Greetings from town! After our adventures last week in the cloud forest, from trekking through the jungle behind our machete-wielding guide to making cheese and planting seeds, the girls are enjoying their Spanish immersion classes and a bit of urban life- Internet, phones, shopping, and ice cream. Last night, we had a final dinner with co-author of The Queen of Water, Maria Virginia Farinango, her musician husband Tino, and their adorable 8 year old son Yanni. She not only shared the exciting news that she is three months pregnant (she desperately hopes it is a girl), her husband Tino also treated us to a private concert in the hostal. With three different types of wooden flutes hanging from his neck and an amplifier and microphone, he played us songs he had written and learned in the Andean tradition- complete with bird calls and the sounds of the wind. The girls were enchanted and teary-eyed by the end.
In Literature, the sharp critical thinkers just completed their final on The Queen of Water and are gearing up to write an analytical essay. In Travel Journalism, the professional journalists of TTS 19 are conducting interviews, helping one another craft the perfect 750 word travel story, and learning new photography techniques. In Science, the naturalists are synthesizing their knowledge about the rain forest into a research project and presentation on a specific organism. Up next is a unit on oil extraction and exploration in the Amazon region. In Global Studies, the girls continue to read and discuss the book Savages, participate in service work, and are beginning to learn the intricacies and various perspectives related to the Chevron-Texaco case. Tomorrow is our last day of Spanish immersion classes and the girls will have some time to bargain at their first ever Saturday market. Sunday, we head to our week-long service project and groupstays organized by the Tandana Foundation and former TTS teacher, Anita Taft. Before we go, the travel journalists of TTS 19 have a new batch of contemplative notes to share with you all: Enjoy!
From Erica:
Cheese Making
The smell of seven three-gallon jugs of milk greeted us as we stepped into the cheese production house in the cloud forest. Our first job, pouring the jugs of milk into a larger green bucket, left each girl struggling to hold the awkward bottles. Each glug of milk brought us closer to spilling the contents of the jugs more on the floor than into the bucket.The milk was then sloshed into a gigantic, stainless steel heating vat that sat over a propane flame. In the meantime, all the girls were put to use either scrubbing down the walls of the house or cleaning the metal cylinders, wood blocks, and green netting used later in the cheese making process. We were shooed from the house after finishing our jobs and told to return in one hour. When we did, our guide poured a beaker of enzymes into the vat of tepid milk, and it started separating immediately. We poured bucket after bucket of the freshly separated curd over the metal cylinders that were waiting to be filled. We then packed down the cylinders with the rubbery curd and thereby ended our cheese making experience. All of the girls left the house smelling slightly sour- and feeling rather accomplished after having done something that before seemed complex, but now seemed so simple.
From Lucy:
Communidad
The faces surrounding me were mostly unfamiliar, yet I felt comfortable- as I if I was an accepted member of this small community. The kind smiles of the people of the tiny cloud forest village effortlessly shattered the culture barrier that could have easily isolated our group from theirs. We huddled together in a small cement room, illuminated by a single light bulb dangling from the low ceiling. Community members sat quietly on a narrow wooden bench framing the perimeter of the room. Two year old children to 80 year old elders all gathered to celebrate our visit and wish us a safe departure.
On a wooden table near the back of the room, a bright pink cake, at least 6 inches tall, adorned with glazed strawberries and eloquent writing wishing Tate a ¨Happy Birthday,¨ awaited us. A baker from the community spent the whole day preparing it for our small celebration. We stood before the cake in shock- by its size, the baker´s talent, and his generosity. Before devouring the monstrous cake that taunting us, we arranged ourselves in a circle around the small room. All 42 of us could not fit perfectly, but we did our best. Gallindo, a native of the village who led our hikes and told us the history and philosophy of this place, began his speech in the middle of the circle. Every few sentences he paused, giving me the opportunity to translate his words for the rest of our group. He thanked us for our visit, and wished us safe travels from here on. ¨We hope that you will one day return here,¨ he told us. ¨This is now your community too.¨
We had only spend six days in this community, yet the people treated us as dear friends whom they would truly miss. They welcomed us and made us feel as though we were a part of their small mountain community of 250 people. After Gallindo´s talk, he pulled out a small, clear plastic bag filled with gifts. He explained that the acorn-sized object he extracted from the bag was a seed found in the Cloud Forest that surrounds his village. It had the village written in small letters on one side, with a loop of string to attach the seed to our backpacks. ¨So you think of us every time you open or close your bag,¨ he said. For each girl in our group, a different member of the community stood up to thank us, wish us safe travels, and hand us our seed gifts. Whether we knew them or not, they hugged us warmly and with sincerity before sitting back down.
Afterward, some girls from our group expressed their gratitude in short speeches, practicing their Spanish. A local man spoke up, telling us the importance of our visit to their community. ¨This community has, for the past 15 years, been trying to go about a new way of life,¨ he said, referring to the conservation and reforestation efforts of the eco community in the Cloud Forest that surrounds them. ¨It is because of groups like you that this community can every day come closer to realizing its dream of this new way of living.¨
It is often difficult to know what subtle impacts our group has on the places we visit. In this community, by helping to make cheese from local farmers´ cow milk, planting seeds in the greenhouse to aid the reforestation effort, and paying for meals and rooms at the local lodge, we have positively impacted this community. I realized the significance of our visit after this man thanked us. In a community who´s economy depends on the profits made from tourism and guests, our visit made a difference.
After the speeches and gift giving, we all received a slice of cake the size of our heads to eat on small paper napkins- and without forks. Music played as we ate, and after a few minutes of standing around, people began to dance. Everyone danced together to the traditional beat. We arranged ourselves in a conga line and danced under a tunnel made by people´s arms raised above their heads, clapping and laughing as we went. Despite the differences in the backgrounds, languages, and cultures of both groups, we all came together to celebrate the impact that one can have on the other. When conversation failed, dancing brought us all together.
On a wooden table near the back of the room, a bright pink cake, at least 6 inches tall, adorned with glazed strawberries and eloquent writing wishing Tate a ¨Happy Birthday,¨ awaited us. A baker from the community spent the whole day preparing it for our small celebration. We stood before the cake in shock- by its size, the baker´s talent, and his generosity. Before devouring the monstrous cake that taunting us, we arranged ourselves in a circle around the small room. All 42 of us could not fit perfectly, but we did our best. Gallindo, a native of the village who led our hikes and told us the history and philosophy of this place, began his speech in the middle of the circle. Every few sentences he paused, giving me the opportunity to translate his words for the rest of our group. He thanked us for our visit, and wished us safe travels from here on. ¨We hope that you will one day return here,¨ he told us. ¨This is now your community too.¨
We had only spend six days in this community, yet the people treated us as dear friends whom they would truly miss. They welcomed us and made us feel as though we were a part of their small mountain community of 250 people. After Gallindo´s talk, he pulled out a small, clear plastic bag filled with gifts. He explained that the acorn-sized object he extracted from the bag was a seed found in the Cloud Forest that surrounds his village. It had the village written in small letters on one side, with a loop of string to attach the seed to our backpacks. ¨So you think of us every time you open or close your bag,¨ he said. For each girl in our group, a different member of the community stood up to thank us, wish us safe travels, and hand us our seed gifts. Whether we knew them or not, they hugged us warmly and with sincerity before sitting back down.
Afterward, some girls from our group expressed their gratitude in short speeches, practicing their Spanish. A local man spoke up, telling us the importance of our visit to their community. ¨This community has, for the past 15 years, been trying to go about a new way of life,¨ he said, referring to the conservation and reforestation efforts of the eco community in the Cloud Forest that surrounds them. ¨It is because of groups like you that this community can every day come closer to realizing its dream of this new way of living.¨
It is often difficult to know what subtle impacts our group has on the places we visit. In this community, by helping to make cheese from local farmers´ cow milk, planting seeds in the greenhouse to aid the reforestation effort, and paying for meals and rooms at the local lodge, we have positively impacted this community. I realized the significance of our visit after this man thanked us. In a community who´s economy depends on the profits made from tourism and guests, our visit made a difference.
After the speeches and gift giving, we all received a slice of cake the size of our heads to eat on small paper napkins- and without forks. Music played as we ate, and after a few minutes of standing around, people began to dance. Everyone danced together to the traditional beat. We arranged ourselves in a conga line and danced under a tunnel made by people´s arms raised above their heads, clapping and laughing as we went. Despite the differences in the backgrounds, languages, and cultures of both groups, we all came together to celebrate the impact that one can have on the other. When conversation failed, dancing brought us all together.
Road Trips
The Avett Brothers sang to me as I looked out the bus window. Beyond the glass, distorted with condensation, was my first view of the Southern Hemisphere. I glanced at my watch, then back at the late-night lights of the capital city- day one and a half. Around a turn, then two, then three. The city in all of its sprawl. It is quiet, everyone is exhausted after traveling from one half of the world to another. I see dark chasms and faint outlines of mountains and barely illuminated homes. The dark is relieving, already I am experiencing the weight of the simultaneously overwhelming and exciting departure from normality. The unknown landscape disappears as the wheels bumble over the road...
To my left, the road drops into a valley so profound I am unable to see its extent from my seventh row aisle seat. I am confident it´s the same chasm I saw a week ago. But this time, the sun shines on my surroundings. A small field of corn planted on a steep hillside. A bulldozer precariously perched on a narrow mining road. A woman sits, carelessly holding a thin rope on which a cow is tied. All fly by in quick succession at forty kilometers an hour...
I gripped the side of the car with a sense of urgency. The ponytails of the three of us squeezed into the backseat of the truck bounced with every dip and bump. The entire hour and a half, our ponytails were never still. Deep in rural Ecuador, the houses grew more infrequent. Cows emerged as far more common than trees as the altitude gained. Occasionally, an indigenous woman adorned with strands of gold beads and a ankle-length skirt stood on the side of the road as the entourage of five trucks filled with gringas and backpacks half their size filed past. The rain came and went, the driver´s CD of Ecuadorian rap remained an insufferable constant. Chickens ran in front of the truck as the back wheels fruitlessly back spun in foot-deep mud. The roof of a seemingly unfinished concrete building is sprinkled with clothing, colorful garments dripping with rain. A garden adopts a muddy sheen, a man in a stout hat is bent over the fledgling crops. A black dog chases the car, its tongue lolling. A lean-to I hope is not someone´s home appears. Around another bend, down, trees and their green appear again. I close my eyes, my hands settle in my lap. The potholes are incessant...
The letters on the top of the page of my journal look as though they were inscribed by some rodent with an unfortunate access to ink. This was- embarrassingly- my writing as my hand bumped with the large public bus. In a sudden urge to somehow convey the landscape around me, I had taken out my already worn journal and written, "Still in bus, but I feel like I have to write about how, how, how absolutely beautiful this place is." My messy but genuine words in no way do justice to the extent of the beauty that stretched for miles beyond the open window. Caught without a camera, I gazed out with eyes wide open. The Andes flowed into red-roofed huts and bright green fields. Cow paths cut into the mountainous hills. Landscapes devoid of any feature but sheer vastness. Hardly noticing the bouncing of the bus and the chatter of its occupants, I relax into my seat, arms crossed against the chill, needing to inhale each fleeting scene of unbelievable beauty...
To my left, the road drops into a valley so profound I am unable to see its extent from my seventh row aisle seat. I am confident it´s the same chasm I saw a week ago. But this time, the sun shines on my surroundings. A small field of corn planted on a steep hillside. A bulldozer precariously perched on a narrow mining road. A woman sits, carelessly holding a thin rope on which a cow is tied. All fly by in quick succession at forty kilometers an hour...
I gripped the side of the car with a sense of urgency. The ponytails of the three of us squeezed into the backseat of the truck bounced with every dip and bump. The entire hour and a half, our ponytails were never still. Deep in rural Ecuador, the houses grew more infrequent. Cows emerged as far more common than trees as the altitude gained. Occasionally, an indigenous woman adorned with strands of gold beads and a ankle-length skirt stood on the side of the road as the entourage of five trucks filled with gringas and backpacks half their size filed past. The rain came and went, the driver´s CD of Ecuadorian rap remained an insufferable constant. Chickens ran in front of the truck as the back wheels fruitlessly back spun in foot-deep mud. The roof of a seemingly unfinished concrete building is sprinkled with clothing, colorful garments dripping with rain. A garden adopts a muddy sheen, a man in a stout hat is bent over the fledgling crops. A black dog chases the car, its tongue lolling. A lean-to I hope is not someone´s home appears. Around another bend, down, trees and their green appear again. I close my eyes, my hands settle in my lap. The potholes are incessant...
The letters on the top of the page of my journal look as though they were inscribed by some rodent with an unfortunate access to ink. This was- embarrassingly- my writing as my hand bumped with the large public bus. In a sudden urge to somehow convey the landscape around me, I had taken out my already worn journal and written, "Still in bus, but I feel like I have to write about how, how, how absolutely beautiful this place is." My messy but genuine words in no way do justice to the extent of the beauty that stretched for miles beyond the open window. Caught without a camera, I gazed out with eyes wide open. The Andes flowed into red-roofed huts and bright green fields. Cow paths cut into the mountainous hills. Landscapes devoid of any feature but sheer vastness. Hardly noticing the bouncing of the bus and the chatter of its occupants, I relax into my seat, arms crossed against the chill, needing to inhale each fleeting scene of unbelievable beauty...
From Kay:
Preserving a Paradise
Bleary-eyed and slightly damp, I stumbled out of my tent on Saturday morning and held back a gasp. The most beautiful landscape of lush, green mountains dotted with houses and cows greeted me. The afternoon before, our bus pulled up in front of the eco-lodge in a small town in the cloud forest. Every direction I looked, there appeared to be a thick, white sheet. Fog obscured any view of our surroundings but we all awoke the next morning to a magical scene. That same morning we met our guide, Galindo, who described to us the history of the community and what they do today. A while back, the community discovered that they could profit from cutting down trees to sell, as well as to create space for farms. In the 1990s, a group of 18 people got together to promote a more sustainable way of life. They began a reforestation project that continues today. They also started a tourism program as an alternative way to bring money into the community. We witnessed these changes during our six day stay in their village. We saw where they are growing young plants and also strolled through an area that had been entirely reforested. I would not have been able to tell, had Galindo not told us that the plants there had been planted in in the 1990s. The whole situation was truly inspiring. Learning about how a small group of people turned an entire community´s way of living upside down made me want to hop on a plane home and start working with my own town. I want to get us thinking about sustainability in our own area- conserving our beaches and having easier access to composting is a good start. We´ve all heard the quote, "Don´t doubt that a small group of people can change the world, because they are the only ones who ever have," and here I have seen a real example of it. This eco-lodge may not have changed the entire world yet, but they have taken the first steps and are teaching others, like me, to do the same.
Bleary-eyed and slightly damp, I stumbled out of my tent on Saturday morning and held back a gasp. The most beautiful landscape of lush, green mountains dotted with houses and cows greeted me. The afternoon before, our bus pulled up in front of the eco-lodge in a small town in the cloud forest. Every direction I looked, there appeared to be a thick, white sheet. Fog obscured any view of our surroundings but we all awoke the next morning to a magical scene. That same morning we met our guide, Galindo, who described to us the history of the community and what they do today. A while back, the community discovered that they could profit from cutting down trees to sell, as well as to create space for farms. In the 1990s, a group of 18 people got together to promote a more sustainable way of life. They began a reforestation project that continues today. They also started a tourism program as an alternative way to bring money into the community. We witnessed these changes during our six day stay in their village. We saw where they are growing young plants and also strolled through an area that had been entirely reforested. I would not have been able to tell, had Galindo not told us that the plants there had been planted in in the 1990s. The whole situation was truly inspiring. Learning about how a small group of people turned an entire community´s way of living upside down made me want to hop on a plane home and start working with my own town. I want to get us thinking about sustainability in our own area- conserving our beaches and having easier access to composting is a good start. We´ve all heard the quote, "Don´t doubt that a small group of people can change the world, because they are the only ones who ever have," and here I have seen a real example of it. This eco-lodge may not have changed the entire world yet, but they have taken the first steps and are teaching others, like me, to do the same.
From Isabelle:
Querer as Poder
"Querer es Poder. Those are my words. I´ve always thought it." These are the words of the inspiring Maria Virginia Farinango, who co-wrote the novel The Queen of Water, a recollection of her life story. Maria Virginia is an indigenous Ecuadorian women from a small town outside of Otavalo. She´s faced many obstacles in her life-- including being a full-time maid starting at age seven, for a Mestizo (mixed race) family who abused her, and having to straddle two cultures at once. However, what´s inspiring about Virginia´s story is not what she had to endure, but how she dealt with it and proactively turned her life around while constantly maintaining a positive, healthy attitude. Virginia has two especially valuable lessons to teach-- how to stay positive when your entire world doubts you, and how to forgive the people who have done the unforgivable. Maria Virginia repeated, "Querer es Poder" to herself like a mantra. It means "to want is to be able to." In the society she grew up in, indigenous people were stereotypically poor farmers who were not expected to have professional careers or a hunger for a higher education. Wanting to be different from the negative influences she had in her life, Virginia educated herself with a passion fueled by a need to be valued and accepted. "I wanted to grow," she said. "If you say you cannot do something... You cannot do it. That is how the world works." Virginia´s positivity is what allowed her to propel beyond difficult situations.
Today, Maria Virginia is almost finished with her Psychology degree. She has always been interested in Psychology without recognizing it as one of her life callings. In high school, she was admired and known for giving good advice. Studying Psychology was therapeutic for Maria Virginia as it helped her understand that she needed to forgive in order to move on from her past. She described recalling her story to co-author and friend Laura as, "Medicine for me. To remember all the things... It was very sad. At the same time, it was a blessing because it helped me to be free from those feelings." Today, Maria Virginia is proud of who she is and what she has become. When asked about her feelings on revenge, she says, "It makes people sick. Because I forgave, I decided to see it all in a positive way."
From Brianne:
In the Jungle, the Mighty Jungle....
Dodging vines, mud, fallen trees, and an assortment of bugs, the TTS19 girls headed into the cloud forest with two guides. We drove up a steep mountain for 30 minutes as a snow-capped volcano flashed by. Our long day of excitement and adventure began. Before walking down to the trail-head we were told, "Everyone needs to make a cross out of sticks and place it on the hill with the others." This was a tradition to honor the ancient community that once lived here. All of a sudden, we sporadically constructed our crosses and then circled up for another ritual that consisted of busting out the Macerena. After quite some time, we reached the entrance to the dense forest and hiked in single file on a narrow path carved out by Rolando´s machete. We all took to the hike at our own pace.
Emily and I were separated from the front of the group but were a little bit ahead of those in the back. We had been walking for about five hours and had slipped in the mud many times. Treading lightly was not an option, it became steep and our feet slipped out from under us. I watched Emily tentatively place her foot- trying to keep her balance. Unfortunately, her butt met the ground every time. Despite seeing her fall, I made the identical mistake. Although funny at first, it started to hurt! Even though we were getting frustrated, we kept each other laughing. When lunch finally rolled around, we were covered from our waist down in slimy mud. A tingling relieving sensation trickled down our legs and into our feet during the break as we sat on a bridge and dangled our legs over the river. We were only halfway there, and the time came to get up. All the tired ache in our legs rushed back. From there on out, the majority of the trail was up hill. After a total of eight hours of trekking through the cloud forest, we made it back to the eco-lodge. Everyone was extremely tired but felt accomplished for surviving a wild day in the jungle.
From Olivya:
The Old and The New
My friend´s tired head bumps against my shoulder as the quilt-like patches of steep, green farmland flash by my foggy window. I glance to my right and see three damp bodies snuggled in their raincoats, squished against one another in the backseat of the white pickup truck. Our skillful driver tactfully maneuvers us through muddy potholes the size of small cars time and time again, all the while maintaining his stoic expression. Only once, when we cheer loudly after an especially slippery stretch of road, does he allow is moustached mouth to twist upwards in a faint grin. After hours of bumpy, scenic driving we arrive at a tiny traditional village located on the edge of the cloud forest in northern Ecuador.
In the five or so minutes it takes us to walk from one end of the town to the other, most of the homes lining the streets have propped open their doors to watch us newcomers with curious eyes. Over the next two days, we bathe in the natural hot springs, camp on what seems to be a swamp ground, and eat traditional food cooked by local Doña Maria. Prior to all of this excitement, our guide Patricia led us to Pre-Incan ruins and sites, which proved to be my favorite excursion of the trip...
Patricia dons a thick, black, floor-length skirt adorned with an embroidered teal hummingbird and a colorful anaco to hold her skirt up. Tucked into this, she wears a traditional white blouse stitched with brilliant flowers around the collar. Upon her neck and wrists are secured strands of smooth, salmon-pink beads, similar to the spondilas beads once used as currency by the indigenous people. The vibrant colors pop against her tan skin and our group watches in awe as she shares her childhood with us. When she was born, she was washed with milk and sweet-smelling Andean flowers, in accordance with her villages´ traditions. Sadly, Patricia tells us she was the last member of her family to be a part of this ritual, something she considers special and important...
Patricia´s stories and extensive knowledge brought my understanding of our trip to a new level. She explained that the only way to live in this village is to marry into the community. The village is attempting to maintain their traditions while adapting to developmental changes in the most beneficial way possible. This is evident as I watch construction workers in traditional dress fixing roads, and stores selling indigenous wood carvings to eager tourists. At the end of our visit, I waved goodbye through the bus window to a small boy holding a tattered soccer ball, my mind swimming with new memories. This town is a beautiful and interesting place, but the people and their keen insight regarding their ever-changing future make this isolated stretch of land so much more memorable.
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