Ecuador, Pt. 1

Pictures will come later, when I have the time. First comes what pictures (at least what my pictures) cannot describe: the quirks of Ecuador. First and formost is the greetings. As John so aptly stated, ¨The greetings are just so real here.¨Men always shake hands when exchanging greetings and any other greeting the participants kiss the cheek of their friend. At first, when I didn´t know the people I was greeting, this was quite the barrage of affection, although I have come to enjoy these little greetings with various strange women. The second most important thing is the toilet paper. In Ecuador, as in all of South America, basically, the plumbing is not built to process the paper. Therefore all toilet paper goes in the trash. It honestly doesn´t smell bad, once everything dries out. And you must resist any temptation to drink the water that comes out of the tap. It is good for washing, not for drinking. Put it under a microscope and you can see al lthe fun little microbes floating about. Yum! The last little quirk that I consider worth typing is that Ecuadorians are very focused on looking good. This is all fine and dandy, except that this doesn´t stop in the household. Unless you are in your room with the door closed, you are fully dressed and (this infuriates me) wearing shoes.

To get to and from school and anywhere in town we take busses. These are a trip. The drivers are nuts, which is a blast (some of my peers disagree), the busses are more often than not completely packed, and street merchants are constantly hopping on and off pedaling their wares. I finally got the opportunity this morning to ride in a packed bus, only fitting by hanging my heels out the open door and hanging on for dear life. This particular bus driver was mighty impressive because I believe he was the most agressive driver on the road, a mighty impressive feat in Quito, where they obay stop lights (loosly) and consider that enough. In the evenining, with the best of the traffic, the street performers are in full swing. There are jugglers, some much better than others, fire breathers, dancers and poyers (I am not sure what people who do poy are called). The poverty rate is incredibly high, something like 70% of the country is under the poverty line. This results in high levels of crime (not often violent, just some harmless muggings and pickpocketing and general theivery) and a heartbreaking number of children working on the streets. Many children, easily under 12, jump on busses to sell fruit or candy or stickers and many others sit on boxes waiting for someone with shiny shoes to ask for shinier ones.

Here in the Andes carbs are a big deal. I have yet to have a meal without bread, rice or potatoes, usually with some combination of the above. There is not much fare for vegitarians as rice and potatoes are the only really regularly occuring veggies. Breakfast isn´t a big deal, maybe some toast and a shake. Lunch is huge, often enough to tide me till the next morning, with a snack, of course. Dinner is usually very similar to lunch in quality, not quantity, as it is usually what was left over.

So far, so good. I´ll get pictures up eventually.

Housed in a Shed

For my brief stint in Eugene, I was planning on couch surfing and buming around. At the last minute, Ian Maurer, who I had lived in the dorms with, offered up the shed attatched to his house. I accepted and, after cleaning out the bikes, fertalizer and gardening tools, I moved in. Maurer was also so kind as to supply me with a bed, a twin that was just my size (and fit perfectly in the room, its length being exactly the width of the room). Next to the bed I had a little bookshelf, also supplied by Maurer, then my longboard, then the door. It was perfect. I lived with Maurer, Cole and Shredwards and got so cozy with their company that I am making the shed my permanent Eugene home. For eleven weeks I reacuainted myself with Eugene and classwork and got nice and comfortable with my situation just in time to go to Ecuador. My shed awaits my return.

The Last Hurrah, Pt. 2

This, the description of my final trip in New Zealand, is being written in Ecuador. I could just jump ahead, but that would be skipping over maybe the best week I had there. After returning home from my West Coast and Castle Hill extravaganza, I had a Thanksgiving feast with the other lingering International students and some assorted Kiwi´s. The next day I took one more test for the class that I had been missing; the intro class for the trip to Ecuador. After that kicked my ass I finished washing my clothes and packing and was ready to leave the next morning.

Unfortunately, because I happened to aquaint my camera with a very unforgiving rock, I have no pictures of this trip. I started out of Dunedin with first light and, in one day of efficient hitch-hiking, I made it up to the Nelson region on the north of the South Island. I was looking for some place where climbers hung out. Apparently there was some place around Takaka that was well known for its climbing. Luckily, the last ride I caught knew exactly where I should be headed: hangdog climbers camp. This place was a chill camp established just for climbers. Some people had been there for a week, some a month, and, the longest I heard about, six months. The camp was a relaxed twenty minute stroll to Takaka and a relaxed two minute stroll to the nearest boulder. For bouldering, there was just this one big ol´bastard and a few really sweet climbs over the river. The first morning I was there I ran into my climbing buddies from Castle Hill and we worked on this route called "Acid Drop." There was an overhang about three feet over the water with a plethora of jugs and what I can best describe as monkey bars of stone that slowly faded into harder and harder crimps as you made your way downstream. We played on this for the morning, trying to say parallel to the river to avoid the cold water in the cold morning, but that only lasted so long. We spent the afternoon looking for routes we could climb and ended up finding what was considered the classic warm-up wall which was just perfect for us. It was on this wall, a diverse 5.9, that I executed my first lead climb, not falling once. Well, I fell once, but I caught myself before the rope did, so it doesn´t count. It started with a jump start, which I had to stand on my tippie toes for, and jumped up quickly with some reachy jugs. About twenty feet in the air the rock shifted to a series of crimps that got you breathing hard until you managed to slap onto the big ridge that started the next section. By now I was thirty five feet up with four clips in the wall and had reached the most acrobatic part of the wall. I managed it with a side pull where I matched my feet about two feet under my right hand and semi-dinoed to the next big jug, skipping all the chippy holds inbetween. To finish was a balance problem with a series of slopers to a quick clip in at the top. Perfect.

Unfortunately they had a date with the North Island and had to move on. The next day, while bouldering solo and starting to feel lonely, I met a German couple in New Zealand for the stone. I tagged along with them and, while they were absurdly better than me, we climbed together. Really, I was only slightly worse than the woman, but the man was lightyears beyond, being a 5.13 beast. For the next two days I climbed with them and my last climb, with only one and a half days until I returned home, was a 140 foot marathon. The cliff rose abrubtly out of the trees and gained altitude with an increasingly beautiful view of the valley. It was late afternoon and the rock was black, burning and beautiful. After a few rest stops I managed the top and looked down at the river I was about to jump in. The next morning I packed up camp with first light and made my way back to Dunedin to fly out the next morning.

New Zealand: fin.