Half time reflections

I am now roughly halfway through my stay here in Loja and it seems like that coupled with my mozzie travails and my little flirt with death on the mountain has put me in a reflective state of mind. I am currently unable to say if the halfway stage is a good or a bad thing. On the one hand it means I'm halfway to seeing my girlfriend and starting a new little chapter of adventure with travels around south america and beyond. On the other hand I feel like I'm starting to develop a nice routine here, am building strong relationships with some of my students and fellow teachers and am just starting to get a firm grip on the language.

A word that keeps popping into my head is freedom. You could definitively say that one of the most positive aspects of my life here is freedom. From the moment I wake up until the start of classes at 3pm I can essentially do what I want, which is nice of course. The problem is that freedom and loneliness can be defined similarly, and the two often appear hand in hand. So as I freely stroll around town or lie in the hammock with the day stretching ahead of me I can't help but feel the heavy hand of loneliness on my shoulder, dragging me back slightly as I go about my business, and I guess that wears me down somewhat.

This isn't meant to come across as moany or ungrateful for the opportunity I've got here. I can already hear the voices of my family and friends back home saying 'you're living the dream in a lovely warm country while we shiver here and count down to Christmas, stop complaining!', but I guess it does us all good to have a bit of a moan once in a while...

What it comes down to is that I just miss having my family and friends around. To be honest I don't particularly miss England at all, I more miss having people who truly care about me and are just a phone call away (Skype does NOT count) if I feel like calling. The natural response to meeting people from other countries who have cut all ties to come and live out here is one of respect and envy, but on further reflection I wonder how I would feel in their shoes? Is it such an enviable thing to have no real connection to your roots, to want to leave behind all that you grew up with? I'm not so sure.

So I am determined to make the most of my remaining time out here, and then of the time I spend in other places seeing where my money and interest will take me. The important thing is to remind myself that the vague sense of certain important people missing isn't loneliness at all, rather the feeling that you're more needed and wanted in one part of the world than in another. I guess that isn't really such a bad thing.

The long descent into insanity searching for the lagunas del compadre

At the risk of making my life out to be some kind of EastEnders storyline (or finaladores de este as I'm sure it would be called here), it has been another dramatic week. Firstly, by way of contrast, and mostly for my own benefit since I forgot to mention it before (any readers can skip this bit if they like), I want to mention that I went to Cuenca, Ecuador's third city, on the weekend of the 2nd of November. There were lots of lovely celebrations going on for the independence day of the city, we saw some lovely squares and churches, I had 'Juanchito' written for me in Japanese, stood outside the Marc Anthony (biggest selling salsa artist of all time and ex J-Lo hubby) and got nicely drunk, and even found time to complete an epic 5 hour round trip to some delightful Inca ruins on the Sunday.

As I said, contrast... (welcome back those that skipped the first paragraph) So the weekend just gone was a 3-dayer due to Loja's independence celebrations, and we decided that rather than put up with the lameness of that we would make the most of our time and embark on an epic trek to the lagunas del compadre, a hidden system of lakes located deep in the Podacarpus National Park just south of Loja. We didn't know much about them but what we did know was that it's a 14km walk deep into the park which takes roughly 8 hours, you need plenty of water, good boots and a tent, and November is the best month in which to go. Great, we thought, let's do it.

So with our cobbled together food and drink supplies, wellies bought at the last minute (wellies? In ecuador???) and menthol balm in our pockets to smother our bodies in to ward off mosquitoes, 7 of us boarded the back of a pickup at 6am and headed into nature. The walk started at 7, and began with a long uphill climb for 2km into the clouds of the cloud forest.

It was once we entered the actual clouds (a concept which I still find hard to get my head around) that we realised that this was to be no pleasant afternoon stroll. The idea of being up in the clouds at 3000m is a cool one, but the reality is that it's bloody wet, windy and cold. I had been mocked for my get-up of sports T-shirt and shorts with wellies, waterproof coat and baseball cap, but I have to admit I felt a warm glow of smugness as I observed other members of the group get steadily more sodden in their trainers, jeans and hoodie. The walk was not exactly as advertised, with boggy uneven paths and one steep climb seeming to follow another in quick succession. Add to this some very heavy bags, around 15 litres of water and 3 tents between 7 people and you have yourself a bit of a challenge over 14km at high altitude.

After 8 hours we finally got the lake (just one) in sight, by which time the four English boys in our group were so tired and fed up that we could only remark 'pfft, looks just like some bog-standard lake in Scotland'. Well it was a bit more special than that, but it would have taken something very special to impress us at that stage. Before we finally made it to the lake to pitch our tents I just had to lug a 6 litre bottle of water down a stream, easier said than done...

I whipped the boys into shape and we got the tent set up on a helpfully left sheet of tarpaulin and secured it down with a rock or two. Then it was time to heat up some packet soups, down some shots of whisky for warmth and cuddle up for the night. It was so cold that three of us lads were forced to spoon for warmth.

The next day I got up at 6 because I was just so happy to see the sun and have an excuse to leave the tent. Some idiot thought it was a good idea to take a dip in the freezing water so we all did that, then after much faffing we headed off again at 9am. Apart from a little collapse on the ground due to a lack of sugar I was doing fine, but it soon became clear that Israel, a new addition to the teaching staff who fled the troubles in Venezuela, was having some serious difficulties. So in my father's family's tradition of martyrdom I decided to hang back and help him out.

I don't regret that decision for a minute but it could have easily cost me more than a few cuts and bruises. Israel had come horribly unprepared, with only a pair of jeans, some trainers and no raincoat. He had also come without any medication for his altitude sickness, and at 3200m this slowed us down considerably. Another thing was that overnight train had made the ground even more unstable than previously, and every slip, stumble, or fall put more strain on tired knees and wasted precious energy. By the halfway point we were having to ration food and water, and with 2km to go I was so hungry that I practically thanked God for the half-full packet of peanuts that I found by the milepost with most of its contents spilt on the muddy ground (I ate them all of course).

It was after the 2km to go point that things got really tough. As luck would have it, we'd been walking for over 9 hours by this point, it was starting to get dark, starting to rain and the hellish uphill that we'd encountered the day before was now upon us, only this time it was downhill of course. I'm still not sure how we made it down with our battered knees, rumbling stomachs and dry throats and one wind-up torch between 2 people to show the way down a rocky, slippery and steep downhill in the black of the night, but we did it. After two further decidedly hairy hours we finally made it back to the refuge, 11.5 hours after setting off that morning and feeling decidedly sorry for ourselves. After my health scare of last year I didn't fancy getting into another 'survival situation' so soon, and I think that's what shook me up more than anything.

It's now Friday and I'm still tired from the experience! Looking back at my hundreds of photos it was a beautiful walk with amazing plants and scenery (once the cloud cleared), I just wish I'd been able to enjoy it more.

Naive enthusiasm at the start

Still looking fresh at the halfway point

Bit wet

The laguna

Amazing light at sunset - view from our camp

On the way back

Muddy

More lovely light

Very muddy

Very tired

Me vs the mozzies

I'm mostly writing this post because I'm just plain bored lying at home with a raised foot and waiting for my spazzy mosquito-ankle to stop being so spazzy. During the day the raised foot position is natural for a hammock but in the evening it's enough of a drag to make me miss even my most annoying English classes. Strange feeling, maybe I do enjoy teaching after all.

It all started so well, with a night out with my students on the Friday for views of the city, crazy amounts of meat for 5 dollars and then a few tobasco-beers afterwards, all paid for by my students who are all either at university or earn less than me here. So yes, that was rather lovely. I also learned plenty of more interesting things about  Ecuadorian culture, such as the fact that people inland call those who live on the coast 'monkeys', which is apparently completely acceptable and not racist at all..

After a slightly below-par showing from myself at my Saturday class, it was straight off to Vilcabamba, a major 'gringo town' 45 minutes from Loja, for Saturday's festivities. As an aside, I recently discovered that the word gringo originates from the American occupation of Mexico where the soldiers wore green and thus they wanted that the 'green-go', hence gringo. It's not a friendly term in any case and I always make a point of taking an exception to it. Mostly the offence comes from people mistaking me for an American!

The festivities were a birthday surprise for my English friend Ross organised by his  Ecuadorian girlfriend Diana, in a private youth hostel resort type thing with swimming pool, outdoor bar and almost panoramic views of the surrounding mountains. We started drinking around 4 and finally retired well after midnight after sampling the pool and sauna facilities late at night and drinking copious amounts of warm canelazo (water, cinnamon sticks (canela), brown sugar, an acid fruit juice such as naranjilla or lemon and aguardiente (fire water)).

The next day we moved on to the holiday home of the owner of our company and perennial sunglasses-indoors-wearer Diego, for much more of the same. That is, volleyball on his private court, swimming and plenty of beer and salted pork skins for snacks (another delicacy here). It was a great end to a great couple of days but unfortunately I'd forgotten my insect repellent at the other place, and there had been an unseasonal number of the little bitey buggers at the party.

The next day I woke and felt fine apart from a slightly queasy feeling at seeing my feet and legs covered in mankey red dots, and I went about my business in the usual way. During my 5pm lesson my foot started causing me a bit of pain, by 6pm my left foot was pretty much too painful to walk on, and after 20 minutes of my 7pm lesson it was decided that my ankle was far too swollen for the sake of teaching the one student that had turned up, and René and I headed off for the public hospital in town.

Well that was an experience. After negotiating with the people operating the barrier about whether they would let us in, we made our way into a modern, newly built waiting room. Unfortunately, with no one to greet us at a reception and the doctor refusing to open his door to anyone, neither the various families knocking on his door or the police that came to drop off a suspect, a waiting room was all that it was.

Slightly put out by the lack of order or any type of system at the main emergency ward of the whole city, we headed off to the next hospital, which was in fact a private clinic. Here, the porter received us gratefully and wheeled me through (I couldn't walk at all by now) to a nice private room and a bed. There I lay as the odd nurse came through cleaning things, and a good 20 minutes later we managed to catch a doctor to ask her what was going on, only to be batted away and told that she was busy. 10 minutes later we threatened to leave if no one showed any interest in me, to which she said 'well, you can leave if you want' without having even looked at me. So, we left.

René was finding the whole thing very amusing and delighted in telling me horror stories of other such occurrences as I zoned in and out of attentiveness. To the third hospital's credit, they saw me promptly, told me it was just an allergic reaction and gave me an injection and some pills and cream to take home, the whole thing costing a mere 31 dollars. I would just have slightly rather not had to spend 2 hours of my life looking for someone who would spare me the time of day...

The moral of the story: get that insect spray on you because you don't want to fall ill here if you can help it!

The Ecuadorian daily grind

I've been teaching in Loja for just over 6 weeks now so it's high time I wrote some thoughts on how I feel about it and how the whole experience is going so far. My typical teaching day involves waking up at 9.30 ish (no alarm needed, lovely), lazing around for a while reading or watching Los Simpsons, then heading to the market for around 11 to meet my 'morocho lady' and practice some Spanish with her. This is basically a nice innocent lady who serves morocho (a drink made with milk, maize and vanilla and which tastes like rice pudding) and empanadas (puffed up pastry goodness with a sweet filling) and has the patience to put up with my fairly feeble attempts to speak Spanish with her. I've even started getting some benefits of being a regular in the shape of a mango and a grilled plantain with cheese that she's given me out of the goodness of her heart. I think she's just being nice rather than grooming me for anything but I guess you could be forgiven for thinking otherwise.

  After that my spanish start today continues with my free daily Spanish class run by René, the boss of the centre, which is a really nice gesture that he didn't have to make. This usually finishes at 1pm, which leaves me with an empty couple of hours before lessons start. In this time I either trek 15 minutes up the hill to our house for some hammock time, head into town to argue with the lady in the post office, or idly half plan and make some copies ready for the afternoon lessons.

  Then at 3pm the madness begins. I start off with a group of hyperactive 7 to 9 year old who are definitely the 'learn by doing' kind, and every new word or phrase has to be accompanied by an action. This is very tiring but fun, especially when they have to mime such words as poison apple or skydiving, and I watch as they writhe on the floor after eating an imaginary apple or strap their backpack on, climb to the top of a chair and jump off.

I then have 10 minutes to run down the stairs quickly, file the folders for the previous class, find the folder and work for the next class, and 'relax' before running up 2 flights of stairs for the next lesson. All my lessons finish at 5 to the hour, and the next start at 5 past the hour so it's a very hectic schedule with no real breaks in 6 hours.

  The next set of students at 4pm are all 11 to 13 year olds are almost too well behaved and I struggle to find enough work for them. I've decided to make that work in my favour and we will now be reading a book whenever work is done. Easy peasy.

  It's just as well that those students are well behaved because the next set keep me on my toes big time. At 5 o'clock I have 13 to 15 year olds and at 6 o'clock I have 16 to 18 year olds. The 5 o'clock students are mostly more interested in taking pictures of each other than in learning language and the 6 o clock students have a lot of university work and usually turn up to my class halfway through, if at all. I have had difficulties getting them on my side but I find that making yourself stupid is as good as a way to endear yourself to the students as any - a break free moment with my young teens came when teaching adverbs. I shook my limbs around to demonstrate 'he is walking stupidly' and now every class ends in a plea of 'teeeacher, bailar!' as they ask for me to repeat my stupid dance. Bizarrely, I think their respect for me went up, rather then down, after that moment. Although they test me at times, all it takes is for me to glance out of the window at the view beyond the classroom and things don't seem so bad (see below).

  Then comes the highlight of the day, my adult class. It may be a bit dull to read about but they are a joy to teach, and we have much more fun than I do with any of my children's classes. I also often find that I'll plan a 'childish game' which won't go down well with my kids classes at all, but which my adults will find absolutely hilarious. The 20 minutes I spent with my adults playing 'simon says' spring immediately to mind... In a strange twist of fate they now have me speaking Spanish in the last half an hour of the Friday lesson. Well, if they want to pay to help me with my Spanish then it's fine by me. There are plans in place for them to show me the 'pubs' of Loja this Friday so there's a cultural exchange that I'm definitely looking forward to.

  All in all I'd say I'm enjoying the teaching, and there are more lessons that I walk out of with a big smile on my face than cursing my luck at being stuck with a certain set of kids. I think I went into it with a certain naïve notion that teaching in a third world country would involve rows of obedient children sitting cross legged 10 minutes before you arrive and then hang on your every word like their lives depended on it. The reality is that you get many of the same types of spoilt 21st century kids that you get in English schools who don't realise how lucky they are to have this opportunity for extra English help that a vast majority of the country can't afford. On the other hand, I'm not that old myself and I know at their age I was just down the park playing football after school and you'd have struggled to make me go to extra English classes every day after school, so I can sympathise with a bit of moodiness! It's definitely a challenge that I am more than up for though.

Empanadas

Two of my little 3 o'clock rascals with me on Halloween