I realized a few facts might be useful in understanding the last post.
1. I am taking Kichwa and it is SO MUCH FUN. Jonathan is the only other American taking Kichwa but everyone else totally wishes they were!
2. Kichwa meets Monday from 10:30 AM – 12:00 PM and Wednesday from 5:00 – 6:30 PM. However, starting this week I will have a FLACSO class which overlaps with the Wednesday section. As a result, I (along with another girl who HAS ALREADY STUDIED LEVEL 1 KICHWA - why is life so unfair?) have a tutoring session with Jumandi on Mondays from 1:00 – 2:30 PM. Tomorrow is the first of these almost one-on-one tutoring sessions.
If I could choose to have an almost one-on-one tutoring session with James Franco or Jumandi, I would hands-down choose Jumandi. If I could choose to have an almost one-on-one tutoring session with Chuck Bass or Jumandi, I would still choose Jumandi. At the same time, Jumandi has the personality of Chuck Bass minus the endearing vulnerability. He is one demanding professor and as a result I have spent the last four days chanting Kichwa vocabulary to anyone who will listen. I have literally had dreams in which I study Kichwa vocabulary. Nevertheless, I’m almost positive that the minute I get to class my mind will go blank and I will be subject to that damning declaration: “Pero es tan faaaacil.” ¡Chuta!
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Sumak!
I returned from our trip to Baños to find several emails a Facebook message or two demanding a long-overdue blog update. I now have pictures to post from both Cuenca and Baños, in addition to general updates about my classes, community service, friends, and host family (spoiler alert: I love them all).
Instead, I am going to write about a completely different subject. (Don't worry, the rest will come.) One of my favorite parts of travelling are the characters who make a brief appearance in my life and a somewhat longer stay in my imagination. I met three such characters on our trip to Baños.
1. Family from Otavalo:
Our first morning in Baños we woke up early (7:00 AM!) for a dip in the famous aguas thermales. As it turns out, we would need a lot of encouragement from the locals (some of us more than others) to make our way into the steaming water of the hot pool and then out into a freezing shower piped directly from the nearby cascadas. Apparently this is good for the circulation. In combination with our 12 mile bike ride and hike up thousands of stairs to a statue of La Virgen, I must have improved my cardiovascular health tenfold. (Unfortunately, these improvements are probably canceled out by the lure of fresh bread and happy pancake hour – oh happy pancake hour!). Whenever I have to do anything physically demanding here, my mind always goes directly to what Mrs. Weaver (a teacher at my former elementary school) told me when she heard Quito is located at an altitude of about 9,000 feet: “You’re going to be building so many red blood cells!” It is my mantra, particularly when my knee is aching and my lungs are about to burst: “SO... MANY... RED... BLOOD... CELLS...” Incidentally, I have rediscovered (or perhaps newly discovered) a love for being covered in sweat and sunscreen and dirt and rain. There is something deeply satisfying about being grimy and tired. After our hike in Las Cajas (an adventure I have yet to recount to most of you) I resolved to spend more time in that state. That said, there is also something deeply satisfying about complaining loudly about being grimy and tired with the group. And something deeply satisfying about taking a shower after being grimy and tired. Maybe it has to do with the overall deeply satisfying sensation of being in Ecuador.
To return to the subject at hand: after the hot-cold shock to our systems, we spent a few hours floating in the larger, lukewarm pool of mineral water. While there, I overheard a group of people speaking Kichwa. I turned to Jonathan, whose command of the language is already infinitely better than mine, with an enthusiastic: “Go say hi!” He refused, so I had to take matters into my own hands. I approached the one who seemed closest to my own age and launched with a rapid-fire: “¿Hablas Kichwa? Ñuka shutika Palomami kan.” His response? “Chevere” of course. I made a few mistakes, but overall did well, especially when it came to my age. After literally hours of practice, this is the one thing I can say almost perfectly: “Ñukaka ISHKAY CHUNKA SHUK watata charini!” He was so impressed that he made me repeat it to his entire family.
My favorite part of the conversation, all conducted while drifting through the mineral water, was when he asked where I was studying the language. I mentioned Jumandi and his younger brother’s ears perked up. “You know Jumandi? He’s famous!” However he declined to tell me and Jonathan (who by this point had made his way over) exactly why Jumandi is famous in Otavalo, leading us to believe that he may in fact be infamous. (For those of you who don’t yet know, Jumandi is our Kichwa professor. He’s 23 and began the first class with chankar, a term similar to spooning that is a particular favorite among virtually all ecuatorianos.) Over the course of an hour, we learned that our new friend (also ichkay chunka shuk) works as a mechanic in Spain, where he lives with his wife – a fellow ecuatoriana whom he met while studying in Madrid. We also learned that he can hold his breath under water for 1 minute and 19 seconds, an impressive feat. I came in second with 49 seconds, way ahead of all the other gringos. Being tired and hungry and pruning from overexposure to the water, I was bordering on grouchy, a rare thing here. The competition, silly but fun, snapped me right out of my impending bad mood. Thanks, Otavaleño guy whose name I never quite caught!
Side note: As I’m typing this, I’m starting another cup of instant coffee. My host mother has just announced that I’ve officially cleaned out the supply that they’ve had for years. She is considering learning how to make real coffee (here called pasada, filtrada, o esencia) because instant just doesn’t seem to satisfy my caffeine addiction. I'm not sure how to feel about this.
I have ton of homework left to do (or rather start), so for the moment I’m going to leave you all hanging in regards to the other two Baños characters: Paxton from Kentucky and José the fire juggler. To be continued!
P.S. The title of this post, sumak, is the Kichwa version of chevere. If you haven't already memorized the meaning of chevere (cool, awesome, neat) please do so now because I am going to be using it for the rest of my life.
Instead, I am going to write about a completely different subject. (Don't worry, the rest will come.) One of my favorite parts of travelling are the characters who make a brief appearance in my life and a somewhat longer stay in my imagination. I met three such characters on our trip to Baños.
1. Family from Otavalo:
Our first morning in Baños we woke up early (7:00 AM!) for a dip in the famous aguas thermales. As it turns out, we would need a lot of encouragement from the locals (some of us more than others) to make our way into the steaming water of the hot pool and then out into a freezing shower piped directly from the nearby cascadas. Apparently this is good for the circulation. In combination with our 12 mile bike ride and hike up thousands of stairs to a statue of La Virgen, I must have improved my cardiovascular health tenfold. (Unfortunately, these improvements are probably canceled out by the lure of fresh bread and happy pancake hour – oh happy pancake hour!). Whenever I have to do anything physically demanding here, my mind always goes directly to what Mrs. Weaver (a teacher at my former elementary school) told me when she heard Quito is located at an altitude of about 9,000 feet: “You’re going to be building so many red blood cells!” It is my mantra, particularly when my knee is aching and my lungs are about to burst: “SO... MANY... RED... BLOOD... CELLS...” Incidentally, I have rediscovered (or perhaps newly discovered) a love for being covered in sweat and sunscreen and dirt and rain. There is something deeply satisfying about being grimy and tired. After our hike in Las Cajas (an adventure I have yet to recount to most of you) I resolved to spend more time in that state. That said, there is also something deeply satisfying about complaining loudly about being grimy and tired with the group. And something deeply satisfying about taking a shower after being grimy and tired. Maybe it has to do with the overall deeply satisfying sensation of being in Ecuador.
To return to the subject at hand: after the hot-cold shock to our systems, we spent a few hours floating in the larger, lukewarm pool of mineral water. While there, I overheard a group of people speaking Kichwa. I turned to Jonathan, whose command of the language is already infinitely better than mine, with an enthusiastic: “Go say hi!” He refused, so I had to take matters into my own hands. I approached the one who seemed closest to my own age and launched with a rapid-fire: “¿Hablas Kichwa? Ñuka shutika Palomami kan.” His response? “Chevere” of course. I made a few mistakes, but overall did well, especially when it came to my age. After literally hours of practice, this is the one thing I can say almost perfectly: “Ñukaka ISHKAY CHUNKA SHUK watata charini!” He was so impressed that he made me repeat it to his entire family.
My favorite part of the conversation, all conducted while drifting through the mineral water, was when he asked where I was studying the language. I mentioned Jumandi and his younger brother’s ears perked up. “You know Jumandi? He’s famous!” However he declined to tell me and Jonathan (who by this point had made his way over) exactly why Jumandi is famous in Otavalo, leading us to believe that he may in fact be infamous. (For those of you who don’t yet know, Jumandi is our Kichwa professor. He’s 23 and began the first class with chankar, a term similar to spooning that is a particular favorite among virtually all ecuatorianos.) Over the course of an hour, we learned that our new friend (also ichkay chunka shuk) works as a mechanic in Spain, where he lives with his wife – a fellow ecuatoriana whom he met while studying in Madrid. We also learned that he can hold his breath under water for 1 minute and 19 seconds, an impressive feat. I came in second with 49 seconds, way ahead of all the other gringos. Being tired and hungry and pruning from overexposure to the water, I was bordering on grouchy, a rare thing here. The competition, silly but fun, snapped me right out of my impending bad mood. Thanks, Otavaleño guy whose name I never quite caught!
Side note: As I’m typing this, I’m starting another cup of instant coffee. My host mother has just announced that I’ve officially cleaned out the supply that they’ve had for years. She is considering learning how to make real coffee (here called pasada, filtrada, o esencia) because instant just doesn’t seem to satisfy my caffeine addiction. I'm not sure how to feel about this.
I have ton of homework left to do (or rather start), so for the moment I’m going to leave you all hanging in regards to the other two Baños characters: Paxton from Kentucky and José the fire juggler. To be continued!
P.S. The title of this post, sumak, is the Kichwa version of chevere. If you haven't already memorized the meaning of chevere (cool, awesome, neat) please do so now because I am going to be using it for the rest of my life.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Dirty Dancing: Ecuadorian Afternoons
The girls and Jonathan have decided to join one of Universidad Politécnica Salesiana’s cultural groups, Danza Tropical. Anna and I arrived to our first lesson dressed in our ropa deportiva, just as Marco instructed us: spandex and sneakers. As far as I can tell, the primary function of this clothing was to make us that much easier to identify among the well-heeled students. We were awaiting Marco in the hallway outside the cultural center when two boisterous guys sporting tight-fitting t-shirts and cigarettes rolled up to us with delight: Ah, here are the gringas! Before their arrival, Anna had confided that she was nervous to dance with the more rhythmically-inclined Ecuatorianos. Me, I hadn’t put too much thought into it, save fleeting visions of Diego Luna in Dirty Dancing: Havana Nights. But these guys are not of the same ilk as Diego Luna with his perfect bone structure and halting smile. They’re built more like football players than anything else. And they’re my height. Sure I’m a gringa with absolutely no experience and an injured knee, but for the fleeting minutes in which we collected audio equipment from a dank basement and trucked it over to the cafeteria, I was sure this going to be a cinch.
In Ecuador, the ability to dance is absolutely crucial for dating success. In fact, so much so that I didn’t have to work hard to convince my host brother to taking extra salsa lessons with me. He knows he needs them if he’s going to have any real prospects. I imagine that it’s for this reason that even burly guys like these can shake their hips like nobody’s business. Marco began the lesson with some easy moves for those of us who, and he didn’t mince his words here, can’t dance because we’re from the United States. After a few jumps, my knee was aching but I was grinning with that dumb smile that seems to make an appearance so often here. All my hard work learning jazz squares for my eighth-grade performance of The Music Man was finally paying off. I could do this. Then the real dancing started. Everyone partnered up and I was paired with David, the burliest and of course the best dancer of the group. Perhaps forgetting that I am indeed a gringa (they had all smiled when I said my name) he attempted to lead normally at first. Then he took a step back and showed me the rhythm. Twice. Three times. After the fourth attempt this way, he spun me around, grabbed my hips, and attempted to physically guide me through the motions. From my many viewings of Dirty Dancing I knew to expect this kind of close contact and remained calm. For a few minutes at least. However, unlike Romola Garai’s character, at no point did I start to get the hang of the moves despite his best efforts. Finally, I had to face him and announce that I am not, in fact, Shakira. And this was the first time since we had been partnered that he cracked a smile. Despite my Argentine heritage, I will probably never be able to tango. But my fiery Latina personality will make up for it. Right?
Even more embarrassing was the fact that we were practicing in a room made of glass. The glass functioned like a mirror, so I could see from every angle just how awkward I really was. And so could the group of 20 or so students that had been playing basketball in the adjacent court. They spent what felt like hours standing outside the huge windows with wry smiles. Luckily, Jonathan and I had to leave early for a meeting about our Kichwa class. When we returned, Anna and the rest of the group were doing some incredibly complicated circular dance that I couldn’t even follow visually. I was enjoying a sense of relief that I would have week to practice in front of my mirror at home when Marco announced that we would all be meeting up Saturday for conditioning. This includes lunch, rugby, capture-the-flag, sprinting, and swimming. I’m slightly concerned that I may spend most of my time here in Ecuador on crutches. But I’m also delighted for another chance to hang out with this affable and open group.
I have tons more to update about classes and I’m working on posts about our adventures in Cuenca and thoughts about Quito, which I’ll try to put up as soon as possible. But I just had to share a bit about Danza Tropical, or as I like to refer to it in my head Dirty Dancing: Ecuadorian Afternoons.
In Ecuador, the ability to dance is absolutely crucial for dating success. In fact, so much so that I didn’t have to work hard to convince my host brother to taking extra salsa lessons with me. He knows he needs them if he’s going to have any real prospects. I imagine that it’s for this reason that even burly guys like these can shake their hips like nobody’s business. Marco began the lesson with some easy moves for those of us who, and he didn’t mince his words here, can’t dance because we’re from the United States. After a few jumps, my knee was aching but I was grinning with that dumb smile that seems to make an appearance so often here. All my hard work learning jazz squares for my eighth-grade performance of The Music Man was finally paying off. I could do this. Then the real dancing started. Everyone partnered up and I was paired with David, the burliest and of course the best dancer of the group. Perhaps forgetting that I am indeed a gringa (they had all smiled when I said my name) he attempted to lead normally at first. Then he took a step back and showed me the rhythm. Twice. Three times. After the fourth attempt this way, he spun me around, grabbed my hips, and attempted to physically guide me through the motions. From my many viewings of Dirty Dancing I knew to expect this kind of close contact and remained calm. For a few minutes at least. However, unlike Romola Garai’s character, at no point did I start to get the hang of the moves despite his best efforts. Finally, I had to face him and announce that I am not, in fact, Shakira. And this was the first time since we had been partnered that he cracked a smile. Despite my Argentine heritage, I will probably never be able to tango. But my fiery Latina personality will make up for it. Right?
Even more embarrassing was the fact that we were practicing in a room made of glass. The glass functioned like a mirror, so I could see from every angle just how awkward I really was. And so could the group of 20 or so students that had been playing basketball in the adjacent court. They spent what felt like hours standing outside the huge windows with wry smiles. Luckily, Jonathan and I had to leave early for a meeting about our Kichwa class. When we returned, Anna and the rest of the group were doing some incredibly complicated circular dance that I couldn’t even follow visually. I was enjoying a sense of relief that I would have week to practice in front of my mirror at home when Marco announced that we would all be meeting up Saturday for conditioning. This includes lunch, rugby, capture-the-flag, sprinting, and swimming. I’m slightly concerned that I may spend most of my time here in Ecuador on crutches. But I’m also delighted for another chance to hang out with this affable and open group.
I have tons more to update about classes and I’m working on posts about our adventures in Cuenca and thoughts about Quito, which I’ll try to put up as soon as possible. But I just had to share a bit about Danza Tropical, or as I like to refer to it in my head Dirty Dancing: Ecuadorian Afternoons.
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