A Change in the Weather

There have been a few changes in my life recently, the most blessed of which is the weather I currently enjoy here in Guayaquil, Ecuador. Remember all those posts about how it was so hot I was dying a slow death every day? The weather changed with the season and now it's merely warm, I hardly even sweat anymore! The current season is one of the two Ecuador has, and is called summer, we just got out of winter. I know, they got it all wrong. It's like the name of Greenland. It's like getting on a bus that says "Guayaquil" only to find out it's going to Duran. It's like raaa-ee-aaaaain, on your wedding day....

*Ahem* So, last night, late at night, I was walking home and the wind made me feel a little cool. Not cold, just a chill, ever so slight, was in the air. It was a thing of beauty. The only aspect of the sweltering heat I could possible miss is the fact that it is really good for the skin. It was like a free 24/7 facial that kept all pores clean and skin shinning. Acne? Wasn't a problem. What was the problem was sweating like a pig. That and massive discomfort I had to face every moment, of every day. And don't tell me pigs actually can't sweat, I've already heard that. If there were any pigs in this city during the "winter" months, I'm sure they are all dead by now, as no amount of wallowing in the mud could save them. That or they spontaneously mutated at a genetic level to grow pores all over their bodies.

Another big change has been my classes. I have finished the first intensive semester and am on to the next. I decided to take Intercultural Communication, Calculus II, and a high-lev Spanish course to improve my hablaring de espanol. However, Intercultural Communications scared me. I was the only Gringo in the class, as usual, but given the topic I would be required to be a steady participant in the class. I don't like class participation. The teacher called on me numerous times to get the Gringo point of view and the students watched me with awe, no doubt thinking "the class is called Intercultural Communication, and on the first day we're already doing it!" Had I told them that I was also a Mormon, it would have been like setting off a small bomb.

It brought back bad memories of my Socioeconomics in Ecuador class where the teacher assumed I already knew about Ecuador's history and everything that went on in the United States. He would ask me crazy things like the per-capita income of Chicago in 2002. Seriously, I don't know how this logic worked out in his mind, just become I come from the States does not make me a specialist on the subject. Not wanting a repeat of this treatment that would surely be much more severe, I dropped my Intercultural Communications course. Now I just have three classes in one big solid block of five hours at night, I get out at 10:30PM. We'll see how this works out...

A Break From Zula

I think we've all had enough of Zula for now, I'll let the posts with dead animals and Indians continue after this brief respite. My final exams are over but I do not have the grades of my classes yet. I am scared. All were fairly easy- except my freakin' Socioeconomics in Ecuador class. First of all, I do not understand Ecuadorian names and much less crazy-long ancient Indian names, of which I had to learn many in that class. It goes both ways though. When I tell people here my name is Anthony, they get confused. What the heck is Anthony? Is he trying to use some English word? Perhaps he did not understand my question of "como te llamas?". I can repeat it a few times but it will not matter. If I say "An-to-ny" then they will get it, as that name is more common here. If they still do not understand, I just tell them to call me Antonio. It is real fun when they ask for my last name, as it begins with an S, hah! Most have to put an E in front of it to pronounce it.

So when the teacher in my Socioeconomics class was throwing around these Indian names like Ataualpa and Casicazgos and such, it slowed me down. I had to ask him to write the names down on the board. Also, he would forget that I'm a Gringo and everything he was talking about was new to me. He would breeze by descriptions of Indian tribes and modern politics in Ecuador saying "...but you already know all this." No, I don't already know this. I've never even heard about this. You see, Mr. Teacher, I come from another country called the United States and in this country, nobody knows Ecuador exists! I know, crazy huh? They don't teach us anything about your politics, Indians, or how every politician in the history of your country has stolen money and then taken a big crap on your flag on their way out.

That bit about the politicians didn't come from me, it came from him. He seemed slightly depressed as he talked about how each and every president has stolen money and enacted laws that have damaged the country. Heck- even the ancient Indians found new and creative ways to lose to the Spaniards, when they outnumbered them 10,000 to 1. At my present state of intellect and with the studies I have done thus far, I am 100% sure I could be a better president for Ecuador than any they have ever had. Their first president was from Peru, and another was even born in New York, why not me? My religion and my own morals prevent me from stealing money and crapping on flags. Ecuador would be an island of stability and prosperity in a sea of Latin turbulence.

Zula Fun: Part II

Final exams are this week. For the first time in my life, I am actually studying and doing homework. It is a new experience for me, and one that eats up my time. To relax between study sessions I play Command and Conquer III. The only problem with this is that is I end up not playing between study sessions, but instead of study sessions. I am something of an computer-game addict and currently stuck on step two of my program: I believe that a Power greater than myself can restore me to sanity, I just don't want him to. Still, I must have faith, if I made it out of World of Warcraft alive where so many others have fallen, CC3 should be easy, right?

WARNING: A FEW OF THE PICTURES FURTHER ON ILLUSTRATE HOW ZULIANS MAKE A TYPICAL DISH OF GUINEA PIG. THE EXTREMELY LACTOSE INTOLERANT MAY ALSO WANT TO NOTE THAT ANOTHER PICTURE SHOWS THE PRODUCTION OF CHEESE. YOU MAY SKIP READING THIS POST IF YOU WISH.
Here are just a few pictures I took of a random waterfall in Zula. I was feeling very sick at the time due to the food/altitude/cold but saw this waterfall off in the distance and decided to go take some pictures. The locals watched carefully, no doubt thinking I was drunk due to my staggering walk up the hill.

A typical house made of straw in the region. It's possible that one of the seven or so hot-air balloons we sent up landed on one of these and set it ablaze. I sure hope not.

The picture that follows is a "before" picture. The adorable little animal I am holding is called a "cuy", in English I believe that it would be called a guinea pig. Why is this a "before" picture? Because in a few short hours this cute and fluffy animal will become the main course for dinner. That's right- Ecuadorians eat pets. At least they stop short of eating dogs and cats.

Aaaannnnndd- the "after" picture. Not so cute and adorable without their fur, are they?

One more shot from a different angle for good measure.

Moving on to a subject a bit more tame, this is how they make cheese in Zula. It's actually really tasty and has never made me sick unlike the meat. Of course, they leave the meat out day and night relying on the cold to keep it from spoiling. I don't believe that works. Not that I could tell by taste if the food was spoiled or not, but when I visited the kitchen at night I saw a slug the size of my cell phone munching on some buckets of un-prepared food. Yum!

A random old lady hacking away at a sheep head with a knife. I don't know why she was doing this. The rest of the sheep lay in a bloody heap inside a garbage bag with the legs sticking out.

Another picture of a locals house. As you can see by this picture and the one from above, the style of dress here is bright colors, cowboy hats, and ponchos.

I wanted to take more picture of the people but kinda felt bad. I mean, asking their permission would go something like this- "Hi there, I'm a Gringo and I'd like to take your picture because us fat touristy Gringos find your living conditions hilarious. Later, I'll peruse these pictures while sipping fine wine, warmed by a fire of extra hundred-dollar bills I have lying around." Actually, they all speak Quechua so they probably wouldn't understand me anyways. I did try to take pictures of some adorable little kids in their ponchos and hats, but they were so shy they ran away. The people in the Sierra live simple lives and work hard until the day they die, they're a people of the earth, a good people.

Zula Fun

Sorry it has taken me so long to get around to this, but I've found some time and decided to post the rest of the pictures and movies I have from Zula. However, I'm not sure if I can fit it all into one post, I love to take pictures and video of everything, if that makes me look like gringo tourist, so be it. I am a gringo after all and the two months I've spent here are not enough to bump me from the tourist category. The irony is that Zula is definitely not a tourists destination. Nobody knows it exists, even Ecuadorians looked at me strangely when I told them where I was going, no doubt thinking it was some foreign town in the States.

The first pictures of many, these are of La Nariz del Diablo, the Devils Nose. It is called such because of the perilous journey a train has make to descend to the bottom. The train has to go down the face of the mountain slowly, going forwards and backwards in a see-saw motion to reach the river below. I was surprised by the large flocks of Gringos around, we almost outnumbered the Ecuadorians! This place is a huge tourist attraction and I highly recommend the tour.



The scenery on the way to Zula was fantastic. Photos that I took to prove this fact do not exist due to the condition of the roads and the need to have a stable shot to take pictures. I had been told these roads would be the steriotypical mountain roads that every traveler of the tame Appalachian Mountains to the Himalayas describes with similar terms of horror, praising the God who saw fit to grant him safe passage. Narrow, "just a few feet from the cliff's edge", and winding curves are used by all to describe their expeditions. This is what I expected and it is what I got...but a bit more extreme than I had imagined.

The roads were narrow, but that wasn't the problem so much as the huge potholes that made the trip a constant slalom. "Just a few feet from the cliff's edge" did not apply as there was no grassy strip or median between the road and empty space. There was the road, and then there was no road, and if you swerved to avoid a potentially axel-bending pothole while close to the edge you were in trouble. My friend who drove has nerves of titanium and got us there safely, the only moment of true panic I felt is when I fell asleep and awoke to the violent convulsions of the car. To the front I saw a solid wall of fog and to the left a foot of road, everything else was white.

We actually got lost for hours once we got to the more gentle plains of the sierra. We passed family after family of men and women leading slowly-plodding donkeys while the children drove a small flock of sheep or rode the donkey itself. The road here got so bad that the vibrations actually made parts of my friend's car fall off. No joke. After we hit some holes in the road that threatened to break the car in two the family realized that we were on the wrong path to Zula.

The countryside of Zula and the surrounding areas.

Gringo's Myspace Page

Every other blog has an "official' Myspace page so I thought I would follow suit. I have a acquired a few friends by desperately clicking "add to friends" on random peoples profiles, but I need more! If you are a real-life friend of mine or just like my blog (in which case you are a friend of mine anyways), add me. Send me a funny comment or video. Especially those videos of idiots hurting themselves, those are always hilarious.

In unrelated news I just turned 26. That means I am now nine years older than some of the young whippersnappers in my classes. I am so behind in my schooling it's sad. Of course, I was a Minister of God for two entire years in Venezuela; preachin', healin' an' baptizin', yes sir! Those were the days. The days when I did not take any classes. I also spent a few more years in a boring bank job, I don't know why. No classes taken then either. Thankfully, the university I now attend offers intensive courses that last just two months. This means three classes is the maximum you are allowed to take, I am taking four and should be finished with my entire program in under two years. Perhaps then I will go back to the States to get my masters, who knows?

Zula is Cold: Part II

I read my last post again and came to a sad conclusion; I am a wimp. It wasn't always like this, there was a time where I braved the Chicagoan elements of wind and cold as well as any native, even though I was actually born in Utah. Better, even. I only wore short sleeves and never owned a sweater. Perhaps this was due more to my fashion sense, which really is whatever is easy and cheap to wear, but the fact still stands that in sub-zero weather I would wear T-shirts.

What seems to have happened is my body attempted to make the adjustment from Chicago weather to the warmer climate of Hell. It was a valiant effort, and a failed one. If I really had acclimatized to the heat I would no longer constantly look like I just got out of a steamy shower. My hypothesis is that my bodies's thermostat is broken, it is stuck somewhere between Ecuadorian Heat and Chicago Cold. This is really the worst of both worlds. I am a wanderer with no land to call his own, a Don Quixote who boils in his own armor by day and shivers uncontrollably by night.



My sad state aside, here is a mini hot air balloon we let fly in Zula. It was launched to commemorate a sweet old ladies's 90th birthday, and appease some saint, I can't remember the name. You can hear me coughing my lungs out in the background due to the smoke. The smoke must have messed with my brain as well because I can't even pronounce the word Humo correctly. I'm such a freaking gringo sometimes.