¿Quién es Eduardo?

La pregunta es: ¿Quién es Eduardo? or in English: Who is Eduardo? Now that the question has been posed we shall provide part of the answer. Eduardo is the friend I met in the summer of 2007 in Quito on the basketball courts in El Parque de la Carolina. He, along with his then roommate, Cesar, invited me to come stay with them during my next visit here in Ecuador. I took them up on the offer and now I’m staying with Eduardo (Cesar is in now working in Spain).

Eduardo is a man of many names and many talents. Eduardo is actually his second name, his first is Abel, but he prefers Eduardo or Edu for short. Edu works as a computer programmer by day and baller by night (and the weekends). I know of few other people here in Ecuador that are as into basketball as Edu. First and foremost, the man’s got skillz, and yes that’s skillz with a “Z.” I mean, you know someone’s a baller when they have a backboard from the park and a pile of championship and MVP trophy medallions as decorative pieces in their living room.

He’s also got a basketball shoe collection that would make most shoe-philes in the US jealous and most of the time he’s playing outdoors (which is killer on your body as well as your shoes). I’m literally burning holes through the soles of the shoes I brought to play with out here (last summer I had two pairs fall apart on me). Despite a busy work schedule, Edu plays ball 4x a week and parties about the same number of nights a week.

While I’ve been resting up for the big B-day party, Edu has been coming home at 3, 4, 5, or 6am in the morning. And he’ll sleep for a couple hours and be ready to go ball by 8am. I’m still rolling around in the bed at this time on the weekends, and Edu will come in my room like “¿Listo para jugar?” Ready to play? I got 3 or 4 times more sleep than you Edu and you’re ready to play already? I tried to say I don’t play well before the afternoon, but I’ve gotten more used to it especially with my compañero pushing me out of bed in the morning.

Oh, so onto the B-day party. Edu and me are basically the same age. He just hit the big 3-0 and I’m about to in a few weeks. I’ll tell you though, we both live young. I think it’s the jugo especial we had the night of the party (or all the ball we play).

The night of the party the house had waves of people coming through to pay their respects to the birthday boy and the liberations were flowing for 10 hours straight! That’s right. Mas o menos we had started partying around 7pm and I think I went to bed around 5am. Not really sure though, but that’s another story, and there were many other details that I’ll have leave for another time (the pics I think speak to the kind of time we had). Bottom line is that we kept it movin from sundown to sunup. And that’s how Edu "do" on the regular.

Empanadas, Morocho, y Choques

Today I showed up to my Spanish class half an hour late, unshowered, and wearing the same clothes I played basketball in the night before. Usually, I play ball on the weekends (plus Tuesday and Thursday during the week if it’s night raining). Last night I didn’t play so well. Frank told me “Tu cuerpo está aquí, pero tu alma no está aquí” (Your body is here, but your soul isn’t here). He was right. After four hours of class in the morning and a couple hours at the foundation Remar with the kids I was tired. Playing streetball is tough on your body and mine needs to be nice and warmed up to be really into it and last night I just couldn’t get there.

After the game, I went with Edison, his wife Betti, and several other guys to get food in the Floresta (a part of Quito known for the street venders). We got some empanadas and morocho to drink. I’ve had empanadas before, but the morocho was a first. It’s a sweet milk based drink with corn and some other type of grain that I couldn’t quite make out, and it was good. I had three glasses of it along with four empanadas. As usual, I had to insist on putting in some money for the food. Still, Edison paid for most of my food and gave me some of his too.

Afterwards, we dropped some guys off in el centro historico, drove past the presidential palace (which was beautifully lit up at night), and headed south to the borough of Chillogallo, where Edison and Betti live. Chillogallo is a borough that’s clear off the tourist map. The only thing I’ve ever heard about this area is that it’s not the safest part of the city.

As we came up the hill to Edison’s house and turned into his street, all of a sudden we felt a big bang, as the truck we were riding was shaken. The car behind us had tried to quickly pass us as we were turning and hit us from behind. Edison hadn’t signaled and the car behind us hadn’t slowed down. Everyone in our truck was ok, including Betti, who I should mention here is four months pregnant. People stepped out of the car that hit us and came to Edison’s window yelling that it was his fault. Edison said excuse me sir, but you hit me.

Edison’s truck is pretty big. He uses it to deliver those big 20 liter water jugs that go in those purified water coolers (he delivers about 30-40 of them a day). The truck also has a massive rear bumper, which protected us, but smashed in the front of the other car like a tin can.

Edison didn’t want to argue the case when it was already approaching midnight and tried to drive off. The other guys weren’t having it and jumped in front of his truck. Edison slammed on the breaks and threw open the truck door, whistling loudly as he jumped out. I figured this was a call for backup for those who lived on the block and figured it was a good thing since one of the other guys had picked up a rather large rock at this point. Betti hopped out of the truck and went up the block. Now at this point, I’m looking pretty lame being the last one to get out of the truck behind a pregnant women.

I threw my hood up, stepped out of the truck, and walked around the front of the truck to get Edison’s back. By this time, the guys who hit us were threatening to call the police. Edison told them to go ahead, cause “quien choque, paga” (whoever hits, pays). As they called the police, Edison’s father and mother (Mr. and Mrs. Magro) showed up on the scene. At this point the arguing moved up the street to the house. Edison drove his truck up to put it in the driveway, but first his father had to move out his truck. I noticed that Mr. Magro pulled his truck out rather quickly and that it had a state insignia on the side.

One of the guys who hit us asked me if my father was in the military. Being a little confused, I responded that I didn’t know. How was I take for Mr. Magro’s son you ask? I made sure to throw my hood up before I jumped out of the truck to make sure that no one would see my hair. There are a number of things about me that give away that I’m not from around these parts, but I’ve learned that my hair is the biggest sign. The hoodie comes in handy at times and it worked here as I was taken for Edison’s brother. Only later did I figure out that federal military trump local police and that by pulling out his truck quickly, Mr. Magro was intentionally calling attention to his state truck and the fact that he worked for the feds. The other guys seemed to calm down a bit after these signs were understood.

When the police arrived on the scene there was more arguing and explaining of what had happened. To cut it short, even though Edison hadn’t signaled, the police decided it was more the other guy’s fault for trying to zoom past another car on a windy road going uphill.

At this point everything seemed to be good, so I thought. However, Edison still seemed a bit worried as the police got in their vehicle. I asked Betti what was going on cause I was clearly missing something with all the fast Spanish. She said that the police still had Edison’s documents. I saw some money come out and quickly figured out what was going on.

Edison paid off the cops and got his license and documents back from la policia (aka. los corruptos). He told me, “Soy pilas” (I am batteries)... ?? I didn’t get it. He later explained “Soy pilas” is when someone is really smart or intelligent. I think it must be the equivalent of something like “I’m bright” in English. The way Edison handled the situation definitely proved the fact.

So it was a bit of a late night, but I got set up with a bed to sleep in and Edison even gave me the shirt that I left at his house last summer to sleep in. The Magro family showed me hospitality like I was family. The next morning, I took my contacts out of the cup of water I had them in (no contact solution) and threw them in my mouth before putting them back in my eyes (this is a great trick when you don’t have contact solution).

I went onto the roof with Edison to feed the dogs and saw one of the views of a lifetime. Chillogallo is higher up in the mountains than the rest of Quito and we had a clear view of the surrounding city and the snow-capped Mt. Cotopaxi off in the eastern distance. I went back downstairs and had the best breakfast since I’ve been here. Pan con queso, huevos duros, y uvas (bread with cheese, hard boiled eggs, and grapes).

My first trip to Chillogallo was unforgettable in many ways, and definitely worth being half an hour late to class today.

No Soy Gringo

This week I have another new maestra (teacher), Rocío, and I really like her teaching style. We have discussion most of the time (for about the first 3 hours) and then she breaks down some grammar for me during the last hour. In our conversation today the history behind the word “gringo” came up. I don’t use it much, because of the negative connotations behind it, though I’ve heard the word on several occasions and have been referred to as such in various places.

Well, the etymology of the word is actually English, not Spanish, a combination of the words “green” and “go.” Supposedly it was first used in Panamá, perhaps around the time of the Panama Canal period or sometime after its construction when U.S. troops where stationed in and around Panama City. Local Panamanians would chant at the U.S. troops - who wore green fatigues - to go home. The chant “Green-Go” became “Gringo.” I guess the U.S. troops wouldn’t have understood “Verde Va.”

Anyway, the catch phrase/word spread and today in certain Latin American countries it has more of a negative stigma attached to it than in some others. For example, in Panamá, it is really meant as a slur (this perhaps sheds some more light on some of my experience in Panama City). In Ecuador, the term is more of a label and not so much meant to cut someone down. La Mariscal for example is nicknamed “Gringolandia” (haven’t been to that part of town once yet this trip).

To wrap up, I’ve heard the word a few times on the basketball court and in other places. I’ve also been referred to as “white boy” in the states when playing ball, though I’ve gotten the opposite of that at times too if people want to associate my skills with my “darker” ancestry. Though I can’t stand any of these labels, there’s partial truth in all of them.

This weekend when playing ball in Quito, some people said that they thought I was Brazilian or Argentinean. I guess when you spend 12 hours of the weekend playing ball and hanging out with folks in el Parque de la Carolina (the biggest park in the city), people here don’t really associate that with how most “gringos” like to spend their time. Funny thing is, I was glad when I was (mis)taken for being from South America.

In the end, people may try to label me how they want, but I refuse to fit myself into their boxes and let them constrain me. As Audre Lorde said:

“If I didn’t define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people’s fantasies and eaten alive.”

Mi Casa Nueva

Well, living in Ecuador is a new experience, even more so than the first time I visited here a year ago. The main reason is that this time I’m living with my friend Eduardo (and his dog, Rocco). Last year before I left Quito, Eduardo and his roommate Cesar, invited me to come and stay with them next time around. I decided to take them up on the offer and it turned out that Cesar took a job in Spain a few months ago so there’s an extra room for me to stay in.

Staying here instead of with a host family in the area (like I did last summer) gives me a greater sense of independence and really makes it feel like I’m living here in Quito instead of just visiting on a vacation. I mean, when I come home I gotta walk Rocco or the poor guy craps all over the floor.

I’m already going to school here (4 hours of Spanish class each morning) and I just got a job today (well, it’s volunteer work for this foundation called Remar). I’m doing a lot of work here, so this definitely isn’t a party trip like Jamaica or Veracruz (ok, Veracruz was school too, but college is just a time to party anyway). However, during this trip I’m really just having a good time taking it day by day.

This second time around here in Quito is certainly a different type of trip than Veracruz was before this.  I'm reaching a new level of comfortability here in South America. I mean, I hardly even think about having to drink purified bottled water all the time, living without a refrigerator in the apartment, or having to take cold showers. Well, there are two wires that go into the shower head to heat up the water right before it comes out, but the higher you have the pressure for the water to come out, the less heated the water is (cause the water is passing through the shower head faster and the wires don’t have time to heat it up). I opt to go for less pressured showers with more heat, which leaves me a bit cold anyway cause not much water comes out. The shower head is also a bit low and I have to hunch a bit so my head doesn’t hit it. At first I was a bit fearful that if I touched the electrified shower head or got too close to the wires I would get the shock of my life (being so wet and all), but I’ve gotten over this and figure it’s gotta be safe enough.

I'm not complaining though, really I’m just listing some things that make it a little bit different living here in Quito.  My dad seems to think I’m living in a shack taking “monkey baths” or something, but really, for all the differences between here and the states, life is pretty much the same. It does depend on your usual standard of living of course, but this standard is pretty high comparatively speaking to some other I've had.

So basically, we live in a bachelor pad in the nicer part of town, so still lock it down like we were storing gold in here. I know there’s crime, I mean I’ve heard about the crime and maybe have seen some, but I think the security we have is real good. Definitely not worried about violent crime like in the states though. I’ve been told if you get robbed the muggers will leave you a quarter to get home on the bus. Yeah, the busses are only a quarter (but not painted as nicely as in Panamá).

Some people have asked me where the party at, but really this trip isn’t even about all that for me. It’s been more about doing the same things I’ve done before in the same place I’ve done them before. I’m spending time with old friends, though I’m making new ones too. However, my main goal is to hopefully get better at Spanish. Even though my progress is slow, as Granny would tell me: “You’re getting there.” Yeah, I am getting there and during this trip I don’t really need to see any more “great” sites for that. School, working with kids, playing ball, and spending time with friends is the basic equation. Same old thing.

...well, I'm still seeing a fair amount of great sites. I mean, how many people can walk out their front door, turn the corner, and see the Andes Mountains in the clouds (I’ll get some pics posted of this when it’s sunny, cause these first ones were on a cloudy day).

¡La Liga Ganó!

Yeah, it’s past 2am, and this ain’t Veracruz, but I felt like I just partied like it was. La Liga Deportiva Universitaria, which is an equipo de fútbol (soccer team) here in Quito, just won the Copa Libertadores (Liberator’s Cup), and the city of Quito (and probably the whole country) is celebrating their first championship in the tournament. On top of that, La Liga’s final opponent was Fluminense of Río de Janeiro, Brazil. And as one of my teachers told me, “Brasil es fútbol” (Brazil is soccer), so it was a pretty big deal for an Ecuadorian team to beat Brazil.

I was actually supposed to go watch the game with Eduardo at his sister’s house, but he had to work late. I wasn’t feeling that great anyway (my body has had to adjust to the temperate climate here in the Andes), but I ended up catching the end of the game at a Chinese restaurant when I went out to eat. I figured I better watch the game even if I wasn’t feeling well since I could hear the people in the house next to us screaming like bloody murder (Fluminense had scored).

The game, sure enough, went down to penalties after two extra periods of neither team scoring. La Liga’s goalie, José Francisco Cevallos, became the hero of the night, blocking 3 penalty kicks and finally ending the game (La Liga had already made 3 of the 5, so it was over for Fluminense). Cevallos was immortalized that night. One of my teacher’s said that the federal government could give him a pension after he retires. If this still doesn’t give you an idea of how big fútbol is in Ecuador, then let me describe the scene that night.

Well, when the game was on, Quito looked like a ghost town. As you walked down the street, most of what you saw were people glued to TVs behind house windows and locked store gates. The only thing open pretty much were bars and the Chinese restaurant I came across, and even there the people inside were carefully focused on every play of the game. When Cevallos made the game winning block the whole city erupted. Everyone in the restaurant went directly to the door. The streets began to erupt with song, dance, cheers, and honking car horns. That was only the beginning.

At the restaurant I paid for my food after someone came back from the street to the register and then started walking home. Fireworks were already ringing out like gunshots throughout the city. Everyone you came across screamed “La Liga,” “Campeónes,” or something else to let you know that La Liga had won. Every car that passed was honking and people were intermediately dancing in the streets. When I got home, I could hear the neighbors going nuts, singing various championship songs.

I forgot to mention in this story that I locked my keys inside and couldn’t really get back in the house, so I was waiting for Eduardo to get back home and let me in. This becomes relevant now because as the neighbors came outside to party they saw me waiting and they asked me if I wanted to go with them instead of waiting for Eduardo. Mind you, I just met these neighbors (Roberto, his wife Gabriela, and her sister, Soledad), I had no idea where they were taking me, and I really didn’t do a very good job of asking where we were going. I just figured there was a bigger party about to jump off somewhere so I jumped in he car and off we went.

Turns out, we were going to the University of Quito, where La Liga was founded some years ago (I found out later La Liga is a professional team though, not a college team). The earlier ghost town was now alive with movement and sound. As we got closer to La Universidad de Quito the streets became flooded with people. We turned off on a side street, parked the car, and went by foot the rest of the way to the front gates of the University.

In the states a professional sports team that has just won a championship might have a city sanctioned parade a few days after the final game. This parade was a impromptu gathering formed by the people to celebrate their newly crowned national heroes. I was told that La Universidad de Quito was a public school attended by those that might not be able to afford a private school. The gathering seemed to include all different types of Ecuatorianos, though it still probably didn’t include the lowest classes, who didn’t have the means to even get to the celebration.

Funny thing I thought, upon arriving to the crowded front gates of the University, a lot of people seemed to be soaking wet. About the same time I noticed this, one of the guys in the group, Christián, starts stripping off his clothes and tells me to do the same. We were going to go jump in the fountain with everyone else. Now, this is not 90+ warm and sunny weather we’re talkin about here in South America. Quito is high up in the Andes mountains, so it’s cool if the sun ain’t out, and at this point it was around midnight.

Whatever. How was I gonna be in Quito the night La Liga won it’s first Copa Libertadores, and be standing right in front of the Universidad and not jump in the fountain? Off came my fleece and shirt, and into the crowd we went. When I say this place was packed, I mean we had to push our way through people just to get to the fountain... and there was hardly any space in this huge fountain to even get into it! We were only in the shallow part and the cold water flew as hundreds of people inside the fountain jumped up and down! After getting thoroughly soaked we squeezed our way out and met back up with the group.

After drink off a bit and getting my clothes back on, somebody handed me a beer and we drank, somehow here was also wine passed around too, as we sang songs, joked, laughed, and had a real chill time as everyone took in the championship. To be honest, at the beginning of the night when I was watching the game, I didn’t even know which team on the television was La Liga and which was Fluminense (I dared not ask anyone and just figured it out on my own). By the end of the night I was pumping my first screaming “¡Li-Li-Li Ga-Ga-Ga!” and singing “¡Campeón, Campeón!”

Yeah, Quito is a new trip, but I’m getting into it pretty quick.

A Day in Panamá

I am safe and sound in Quito, arriving last night (Monday). I had a nice day in Panamá (after getting stuck there cause the airline gave my seat away on my connecting flight to Quito, but they paid for shuttle, hotel, and 3 meals, so it was all good).  I'm kinda glad it was only a day though because you can tell the US has straight pimped the city for over a hundred years.

Panamá is really a creation of the US, which helped it break off from Columbia in 1903, but for most of its history its largely been shaped by the Panama Canal (which is US built, owned, and run).   Since the completion of the canal in 1914 it's been an army base and North American tourist magnet.   It doesn't seem like much gets built up in the city unless it's for extranjeros (foreigners) and the racial stratification is almost palpable. Even though it's on the Pacific Ocean side of country there's no beach to speak of (or at least I didn't see it).  The bay next to the city was miles of mudclumps getting bulldozed to probably put up a mall or another hotel (the picture below isn't even the worst view).

There were many nice people though. After I found out that my bank blocked my ATM card I had to make some calls (but had no money) and the front desk put through the call to my bank back in the states.  But even when I thought I got it straightened out the ATMs were still not giving it up. So I just decided to go to some museums and a nice girl named Evelyn at the hotel warned me that I might get robbed if I went to that part of the city just walking around. I told her I didn't have any money for them to rob me of and went anyway.  I nice doorman, Daniel, helped my with instructions to get on the bus (this was all in Spanish, so I'm already getting back into it).  I did, however, make one last attempt to get money from an ATM and it finally worked!  Good thing, cause I only had a ten on me), they´re on the "imperialist" dollar there too (same in Ecuador too).

Later, when I got out of the touristy spots of the city, I started to notice a different side of being a Norteamericano in Panamá. I must have been the only extranjero taking the city buses and one the youth on the bus tried to tell me not to take a certain bus that I knew I was supposed to take.  I got on the bus anyway and found my way to where I was going.  When I finally go to the Afro-Antillian Museum of Panama I had an experience that wasn't the best. After being told I could take pictures without flash I think one of the women at the front desk got upset that I was taking so many (the stuff was super interesting to me). Mind you, I never let the flash off even once by accident.  She tried to tell me the museum was closing and that I needed to leave, even though it was still 15-20 miutes before closing.  Now granted, my Spanish isn't all that great, but I tried to explain to her that I was a student who was genuinely interested in this material.  Still, I think I was perceived as just another tourist that wanted to take a bunch of pictures and for that reason it seemed she got somewhat upset with me.

I'm finding more and more that it's difficult to always cross barriers of pre-conceptions. I know I'm first percieved as a "white" or "gringo" extranjero de Norteamerica throughout the majority of Latin America.  It can be difficult to be accepted as an individual if I don't have time to explain myself, my interests, why I'm traveling, and that I understand the problems my country has caused in other countries.  The things that are important to me don't always represent what are important to many others from the United States.  Generally, most people who have thirty minutes with me tend to figure this out.  Now, I'm not rejecting that I deserved that treated in the musuem.  I mean, what I came to realize that day was I am still a tourist (despite my attempts to disassociate myself with being one - thoughts come to mind of the tourists in Mexico complaining that no one spoke English in the store they were shopping in).  The only difference between me and many other extranjeros has been my intent.  And let's be real, people can't see intent.

The afternoon in Panamá ended on a good note, and not just because I got a pair of shorts and two pairs of corduroys (another brown pair baby, yeah!) all for under $10!!  It's a good thing I waited to do clothes shopping after all. But the afternoon ended well because when I was walking down the busy, jumbled streets of Panama City (where you can hardly find a street sign to save your life), someone called out me. I turned around and it was Daniel from the hotel! We talked a bit, he was going to show me where to get the cheapest (and nicest) clothes, but I told him that I had to catch my bus to the airport. He gave me his info and told me to give him a call when I was back in the city. He wrote his name down as "Dany" because he said it was the "American" way to say it (his last name was Barrera). Daniel also gave me directions to take a city bus back to the hotel.

After almost missing my shuttle bus for the airport out of Panama City (you know how I like to cut things close, I had to get my last meal voucher filled, haha!) I was sweating bullets on the shuttle.  I checked my pockets and no passport or address book with Daniel's info or the info of my friends in Ecuador! I checked all my bags and nada! After getting out of the shuttle I went to my suitcase and took out the shorts I had been wearing that day (I had changed into jeans just before leaving the hotel, but thought I had switched everything from my pockets over to my jeans). The prayers on the shuttle bus and right before I checked the shorts worked.  God came through and after I unrolled the shorts the goods were there. I got on the flight fine this time and I'm now in Quito. I'll write the story of my first night and day here another time, but gotta jet now cause I got twelve minutes left in the internet cafe and need to post this.

Hasta Luego,
Aarón

Update: Grammatical errors corrected and pictures posted!  The best pics are definitely of the busses!