Good Bye, Ecuador! Two Weeks of Things I'll Miss: Day 5 - Glass Bottle Cokes

I once had friends, logical and rational friends, who would swear to me that glass bottle Coke was the best type of Coke, and that, in fact, glass bottle beverages of all types were inherently more delicious. Their reasoning was inexplicable and seemed to toe the line of delusions such as "the yellow m&ms taste more lemony and the brown ones taste more chocolatey."   My response was always bemused.



Now in Ecuador, glass bottles are the preference, and something about these mystical bottles has pulled me in.  Is it the instant relief they provide from the equatorial sun?  The novelty of drinking out of a glass bottle?  The convenience store community of glass bottle drinkers?

After hours of taste tests and contemplation, I've come no closer to understanding the mysteries.  I have instead hatched numerous plans for bringing glass bottles back to America Norte  - my most elaborate being a "Coke for America" campaign that knows no bounds.  For those with a belief in the power of social networking and common sense approach to change - or just a belief in glass bottle Cokes - you can sign the petition to get Coca-Cola back in glass bottles.

Good Bye, Ecuador! Two Weeks of Things I'll Miss: Day 4 - Fireworks

As I watched this week's fireworks display from my living room window, I thought of the Ecuadorian flag.  The frequency of fireworks in my neighborhood alone is enough to honorarily re-purpose the yellow, red, and blue of the flag into the tri-color of a burning flame.  This nation is a nation of pyrotechnics.  Birthdays, holidays, and festivals all require explosives.  While my weekly fireworks shows are probably the result of birthdays (always a big to-do here), the most famous displays in Ecuador occur during January. 

In the weeks leading up to New Year's Eve, cartoon characters, political figures, and celebrities mingle in the streets as papier-mâché figures known as año viejos.  They can be as small as a kleenex box or as large as a house. Businesses keep small change jars, and customers contribute money for fireworks.




Then on New Year's Eve, these "old years" are strapped to cars and buses, driven around the city, and finally toasted and exploded in bacchanalian 
fiestas across the nation.  It's similar to Las Fallas in Spain, but without a lot of safety precautions.  This year, I'm saying good-bye to the old year by leaving Ecuador, but this is one tradition I hope to take with me. 

Good Bye, Ecuador! Two Weeks of Things I'll Miss: Day 3 - Dollar Coins

In the States, I used to hate dollar coins.  They were either:

1. Given as tips by old people who thought they were novel
2. Refused as a legitimate currency at vending machines
3. Less flat and easy to shove in your pocket or wallet

Back then, I preferred twenties.  Of course, now that I live in Ecuador, land of the fifty cent coke, the eighty cent popsicle, and the $1.00 pound of peaches, I covet Sacajaweas.  Ecuador switched from the Sucre to U.S. dollars in the 2000s to have a more stable currency.  It's awesome for travelers from the States, except for one thing:  Twenty dollar bills have become a liability. It's difficult to break them.  So, you carry only fives, and you hoard your dollar coins, refusing to make change even for friends. 

You may be wondering, "Won't these be in the States when you return?  What's all the fuss about?"  Unfortunately, as NPR reported in June, dollar coins are costly to make, rarely used and, therefore, soon to be discontinued in the States.

Good Bye, Ecuador! Two Weeks of Things I'll Miss: Day 2 - Being "The Miss"

"Meess!"  I hear from across the room.  "Xavier is molesting me!"  It's times like these when I realize the importance of being an ESL teacher.  "Then tell Xavier to stop bothering you," I correct.  In honor of my students, the things they have taught me, the way they have made me laugh, and even the way they have driven me up the wall:  a few moments of mistranslations. 

• "Miss, I need a SHEET! ...of paper!"  (trying to say "shit")
• "I want world piss."  (peace)  
• "My vactions fucked."  (sucked)  
• "Do you have a buff?"  (BFF)
• "Can I eat chips today, pleeeeeassee?  I'm so angry."  (hungry)
• "What does swayga mean?"  (swagger, or swaggah a la M.I.A.)
• "Miss, feel my squares."  (a six-pack, cuadras in Spanish) 
• "It's a poopy!!"  (puppy)
• "I need to have a sangria!" (indenting your paragraph in Spanish)

A few of my students during World Culture Week.  Please note the ninth grade Hitler.*



*The student meant no offense by this costume.  They are encouraged to include famous historical figures in their presentations.  Maybe Einstein would have been a better choice though.

Good Bye, Ecuador! Two Weeks of Things I'll Miss: Day 1 - The Musical Garbage Truck

I'm leaving Ecuador in February :(  Over the next fifteen days, I'll be posting my scrapbook of things I'll miss in Ecuador.  Here's number one:

I love thoughtful incentives for social change, hence, the musical garbage truck:  a Pavlovian reminder to set the trash out at appropriate hours.  No rats, no litter, happy streets, random dance-offs.

Chicle

It’s 10:00 on a Friday night in Las Peñas, Guayaquil’s infamous bar-hopping spot.  Across from me is a gold-encrusted fairy godmother from the “art of the human statue” fund.  I watch as someone places money in her bucket, and she waves her wand over their head and stiffly dances.  I don’t have any change, but I could really use some of her magic right now.  My taxi has gone, my phone has suddenly stopped working, and my friends aren’t at the right meeting place.  It’s an all-night bar hop going sour.  I want to leave, but I wait a little longer.
While sitting, I’m approached by a small girl carrying two packs of gum.  She is so tiny she can only hold one pack in each hand.  “Chicle?” she asks softly.  There is no sales pitch, no cute act.  I know she is talking to me because she treats one pack of gum more like a matchbox car that she rolls along the edge of my park bench.  “No, gracias,” I say, in the voice you use for children this small.  She does not seem to notice my answer.  She continues to wheel the gum around like a car.
I’m relieved she is playing.  I look up quickly searching for the person who’s waiting with the other packs of gum.  “No one sends a child this small out on her own,” I reassure myself, but no one meets my eyes.  “There is nothing I could do anyways,” I think.   It’s another line I recite to myself, just like I recite “No, gracias” to street-working children.  I have learned to have prepared responses.  Then, I won’t have to feel the full shock of each experience over and over again.
Of course, each experience begins to run through my mind as the minutes tick by and my friends are still missing.   The little girl rolls her gum-car in front of me, and I see the hands of another child playing across the window of an open-air restaurant in Mexico two years earlier.  A little boy had stopped to entertain the dining tourists.  His mannerisms were puckish as he played out a little scene with a friend for my amusement.  I dropped my guard.  Instead of shooing him away, I watched his act.  As he stood at the window grinning, I gave him some food, then some more.  He stayed silent, waiting for more.  When dessert came, he reached across the table and grabbed for the plate.  For a moment I was disgusted, then ashamed.  “What had I taught him?” kept flashing across my mind.
“What am I teaching this little girl?” I ask myself.  Since the incident in Mexico, I’ve had an education.  In Ecuador, my friends work for foundations.  They say decisively that children cannot make money or receive food, or they’ll always be on the streets.  Admiring such a confident answer, I do what they say, but there are always obstacles to following the rule.  This is how I feel with the little girl now.  She is too young to learn this lesson, I think.
She does not have the tricks of the kids who have worked on the streets for a long time.  They have gimmicks.  They have street personas.  They understand who to hassle and who to avoid.  Young children like the vendedorita don’t have these skills.  At times, I’m unable to rationalize saying no.  Each time the children walk away, it is like dogs retreating with their tails between their legs.  They don’t understand the disgust behind each refusal they receive.  The little girl is not acting this way, but I worry that the memory of each “no” she experiences will be harder.  My heart is torn.  Should I have said “yes” tonight?
Before I can think it over, my friends arrive.  The little gum-seller doesn’t even notice our group of gringos, an amazing sales opportunity.  My friends don’t seem to notice her either.  As we walk away, I’m equal parts sad and grateful she is too distracted.  I do not have any change to give her anyways.  I can postpone a difficult decision for another day.

The Perils of Photographing Monkeys

I mentioned earlier in the week that I saw a lot of monkeys in Cuyabeno National Park.  Something I failed to mention was that my lack of photos was mostly due to the fact that photographing monkeys is probably a lot like photographing some celebrities.  Monkey are high maintenance.  They need zoom lenses, the right setting, good lighting, crazy shutter speeds, and soothing noises.  They need freedom and maybe a good snack spread. 

Most of my monkey photos lacked these things.  They look something like this:

"Hey there blurry monkey.  In my hurry to photograph you, I didn't realize that I practically bokeh-ed you out of the photo.  Now you look like someone's house cat.  Maybe the close-up of the leaf will be enough to confirm that this was, in fact, set in the rain forest."


Unfortunately, compared to my other photos, that one looks like something out of National Geographic.  The majority look more like this: 

There once was a pair of two monkeys sitting here kind of cutesy-like with their tails hanging down.  Then they fled like a thief in the night.  In between photos of caterpillars and tree frogs, I have long series of these.  Everything else about these photos is so focused, well-lit, or well-framed that I honestly had to spend time thinking about why I had so many photos of leaves.  Then I realized what they were.  They are now called the Pointless Tree photos. 

Of course, none of these unsuccessful monkey photos are even that upsetting until you consider this:   On the day of our departure my camera batteries died.  It was the same day that a family of 20 or so monkeys crossed RIGHT OVER OUR BOAT.  Even the tiny local baby on board pointed and said, "monos, monos!"  I just sighed.  I contemplated asking the guide to sift through my suitcase for my camera.  Maybe there was still a tiny bit of juice left in those batteries.  I knew there wasn't.  I cursed myself for trying to photograph the bats in our bathroom the night before.  I tried to tell myself that I was really just enjoying the moment.  I didn't have a shutter speed to worry about; I was just experiencing pure, unadulterated monkey observation.  It was lies.  I'm bitter.  I wanted that cool monkey shot.

If ever you are in the forest, know that if you bring anything less than a $700.00 camera, the little monks will elude you time and again.    But also know that you will be in Ecuador, and you will have so many photo-worthy opportunities that a $700.00 camera will be worth it.  If on these same travels you should see someone near the side of the road selling shirts that say, "Monkeys:  so badass pink river dolphins are just okay next to them," buy one.  It's my business.  I'm saving up for a $700.00 camera and another trip to the rain forest.