I think I´m getting the hang of this technology thing. Below are links to photos and videos mostly from San Fransisco, one of two communities where we hope to focus our efforts. My personal favorite is the video of the little girl dancing the Reggaeton.
More photos -
http://mannaproject.smugmug.com/Ecuador
Videos -
http://youtube.com/user/MannaEcuador
Friday, August 31, 2007
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Fotos, Finally
Apparently, before the advent of USB, came my camera. Oh, my camera also predates standardized memory chip sizes. So the fact that I forgot my camera cable has meant that I have had some difficulty getting pictures uploaded. Sorry, Mom and Lori. But here they are:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2074010&l=d3bde&id=4704956
Witty commentary included at no extra charge.
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2074010&l=d3bde&id=4704956
Witty commentary included at no extra charge.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
For the love of the game
My first love, and my first heartbreak, was baseball. No doubt about it. The players´ strike of 1994 was the first blow. Curveballs, which came around 1999 for me, were the nail in the coffin.
Baseball is back. I still don´t give a rat about major league ball, but when I was in Botswana last fall, there was a group of guys that played across the street from my house. I also brought a book to Ecuador called Baseball Dynasties, about the greatest teams of all time. And here in Santa Isabel - in a country where Soccer is God - one small group of kids spend every single recess playing the Grand Old Game.
Well, sort of. There are five bases, rather than four. A pitch is only a ´ball´ if you don´t swing at it. Foul balls don´t exist, and a team gets to keep batting until every single one of its hitters has gotten out (or, in Spanish, been ´burned´) once.
I´ve been lucky enough to be invited to play a couple of times, though I always seem to get burned because of some crazy local rule that I don´t know. I also blew out my ankle again this afternoon chasing Johnny´s homerun (jonron) into the outfield (cow pasture). Whatever - I´ve got an ankle brace and will be back on the diamond tomorrow.
I love this game.
Baseball is back. I still don´t give a rat about major league ball, but when I was in Botswana last fall, there was a group of guys that played across the street from my house. I also brought a book to Ecuador called Baseball Dynasties, about the greatest teams of all time. And here in Santa Isabel - in a country where Soccer is God - one small group of kids spend every single recess playing the Grand Old Game.
Well, sort of. There are five bases, rather than four. A pitch is only a ´ball´ if you don´t swing at it. Foul balls don´t exist, and a team gets to keep batting until every single one of its hitters has gotten out (or, in Spanish, been ´burned´) once.
I´ve been lucky enough to be invited to play a couple of times, though I always seem to get burned because of some crazy local rule that I don´t know. I also blew out my ankle again this afternoon chasing Johnny´s homerun (jonron) into the outfield (cow pasture). Whatever - I´ve got an ankle brace and will be back on the diamond tomorrow.
I love this game.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Mi familia Ecuatoriana (my Ecuadorian family)
As I eagerly anticipate the arrival in September of seven other gringos, I am living in the tiny rural neighborhood of Ecuador called Santa Isabel, just outside of the country´s capital. What´s more, I live with a local family, the Rivadeneiras-Guacales.
My family consists of a one mother, one father, one brother, one grandfather, one nameless cat, countless guinea pigs, about fifteen huge pigs (or chanchos), and two dogs named Doogie and Gringo. Yes, Gringo.
By about a foot, I am the tallest member of our household. Doña Rosa, the boss, can´t be taller than about four-foot seven. She and Michelle, a cousin of indeterminable relation who comes for work during the summer, are Ecuador´s most closely guarded culinary secret in addition to managing the farm out back. Rosa´s husband Jorge runs a mechanic shop in Quito, and has served thus far as my main source of information on everything Ecuadorian. David, my seventeen or eighteen-year-old brother (ñaño, they say), helps out with about everything and can´t quite remember which year he dropped out of school.
Then there´s the grandfather, alternately señor and abuelito (which literally means ´little grandfather´). At ninety-one years of age, you´d think he´s not up to much. You´d generally be right, as he mostly moves his plastic chair around the patio, following the sun. But yesterday, spurred by a visit from a doctor who told him he had at least three or four more years left, we found him with a hoe in the garden out back, sweating and cussing up a storm in his house shoes. I haven´t found out yet if he was trying to extend the doctor´s prognosis or shorten it. Ninety-one is a mountain of years - though I have been able to get from him that his father lived to one-hundred-twenty.
My family consists of a one mother, one father, one brother, one grandfather, one nameless cat, countless guinea pigs, about fifteen huge pigs (or chanchos), and two dogs named Doogie and Gringo. Yes, Gringo.
By about a foot, I am the tallest member of our household. Doña Rosa, the boss, can´t be taller than about four-foot seven. She and Michelle, a cousin of indeterminable relation who comes for work during the summer, are Ecuador´s most closely guarded culinary secret in addition to managing the farm out back. Rosa´s husband Jorge runs a mechanic shop in Quito, and has served thus far as my main source of information on everything Ecuadorian. David, my seventeen or eighteen-year-old brother (ñaño, they say), helps out with about everything and can´t quite remember which year he dropped out of school.
Then there´s the grandfather, alternately señor and abuelito (which literally means ´little grandfather´). At ninety-one years of age, you´d think he´s not up to much. You´d generally be right, as he mostly moves his plastic chair around the patio, following the sun. But yesterday, spurred by a visit from a doctor who told him he had at least three or four more years left, we found him with a hoe in the garden out back, sweating and cussing up a storm in his house shoes. I haven´t found out yet if he was trying to extend the doctor´s prognosis or shorten it. Ninety-one is a mountain of years - though I have been able to get from him that his father lived to one-hundred-twenty.
Friday, August 10, 2007
A note on Ecuadorian food
1) It´s mouth-watering. All of it.
2) Every Ecuadorian lunch and dinner (at least in the mountains, where we are) begins with a soup: potato soup, pumpkin soup, something-called-Habas soup, plantain soup. One generalyl begins by blending the base starch or vegetable, then adding the deliciousness as you boil.
3) Following whatever filling soup you just had will be a plate of rice-and-something, the `something` generally absent from whatever Spanish Dictionary you brought, and often accompanied by some hunk of meat. Occasionally that something is fried bananas or avocados, my personal favorites.
4) If you`re lucky enough to live in a real-live Ecuadorian rural home (as I am) all meals are also accompanied by either a juice or shake made from one of the fresh fruits just picked from the garden out back. Thus far, my favorite is `jugo de tomate de arbol,`or `tree tomato juice.` God only knows what it is, but it beats the hell out of Smoothie Shack.
5) If you`re unlucky, your food may also come with a side of some character-building illness, which I was able to avoid for a full week. I lost the race yesterday, however, and have spent Ecuador`s independence day convalescing rather than celebrating.
6) It`s mouth-watering. All of it except the illnesses, of course. And totally worth it.
2) Every Ecuadorian lunch and dinner (at least in the mountains, where we are) begins with a soup: potato soup, pumpkin soup, something-called-Habas soup, plantain soup. One generalyl begins by blending the base starch or vegetable, then adding the deliciousness as you boil.
3) Following whatever filling soup you just had will be a plate of rice-and-something, the `something` generally absent from whatever Spanish Dictionary you brought, and often accompanied by some hunk of meat. Occasionally that something is fried bananas or avocados, my personal favorites.
4) If you`re lucky enough to live in a real-live Ecuadorian rural home (as I am) all meals are also accompanied by either a juice or shake made from one of the fresh fruits just picked from the garden out back. Thus far, my favorite is `jugo de tomate de arbol,`or `tree tomato juice.` God only knows what it is, but it beats the hell out of Smoothie Shack.
5) If you`re unlucky, your food may also come with a side of some character-building illness, which I was able to avoid for a full week. I lost the race yesterday, however, and have spent Ecuador`s independence day convalescing rather than celebrating.
6) It`s mouth-watering. All of it except the illnesses, of course. And totally worth it.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
Pick me up, I´ve landed
Spanish, so it turns out, is exhausting. ¿Who knew?
I landed in Ecuador last night, received by Byron and Monica Salvatierra, the managers of our partner organization here in Quito. After a perfect night´s sleep, I woke up to the light padding of Milena, the Salvatierra´s almost-two-year-old daughter. Milena and I aren´t friends quite yet, but her mother said that her gift of a naked barbie was a step in the right direction. Their other daughter, Najat, seems likely to be my new eight-year-old Spanish professor, given that she speaks more than the rest of the family combined.
Tomorrow I head into Santa Isabel, the rural area where we will be living and working for the next year. I like Quito, the two million-strong city where the Salvatierras live, but am eager to breathe carbon monoxide-free air.
Hasta entonces,
Mark
I landed in Ecuador last night, received by Byron and Monica Salvatierra, the managers of our partner organization here in Quito. After a perfect night´s sleep, I woke up to the light padding of Milena, the Salvatierra´s almost-two-year-old daughter. Milena and I aren´t friends quite yet, but her mother said that her gift of a naked barbie was a step in the right direction. Their other daughter, Najat, seems likely to be my new eight-year-old Spanish professor, given that she speaks more than the rest of the family combined.
Tomorrow I head into Santa Isabel, the rural area where we will be living and working for the next year. I like Quito, the two million-strong city where the Salvatierras live, but am eager to breathe carbon monoxide-free air.
Hasta entonces,
Mark
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