10 Days in 10 Scenes

The infamous Jenny Lewis just departed Ecuador after a 10-day visit. It was my sister's first-ever passport stamp, first-ever experience not speaking the local language, and first ever chance to meet EcuaKim-- the similar but peculiarly South American version of the sister she knew last summer. We successfully meshed my normal life in Ambato with a huge amount of travel. Since Ecuador is the most biodiverse country in the world and totally bite-size (about the area of Colorado-- you can pass through 17 ecosystems in a 1-hour bus ride)-- it's easy to see a lot in a small amount of time. Here are 10 scenes that sum up Jenny's visit, from the freezing cold highlands to the Amazon rainforest:

1: Cathedral in Baños

 

 2: Quilotoa Crater Lake

 

 3: Huddling for warmth by the wood stove at hostal in Quilotoa

 

 4: My favorite bar in Ambato, because they play primarily American classic rock

 5: Team Sportivo Ambato (my friends) winning the local basketball championship

 

 6: Derek Zoolander Llama at the Parque de la Familia in Ambato

 

 7: All-day whitewater rafting trip on the Jatunyacu River in the Ecuadorian Amazon (city of Tena)

 

 8: Bus ride from the Amazon back to the highlands

 

 9: Dinner at a restaurant in Quito, overlooking the colonial center at sunset

  10: Most delicious ice cream in the world at Crepes and Waffles, at El Jardin mall in Quito

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Fulbright

Team Ecuador English Teaching Assistants
(note the creepy Senator Fulbright photo in background)

I receive a worldwide Fulbright newsletter every month. Usually, they feature a grantee that is eradicating some awful illness in Indonesia while simultaneously saving baby dolphins off the coast, preparing their manuscript about how to preserve indigenous knowledge, and redesigning curriculum in 17 elementary schools during their spare hours.

I don't do that. I teach my optional English classes, which sometimes are attended by real-life students. I camp out during my 10 "office" hours (I don't have an office) per week and hope people come chat with me. My side projects are vague and scattered around different areas, resisting one coherent "look what I did" summary. What I do accomplish-- and pretty well-- is living my 22nd year of life in pursuit of things that make me happy. I attend a lot of birthday parties, drink coffee with my friend’s grandmothers, and do things like figure out how to grill meat in my laundry pit (this has hands-down been my proudest accomplishment over the past 7 months).

Finally found the best way to use that pit.

I recently attended a conference in Quito for all the 2010-11 English Teaching Assistants in the Andean region. In addition to learning how to teach English a little better, it was a good opportunity to get feedback from other ETAs during the long middle-of-grant months. I learned that most grantees want to attach a narrative to what they do. We have Fulbrights because we are smart, highly-motivated people who were able to unify our entire past/present/future of intellectual pursuits into two 1-page essays. Our lives are stories, and we're good at telling them.

I also learned that the ETA experience can be most challenging for the exactly type of personalities that tend to win ETA grants. We enter hoping to make huge linguistic/cultural inroads. We learn along the way that most of these inroads are quiet, and we may never see many of them. (this is probably generalizable to the teaching profession as a whole). We start projects that we never finish, we spin our wheels in Ecuadorian bureaucracies, and we waver between inspiration and desperation.

Part of our mid-grant conference took place in a jungle resort.

Let me go Oprah for just a second here. I had a mentor in college who helped me enormously to change my orientation from results-driven to process-driven. In other words, he introduced the idea that almost all of my dissatisfaction stemmed from the relentless need to see huge results and talk about them. There's another possibility-- emphasizing the input/process rather than the output/results. This goes for school, work, spirituality, relationships, whatever.

Quito's colonial center/ virgin statue from afar

I love my Fulbright because it has become a test in that. And I think I'm doing well. I appreciate my work and I love my students. I love that when my students see me in public, they come and talk to me in English (even if it’s mostly to show off). I love grilling meat in my washing pit and wasting time with friends, as well as hearing those friends pick up my random English colloquialisms ("no Kim, he hasn't got a popsicle's chance in hell"). I'm having fun in the process, and during my last 10 weeks, plan to continue that.

Volcano Chronicles

As a general rule, Ecuador does not enjoy extensive international news coverage. We're like the awkward middle child of Andean nations, living in shadows of our more interesting siblings Colombia and Venezuela. However, any article which can include the phrase "volcano hurled truck-sized pyroclastic boulders more than a mile" will undoubtedly win some mainstream media time.

My house in Ambato is about 30 kilometers from the Tungurahua Volcano, which last week had its biggest eruption in several years (I wrote about a smaller eruption in November). If you, blog readers, are anything like me, your primary knowledge of volcanic activity stems from that 1997 Tommy Lee Jones/ Ann Heche disaster movie "Volcano." The most important things to know about this cinematic masterpiece are it's tagline-- "The Coast is Toast"-- and a quote from Time on the movie poster-- "You'll Have a Hell-Lava Time!" In one scene, leading characters Amy and Roark discuss how the L.A. subway system is being overtaken by lava:

Volcanic haze + ash on my outdoor toilet.

Amy: Roark, Roark. There's lava in the red line. This just came through on the radio. The lava had overtaken a subway train in Macarthur park and completely destroyed it.
Roark: Is it still flowing?
Amy: It stopped. But there's more under us. There's has to be something feeding this. We know that the lava broke through here at the tar pits and created this vent, and we know that it broke through at Macarthur park, so that means it is literally traveling underground over a course of at least eight miles.

Unfortunately my own scientifically-correct volcanic encounters aren't quite as sexy. Tungurahua's eruption is a bit like being sneezed on by Hell. While not in any mortal/physical danger like the villages immediately surrounding the volcano, we here in Ambato do get our fair share of snot. The worst is when the ash-- which last week was blown 7 kilometers into the atmosphere-- begins to fall on the city. If it's raining, ash falls like mud (it literally rains mud) or if it's dry, as sand/chunks of particles.

Ambato's current nuclear explosion-like backdrop.

My first instinct during ash falls is to put my mask and sunglasses on, close my windows/doors, and wonder why I live here. Most Ambateno's first instinct is to wash their car. Apparently wet ash dries into a concrete-like paste which can ruin paint and floors. Ash also burns your eyes, dries out your skin, and-- as one of my students warned me when I walked into the University without a hat-- "YOUR HAIR WILL FALL OUT!" ... I have my doubts about the last one.

Everyone stares at me here anyway.

Of course, Tungurahua's eruption does pose a much more real threat to villages/populations directly in its path. This is not just a physical/mortal threat, but an economic threat to small-scale farmers. Villagers around Tungurahua are reluctant to evacuate during eruptions for a few reasons:  1. Ash needs to be cleaned off crops (ie a farmer's livelihood) ASAP if they are to be salvaged, 2. You can't just leave livestock (again, their livelihood) for weeks at a time and hope they're fine upon return, and 3. This volcano has been erupting for a decade, and nothing THAT bad has happened yet.

An un-erupting Tungurahua over Ambato in February.

I am thankful that the worst volcano side effects where I live are extra sweeping, increased visine/lotion usage, and a ridiculous looking paper mask. Occasionally I hear the volcano's gurgling and am certain a wall of lava is going to overtake the city streets, but I'm learning to replace my disaster-movie youth with my disaster-preparedness adulthood.

Things Calvin Saw

This is a drawing from Bill Watterson's 3160th and final Calvin and Hobbes strip, published on December 31, 1995. In it, Calvin and Hobbes trek through newly-fallen snow and wonder aloud about the possibilities that await them: "Everything familiar has disappeared! The world looks brand new!"

When I was 9 years old, I went with my parents to a farm in rural Illinois and picked out a nervous-looking shetland sheepdog puppy to take home. My sisters and cousins met us at the car and we proceeded to fawn over him for 13 years. Although we named him Calvin-- after the adventure-seeking and spunky cartoon character-- it soon became clear that our Calvin was nothing of the sort. He was timid and yippy, a methodical herder who was only happy when the whole family was indoors and safe from the suburban children and squirrels waiting outside. This week, Calvin died, on the eve of his 13th birthday.

2007: Calvin in local paper under the caption "Hairy Potter"

Our dogs become like family by providing a warm and steady presence in our lives. But dogs do something else as well: they watch us. In fact, house dogs are privy to some of the most private and raw moments of human existence. They watch us eat and get naked and get desperately ill. They're startled awake by our slamming doors, they see us in pajamas and prom dresses, they wander over from the corner as we stub our toe and collapse in tears about the incivility of the universe. We mourn our pets when they've reached the end, but I think we're also mourning the things they saw.

1999: Calvin, Anna and Catie on Christmas morning.

For his part, Calvin saw our family across 5 houses in 3 different states. He saw several tornadoes, a hurricane that sent a tree into our roof, a few flooded basements, and at least one "the-cat-is-on-fire" incident. In all likelihood, he saw my first kiss. He saw my little sister Anna grow three feet. He saw our family shrink, and like us, smelled the flowers that filled every corner of the house when we lost one of our own. He saw me leave the house at 4:30 am for swim practice and return with icicles dangling from my hair. He sat in my room as I packed quickly for college, and again as I unpacked slowly 4 years later.

2007: Calvin and Hobbes in a snowstorm.

I suppose Calvin could have been more adventurous, or you know, at least able to walk on a leash without wiggling out to run home and sit patiently on the doorstep. But I think I'd rather have a dog who provides a warm, fuzzy sense of home when I return from my own adventures/misadventures. In that respect, Calvin was absolutely perfect.

Rejection x 6, on behalf of 20-somethings

This is not a rejection letter. It is six rejection letters, edited into one very clear message: I am not going to enter a PhD program in Anthropology this year. Taken individually, the letters are not terribly difficult to rationalize-- "It probably wasn't the best fit," "I kind of bombed that interview," or even-- "Oh well, it's cold there." Taken as a whole, this NO means a strange mixture of opportunity and quarter-life crisis. 

Ambato, Ecuador

 Exactly one year ago today (April 3), I received notice that I won a 10-month Fulbright grant to Ecuador. It was a truly happy day, and the months that followed were hopeful and sure. Fulbright bought me a round-trip ticket-- Depart Columbia, SC on October 4, 2010/ Arrive Columbia, SC on August 4, 2011. The plan was to enter a graduate program upon returning to the States. I proceeded, under the impression that the plan would work as long as I committed to making the plan work. I'm writing to announce that the plan didn't work, despite my best efforts.

Muisne, Ecuador

I'm not very familiar with rejection. Likewise, those of you reading my blog are probably not familiar with me being rejected. In my 22 years, I've had almost every door I knocked on opened. While I won't diminish the accomplishments I made after walking through those doors, it often goes overlooked that my educational/socioeconomic/athletic/etc background provided keys and a cushy red carpets that few other people enjoy. So I was surprised to receive 6 rejection letters. I believed I would be admitted to at least one program, or else I would not have expended the financial/intellectual/emotional resources applying. I was not, however, angry or indignant, because I applied out of hope-- not entitlement. Top PhD programs in Anthro are competitive to the point where past red-carpets (ie Fulbright, fancy greek letters, shiny graduation cords) don't really guarantee anything. 

Oregon Inlet, North Carolina

I'd like to explain the experience of being an early-20-something to everyone who is not an early-20-something today. We are capable and optimistic. We are young professionals, grinding away for small salaries and often one benefit: the hope of eventually meeting the minimum requirements for a job that won't suck quite as much. We turn our resumes into academic cv's and then back into resumes. We fight tirelessly to prove our independence, to blaze our own path, and sometimes wake up thinking "I'm on my own!" and sometimes wake up wondering "why am I alone?" We date, casually, and know what casually dating means. We re-evaluate our career paths on a weekly basis, make bucket lists, go dancing until 4 am, stalk Facebook to compare ourselves to other 20-somethings, and get together with each other so we can laugh until we can't breathe. We talk about how great it is to be 20-something and free. But in the space between our last sip of our beer and next exclamation of "I love this song!", we silently acknowledge that it sometimes sucks, too.

I'm still 22 and living an absolute dream in South America, and I am confident I will find something to do that both pays bills and offers satisfaction. But I'm still not ready to talk about August 5, 2011. I have many more sleepless nights and phone calls and peaceful sunrises before I can announce my "now what" post-Fulbright life. Today I understand a little better why Rainer Maria Rilke said, "The purpose of life is to be defeated by greater and greater things," and what Samuel Beckett meant by "Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better."

First Impressions (but not mine)

<-- This is Jenny, a friend, teammate, and roommate from college. In early March, Jenny became the first person from the US to visit me in Ecuador-- ever. She flew into Ecuador during the thick of Carnival (Mardigras) and the city of Ambato's annual "fiestas." Because Jenny holds such a distinguished honor, and I am a creaky old Ecuador veteran who is no longer able to write "first impression" blog posts, here's what she had to say about her 7 days:

For my Spring Break, I was lucky enough to go to Ecuador and visit my long lost friend, Kim. I have never been to Ecuador or South America, so everything I saw was new to me. This guest post is about my first impressions about the things I saw, the lessons I learned, and the people I met in my far too short trip to Ecuador. Before I continue, I should mention that I am not a Spanish speaker, so not only was a national and cultural outsider, but I was also a linguistic outsider-- which made for some interesting (and some frustrating) situations.

Concert during Fiestas de Ambato 2011

I’ll start with my impressions of Ecuadorian people, since I think that people in general are interesting, and are most worthy of mention. Every Ecuadorian I met was friendly and open in a way that does not exist (or at least is very rare) in this culture (I’m an American for the sake of specificity). There appears to be no such thing as a stranger or an outsider, as even casual acquaintances get greeted with a hug. Further, there was no such thing as being self-conscious. For instance, I was asked to give a toast at a going away party for a person I hardly knew. I found it strange-- everyone else probably found my hesitation strange. It turns out "awkward” is a very cultural thing, something I learned as Kim and I tried to explain what "awkward" even meant to one of her friends. It simply does not exist.

Overall, I found the people to be wonderful-- the openness and friendliness were new, but in my opinion, preferable to the rigidity with which people interact in here in the States. Further, I rarely felt isolated despite my communication barriers, which was remarkable (although having an attentive translator-- Kim-- helped too).

Getting sprayed with foam/water on Carnival.

All of the things that I already mentioned made socializing (or fiestas as the case may be) generally more fun. When I was there, Ecuador was celebrating Carnival (Mardigras), so there were no shortage of fiestas. Fiestas are more fun because no one seems self-conscious and there is no such thing as awkward which means YOU WILL DANCE! You will dance however you happen to dance, just because there is music. You will do so all night long-- and no will one judge you, and it is awesome. However, fiesta-ing is the only place where the Ecuadorian insistence on socialization becomes inconvenient-- this is also where speaking Spanish would have helped. You do not go home after the fiesta. In my experience, you instead drive around for at least an hour in a car filled to twice its normal capacity and sometimes you get hamburgers cooked with a hair dryer. This late-night hamburger run was the situation in which I most wanted to speak Spanish so I could say I DO NOT WANT A HAIR DRIED HAMBURGER IT'S 4 AM I WANT TO SLEEP.  This seems trivial, but at the time it was not. I will never again take for granted the privilege of communication.

Ambato's streets filled during Fiestas.

Overall, I found Ecuador to be more familiar then I expected: my trip involved shopping malls, supermaxis, lots of pizza, ice cream, and teenagers that want to go out with their friends on weekends. I tried to keep this post short so I focused on the thing that was most unusual to me-- the way people interacted with each other and the experience of being a linguistic outsider. It was a great experience, and my first impressions of Ecuador were positive and intriguing. I felt welcome and more comfortable than expected- you (person reading this) should really consider a trip.

(In)dependencia

I'm returning to my trip to Bogota several weeks ago and my unusual love for museums. You all are overlooking the fact that this blog completely lacks a linear narrative. 

July 20, 2010 marked Colombia's bicentennial independence day celebration. In honor, one museum had a special exhibit of student-created political cartoons meant to "put in question the sacredness and solemnity of official history." The artists ranged from elementary to graduate level students. While the cartoons drew on Colombian symbols and history, the majority also used American symbols to critique the United States' heavy military/social/political presence in Colombia since independence. And so, primarily American blog readers, I bring you a critique of American foreign policy, South American style:

 (high fives for whoever can explain to me what those numbers are.)

 

200 years.

"200 years of inDepedence." Those are the 7 new American military bases that have been established in Colombia under the Obama administration. U.S. military presence in South America is  controversial (at best).*

Colombian independence hero Simon Bolivar shackled by Corruption and EEUU (the United States).

Current President of Colombia Juan Manuel Santos. "Yo reinare" = "I will reign."

*(In Ecuador, current President Rafael Correa refused to renew the US military's lease on a base in Manta in 2009. Correa explained: "We'll renew the base on one condition: that they let us put a base in Miami -- an Ecuadorean base." This ranks among my top 10 favorite Correa foreign policy moments.)

As someone between 2 Americas, I invite you to get informed about the historical consequences of the U.S. presence in Latin America. And realize how important that presence must remain for  students in Colombia to critique their country's 200th independence day in terms of Colombia-USA relations. The exhibit aims to "demonstrate that the importance of this occasion extends to many young people who formulate their own reflections about the current condition of our country, reflections which become evident in opinion cartoons (...) these graphics constitute an effective vehicle for political participation."

Smart Girls

March 8 is International Women's Day/ Dia Internacional de la Mujer. And, as if this wasn't already the most exciting UN holiday in existence, 2011 marks its 100th anniversary. I am working on a few small projects with a Peace Corps volunteer at the University to promote gender equality. I also thought I would ruminate on gender for a few blog posts.

My 10th grade history teacher used to call me a "feminazi" during class. Although he used the label regularly, it first arose when I vocalized an opinion which, though informed, was in direct contradiction to his."Well that's what all you feminazis say." To be honest, my recall of Modern European History is not great. I do remember that "feminazi" got a good laugh. My classmates used it against me the rest of the year, eager to pin it on someone other than themselves. I remember that anger only seemed to solidify the term, so I couldn't get angry. I remember that the teacher said he was only joking, so I wasn't allowed to feel hurt. The only way to resolve the issue and avoid the label, it seemed, was to just be quiet. 

1st day of school. Ready to kick ass.

In high school, no one wants to be too much of anything. Girls can like sports or comic books or playing clarinet, but liking them too much puts you soundly into the "freak" pile. Likewise, being too emotional or too masculine or kissing too many/too few guys are recipes for female disaster. 

And then there's the issue of being too smart. As a teacher, I like to think I would never blatantly silence groups of students based upon gender/sexuality/race/belief system, etc (as, I might suggest, my history teacher did). But I do think a lot about who speaks in my classroom, who doesn't, and why. Both in the States and here in Ecuador, girls continue to be evaluated in public spheres based upon physical beauty/feminine traits above intellect (i love this article). I've found that classrooms are not exceptions.

'08 throwback: my students in Muisne.

But this isn't just a public issue, but a fight for the hidden parts of girls' hearts/minds as well. I recently read this article entitled "The Trouble with Bright Girls", about a psychological study conducted with smart boys and girls. While the "brightest" young boys tended to double their efforts when presented with a difficult task, young girls with the highest IQ were the least confident and most willing to give up. The author suggests we think critically about what society tells girls versus boys to think about their intellectual capabilities. While boys are raised to believe they are capable of changing/making achievements based on their own efforts, girls just believe they are. They are/aren't good in school, they are/aren't gifted in sports, they can/can't do this, and it's unchangeable (which is false, by the way).

Oswaldo Guayasamin

I realize this is kind of an obscure gender issue to broach on International Women's Day. However, I would like to suggest that, even as women are now outperforming men in educational spheres, they're still encouraged to dumb-down and just be sweet/pretty/quiet in those same spheres. Moreover, young girls often delegitimize their own bodies/feelings in unique and detrimental ways-- as Ruth Behar suggests in this essay, extremely capable adolescent girls "choose to not know what they know, beginning already the process of silencing of self that is so emblematic of women’s depression."

Schools can and should be places for girls to safely express themselves without fear of retribution from classmates/teachers, be valued for what's really important, and learn that they are capable of actively shaping their futures.

Peripheral/Beloved Characters Part 2

Today I offer the second installment of beloved Ecua-characters (read the first here):

4. Draco, My Landlady's Underwear-Stealing Pooch:
Among the unanticipated benefits of living at one of the highest points in the city are the spying opportunities. And since my ancient, borrowed television sizzled into oblivion on the second day I used it in November, I have had to find other ways to procrastinate. Enter Draco, my landlady's high-energy cocker spaniel. Although Draco (yes... like the Harry Potter character) is a yippity little terror to his owners, we have a special bond. Occasionally he'll manage to get around the wooden barrier and come shooting up the 3 flights of stairs to my apartment barking madly, at which point my landlady will run out in her robe and purple slippers screaming "DRACO!! NO!! DRACO!!" hysterically until he can be corralled back down 10 minutes later.

On sunny mornings, Draco's favorite game is stealing wet underwear out of the laundry pile and running around with them in his mouth while my landlady chases him around the terrace screaming "DRACO!! NO!! DRACO!!" Sometimes he jumps several feet in the air, pulls down underwear from the clothesline, and plays keep-away while my landlandy gets angrier and angrier. High-quality entertainment.

5. "Laurita", the Freckled Megamaxi Checkout Girl Who Reminds Me of My Best Friend From College:
Here in Ambato, the Megamaxi is where I can go to take comfort in sterilized, standardized odors, pay too much for JIF peanut butter and imported cream cheese (I seriously can't find an Ecuadorian brand that tastes half as good as Philadelphia), and generally be reminded of the Walmart excess I was raised on. I go to the Megamaxi too often, but it is so damn convenient to be able to buy headphones, 12 brands of raisins, leggings and Ramen noodles all in the same store. I have a favorite checkout girl at the Megamaxi (I don't know her name, but I call her Laurita).
She's so favorite that I'm willing to wait in her line even if it means standing behind a grandma with 18 million pounds of food and a stack of coupons. Why? 1.) She looks exactly like my freckly best friend Laura (whom I miss a lot), and even has similar mannerisms. 2.) She makes non-awkward small talk and doesn't feel the need to point out that I'm a foreigner (you'd be surprised how many people inform me). 3.) She already knows I don't have a Megamaxi discount card and doesn't make me feel bad for it.

Scenes from Bogotá

Plaza de Bolivar-- Bogota's main square. The colonial buildings are pretty, but I find the history of rebel groups occasionally taking over important buildings, the military responding by firing cannons into them, etc., much more thrilling.

Bogota is known for its cold, rainy climate and horrible traffic problems-- both of which I experienced at length. This particular evening we went 10 kilometers in 90 minutes.

Another Simon Bolivar. I have never seen so many statues of the same man in such a small area. This particular Bolivar is actually him (there's another "Bolivar" which is the figure of Julius Caeser), graffiti-covered, and occasionally has clothes lines around the periphery where people dry their underwear. Way up at the top of this photo, you can spot Monserrate, a church perched on top of the mountain.

Bogota Beer Company (the other BBC). Andean microbreweries are almost non-existent, and the few I have located in Ecuador have left a LOT to be desired. Either the good beer bar has been readjusted to an extremely low level, or BBC was actually kind of impressive.

One of the 3 times I spotted the sun, although it was vague and receding beyond the cityscape.

Snapped this picture of the Colombian coat of arms about 15 seconds before I was frisked and searched by military men with big hats and bigger guns. Travel note: there is a sidewalk outside of the Colombian President's house, but you should not stand on it.

 I arrived in Colombia during the thick of my amigo's sociology thesis research, which revolves around class stratification and leisure practices in Bogota's nightclub district. Basically we went dancing and brought the voice recorder.

High/Low Art

I've loved museums since 1996, when my dad and uncle turned them into a competitive sport. One rainy afternoon, they brought my cousins, sisters and I to the Cleveland Museum of Art and set us loose on the most epic scavenger hunt of all time. Each team was given an envelop with detailed rules (no touching priceless works of art, no embarrassing your legal guardians, etc.) and a set of tasks to complete (locate a painting with animals gambling, find 5 naked women statues and name the galleries in which they are located, etc.). Besides entertaining a group of bored 8-12 year olds so they could actually enjoy themselves, my dad and uncle succeeded in turning art into a cut-throat competition, which was the primary way I garnered interest in anything as a child.

I still like museums. Here in Bogota, I've already visited three. My favorite was the Botero Museum, which features original works by contemporary Colombian painter Fernando Botero, as well as Botero's personal collection of paintings/sculptures (Dali, Picasso, Renoir, among others). I'm also fascinated by art that will never make it into a museum. And of all the urban centers I've been in, Bogota has some of the most incredible urban street art I've ever seen.

Fernando Botero, "La Mona Lisa"

Che Guevara street art, Historical Center, Bogota, Colombia

Fernando Botero, "Guerrilla"

Callejon de las Brujas, Historical Center, Bogota, Colombia

Tourist Attempts in Bogotá

Bland Colombian beer.

Hola from Bogotá, Colombia, where I'm vacationing from my (admittedly vacation-like) life in Ecuador. Since I'm only allowed to spend 2 weeks outside of Ecuador during my entire Fulbright grant period, I came to Colombia hoping to make these 10 days good and touristy.

Turns out I'm a decent [not-quite] anthropologist and a terrible international tourist. I arrived Friday morning without a single map, guide, or idea what there was to do in Bogotá. I didn't even have a fanny pack, and I'm way too cheap/lazy to purchase a lonely planet book.

But I'm duly impressed by Colombian coffee.

I knew that my amigo Sebastián, a sociology student who presented at my table at an academic conference last summer, would be at the airport to pick me up. I knew that Bogotá is really not any more dangerous than Quito, despite the dramatically more violent way that American news portrays Colombia. And, most importantly, I knew I'd wanted to go to Colombia ever since the Study Abroad office at Denison told me I couldn't.

But this is shaping up to be the nerdiest vacation of all time. Sebastián (my unofficial guide) is currently writing a thesis on urban problems/space/class in Bogota. So I not only get to see the absurd traffic problems first-hand, but hear about their 30-year history. I've gotten a complete run-down of class segregation in different sectors of the city, the politics and (non)functioning of transportation policies, and urban renewal projects. I'm helping him with his research interviews. And, in the most non-vacation-like, non-touristy thing of all time, I'm scheduled to guest lecture in an anthropology course at the Universidad del Rosario later in the week.

I fear I'll never be a good tourist.