building. You'll locate me in the back row next to Marco. They invited me to their Christmas party, which featured a slew of speeches, some tears, and beautiful expressions of gratitude and wisdom. I wish I could transplant Ecuadorians' overflowing, no-holds-barred affection and honesty into my home culture.

Enjoy the Holidays, everyone.

Changing and Not

 

Quito Barney, Dec. 2008

 

Cuenca Barney, Dec. 2010

Jamie, Sophie & I, Quito, Nov. 2008

Amanda, Raaj & I, Latacunga, Dec. 2010

Despite what the above photos might indicate, my 2010 Ecualife is really nothing like its 2008 precursor. This time around I'm living on my own, driving my own classes and my own projects, traveling less--but meeting more people-- and starting to call a little city home. Plus a lot has happened in the past two years; even when I see similar things, I don't perceive them in quite the same way.

And yet.... I still think the plethora of bubble-blowing Barneys in this country is hilarious and absurd (key difference: 2010 Barney is totally grabbing my butt, hence the novel expression). I still have a community of peers to host English-language social hours every once in awhile (key difference: drinking white wine in '08 and red in '10). There's comfort in repetition. And probably more comfort when you're in a foreign place.

"Experience isn’t interesting until it begins to repeat itself, in fact, till it does that, it hardly is experience." (Elizabeth Bowen).

Catchup Part 1 (Volcano and Census)

BBC picture- I'm further away, but this is what I see.

 No, I have not been buried in lava. Only grad school applications (worse?). But now 5 out of 6 "submit" buttons have been hit, I'm down a few hundred $ in application fees, and ready to start typing about something other than future research plans. Before I fill you in on personal news, here are two news-worthy things from Ecuador that have happened in the past month:

<-- Volcan Tunguraha began erupting again in late November. I mentioned Tungurahua, which is about an hour from my house, in this pre-eruption post a month ago (see third picture). Although Ambato has not been evacuated, living in the shadow of an eruption means the city is intermittently showered in volcanic ash. One day it actually appeared to be snowing. Everyone here warns ominously that you should wear a mask (volcanic ash is filled with toxins), but no one does.

City of Latacunga- "Volcanic Threat Zone" signs

One night, my landlord brought me outside to see red lava glowing in the distance. Sometimes I feel like I'm living in a mythical land. Occasionally I can hear the volcano gurgling. In Quichua, Tunguri means "throat" and Rahua means "fire." So Tungurahua... "throat of fire." The gurgling is real.

This sticker proves your house has been census'd.

Moving on. Sunday November 28, Ecuador administered its National Census. This was not ANYTHING like the U.S. Census. On Sunday the 28th, between the hours of 7am-5pm, no one in the entire country of Ecuador was allowed to move. Seriously. By law, you had to be in your (or a) house, and were not allowed to leave. The logic? Everyone had to be counted, and how can you count people if they're all moving around? All commerce and public/private offices shut down, with the exception of police/hospital. People caught on the street were arrested.

Every Ecuadorian high school student was trained and assigned about 10 houses to administer the census to door-to-door. Two very frightened 15 year old girls "censo'd" me-- I was the first house of the morning, and took the census interview in my PJs. The picture below from the national press-- it's President Correa being administered the census in his house. How lucky is the student who was assigned the President's block?!

Random kid administering census to the President in his home

The census itself was a bizarre 50+ question long behemoth of a questionnaire with many development-oriented questions like "how many light fixtures are in your house?" and a slew of  racial categorization questions (which are complete BS for reasons I'll explain later). High school teachers and state employees monitored the streets to ensure that high school students were not kidnapped while they take the census. Most people invite their high school students inside their house. This method of administering the census would NEVER work in our country for sooo many reasons. But I kind of liked it.

PS- If I ever take a month break from blogging again, I have 3 wonderful Fulbright ETA counterparts in Ecuador, and they all blog too: Chandra, Lindsay, and Amanda.