Top five new (to me) songs.
5. Up to You Now, Ben Harper
4. Dog Days are Over, Florence and the Machine
3. Big Black Nothing, Conor Oberst and the Mystic Valley Band
2. Eet, Regina Spektor
1. All Yours, Michael Ramirez of The Rocinante Project
(I wouldn't actually claim that this song is better than any of the other ones. I just like the suspense factor of reading it like a countdown.)
We should be releasing our complete first album soonish, as well as the music video that we worked on this summer. But we decided to release another album not long after the first. It will be unique because it represents all the songs we've written and recorded, but never even played as an entire group. Since the end of the semester we are experiencing a microdiaspora that will not stifle our creative production.
For now, here is a sample of a song on that album that I just wrote this last week mostly while I was riding the subway at night. I hope you like it as well :=)
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Friday, July 10, 2009
Since June 22nd
Well, I've been living in Brooklyn since June 22nd and it hit me like a ton of bricks this afternoon. I really love New York.
Working construction with my Granddad often feels more like hanging out. Living with this side of the family feels long overdue. A few days ago I bought a bicycle. July 4th was amazing on the Hudson River. My good friend Jon Ladd was visiting NYC just this last week and we got to hang out. Swing dancing in Manhattan officially kept me out all night (just once). And I'm reading and writing a lot, and its all stuff I'm encountering for myself, free of any degree-binding patterns.
That's pretty much how it's going. I'm dreaming of home a lot when I sleep, and when I'm awake I'm flooded with (somewhat hazy) memories of an AMAZING sendoff party with friends and family I feel so grateful to have in my life.
In a mountain of tiny simple ways I'm very happy.
That being said, some bigger issues are in need of being worked out in the near future. I realize that today is a difficult time for most people to find a job, whatever their profession. It's just that sometimes I feel a little funny having just graduated and leaving to do something seemingly unrelated. I went to the NY Dept. of Education this week to see if what I had read and added up matched the real requirements to teach in this state, but to no avail. The state is on a hiring freeze for teaching... even substitutes.
So as I feel a need to professionally develop, I am comforted by that mountain of tiny important things. I am trying to remember that my education was about forming my intellect first (and remembering to be always forming), then my profession. And then my Grandfather told me that it took him a long in his life to really understand that whatever the trial "If you act right, things are going to be alright." With his commanding tone, it's difficult not to feel his conviction- and besides, who would argue with that?
So I guess, in a broad sort of way, that's my plan.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
On Shoes and Movement
Hmmm.
November.
December
And January marks the first month I am officially off REI payroll and am glad to say that I´m done with shoes for a good while.
These events aren´t in any way the cause of leaving my job- I just thought that since black Friday, some amazing things have happened concerning shoes and the world.
November.
December
And January marks the first month I am officially off REI payroll and am glad to say that I´m done with shoes for a good while.
These events aren´t in any way the cause of leaving my job- I just thought that since black Friday, some amazing things have happened concerning shoes and the world.
Oh Happy Day
(From 11-6-2009, originally likemikeposts.com)
I remember learning in statistics class that a survey or another set of data for analysis where the subjects volunteer to address a topic, like in a broadcast survey, call in, or response board for instance, that the response data is overwhelmingly polarized and therefore inaccurate, at least to show a realistic layout of opinion.
Right-click “Happy Day” from the title and click open link in a new tab to get the soundtrack of this blog post.
In Sociology on Tuesday 11-4-08, Professor Hammett wrote a list of controversial topics on the board and paired us up to construct a debate of both sides no matter our own stance.
Abortion, Legalized Prostitution, Predatory Lending, Same-sex Marriage, Bailing out Banks, Free Lunch in Schools, Universal Health Care, Wire-tapping, National ID, Iraq, Airport Security, Prison Privatization, Guantanamo, Racial Profiling, Tracking in Schools, Voter Suppression, Paid Maternity Leave, Standardized Testing, Decriminalization of Drugs.
I think to myself; are these hatchets or scalpels of division?
Later that evening, in a fit of shared goosebumps, I call my dad who is watching at home with my family: “If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer... Yes We Can!” For the first time in my life, the (political) goosebumps come from joy and not fear of international travel.
We experience “¿reverse?” Bradley effect, as it turns out that the opinions we haven´t seen in the call in surveys and response boards are not as afraid as the McCain/Palin mobs and angry conservative Facebook responses would have them.
Some people are skeptical of our new leader and the changes we will see- Ralph Nader (WTF?- couldn´t have picked another way to put that?) I believe that if this makes you afraid, you need seek for answers in what you are looking for from these changes. Billions of $ a month in Iraq and outrageous deficit and half of us seem to be worried about our families being ruined by people we don´t even know and our small businesses that we don´t even have being overtaxed. And the other half seems like we would like to see some of that overspending rain down on our own soil, we´re thinkin books, health care, higher stipend and encouragement for (non-military national service).
Apparently though, Europe loves our President Elect, who seems to remind everyone of Kennedy. It´s nice for a change to see someone there who automatically improves our international credentials (at least with the countries we are to be allied with).
And eat your heart out Tupac- Maybe we´re seeing some change (you can come home from China now:=)
Whether you are moved by a feeling of togetherness we can all share as Americans (dirty hippie), Scared shitless about getting health care that poorer people can also afford (stingy libertarian), Comedy host who won´t have anything else to talk about (oh, man), Wall Street banker (socialist), Joe the Plumber (which tax bracket again?), Joe Biden (no more Amtrack!), Confused Alaskan who doesn´t know what to do with so many pitchforks (and also a wardrobe), just voted on California´s Proposition 8 (which might pass), The question is, What happens now? Obama inherits a mountain of problems from a leader who was passed a peaceful, wealthy, and prosperous record surplus. Can we stand up from the ashes and find a renewed American identity? Will corporations take over our voice? Do we still have to be afraid?
In 2008, I am alive. I just felt like I needed to write some of it down. Is that how History works?
I remember learning in statistics class that a survey or another set of data for analysis where the subjects volunteer to address a topic, like in a broadcast survey, call in, or response board for instance, that the response data is overwhelmingly polarized and therefore inaccurate, at least to show a realistic layout of opinion.
Right-click “Happy Day” from the title and click open link in a new tab to get the soundtrack of this blog post.
In Sociology on Tuesday 11-4-08, Professor Hammett wrote a list of controversial topics on the board and paired us up to construct a debate of both sides no matter our own stance.
Abortion, Legalized Prostitution, Predatory Lending, Same-sex Marriage, Bailing out Banks, Free Lunch in Schools, Universal Health Care, Wire-tapping, National ID, Iraq, Airport Security, Prison Privatization, Guantanamo, Racial Profiling, Tracking in Schools, Voter Suppression, Paid Maternity Leave, Standardized Testing, Decriminalization of Drugs.
I think to myself; are these hatchets or scalpels of division?
Later that evening, in a fit of shared goosebumps, I call my dad who is watching at home with my family: “If there is anyone out there who still doubts that America is a place where all things are possible, who still wonders if the dream of our founders is alive in our time, who still questions the power of our democracy, tonight is your answer... Yes We Can!” For the first time in my life, the (political) goosebumps come from joy and not fear of international travel.
We experience “¿reverse?” Bradley effect, as it turns out that the opinions we haven´t seen in the call in surveys and response boards are not as afraid as the McCain/Palin mobs and angry conservative Facebook responses would have them.
Some people are skeptical of our new leader and the changes we will see- Ralph Nader (WTF?- couldn´t have picked another way to put that?) I believe that if this makes you afraid, you need seek for answers in what you are looking for from these changes. Billions of $ a month in Iraq and outrageous deficit and half of us seem to be worried about our families being ruined by people we don´t even know and our small businesses that we don´t even have being overtaxed. And the other half seems like we would like to see some of that overspending rain down on our own soil, we´re thinkin books, health care, higher stipend and encouragement for (non-military national service).
Apparently though, Europe loves our President Elect, who seems to remind everyone of Kennedy. It´s nice for a change to see someone there who automatically improves our international credentials (at least with the countries we are to be allied with).
And eat your heart out Tupac- Maybe we´re seeing some change (you can come home from China now:=)
Whether you are moved by a feeling of togetherness we can all share as Americans (dirty hippie), Scared shitless about getting health care that poorer people can also afford (stingy libertarian), Comedy host who won´t have anything else to talk about (oh, man), Wall Street banker (socialist), Joe the Plumber (which tax bracket again?), Joe Biden (no more Amtrack!), Confused Alaskan who doesn´t know what to do with so many pitchforks (and also a wardrobe), just voted on California´s Proposition 8 (which might pass), The question is, What happens now? Obama inherits a mountain of problems from a leader who was passed a peaceful, wealthy, and prosperous record surplus. Can we stand up from the ashes and find a renewed American identity? Will corporations take over our voice? Do we still have to be afraid?
In 2008, I am alive. I just felt like I needed to write some of it down. Is that how History works?
What Means
(From 11-4-2008, Originally likemikeposts.com)
I don´t think I have the capacity in English (or any language yet) to clearly elaborate. But I read this, and I think I even understood a good deal of it. It made me think to myself that we should change the common phrase we use upon instances of utter confusion “What gives?” to: “What means.”
We´re in such a remarkable time. I so often feel humbled recently by the noviceness of my human experience and expressive capacity. At any rate, I just hope to to open my eyes, heart, mind, and voice to the now. And I think that is why I am drawn to things that might be a bit over my head. And I think that is why, even just once, I hope to manifest of express an instance of true and sincere beauty.
I don´t think I have the capacity in English (or any language yet) to clearly elaborate. But I read this, and I think I even understood a good deal of it. It made me think to myself that we should change the common phrase we use upon instances of utter confusion “What gives?” to: “What means.”
We´re in such a remarkable time. I so often feel humbled recently by the noviceness of my human experience and expressive capacity. At any rate, I just hope to to open my eyes, heart, mind, and voice to the now. And I think that is why I am drawn to things that might be a bit over my head. And I think that is why, even just once, I hope to manifest of express an instance of true and sincere beauty.
On Beauty and Being Sincere
(From 10-13-2008, Originally likemikeposts.com)
I can´t help but feel humble by all that is fleeting in the things I find myself chasing. I don´t know what it is, exactly. But for a while now, I am drawn to this sudden realization in countless spaces I can´t often fully identify. However, I have been finding a newborn ability to recognize, and experience this fleeting light in places I am tempted to describe as poetic. I think that they mostly have to do with music. Music lends such breath to our substance and relevance.
Like Matt for instance- does this not make any person want to a) travel all the world b) love and dance with all the people or c) and even just once have the capacity to express this clearly?
Elaine Scarry in her somewhat abstract book On Beauty and Being Just outlines her thoughts concerning how beauty perpetuates itself. The hand wants to draw the bird on a pole or the laughter of the child. We all recognize what is beautiful in things, however we find difficulty in identifying beauty in and of itself, that is, unattached to any one object or image we can also recognize. What is important is that we all seek to perpetuate it.
In the spirit of perpetuating beauty and embracing the creative or expressive process, I have been recently, obsessively, focused around the musical styles of Iron and Wine and the newly found musical premise and soundtrack Once. Glen Hansard, the front man and writer for the Frames, Swell Season, and Once, mentioned before playing in the most amazing concert I think I've ever seen in his song (Your Face, I think) that he searches for what he refers to as the pure drop: literally a kind of distilled fruit mooonshine that has yet to be dilluted in any way. It relates to music and beauty because he was talking about looking for the beauty that Scarry might argue is the least inspired or most authentic- that is, the least intentionally diluted. The poets go for originality and sincerity in truth seeking, I think.
It's like- no one knows where the first stone of beauty came from that started the waves we perpetuate to move us. We don't even know what the stone actually is- but we always want it. How could we define the moment that Beauty was first here and seen by an eyeball? And when did we realize we could move it around too?
If you want to (pseudo) experience or at least see how this works in context, enter "Sunset Soon Forgotten" into youtube. What I thought was most interesting is that there are no actual Iron and Wine performances of this piece here. The work and subject matter itself represents the fleeting and inspirational nature of this beautiful song. The lack of actual Iron and Wine performances represents all the different perpetuations or reflections of the original pure drop that is not actually available in this case.
We know what beauty, art, and music are. But do we actively search for what is most true, most pure, most original, most relevant? Or do we passively make purchases that come from some detached source or authority that merely pushes into further perpetuation and reflection, farther from our own pure drops?
This is the thought that guides the music I am writing, thoughts about the poetry I am reading, and most importantly, the mix tapes that I am working on.
I leave in Peace and Beauty.
I can´t help but feel humble by all that is fleeting in the things I find myself chasing. I don´t know what it is, exactly. But for a while now, I am drawn to this sudden realization in countless spaces I can´t often fully identify. However, I have been finding a newborn ability to recognize, and experience this fleeting light in places I am tempted to describe as poetic. I think that they mostly have to do with music. Music lends such breath to our substance and relevance.
Like Matt for instance- does this not make any person want to a) travel all the world b) love and dance with all the people or c) and even just once have the capacity to express this clearly?
Elaine Scarry in her somewhat abstract book On Beauty and Being Just outlines her thoughts concerning how beauty perpetuates itself. The hand wants to draw the bird on a pole or the laughter of the child. We all recognize what is beautiful in things, however we find difficulty in identifying beauty in and of itself, that is, unattached to any one object or image we can also recognize. What is important is that we all seek to perpetuate it.
In the spirit of perpetuating beauty and embracing the creative or expressive process, I have been recently, obsessively, focused around the musical styles of Iron and Wine and the newly found musical premise and soundtrack Once. Glen Hansard, the front man and writer for the Frames, Swell Season, and Once, mentioned before playing in the most amazing concert I think I've ever seen in his song (Your Face, I think) that he searches for what he refers to as the pure drop: literally a kind of distilled fruit mooonshine that has yet to be dilluted in any way. It relates to music and beauty because he was talking about looking for the beauty that Scarry might argue is the least inspired or most authentic- that is, the least intentionally diluted. The poets go for originality and sincerity in truth seeking, I think.
It's like- no one knows where the first stone of beauty came from that started the waves we perpetuate to move us. We don't even know what the stone actually is- but we always want it. How could we define the moment that Beauty was first here and seen by an eyeball? And when did we realize we could move it around too?
If you want to (pseudo) experience or at least see how this works in context, enter "Sunset Soon Forgotten" into youtube. What I thought was most interesting is that there are no actual Iron and Wine performances of this piece here. The work and subject matter itself represents the fleeting and inspirational nature of this beautiful song. The lack of actual Iron and Wine performances represents all the different perpetuations or reflections of the original pure drop that is not actually available in this case.
We know what beauty, art, and music are. But do we actively search for what is most true, most pure, most original, most relevant? Or do we passively make purchases that come from some detached source or authority that merely pushes into further perpetuation and reflection, farther from our own pure drops?
This is the thought that guides the music I am writing, thoughts about the poetry I am reading, and most importantly, the mix tapes that I am working on.
I leave in Peace and Beauty.
When it All Falls Down
(From 6-26-2008, Originally likemikeposts.com)
I´ve been home in Albuquerque for a little less than a month now, and disgracefully, I haven´t yet gathered my thoughts together for another blog entry. It feels funny to be home again. My car is still busted and pink (faded red, or maroonish, really). Everything feels different, but nothing has changed. I´m home, and yet strangely homesick. I often find myself with a longing inside me to find ways to express my thanks to the universe but frustrated with my inability to find the words to give experiences and gratitude their proper justice.
García Márquez once wrote that every day is a new opportunity to reinvent one´s self. What I miss the most about being in South America, for myself, is being in an environment that required that sort of reinvention in order to get things done. In order to justify one´s self and actions, reinvention seemed to surface out of pure necessity. That is the place I fell in love with- an outside place that helped me to make an inside one. It is the place I believe to be frequently referred to as Neruda´s mistress. A continent so rich in culture, it has mystically maintained an undying image of untapped resources and possibilities and yet striking, humbling reality and humanity. While the intentions of this image have gradually moved away from Cortez´ historic lust for gold and glory or gross romanticizing in many contexts, (with the recent exception of the new Indiana Jones movie) any adventurous spirit who has really been there knows that the journey to see the world from Macondo still maintains a similar romantic, adventurous, and addictive appeal.
They tell you before you go abroad to any country that the culturization process is like a roller coaster. There are two important factors emphasized in this process. Firstly, the inclines and declines begin steeper and gradually become smoother. Secondly, getting used to the ups and downs is a process by which a person learns as much or more about themselves than the outside world. What they don´t tell you about is that the process of coming back involves strangely powerful ripples of feelings and undulations of what I think I learned and their subsequent meanings and interpretations. Only weeks home and already back into the swing of things. Everything feels different and nothing has changed. Mostly, I just miss my friends. I don't think that the time spent would have been so unbearably bright- the fun, responsible, professional places, and the reckless, frightening, kinda crazy places we have shared. This post is also a note on my facebook because I wanted to share something with all of the old faces I may or may not see again who provided so many unforgettable reasons to smile and laugh.
Towards the end of the semester, I often was forced to stop on the way home because of the many landslides on my street. They say that Ecuador had an unbelievably wet year that was the cause of the landslides, and these were my new warm neighbors. I was safe in my pad but traffic would usually be crazy with people moving stuff around and hitch hiking to class in the morning required even more adventurous endeavors :=). The strangest part though was how fitting it felt to go along with so many sincere goodbyes. I couldn´t help but irrationally ponder whether it was global warming or la pacha mama crumbling along with my, and the other international Guápuleños stumbling with the feeling of leaving also. If it was just science, or universal compassion, shaming me to stay with my new brethren, and grab a shovel. What´s more is that I´m not sure the difference really matters because people´s homes were falling and families were in danger. I felt heavy with burden as I had to leave my new friends and neighbors with little to offer apart from a sincere gratitude, and a few small, but well aimed goodbye gifts.
I realize this all seems pretty random. But I´ve gotten used to that feeling this month. I´m going to try to tie this back to the beginning, the difficulty in expressive justice to various feelings and experiences, with a poem.
De vez en cuando hay que hacer una pausa
contemplarse así mismo sin la fruición cotidiana
examinar el pasado rubro por rubro etapa por etapa
baldosa por baldosa y no llorarse las mentiras
sino cantarse las verdades
- Mario Benedetti
This poem speaks to me when I feel nostalgic and am tempted to remember only the falling, crumbling feelings, and I hope it speaks to my friends to remember all the other much more important ones. I lost a great deal of photos that would have helped with images, so I hope that Benedetti works this time. You all know who you are. Thanks.
Also, the second trip to Peru was amazing.
I´ve been home in Albuquerque for a little less than a month now, and disgracefully, I haven´t yet gathered my thoughts together for another blog entry. It feels funny to be home again. My car is still busted and pink (faded red, or maroonish, really). Everything feels different, but nothing has changed. I´m home, and yet strangely homesick. I often find myself with a longing inside me to find ways to express my thanks to the universe but frustrated with my inability to find the words to give experiences and gratitude their proper justice.
García Márquez once wrote that every day is a new opportunity to reinvent one´s self. What I miss the most about being in South America, for myself, is being in an environment that required that sort of reinvention in order to get things done. In order to justify one´s self and actions, reinvention seemed to surface out of pure necessity. That is the place I fell in love with- an outside place that helped me to make an inside one. It is the place I believe to be frequently referred to as Neruda´s mistress. A continent so rich in culture, it has mystically maintained an undying image of untapped resources and possibilities and yet striking, humbling reality and humanity. While the intentions of this image have gradually moved away from Cortez´ historic lust for gold and glory or gross romanticizing in many contexts, (with the recent exception of the new Indiana Jones movie) any adventurous spirit who has really been there knows that the journey to see the world from Macondo still maintains a similar romantic, adventurous, and addictive appeal.
They tell you before you go abroad to any country that the culturization process is like a roller coaster. There are two important factors emphasized in this process. Firstly, the inclines and declines begin steeper and gradually become smoother. Secondly, getting used to the ups and downs is a process by which a person learns as much or more about themselves than the outside world. What they don´t tell you about is that the process of coming back involves strangely powerful ripples of feelings and undulations of what I think I learned and their subsequent meanings and interpretations. Only weeks home and already back into the swing of things. Everything feels different and nothing has changed. Mostly, I just miss my friends. I don't think that the time spent would have been so unbearably bright- the fun, responsible, professional places, and the reckless, frightening, kinda crazy places we have shared. This post is also a note on my facebook because I wanted to share something with all of the old faces I may or may not see again who provided so many unforgettable reasons to smile and laugh.
Towards the end of the semester, I often was forced to stop on the way home because of the many landslides on my street. They say that Ecuador had an unbelievably wet year that was the cause of the landslides, and these were my new warm neighbors. I was safe in my pad but traffic would usually be crazy with people moving stuff around and hitch hiking to class in the morning required even more adventurous endeavors :=). The strangest part though was how fitting it felt to go along with so many sincere goodbyes. I couldn´t help but irrationally ponder whether it was global warming or la pacha mama crumbling along with my, and the other international Guápuleños stumbling with the feeling of leaving also. If it was just science, or universal compassion, shaming me to stay with my new brethren, and grab a shovel. What´s more is that I´m not sure the difference really matters because people´s homes were falling and families were in danger. I felt heavy with burden as I had to leave my new friends and neighbors with little to offer apart from a sincere gratitude, and a few small, but well aimed goodbye gifts.
I realize this all seems pretty random. But I´ve gotten used to that feeling this month. I´m going to try to tie this back to the beginning, the difficulty in expressive justice to various feelings and experiences, with a poem.
De vez en cuando hay que hacer una pausa
contemplarse así mismo sin la fruición cotidiana
examinar el pasado rubro por rubro etapa por etapa
baldosa por baldosa y no llorarse las mentiras
sino cantarse las verdades
- Mario Benedetti
This poem speaks to me when I feel nostalgic and am tempted to remember only the falling, crumbling feelings, and I hope it speaks to my friends to remember all the other much more important ones. I lost a great deal of photos that would have helped with images, so I hope that Benedetti works this time. You all know who you are. Thanks.
Also, the second trip to Peru was amazing.
Semana Santa :=) Schoolwork :=P
(From 4-9-2008, Originally likemikeposts.com)
I was a little weary on the boat when we were on our way from Cartagena to spend the day on the ocean and the beaches of Isla Rosario and Playa Blanca because I saw the headlines of a local Colombian newspaper that confirmed a victim of the conflict of March first as Ecuadorian. The article, though, relieved most of my tension when it clarified that all the big players were prepared to continue handling the conflict in peaceful forms in the context of the OEA- the Organization of the American States. The topic has proven to be, at least in my own life proximity, pretty much blown over. And to sum up my AMAZING Spring Break experience, I would argue that our trip was wildly successful, perhaps disgustingly beautiful or madly incredible even. Bogotá was wonderful- museums, churches, salsa dancing, Good Friday Monserrate people procession (which was kind of scary because of the people chaos), and there was a huge international theater festival happening, so we saw a play. Bogotá is HUGE and we got to see a good amount of it in the three or four days we spent.
We flew to Cartagena on a Saturday and had three days of SO much fun. I had just begun to read the book Love in the Times of Cholera and thoroughly enjoyed reading García Marquez in that context. I find his ability to describe things entirely relevant and not a bit elaborate having seen Cartagena at night. I don´t know what to think about my concept of beauty. I would argue that is is fairly developed, but ¿What happens when the standard or norm is skewed so that the norm is overly beautiful? ¿Shipwreck!? I dunno. Maybe it´s best just to keep searching and not over think it. Though, what´s new is that I have learned to feel at home with the feeling of being lost, and also, the feeling of falling- that is to say the feeling of not being in control of or understanding everything, only vague directions, images, and supplements, perhaps. Or maybe, more precisely, the feeling of an inability to grab and hold on to things moving around me so fast. What´s more, I think I have developed a funny kind of sense of understanding or even compassion for people who have mastered the art of expressing feelings like this.
I´ve seen this struggle over and over in my studies of Latin America and try to grasp it whenever I can. In Modern Latin American art, for example, it has been observed that from the eurocentric perspective, not only have Latin American culture, art, and people been misinterpreted, misunderstood, but what´s more important to observe, beyond the initial shock of experience lies a consistent lack of ability to express what people think is happening in the Latin American reality from an outside one. This is not a minor struggle. García Marquez once wrote "La primera obra maestra de la literatura mágica es el Diario de Cristóbal Colon. Y ya estaba contaminada de la magia del Caribe que la propia historia del libro es inverosímile. Allí se habla de plantas fabulosas, animales mitológicos y seres con poderes sobrenaturales que no podían haber existido. Probablemente, Colón, que era antes que nada un mercanchifle, hizo todo aquello con el porpósito de entusiasmar a los Reyes Católicos para que siguieran financiando sus descubrimientos. Pero en todo caso, ese texto es la primera obra de la literatura del Caribe." (Translation) In my own brain I am now picturing old Cristobal Colón more like a kind of Jack Black character, but instead of advocating a love for rock and roll culture, the (in)famous quest for God, Glory, and Gold.
In my art history class, my favorite article outlines how the first "encounter of two worlds affected above all, language. In response to this, Alejo Carpentier was the first to propose the use of localisms, even of exoticisms, as an answer to his question: Are we to suffer the anguish of Hernán Cortés when he complained to Charles V of not being able to describe certain great things in America ´because I do not know the words by which they are known´?" Arguably this "journey" to understand things as people other than the Europeans, and now the "Norteamericanos" is the journey the (good) modern Latin American artists face in presenting an art that pleases the perceptions of enough people to gather a crowd.
I feel like I am relating to this exact feeling as a student in the most amazing place I have ever been. It´s like a Third Eye Blind album mixed with the expressionism of Tracy Chapman´s Crossroads, or a Jack Black-esque argument for downloading free music: intoxicatingly beautiful, and filled with daring possibilities, but maybe kind of naughty and potentially filled with contradictions. I am relating to certain art movements and artists recently, I think, because of the "journey" to which my art history article refers. This one Garcia-Torres, “Nuestro Norte es el Sur”, for example- seems overly simple, elementary even. But maybe the most important parts of a cultural "journey" are just that- like my initial silly stumbles and mumbles (that are now an everyday reality on which I don´t have the time to elaborate anymore). I know that it´s humbling, which might be, in essence, the challenge. But still, I want to constantly scream out loud a thousand tiny epiphanies that I think I´ve found. Like- Holy Shit!!! - Remedios Varo has achieved in a single painting Remedios Varo, “Creación de Aves” the artistic representation of all that I could imagine that consists of feminist theory and social constructivism!!! It´s like a door that we should all be entering, just to breath the air on the other side. But to whom do I scream?
For this reason I have learned to appreciate my guitar, ABSURD quantities of music, books more than TV, LOTS of films, good wine and company, and most importantly, but underdeveloped, poetry. Friends and fam, please excuse my lack of many many interesting blog posts, it´s just that I sometimes feel like I would be screaming into the night time. I know we´re looking at the same sky, I just wonder if I have the ability to express what´s relevant. So here are some more photos. And please know that there is an intense longing inside of me just to be with the people that make me feel like home again. Especially when, outside of all of my dream world I have created in my head and written about today, Don Quijote, mountains of academic reading, papers, and tests feel more like lead and bricks in my bag than things I care to spend my time with in the last few weeks of it all. Right now, home is full of rain, music, friends, hills, landslides, adventures in transportation, funny people and games, and mostly, too much of what I struggle to express.
More to come- Here are the pictures. Album one and two.
I was a little weary on the boat when we were on our way from Cartagena to spend the day on the ocean and the beaches of Isla Rosario and Playa Blanca because I saw the headlines of a local Colombian newspaper that confirmed a victim of the conflict of March first as Ecuadorian. The article, though, relieved most of my tension when it clarified that all the big players were prepared to continue handling the conflict in peaceful forms in the context of the OEA- the Organization of the American States. The topic has proven to be, at least in my own life proximity, pretty much blown over. And to sum up my AMAZING Spring Break experience, I would argue that our trip was wildly successful, perhaps disgustingly beautiful or madly incredible even. Bogotá was wonderful- museums, churches, salsa dancing, Good Friday Monserrate people procession (which was kind of scary because of the people chaos), and there was a huge international theater festival happening, so we saw a play. Bogotá is HUGE and we got to see a good amount of it in the three or four days we spent.
We flew to Cartagena on a Saturday and had three days of SO much fun. I had just begun to read the book Love in the Times of Cholera and thoroughly enjoyed reading García Marquez in that context. I find his ability to describe things entirely relevant and not a bit elaborate having seen Cartagena at night. I don´t know what to think about my concept of beauty. I would argue that is is fairly developed, but ¿What happens when the standard or norm is skewed so that the norm is overly beautiful? ¿Shipwreck!? I dunno. Maybe it´s best just to keep searching and not over think it. Though, what´s new is that I have learned to feel at home with the feeling of being lost, and also, the feeling of falling- that is to say the feeling of not being in control of or understanding everything, only vague directions, images, and supplements, perhaps. Or maybe, more precisely, the feeling of an inability to grab and hold on to things moving around me so fast. What´s more, I think I have developed a funny kind of sense of understanding or even compassion for people who have mastered the art of expressing feelings like this.
I´ve seen this struggle over and over in my studies of Latin America and try to grasp it whenever I can. In Modern Latin American art, for example, it has been observed that from the eurocentric perspective, not only have Latin American culture, art, and people been misinterpreted, misunderstood, but what´s more important to observe, beyond the initial shock of experience lies a consistent lack of ability to express what people think is happening in the Latin American reality from an outside one. This is not a minor struggle. García Marquez once wrote "La primera obra maestra de la literatura mágica es el Diario de Cristóbal Colon. Y ya estaba contaminada de la magia del Caribe que la propia historia del libro es inverosímile. Allí se habla de plantas fabulosas, animales mitológicos y seres con poderes sobrenaturales que no podían haber existido. Probablemente, Colón, que era antes que nada un mercanchifle, hizo todo aquello con el porpósito de entusiasmar a los Reyes Católicos para que siguieran financiando sus descubrimientos. Pero en todo caso, ese texto es la primera obra de la literatura del Caribe." (Translation) In my own brain I am now picturing old Cristobal Colón more like a kind of Jack Black character, but instead of advocating a love for rock and roll culture, the (in)famous quest for God, Glory, and Gold.
In my art history class, my favorite article outlines how the first "encounter of two worlds affected above all, language. In response to this, Alejo Carpentier was the first to propose the use of localisms, even of exoticisms, as an answer to his question: Are we to suffer the anguish of Hernán Cortés when he complained to Charles V of not being able to describe certain great things in America ´because I do not know the words by which they are known´?" Arguably this "journey" to understand things as people other than the Europeans, and now the "Norteamericanos" is the journey the (good) modern Latin American artists face in presenting an art that pleases the perceptions of enough people to gather a crowd.
I feel like I am relating to this exact feeling as a student in the most amazing place I have ever been. It´s like a Third Eye Blind album mixed with the expressionism of Tracy Chapman´s Crossroads, or a Jack Black-esque argument for downloading free music: intoxicatingly beautiful, and filled with daring possibilities, but maybe kind of naughty and potentially filled with contradictions. I am relating to certain art movements and artists recently, I think, because of the "journey" to which my art history article refers. This one Garcia-Torres, “Nuestro Norte es el Sur”, for example- seems overly simple, elementary even. But maybe the most important parts of a cultural "journey" are just that- like my initial silly stumbles and mumbles (that are now an everyday reality on which I don´t have the time to elaborate anymore). I know that it´s humbling, which might be, in essence, the challenge. But still, I want to constantly scream out loud a thousand tiny epiphanies that I think I´ve found. Like- Holy Shit!!! - Remedios Varo has achieved in a single painting Remedios Varo, “Creación de Aves” the artistic representation of all that I could imagine that consists of feminist theory and social constructivism!!! It´s like a door that we should all be entering, just to breath the air on the other side. But to whom do I scream?
For this reason I have learned to appreciate my guitar, ABSURD quantities of music, books more than TV, LOTS of films, good wine and company, and most importantly, but underdeveloped, poetry. Friends and fam, please excuse my lack of many many interesting blog posts, it´s just that I sometimes feel like I would be screaming into the night time. I know we´re looking at the same sky, I just wonder if I have the ability to express what´s relevant. So here are some more photos. And please know that there is an intense longing inside of me just to be with the people that make me feel like home again. Especially when, outside of all of my dream world I have created in my head and written about today, Don Quijote, mountains of academic reading, papers, and tests feel more like lead and bricks in my bag than things I care to spend my time with in the last few weeks of it all. Right now, home is full of rain, music, friends, hills, landslides, adventures in transportation, funny people and games, and mostly, too much of what I struggle to express.
More to come- Here are the pictures. Album one and two.
Colombia Ecuador Conflict and Semana Santa
(From 3-19-2008, Originally likemikeposts.com)
I have gone back and forth regarding this post due to recent conflict and have even wrote a few drafts, but in the end I have decided to keep things simple. If anyone is curious about whatever they have seen in the international news recently, Some reasonable places to begin would be here, here, or here to learn a little about what happened here in Ecuador and the following diplomatic conflict. There is much to learn about the subject; I have seen a fair amount of press, and fortunately, I have been exposed to a number of good resources here at the university including a few professors guiding discussions on the matter and even a forum to present various perspectives and players involved in the conflict. I have formed my own thoughts about the issue, but without getting too into it, I think it is important to remember that all the major players and organizations have called for peaceful resolutions that have pretty much kept the conflict from escalating into more violence and that the conflict is over at any level that would or could concern my study and/or travel plans. The president has declared that had any Ecuadorians died in the attack, they would already be at war- And I am proclaiming that I would already be home.
I looked into this topic with personal interest because I am in Colombia for my Spring Break vacation. I want to note, for my family, that we are flying over and not passing through any of the generally known danger zones (rural places, especially jungles, border territory, vulnerable night-life situations...etc.) and that our group is well aware of cultural, social, and political realities. We are planning on spending most of our time in museums and on the beach. So, although we intend to have our wits about, I´m more than reasonably convinced we are heading to places known only for their recent (relative) tranquility and essential (extreme) beauty.
Leaving today (3-19), we plan to be in Bogotá until Saturday, when we will be flying (only spending about $25 more than a bus and saving about 29 hours travel time) to Cartagena to spend the following three days exploring Baranquilla, Santa Marta, and a National Park, in that order. We plan to spend Wednesday the 26th traveling to spend a day or two, depending on how we feel in Medellin and then be back in Bogotá Friday the 28th for our flight back to Quito on Saturday Morning. In reality, I think we´ve considered all the implications and possibilities of our small excursion and I´m honestly more concerned with my monetary capacity for the trip than the groups ability to address the risks.
And seriously, much love to fam and friends home- I miss lots people and things and find myself listening to a lot of Beatles lately- I don´t know what that means exactly, but I think Beatles are usually a sign of musical-spiritual-existential- perhaps neoplatonic (just kidding)- sincerity.
I have gone back and forth regarding this post due to recent conflict and have even wrote a few drafts, but in the end I have decided to keep things simple. If anyone is curious about whatever they have seen in the international news recently, Some reasonable places to begin would be here, here, or here to learn a little about what happened here in Ecuador and the following diplomatic conflict. There is much to learn about the subject; I have seen a fair amount of press, and fortunately, I have been exposed to a number of good resources here at the university including a few professors guiding discussions on the matter and even a forum to present various perspectives and players involved in the conflict. I have formed my own thoughts about the issue, but without getting too into it, I think it is important to remember that all the major players and organizations have called for peaceful resolutions that have pretty much kept the conflict from escalating into more violence and that the conflict is over at any level that would or could concern my study and/or travel plans. The president has declared that had any Ecuadorians died in the attack, they would already be at war- And I am proclaiming that I would already be home.
I looked into this topic with personal interest because I am in Colombia for my Spring Break vacation. I want to note, for my family, that we are flying over and not passing through any of the generally known danger zones (rural places, especially jungles, border territory, vulnerable night-life situations...etc.) and that our group is well aware of cultural, social, and political realities. We are planning on spending most of our time in museums and on the beach. So, although we intend to have our wits about, I´m more than reasonably convinced we are heading to places known only for their recent (relative) tranquility and essential (extreme) beauty.
Leaving today (3-19), we plan to be in Bogotá until Saturday, when we will be flying (only spending about $25 more than a bus and saving about 29 hours travel time) to Cartagena to spend the following three days exploring Baranquilla, Santa Marta, and a National Park, in that order. We plan to spend Wednesday the 26th traveling to spend a day or two, depending on how we feel in Medellin and then be back in Bogotá Friday the 28th for our flight back to Quito on Saturday Morning. In reality, I think we´ve considered all the implications and possibilities of our small excursion and I´m honestly more concerned with my monetary capacity for the trip than the groups ability to address the risks.
And seriously, much love to fam and friends home- I miss lots people and things and find myself listening to a lot of Beatles lately- I don´t know what that means exactly, but I think Beatles are usually a sign of musical-spiritual-existential- perhaps neoplatonic (just kidding)- sincerity.
Top Five Homesick Remedies
(From 1-29-09, Oringially likemikeposts.com)
I have a tatoo. I have two, actually. This post concerns the second, red Zia shape on my upper right shoulder blade that I got when I was nineteen because I wanted to feel like, wherever I go, home is with me, less in the place and more in what I carry around. The cultural symbolism behind the Zia can be foundhere.
One thing that has been among the most fun parts of my trip so far is trying to explain my home situation. I even did that Cultural Anthropology project about my very large family that seemed to wow the class. More than anything though, I´ve come to the conclusion that home is a feeling even when it is a place. And so I often find myself describing home in this manner, much more subjectively than in comparative or, like demographic terms- as if it were a song, a really good laugh, a moving and beautiful picture or painting, or maybe even a really good meal with really good wine and company. People are always talking about home, this idea, or feeling with in such personal and unique ways. I think I like being the only one from NM, doing my own thing here. Not to be whiny or emo about it, but I don´t really think I have ever known even since I was a kid what it is NOT to be kind of unique, and I like it. Lots of other people are like- yeah I´m from Chicago, or Boston, or Cali, or Wisconsin (there is A LOT of Wisconsinites here). And after that they are all like Oh, yeah my grandma or my uncle or I used to go or live or fish or eat cheese and drink beer and watch football there. Or something like that. That sort of thing doesn´t really happen to me the same way. Though I usually get to be the authority on New Mexicanisms, which is cool, the locals usually think I am from some part of Mexico and lots of other people don´t know really what to say. So I try to have fun with it and highlight the food, the weather, the Governor, and especially the sunsets. It´s easy to romanticize, but sometimes it makes me homesick.
I miss a lot of things about home, the place. But the feeling can be created anywhere. And in this way, my tatoo has fulfilled its proclaimed symbolic purpose. I think it happens when people attempt to describe the feeling they get that makes them feel like they are where they are supposed to be. While I miss this strange ritual in terms of green chili, traffic and education problems, balloon fiesta and/or state fair shenanigans, I am very much enjoying rustling up that feeling while I am outside of the 505, in my most bohemian of periods. And the other thing I have learned is that there are so many different ways to feel at home- with one´s self, with one´s friends, with one´s actions, with God or religion, with loved ones. I have resorted to a number of silly things that help me to feel like I have developed this sort of ability or capacity.
Some examples:
I think it comes first, from my academic life, because it´s kind of the root of why I´m here- but it often feels like an excuse. It´s strange, school here is very serious, very difficult, but at the same time, I´m not learning how to operate on someone´s eyeballs or launch rocket messages to Fiji. My classes are as follows: Art History 303, Modern Latin American Art, Andian Anthropology 300, Literature 340, El Quijote (the biggest book EVER), Sociology 381, Design and Evaluation of Social Projects of Development, (and here´s where it get´s good) Hatha Yoga 181, and Gac 300 Enology and Mixiology. Look that one up if you´re not familiar with the terminology. It´s like, I have more papers, in harder classes, in Spanish, than I ever have, but also... no worries- I think I´m going surfing next weekend. To be honest- it´s mostly me: I love what I study, but I sometimes I get frustrated and seriously doubt myself when confronted with the workload.
Feeling Home Strategy #2: Playlisting and other types of Top Fiving. If you haven´t seen the film High Fidelity, firstly, GO RENT IT, because secondly, you won´t be able to fully appreciate Top Fiving the way it was intended. In my own head, when I wrote this, John Cusack actually narrates this section, not me.
Top Five Books Currently on the Shelf: 1. Selected Poems: Pablo Neruda, 2. Hojas de Hierba Leaves of Grass: Edicion Bilingüe, Walt Whitman 3. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera 4. Don Quijote de la Mancha, Miguel de Cervantes 5. Cien Años de Soledad, Gabriel García Márquez. This list changes frequently.
Top Five Hippie Tendencies: 1. Chaco´s are my favorite shoes. 2. I now have some Canadian friends who are really into sustainable things and cooking with organic stuff. 3. I often carry an old and beautifully unique acoustic guitar named Rosinante and sing songs that people like to sing along with. 4. Once, I did that on a bus and didn´t have to pay the fare because they liked it. 5. I eat LOTS of granola. Don´t worry too much about this section, I shower and don´t do drugs.
Top Five Attributes to Apartment in Guápulo. 1. It is beautiful and so is the view. 2. It has many chicken, dogs, cats, and interesting people. 3. Hot (seriously;)) water. 4. The little cafés on my street, which are known for their abundance of music and avaunt-garde readings or art shows, are often filled with transient Colombians who sing loudly and beat on drums. 5. Getting there and away. (It´s on the side of a mountain and I have good stories about that when I get home)
Top Five Travel Songs: 1. Bierut - Postcards From Italy 2. John Mayer - 3X5 3. Billy Joel - Only the Good Die Young 4. Manu Chao - Me Llaman Calle 5. The New Pornographers - Challengers
Top Five Homesick Remedy Songs: (I really don´t know if these make it better or worse)1. Fiest - It´s Cool to Love Your Family 2. In the Aeroplane Over the Sea - Neutral Milk Hotel 3. The Shins - New Slang 4. Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins - You Are What You Love 5. Incubus - Wish You Were Here.
It goes like this. I´ve been asked, and I ask myself, in one way or another everyday: ¿What the hell are you doing here Michael? ¿What is going on in the world and what do we think about said going-on´s and certain happenings? ¿What is love? Baby, Don´t hurt me. I don´t often know the answer to these types of questions. ¿Will Barack Obama win the primaries and then take over the nation in the name of all things good? I think he might. You should read this and try to tell me that he´s not the man for the job. Thanks Senator Obama. You make me feel like home. I think that´s what we do - It´s much more than learning a language and some songs when your in transit. We are fighting to feel like home. I say we because I refer to the people that constantly explore this feeling together and for me, that´s everyone in this country. It is everyone in every interaction. I think that is why and how we keep ourselves busy, justifying our time with volunteering, working, developing, reading, being, laughing, and and that is why I write songs. We apply value to our efforts, actions, thoughts, and self definitions. I posted the recordings I have here with me on the blog. You have to click the link to the page LikeMikeSounds. I still don´t know how to make it work so that you can actually put them on your computer, but I´m sure anyone who really wanted them could get them from a relative of mine. What I like about them are the same things I like about how I feel like home. They are honest and yet unsure, raw and clumbsy, and yet warm and accurate, I think. Kundera, in his most amazing novel, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, wrote, “Schoenberg is dead, Ellington is dead, but the guitar is eternal. Stereotyped harmonies, banal melodies, and rythms all the more insistent the more monotonous they are- that is what remains of music, that is music´s eternity. Everyone can fraternize by means of these simple combinations of tones, for it is being itself that through them is shouting out of it´s jubilant ´I´m Here!´ There is no more boisterous, no more unanimous agreement than the agreement with being.” Although he is often more critical than I think I am about everyday kind of music, I find his thoughts profound in their accuracy. I feel like in my own way, in my own understanding of things, I was true to myself and this concept. What is harder to understand is why this sort of thing means absolutely everything and nothing at the same time. He also writes about this feeling as a novel writer. “Someone who writes books is either everything (a unique universe in himself and to all others) or nothing. And because it will never be given to anyone to be everything, all of us who write books are nothing. We are unrecognized, jealous, embittered...” For me, it´s like; at once both beautiful and utterly meaningless to write a song about something I think I have to say or to feel like I can understand (parts of) Cervantes´ Quixote but what the hell for- a blog post about it? Why not go surfing and enjoy the feeling of being so infinitely tiny? Who knows what it really means- for now mostly just enjoyable conversation.
If I could answer briefly what I am doing, for myself, and of course the mountains of readers, because I think it´s the single most important thing a person can (try to) do, I say it´s like trying to understand poetry or music. I get a lot of little things about it, but it´s too much to say that I really can understand all of it, absurd even. It´s too subjective, but I can fully embrace and love the entire process, the failures and successes. I will soon write lots of cool little insights about many of the things I have learned about Latin America. These epiphanies at once mean everything and nothing because I don´t usually know what to do with them. What I have learned, that has been most worthwhile and difficult, is learning about my limits and faults. So it is with this quote I dramatically and impressively close, one I have enjoyed for a long time, but am now coming to understand more, by an author I know nothing about. I like how it doesn´t matter who he was though. If he was the next savior, a grassroots campaign leader for the Obama campaign (seriously, read whats on that link), or a bum off the streets. I think what matters is the words. Like good poetry, intentions, or actions. Like the picture below.
“I must learn to love the fool in me, the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries.”
Theodore Isaac Rubin
You Are.
I have a tatoo. I have two, actually. This post concerns the second, red Zia shape on my upper right shoulder blade that I got when I was nineteen because I wanted to feel like, wherever I go, home is with me, less in the place and more in what I carry around. The cultural symbolism behind the Zia can be found
One thing that has been among the most fun parts of my trip so far is trying to explain my home situation. I even did that Cultural Anthropology project about my very large family that seemed to wow the class. More than anything though, I´ve come to the conclusion that home is a feeling even when it is a place. And so I often find myself describing home in this manner, much more subjectively than in comparative or, like demographic terms- as if it were a song, a really good laugh, a moving and beautiful picture or painting, or maybe even a really good meal with really good wine and company. People are always talking about home, this idea, or feeling with in such personal and unique ways. I think I like being the only one from NM, doing my own thing here. Not to be whiny or emo about it, but I don´t really think I have ever known even since I was a kid what it is NOT to be kind of unique, and I like it. Lots of other people are like- yeah I´m from Chicago, or Boston, or Cali, or Wisconsin (there is A LOT of Wisconsinites here). And after that they are all like Oh, yeah my grandma or my uncle or I used to go or live or fish or eat cheese and drink beer and watch football there. Or something like that. That sort of thing doesn´t really happen to me the same way. Though I usually get to be the authority on New Mexicanisms, which is cool, the locals usually think I am from some part of Mexico and lots of other people don´t know really what to say. So I try to have fun with it and highlight the food, the weather, the Governor, and especially the sunsets. It´s easy to romanticize, but sometimes it makes me homesick.
I miss a lot of things about home, the place. But the feeling can be created anywhere. And in this way, my tatoo has fulfilled its proclaimed symbolic purpose. I think it happens when people attempt to describe the feeling they get that makes them feel like they are where they are supposed to be. While I miss this strange ritual in terms of green chili, traffic and education problems, balloon fiesta and/or state fair shenanigans, I am very much enjoying rustling up that feeling while I am outside of the 505, in my most bohemian of periods. And the other thing I have learned is that there are so many different ways to feel at home- with one´s self, with one´s friends, with one´s actions, with God or religion, with loved ones. I have resorted to a number of silly things that help me to feel like I have developed this sort of ability or capacity.
Some examples:
I think it comes first, from my academic life, because it´s kind of the root of why I´m here- but it often feels like an excuse. It´s strange, school here is very serious, very difficult, but at the same time, I´m not learning how to operate on someone´s eyeballs or launch rocket messages to Fiji. My classes are as follows: Art History 303, Modern Latin American Art, Andian Anthropology 300, Literature 340, El Quijote (the biggest book EVER), Sociology 381, Design and Evaluation of Social Projects of Development, (and here´s where it get´s good) Hatha Yoga 181, and Gac 300 Enology and Mixiology. Look that one up if you´re not familiar with the terminology. It´s like, I have more papers, in harder classes, in Spanish, than I ever have, but also... no worries- I think I´m going surfing next weekend. To be honest- it´s mostly me: I love what I study, but I sometimes I get frustrated and seriously doubt myself when confronted with the workload.
Feeling Home Strategy #2: Playlisting and other types of Top Fiving. If you haven´t seen the film High Fidelity, firstly, GO RENT IT, because secondly, you won´t be able to fully appreciate Top Fiving the way it was intended. In my own head, when I wrote this, John Cusack actually narrates this section, not me.
Top Five Books Currently on the Shelf: 1. Selected Poems: Pablo Neruda, 2. Hojas de Hierba Leaves of Grass: Edicion Bilingüe, Walt Whitman 3. The Unbearable Lightness of Being, Milan Kundera 4. Don Quijote de la Mancha, Miguel de Cervantes 5. Cien Años de Soledad, Gabriel García Márquez. This list changes frequently.
Top Five Hippie Tendencies: 1. Chaco´s are my favorite shoes. 2. I now have some Canadian friends who are really into sustainable things and cooking with organic stuff. 3. I often carry an old and beautifully unique acoustic guitar named Rosinante and sing songs that people like to sing along with. 4. Once, I did that on a bus and didn´t have to pay the fare because they liked it. 5. I eat LOTS of granola. Don´t worry too much about this section, I shower and don´t do drugs.
Top Five Attributes to Apartment in Guápulo. 1. It is beautiful and so is the view. 2. It has many chicken, dogs, cats, and interesting people. 3. Hot (seriously;)) water. 4. The little cafés on my street, which are known for their abundance of music and avaunt-garde readings or art shows, are often filled with transient Colombians who sing loudly and beat on drums. 5. Getting there and away. (It´s on the side of a mountain and I have good stories about that when I get home)
Top Five Travel Songs: 1. Bierut - Postcards From Italy 2. John Mayer - 3X5 3. Billy Joel - Only the Good Die Young 4. Manu Chao - Me Llaman Calle 5. The New Pornographers - Challengers
Top Five Homesick Remedy Songs: (I really don´t know if these make it better or worse)1. Fiest - It´s Cool to Love Your Family 2. In the Aeroplane Over the Sea - Neutral Milk Hotel 3. The Shins - New Slang 4. Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins - You Are What You Love 5. Incubus - Wish You Were Here.
It goes like this. I´ve been asked, and I ask myself, in one way or another everyday: ¿What the hell are you doing here Michael? ¿What is going on in the world and what do we think about said going-on´s and certain happenings? ¿What is love? Baby, Don´t hurt me. I don´t often know the answer to these types of questions. ¿Will Barack Obama win the primaries and then take over the nation in the name of all things good? I think he might. You should read this and try to tell me that he´s not the man for the job. Thanks Senator Obama. You make me feel like home. I think that´s what we do - It´s much more than learning a language and some songs when your in transit. We are fighting to feel like home. I say we because I refer to the people that constantly explore this feeling together and for me, that´s everyone in this country. It is everyone in every interaction. I think that is why and how we keep ourselves busy, justifying our time with volunteering, working, developing, reading, being, laughing, and and that is why I write songs. We apply value to our efforts, actions, thoughts, and self definitions. I posted the recordings I have here with me on the blog. You have to click the link to the page LikeMikeSounds. I still don´t know how to make it work so that you can actually put them on your computer, but I´m sure anyone who really wanted them could get them from a relative of mine. What I like about them are the same things I like about how I feel like home. They are honest and yet unsure, raw and clumbsy, and yet warm and accurate, I think. Kundera, in his most amazing novel, The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, wrote, “Schoenberg is dead, Ellington is dead, but the guitar is eternal. Stereotyped harmonies, banal melodies, and rythms all the more insistent the more monotonous they are- that is what remains of music, that is music´s eternity. Everyone can fraternize by means of these simple combinations of tones, for it is being itself that through them is shouting out of it´s jubilant ´I´m Here!´ There is no more boisterous, no more unanimous agreement than the agreement with being.” Although he is often more critical than I think I am about everyday kind of music, I find his thoughts profound in their accuracy. I feel like in my own way, in my own understanding of things, I was true to myself and this concept. What is harder to understand is why this sort of thing means absolutely everything and nothing at the same time. He also writes about this feeling as a novel writer. “Someone who writes books is either everything (a unique universe in himself and to all others) or nothing. And because it will never be given to anyone to be everything, all of us who write books are nothing. We are unrecognized, jealous, embittered...” For me, it´s like; at once both beautiful and utterly meaningless to write a song about something I think I have to say or to feel like I can understand (parts of) Cervantes´ Quixote but what the hell for- a blog post about it? Why not go surfing and enjoy the feeling of being so infinitely tiny? Who knows what it really means- for now mostly just enjoyable conversation.
If I could answer briefly what I am doing, for myself, and of course the mountains of readers, because I think it´s the single most important thing a person can (try to) do, I say it´s like trying to understand poetry or music. I get a lot of little things about it, but it´s too much to say that I really can understand all of it, absurd even. It´s too subjective, but I can fully embrace and love the entire process, the failures and successes. I will soon write lots of cool little insights about many of the things I have learned about Latin America. These epiphanies at once mean everything and nothing because I don´t usually know what to do with them. What I have learned, that has been most worthwhile and difficult, is learning about my limits and faults. So it is with this quote I dramatically and impressively close, one I have enjoyed for a long time, but am now coming to understand more, by an author I know nothing about. I like how it doesn´t matter who he was though. If he was the next savior, a grassroots campaign leader for the Obama campaign (seriously, read whats on that link), or a bum off the streets. I think what matters is the words. Like good poetry, intentions, or actions. Like the picture below.
“I must learn to love the fool in me, the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries.”
Theodore Isaac Rubin
You Are.
Peru Play by Play and Thoughts Regarding
(From 1-18-2008, Originally likemikeposts.com)
So, I hope Christmas and New Years was warm and eventful for everyone. I left Quito to return home for a very short ten days on the 22nd and was overwhelmed with food, family, friends, hugs, and love. It was nice to see what hasn't changed a bit and kind of exciting to learn about all the things that have! ... Joshy is the same height as me... Tori loving her bakery job... Old friends with new loves... I don't regret a bit having so much fun. But after Jesse's New Year's house party, and all the hugs and kisses, ready or not, I had to split.
My flight itinerary lasted a stimulating 25 hours from ABQ to Cuzco, Peru, so having left on the 2nd, I arrived on the morning of the 3rd to meet up with the group of four friends. We got to a late start that day, so ended up taking a bus to our first destination instead of getting right on bicycles. The 1st day of the trek to Machu Picchu was supposed to embark from the small town of Ollantaytambo to arrive in Santa Maria completely on bike. I wasn't too disappointed with the slight change after having traveled so much with so little actual rest. And we did end up going on a small bike ride for a little while.
The second day marked the beginning of the actual trek at 6:45 am. The hike was pretty hard. It was the longest hike I've ever done. We all had heavy packs and the trail was rarely flat. The views were incredible all the time and I could never have captured them with any kind of justice with a camera. I tried though. And we enjoyed wild mangoes and face paint. At the end of the long day, we had a choice between a long bridge over a river and an "orrolla. " I don't know if I'm spelling it right, but I originally thought our guide said arrollo, like a ditch, but what he was referring to was this giant cable equipped with ropes that you (the passenger) pull yourself to get to the other side. It was big, thrilling, and also very tiring. BUT FUN! On the other side of the river was this little natural hot springs where we spent a few hours to unwind. They were the cleanest, warmest, and most beautiful hot springs I've ever seen, just nestled in the Andes. So many times on this trip I was dumbfounded and just in shear disbelief at the natural beauty of my surroundings. More than once it felt like some sort of other world, a paradise, or parallel universe in another time. I don't know how else to describe it.
On the 5th of January, at 6:30ish our second day's journey began with a short bus ride with loud reggaeton, to which we all danced. I recommend this to any person who is in need to a happy beginning to a hard day (group dancing to reggaeton, that is). We decided to take a harder trail than the originally planned route because our guide promised more spectacular views than the other, easier route. The temperature was much more all over the place than any other day, and we were exhausted faster, but I think that had more to do with said, chosen route. It seemed like the trail almost took us indoors and outdoors over and over. It would be hot, wet, and uphill one minute and cold, wet, and downhill the next. I laughed at Henry, the guide I keep referring to as if he were nameless, when he pointed to the mountain we were to climb up and over to see the ruins, and the waterfall to get to the train station. I laughed at how impossible it seemed. Our route was the more beautiful of the paths because of the wild flowers, including orchids, and the partially reconstructed ancient ruins of Llactapata. The 3 hours down from the mountain we had walked over was the most painful part of the journey, due to such steep declines and rocky, uneven terrain. And also, there were no mangos. At the train station, a young kid asked me if he could use my camera, and we all had a good laugh at his childish fascination and the things he found interesting to photograph.
After our one night stay in Aguas Calientes, the small, touristy town on the bottom of Machu Picchu, we walked up the some ~3000 stairs to see it. It was worth every step, every second in a crowded airport or dingy bus, every dollar, and much, much more than the feeble words I have to offer. The fog and Waynapicchu were what seemed to make the trip more personal and special for me. The fog was incredibly thick, and incredibly fast. We climbed up Waynapicchu, which is the mountain that resembles the nose of The Inca that is the mountain formation. The place was amazing. So much wonder made and makes me feel like such a child, humbled by the ancient elite Inca Mecca that held all the ancient knowledge and meaning as far as this empire could take it. It makes me wonder what kind of ruins would be of our wasteful cities and SUV filled highways, of our reasoning and present day empires and wars. It puts into perspective what meaning is involved in modern civilization and its towering preoccupation with consumption and progress. Because, Cuzco, in all of it's cultural significance and mountains of meaning, now has traffic, market, political, and social problems like any other city, but, with it's puma shape still at the center of the Inca universe. If you feel too disconnected from the everyday hub-bub of life, (which I think is what is most appealing about travel) and need badly to be connected again, here in Cuzco, and practically any other city it's easy to find high speed internet connections or whatever else you need to get your fix. The Spanish walls still look foolish and hasty next to the elaborate and amazing Inca walls, that maintain the mystery of how the people moved and assembled the massive stones. Machu Picchu, the foundations of Cuzco, and the entire Inca empire for that matter, were made with stone, which lasts longer than anything else in this beautifully unstable continent, and they still carry their humbling presence and meaning.
It is meaningful to have seen it in such a personal way that words and pictures don't really do it justice. The significance of the site and all we think it means is like an exciting contest. The tourists, the guides, the locals, the academics, and the officials are constantly debating about so many contradictory perspectives and ideas. It was fun to throw in the few droplets of things I thought I knew.
The night of the 6th was spent resting in Aguas Calientes and the next two days were spent on buses and trains going back to Cuzco for a night and then on to Puno, the city on the worlds highest (navigable) lake Titicaca, which means Grey, or stone puma, not anything else. The bus, to our surprise, included six stops at certain sites like the relatively famous Raqchi and a really nice lunch. Our bus guide talked a lot in both English and Spanish about everything we were seeing and their various interpretations, but made us laugh (during and after the trip) at his cartoonish mannerisms and voice. It was interesting to meet other travelers and explore the night life in these two cities. And on the 9th, we explored a huge church, a museum, and Sillustani burial sites that were all oriented in the ancient cosmic understanding.
The next day, the 10th was my favorite, as we were actually on the lake. We started taking a passenger boat to the islands of Uros, where an entire culture of people make their (very large and extensive) island community entirely out of blocks of land and the reeds that naturally grow from them. They were complete with houses, kitchens, storehouses, ovens, pets, solar power, schools, churches, transport, food, and even a post office. It was like a dream, utopic and surreal, and yet, there it was, and there I was, eating the reeds they used for everything (they maintain a certain dental value that allow for the people of Uros not to necessitate toothbrushes and toothpaste- I can attest that their dental hygiene with these reeds produced a common friendly and healthy smile.)
After the island of Uros, we went to Taquile, a small community famous for their mud brick houses, weavings, and social practices.This concluded the purposes of the short ten day trip that marked the beginning of an interesting semester, a wonderful year, and even though there is an infinite amount of cultural significance that exists at Titicaca and its surrounding area, we had to part too soon. Maybe next time I will get to see the temple of Kalasasaya, or Tiwanaku, with it's Temple of the Sun. I have come to realize the true value of the people I love and our places in each other's lives, and I hope that writing more can be a supplement to my being so out of touch. I will try to make the next entries more frequent and candid- as this semester, I feel will be more colorful than last. Feeling so very often like a child, doing things uncertainly and for the first time in a place that is completely foreign to my sense of norms, and learning to walk and then run with it all brings me to such happy places. I can only feel blessed, in millions of both tiny and gigantic ways, which are often hard to distinguish. I had a wonderful Christmas and New Years that was filled with love and surprises, and I have had a wonderful beginning to 2008. I will be using links to my facebook photo albums and (maybe) a site dedicated to only photos, that might be slightly more photo friendly. More to come. Love and Peace. (really man- Take a piece and pass it on!)
The 1st two albums are called They Will See Us WavingandFrom such Great Heights
~Miguel
So, I hope Christmas and New Years was warm and eventful for everyone. I left Quito to return home for a very short ten days on the 22nd and was overwhelmed with food, family, friends, hugs, and love. It was nice to see what hasn't changed a bit and kind of exciting to learn about all the things that have! ... Joshy is the same height as me... Tori loving her bakery job... Old friends with new loves... I don't regret a bit having so much fun. But after Jesse's New Year's house party, and all the hugs and kisses, ready or not, I had to split.
My flight itinerary lasted a stimulating 25 hours from ABQ to Cuzco, Peru, so having left on the 2nd, I arrived on the morning of the 3rd to meet up with the group of four friends. We got to a late start that day, so ended up taking a bus to our first destination instead of getting right on bicycles. The 1st day of the trek to Machu Picchu was supposed to embark from the small town of Ollantaytambo to arrive in Santa Maria completely on bike. I wasn't too disappointed with the slight change after having traveled so much with so little actual rest. And we did end up going on a small bike ride for a little while.
The second day marked the beginning of the actual trek at 6:45 am. The hike was pretty hard. It was the longest hike I've ever done. We all had heavy packs and the trail was rarely flat. The views were incredible all the time and I could never have captured them with any kind of justice with a camera. I tried though. And we enjoyed wild mangoes and face paint. At the end of the long day, we had a choice between a long bridge over a river and an "orrolla. " I don't know if I'm spelling it right, but I originally thought our guide said arrollo, like a ditch, but what he was referring to was this giant cable equipped with ropes that you (the passenger) pull yourself to get to the other side. It was big, thrilling, and also very tiring. BUT FUN! On the other side of the river was this little natural hot springs where we spent a few hours to unwind. They were the cleanest, warmest, and most beautiful hot springs I've ever seen, just nestled in the Andes. So many times on this trip I was dumbfounded and just in shear disbelief at the natural beauty of my surroundings. More than once it felt like some sort of other world, a paradise, or parallel universe in another time. I don't know how else to describe it.
On the 5th of January, at 6:30ish our second day's journey began with a short bus ride with loud reggaeton, to which we all danced. I recommend this to any person who is in need to a happy beginning to a hard day (group dancing to reggaeton, that is). We decided to take a harder trail than the originally planned route because our guide promised more spectacular views than the other, easier route. The temperature was much more all over the place than any other day, and we were exhausted faster, but I think that had more to do with said, chosen route. It seemed like the trail almost took us indoors and outdoors over and over. It would be hot, wet, and uphill one minute and cold, wet, and downhill the next. I laughed at Henry, the guide I keep referring to as if he were nameless, when he pointed to the mountain we were to climb up and over to see the ruins, and the waterfall to get to the train station. I laughed at how impossible it seemed. Our route was the more beautiful of the paths because of the wild flowers, including orchids, and the partially reconstructed ancient ruins of Llactapata. The 3 hours down from the mountain we had walked over was the most painful part of the journey, due to such steep declines and rocky, uneven terrain. And also, there were no mangos. At the train station, a young kid asked me if he could use my camera, and we all had a good laugh at his childish fascination and the things he found interesting to photograph.
After our one night stay in Aguas Calientes, the small, touristy town on the bottom of Machu Picchu, we walked up the some ~3000 stairs to see it. It was worth every step, every second in a crowded airport or dingy bus, every dollar, and much, much more than the feeble words I have to offer. The fog and Waynapicchu were what seemed to make the trip more personal and special for me. The fog was incredibly thick, and incredibly fast. We climbed up Waynapicchu, which is the mountain that resembles the nose of The Inca that is the mountain formation. The place was amazing. So much wonder made and makes me feel like such a child, humbled by the ancient elite Inca Mecca that held all the ancient knowledge and meaning as far as this empire could take it. It makes me wonder what kind of ruins would be of our wasteful cities and SUV filled highways, of our reasoning and present day empires and wars. It puts into perspective what meaning is involved in modern civilization and its towering preoccupation with consumption and progress. Because, Cuzco, in all of it's cultural significance and mountains of meaning, now has traffic, market, political, and social problems like any other city, but, with it's puma shape still at the center of the Inca universe. If you feel too disconnected from the everyday hub-bub of life, (which I think is what is most appealing about travel) and need badly to be connected again, here in Cuzco, and practically any other city it's easy to find high speed internet connections or whatever else you need to get your fix. The Spanish walls still look foolish and hasty next to the elaborate and amazing Inca walls, that maintain the mystery of how the people moved and assembled the massive stones. Machu Picchu, the foundations of Cuzco, and the entire Inca empire for that matter, were made with stone, which lasts longer than anything else in this beautifully unstable continent, and they still carry their humbling presence and meaning.
It is meaningful to have seen it in such a personal way that words and pictures don't really do it justice. The significance of the site and all we think it means is like an exciting contest. The tourists, the guides, the locals, the academics, and the officials are constantly debating about so many contradictory perspectives and ideas. It was fun to throw in the few droplets of things I thought I knew.
The night of the 6th was spent resting in Aguas Calientes and the next two days were spent on buses and trains going back to Cuzco for a night and then on to Puno, the city on the worlds highest (navigable) lake Titicaca, which means Grey, or stone puma, not anything else. The bus, to our surprise, included six stops at certain sites like the relatively famous Raqchi and a really nice lunch. Our bus guide talked a lot in both English and Spanish about everything we were seeing and their various interpretations, but made us laugh (during and after the trip) at his cartoonish mannerisms and voice. It was interesting to meet other travelers and explore the night life in these two cities. And on the 9th, we explored a huge church, a museum, and Sillustani burial sites that were all oriented in the ancient cosmic understanding.
The next day, the 10th was my favorite, as we were actually on the lake. We started taking a passenger boat to the islands of Uros, where an entire culture of people make their (very large and extensive) island community entirely out of blocks of land and the reeds that naturally grow from them. They were complete with houses, kitchens, storehouses, ovens, pets, solar power, schools, churches, transport, food, and even a post office. It was like a dream, utopic and surreal, and yet, there it was, and there I was, eating the reeds they used for everything (they maintain a certain dental value that allow for the people of Uros not to necessitate toothbrushes and toothpaste- I can attest that their dental hygiene with these reeds produced a common friendly and healthy smile.)
After the island of Uros, we went to Taquile, a small community famous for their mud brick houses, weavings, and social practices.This concluded the purposes of the short ten day trip that marked the beginning of an interesting semester, a wonderful year, and even though there is an infinite amount of cultural significance that exists at Titicaca and its surrounding area, we had to part too soon. Maybe next time I will get to see the temple of Kalasasaya, or Tiwanaku, with it's Temple of the Sun. I have come to realize the true value of the people I love and our places in each other's lives, and I hope that writing more can be a supplement to my being so out of touch. I will try to make the next entries more frequent and candid- as this semester, I feel will be more colorful than last. Feeling so very often like a child, doing things uncertainly and for the first time in a place that is completely foreign to my sense of norms, and learning to walk and then run with it all brings me to such happy places. I can only feel blessed, in millions of both tiny and gigantic ways, which are often hard to distinguish. I had a wonderful Christmas and New Years that was filled with love and surprises, and I have had a wonderful beginning to 2008. I will be using links to my facebook photo albums and (maybe) a site dedicated to only photos, that might be slightly more photo friendly. More to come. Love and Peace. (really man- Take a piece and pass it on!)
The 1st two albums are called They Will See Us WavingandFrom such Great Heights
~Miguel
I am Breathing, Surfing, Running.
(From 11-11-2007, Originally likemikeposts.com)
Hey, I´m alive and well.
It has been unnecessarily long since my last post. I think the biggest reason for this is time- I never have enough. The other reason is, as we have firmly established in lit class, is that it is a bad idea to write a lot without saying much. So it is in these interests I will try to effectively catch up the reader. I am going to (try to) be brief because I think (or hope) that I can use the following images to answer more effectively the question I get a lot: How are things over there?
I am exploring. I am stumbling. Things are very up and very down- like the weather here- all four seasons in a day and pretty much right in the middle of the world. I can say with confidence that life is everything I thought it would be- but bigger, harder to keep up with and understand than I originally thought it would be.
Essential, meaningful things: keep in mind that everywhere in Ecuador, there are wildly amazing landscapes of colorful context, literally and figuratively, so much so, that I feel humbled and often lack the words to describe how I feel.
Places. Otavalo, Baños, Latacunga- previous posts.
Mindo. Lindo, pretty butterflies, jungle cables and cows.
Atacames. Simple, pretty beach, really good company, mototaxi!! sunburn, excellent break from school, kids we hung out with- they let us play soccer, bury them, and I showed them my guitar. They had a lot of energy and funny questions about us.
Cuenca. Absurdly beautiful- it is popular to debate about whether Cuenca or Quito is more beautiful, Unesco world heritage site, where they originally make the authentic Panama hats of all sizes, where this old man spends his life fixing/making guitars (that I couldn´t help buying) and churangos, great company, much unexplored, must return.
Tena. 1st real jungle, many bug-bites (no malaria, I promise) 1st white water rafting-very professional, class three (pictures to come), we went with a company called river people, I liked that, seemed simple and honest, MONKEYS!!- You can just go to this place called monkey island where the monkeys come up to where you sit.
Montañita. Hippie beach town. They live the surfer lifestyle here, which I could definitely get used to.
What´s crazy is how little I´ve explored the touristy places right here in Quito. I don´t know if this is silly or not- but I have all of next semester to do that and so far, I can salsa dance, play one song on my new churango, surf, raft, and I see TONS of stuff on my commutes to the places I am volunteering and to school... for instance-
Here´s my Tuesday- fairly typical: Leave at 6:30 to commute to la escuela Jesus el Buen Pastor, my first volunteer location. I get off at the Santo Domingo stop. This refers to la Iglesia Santo Domingo, a topic of which I just finished a response paper. Basically, in May of 1990, this church was used by an indigenous political group called CONAIE as a means of symbolically expressing their presence on a national level. They used the peaceful, sit-in type of strategy to demand political attention to express their sentiments of exploitation, oppression, marginalization, and the general ignorance, particularly of the government organization called IERAC, which is designed to handle land conflicts. The movement is referred to as the ¨First National Uprising of the Indiginous¨ (roughly translated by yours truly). In terms of effectiveness, this one was big, monumental even, because it was seen as the first display of the organizational capacity of the indigenous communities and the first (real) opportunity for them to gain recognition for their demands, which to me, are the most interesting part. But that´s not for this blog entry.
Anyway, I walk past this church on my way to teaching little kids. I have three classes, a little more than thirty students, most with a very mixed ethnicity, the first three grades. We are going over basic things like colors, fruits, family, shapes, you know, the works. I think they like me- they let me play with them during recreo. Between this place, the place in my head that Gabriel García Márquez takes me, some good friends I´ve made next to Pacific Ocean waves , and the guitar man in Cuenca, I feel like, maybe, I´ve gotten close to capturing the essence of Latin America that I´ve read so much about.
I would like to make a few things clear: I love what I study (even though I question my academic capacity and what I will do with all of this almost daily- there are so many ways to think about and understand things). My anthropology teacher was fascinated by my family tree project- the biggest and most complex one in the class. - I love teaching these little kids more, and I have a really hard time expressing how I feel about this place, the world, and then of course, where I want to fit into this whole picture. What´s funny is that of all things, García Márquez and his use of magical realism helps the most to understand it all. There are so many living and clashing ideals all in the same place and I feel like I sill haven´t decided excactly what mine are. But at the same time, it´s like; dang, man, this must be good.
Yeah- so after school I have to high-tail it on over to my university, which is filled with some uppity people, lemme tell ya. I had an extra hour or so to wander around old Quito before my gender studies class, so I followed the music... which was the advise of the guitar maker, right on over to a rally in the Plaza de Independencia where the very new president Correas was delivering a public speech. It felt very authentic. But to me, it was just another manifestation of Márquez´ magical realism and use of mythical time. He shows, without ever referring to any specific person or event how the clashing ideals that constantly coexist within one people- Ecuador is a great example because of its size and diversity- crash into one another. I like how what moves people in his book is almost always based on a myth or a funny interpretation of how things are. It is this idea that through fiction, he shows so much truth, like how wars and politics are as much if not more about pride and power than actual change or progress- his formation of the opposing liberal and conservative views, the power of image in a world controlled by fear. Cien Años is an ocean of humanity. It is timeless and I think what he was trying to say can be seen almost anywhere. I feel like I see it as I walk from a school of eager and happy students past countless beggars and continue on my way past a newly elected president promising change on the streets with a tired voice and end at the most elite university in the region.
Hey, I´m alive and well.It has been unnecessarily long since my last post. I think the biggest reason for this is time- I never have enough. The other reason is, as we have firmly established in lit class, is that it is a bad idea to write a lot without saying much. So it is in these interests I will try to effectively catch up the reader. I am going to (try to) be brief because I think (or hope) that I can use the following images to answer more effectively the question I get a lot: How are things over there?
I am exploring. I am stumbling. Things are very up and very down- like the weather here- all four seasons in a day and pretty much right in the middle of the world. I can say with confidence that life is everything I thought it would be- but bigger, harder to keep up with and understand than I originally thought it would be.
Essential, meaningful things: keep in mind that everywhere in Ecuador, there are wildly amazing landscapes of colorful context, literally and figuratively, so much so, that I feel humbled and often lack the words to describe how I feel.
Places. Otavalo, Baños, Latacunga- previous posts.
Mindo. Lindo, pretty butterflies, jungle cables and cows.
Atacames. Simple, pretty beach, really good company, mototaxi!! sunburn, excellent break from school, kids we hung out with- they let us play soccer, bury them, and I showed them my guitar. They had a lot of energy and funny questions about us.
Cuenca. Absurdly beautiful- it is popular to debate about whether Cuenca or Quito is more beautiful, Unesco world heritage site, where they originally make the authentic Panama hats of all sizes, where this old man spends his life fixing/making guitars (that I couldn´t help buying) and churangos, great company, much unexplored, must return.
Tena. 1st real jungle, many bug-bites (no malaria, I promise) 1st white water rafting-very professional, class three (pictures to come), we went with a company called river people, I liked that, seemed simple and honest, MONKEYS!!- You can just go to this place called monkey island where the monkeys come up to where you sit.
Montañita. Hippie beach town. They live the surfer lifestyle here, which I could definitely get used to.
What´s crazy is how little I´ve explored the touristy places right here in Quito. I don´t know if this is silly or not- but I have all of next semester to do that and so far, I can salsa dance, play one song on my new churango, surf, raft, and I see TONS of stuff on my commutes to the places I am volunteering and to school... for instance-
Here´s my Tuesday- fairly typical: Leave at 6:30 to commute to la escuela Jesus el Buen Pastor, my first volunteer location. I get off at the Santo Domingo stop. This refers to la Iglesia Santo Domingo, a topic of which I just finished a response paper. Basically, in May of 1990, this church was used by an indigenous political group called CONAIE as a means of symbolically expressing their presence on a national level. They used the peaceful, sit-in type of strategy to demand political attention to express their sentiments of exploitation, oppression, marginalization, and the general ignorance, particularly of the government organization called IERAC, which is designed to handle land conflicts. The movement is referred to as the ¨First National Uprising of the Indiginous¨ (roughly translated by yours truly). In terms of effectiveness, this one was big, monumental even, because it was seen as the first display of the organizational capacity of the indigenous communities and the first (real) opportunity for them to gain recognition for their demands, which to me, are the most interesting part. But that´s not for this blog entry.
Anyway, I walk past this church on my way to teaching little kids. I have three classes, a little more than thirty students, most with a very mixed ethnicity, the first three grades. We are going over basic things like colors, fruits, family, shapes, you know, the works. I think they like me- they let me play with them during recreo. Between this place, the place in my head that Gabriel García Márquez takes me, some good friends I´ve made next to Pacific Ocean waves , and the guitar man in Cuenca, I feel like, maybe, I´ve gotten close to capturing the essence of Latin America that I´ve read so much about.
I would like to make a few things clear: I love what I study (even though I question my academic capacity and what I will do with all of this almost daily- there are so many ways to think about and understand things). My anthropology teacher was fascinated by my family tree project- the biggest and most complex one in the class. - I love teaching these little kids more, and I have a really hard time expressing how I feel about this place, the world, and then of course, where I want to fit into this whole picture. What´s funny is that of all things, García Márquez and his use of magical realism helps the most to understand it all. There are so many living and clashing ideals all in the same place and I feel like I sill haven´t decided excactly what mine are. But at the same time, it´s like; dang, man, this must be good.
Yeah- so after school I have to high-tail it on over to my university, which is filled with some uppity people, lemme tell ya. I had an extra hour or so to wander around old Quito before my gender studies class, so I followed the music... which was the advise of the guitar maker, right on over to a rally in the Plaza de Independencia where the very new president Correas was delivering a public speech. It felt very authentic. But to me, it was just another manifestation of Márquez´ magical realism and use of mythical time. He shows, without ever referring to any specific person or event how the clashing ideals that constantly coexist within one people- Ecuador is a great example because of its size and diversity- crash into one another. I like how what moves people in his book is almost always based on a myth or a funny interpretation of how things are. It is this idea that through fiction, he shows so much truth, like how wars and politics are as much if not more about pride and power than actual change or progress- his formation of the opposing liberal and conservative views, the power of image in a world controlled by fear. Cien Años is an ocean of humanity. It is timeless and I think what he was trying to say can be seen almost anywhere. I feel like I see it as I walk from a school of eager and happy students past countless beggars and continue on my way past a newly elected president promising change on the streets with a tired voice and end at the most elite university in the region.
I ran my first 10k in my life today: about 56:30- altidude 2,850 m (about 9,350 ft) depending on where you are. I think it is fair to say that I have gotten used to the air. The event was huge, called the nikecorre. I don´t have any pics, but if I find some on the internet, I´ll post them. The only other place I plan to travel is called the Quilotoa loop. It is with buena gente and will be a good adventure. After that, school is about to get real, real fast.
I don´t know, exactly, if this post worked in terms of clearing anything up except to say that I am here, and it is crazy-cool. I am in an ocean and I just learned to surf.
Exitoso!!! some fun(ny) things
(From 10-04-09, Originally likemikeposts.com)
Well, Latacunga was a bust... Our cultural awareness is proven to be in need of some attention- The festival didn´t start until late Sunday afternoon after we had to leave!!!! So it ended up being mostly boring- nothing much to do except check out another tiny market with mostly stuff none of us needed. We tried a local soup, though I can´t remember the name of it. I kind of like this story though. I thought it was just a potato based lamb soup, as we had all assumed. It was quite good, however, when I noticed a slight inconsistency in the meat portions, because I was fairly famished and I had no prior lamb experience to compare, I paid little attention and enjoyed the soup and beer. We looked up later, as the others in the group were more curious than I, in our Lonely Planet book that the town is kind of famous for it´s potato based soup with it´s ¨floating chunks of blood sausage.¨ Basically, they just kind of put the inside chunks of the lamb in the soup, and it clicked why all of the intestiney- looking meat seemed so strange. Upon realization, my stomach didn´t settle for hours and I didn´t have a real appetite for a few days. I guess I don´t have much of a stomach for stomach... Who´d have thought?
So- my status- In school: definitely more caught up than the last post, however, sometimes just as lost. These experiences of complete and total cultural cluelessness are becoming fewer (weekly rather than daily) but funnier. My university provides amazing opportunities that I am trying to make sure to embrace full throttle. I will surely visit a real volcano soon. I am starting a film appreciation club, and may have found a school to volunteer at teaching English and maybe playing guitar. I am enjoying my classes very much. They make me feel like I am where I am supposed to be, which is important. I LOVE my sociology class: gender and society- we are learning about many kinds of social realities related to gender. I find that this environment is an amazing place to learn of feminist movements in the world because of the lack thereof in this history and culture. This class reminds me of three personal heroes of mine: Mrs. Ladd, high school English teacher and avid feminist, Nikki Skora, the most socially aware and intelligent person I know and amazing writer/thinker, and my aunt Maria, who embodies the struggle, and showed me how to appreciate beautiful things. I am very happy to have recently chosen a minor in sociology in addition to LAS and Spanish. They compliment one another well.
I have a history class- which is astoundingly unorganized, a literature class ¨El Boom Latinoamericano¨- which is very profound when I can follow, and a cultural anthropology class - which, to me, is the most intense, in terms of what we confront. I would like to try to connect some of the many overlapping themes of these classes to both illustrate my love for interdisciplinary studies and maybe to help myself make sure I am understanding them correctly. Writing does that, I think. But not this time. That will be another post. This paragraph only paints a bit of context for a funny cultural misunderstanding - that was completely my fault.
The first project for my cultural anthropology class was a series of interviews I was to conduct in a sector of Ecuadorian society. As a matter of making the most of my living situation, I decided I would interview the national police that I see on my way in and out of the penthouse everyday. The short - non-academic ¨DL¨ is as follows: There are no state, city, or county police, only national. They have a pretty rowdy reputation and struggle with corruption and an amazing lack of resources, very bad pay and benefits, not to mention the responsibility of representing the law in a government that has thrown out and changed its leadership some eight times in the last ten years, and recently (last week) voted in the new president Correa, who´s government plans to write an entirely new constitution. Women in the police force is a very recent phenomenon. I interviewed two of them. My questions touched on such topics as violence, gender, and corruption. The answers were widely diverse and incredibly interesting. It was, to me, more badass than repelling from the waterfalls- There was one question, though, that all the officers struggled a little to understand, never told me why, but I always had to rephrase it before I got an answer. I am told that Ecuadorians, in general (though I hate to generalize) can be very passive with certain social confrontations. The question was a warm up question, which meant to ask what qualities separate the most successful officers from the others. Success- translates in Spanish to the word ¨exito.¨ Naturally, I presumed the adjective form of this noun would be ¨exitado.¨ It is not. I would like to make it clear that the word for successful is exitiso. And also that I am grateful that my host mom is graceful enough to let go of the cultural passivity the six cops displayed when she informed me of the sexual context ¨exitado¨ has in its direct translation - excited. Yup. This was the second question in my ¨warming up¨ part of the intense interviews. I was embarrassed for a while, until my next cultural experience with the police. (I don´t know if I should post this but I´m pretty sure they were off duty) I had no idea what they probably thought of me, or how many other stupid things I must say that go untold. I felt like my fly was always down every time I just needed to say something. - Well, when I came home late one night after having some fun, I was walking up to the apartment when one of the cops told me to come with him. I followed him through a few rooms, a million things running through my head, relieved to find that they were only late-night-celebrating with an abundance of the local beer. I made it to bed a few hours later after some funny, curious, and kinda fuzzy conversations, but with some new police friends, which, I am told, is not a bad thing to have.
The interviews were very useful, in an academic capacity. The other questions were worded appropriately, but I still haven´t confronted my prof about the confusion. I hope she has a good sense of humor...
I promise that´s not the end of my cultural stumblings- which is nice if the blog is enjoyed by my humble but lovely audience, because there will be much more. We will laugh. We will cry. We will draw from our emotions and learn something good about ourselves and each other. Or maybe not. ¿Who knows? This weekend I go to the beach, and next weekend to the city of Cuenca, which, I´m told, is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I hope to share some good images.
Well, Latacunga was a bust... Our cultural awareness is proven to be in need of some attention- The festival didn´t start until late Sunday afternoon after we had to leave!!!! So it ended up being mostly boring- nothing much to do except check out another tiny market with mostly stuff none of us needed. We tried a local soup, though I can´t remember the name of it. I kind of like this story though. I thought it was just a potato based lamb soup, as we had all assumed. It was quite good, however, when I noticed a slight inconsistency in the meat portions, because I was fairly famished and I had no prior lamb experience to compare, I paid little attention and enjoyed the soup and beer. We looked up later, as the others in the group were more curious than I, in our Lonely Planet book that the town is kind of famous for it´s potato based soup with it´s ¨floating chunks of blood sausage.¨ Basically, they just kind of put the inside chunks of the lamb in the soup, and it clicked why all of the intestiney- looking meat seemed so strange. Upon realization, my stomach didn´t settle for hours and I didn´t have a real appetite for a few days. I guess I don´t have much of a stomach for stomach... Who´d have thought?
So- my status- In school: definitely more caught up than the last post, however, sometimes just as lost. These experiences of complete and total cultural cluelessness are becoming fewer (weekly rather than daily) but funnier. My university provides amazing opportunities that I am trying to make sure to embrace full throttle. I will surely visit a real volcano soon. I am starting a film appreciation club, and may have found a school to volunteer at teaching English and maybe playing guitar. I am enjoying my classes very much. They make me feel like I am where I am supposed to be, which is important. I LOVE my sociology class: gender and society- we are learning about many kinds of social realities related to gender. I find that this environment is an amazing place to learn of feminist movements in the world because of the lack thereof in this history and culture. This class reminds me of three personal heroes of mine: Mrs. Ladd, high school English teacher and avid feminist, Nikki Skora, the most socially aware and intelligent person I know and amazing writer/thinker, and my aunt Maria, who embodies the struggle, and showed me how to appreciate beautiful things. I am very happy to have recently chosen a minor in sociology in addition to LAS and Spanish. They compliment one another well.
I have a history class- which is astoundingly unorganized, a literature class ¨El Boom Latinoamericano¨- which is very profound when I can follow, and a cultural anthropology class - which, to me, is the most intense, in terms of what we confront. I would like to try to connect some of the many overlapping themes of these classes to both illustrate my love for interdisciplinary studies and maybe to help myself make sure I am understanding them correctly. Writing does that, I think. But not this time. That will be another post. This paragraph only paints a bit of context for a funny cultural misunderstanding - that was completely my fault.
The first project for my cultural anthropology class was a series of interviews I was to conduct in a sector of Ecuadorian society. As a matter of making the most of my living situation, I decided I would interview the national police that I see on my way in and out of the penthouse everyday. The short - non-academic ¨DL¨ is as follows: There are no state, city, or county police, only national. They have a pretty rowdy reputation and struggle with corruption and an amazing lack of resources, very bad pay and benefits, not to mention the responsibility of representing the law in a government that has thrown out and changed its leadership some eight times in the last ten years, and recently (last week) voted in the new president Correa, who´s government plans to write an entirely new constitution. Women in the police force is a very recent phenomenon. I interviewed two of them. My questions touched on such topics as violence, gender, and corruption. The answers were widely diverse and incredibly interesting. It was, to me, more badass than repelling from the waterfalls- There was one question, though, that all the officers struggled a little to understand, never told me why, but I always had to rephrase it before I got an answer. I am told that Ecuadorians, in general (though I hate to generalize) can be very passive with certain social confrontations. The question was a warm up question, which meant to ask what qualities separate the most successful officers from the others. Success- translates in Spanish to the word ¨exito.¨ Naturally, I presumed the adjective form of this noun would be ¨exitado.¨ It is not. I would like to make it clear that the word for successful is exitiso. And also that I am grateful that my host mom is graceful enough to let go of the cultural passivity the six cops displayed when she informed me of the sexual context ¨exitado¨ has in its direct translation - excited. Yup. This was the second question in my ¨warming up¨ part of the intense interviews. I was embarrassed for a while, until my next cultural experience with the police. (I don´t know if I should post this but I´m pretty sure they were off duty) I had no idea what they probably thought of me, or how many other stupid things I must say that go untold. I felt like my fly was always down every time I just needed to say something. - Well, when I came home late one night after having some fun, I was walking up to the apartment when one of the cops told me to come with him. I followed him through a few rooms, a million things running through my head, relieved to find that they were only late-night-celebrating with an abundance of the local beer. I made it to bed a few hours later after some funny, curious, and kinda fuzzy conversations, but with some new police friends, which, I am told, is not a bad thing to have.
The interviews were very useful, in an academic capacity. The other questions were worded appropriately, but I still haven´t confronted my prof about the confusion. I hope she has a good sense of humor...
I promise that´s not the end of my cultural stumblings- which is nice if the blog is enjoyed by my humble but lovely audience, because there will be much more. We will laugh. We will cry. We will draw from our emotions and learn something good about ourselves and each other. Or maybe not. ¿Who knows? This weekend I go to the beach, and next weekend to the city of Cuenca, which, I´m told, is one of the most beautiful cities in the world. I hope to share some good images.
Weekend Adventures and Stuff
(From 9-21-2007, Originally likemikeposts.com)
Mom, do you remember when you asked me what I would do if all my friends jumped off a cliff... Well I must confess, I live in a place that holds an abundance of exotic things from which to jump... No cliffs yet, and I promise there is always a rope. And I´m pretty sure it´s all safe.
Man, what, it´s been like three-fourish weeks and it feels like much longer. I´ve had some of the most amazing nights and weekends of my life, met tons of really excited and fun new people, but am starting to fall a little behind in my classes... This is not good. I really am trying to be responsible, and I really like all my classes, but there is so much to be excited about.
The weekend after the Otavalo trip, I went to a place called Baños. It is famous for it´s world class but budget friendly adventure opportunities. I think it was by far the most beautiful places I´ve ever seen. Perched in the jungle highlands, the town rests with jungle and high mountains, an infinite, wild, mysterious and foggy, ready to be explored in whatever way you can think of. I think you could go there ten times and never do the same thing twice. Our group of four spent the beginning of Saturday riding a chiva (a bus with seats on the roof) through tunnels, getting splashed by water that just flows off the mountains freely and exploring all the possibilities. There is a bridge that you can go to and pay like fifteen dollars to jump off of (again, with a rope) and I was going to do that on Sunday but we left earlier than we thought we would because one of the girls got a parasite :-S. Until next time. Before the parasite, though, we hiked a nice distance to a pretty big waterfall and after that we decided that we would go canyoning. I still can´t figure out why they don´t call it something else, because we were repelling off of waterfalls
and then jumping into the pools. It was pretty awesome and I think we all felt like badasses after we repelled down the final, 50 meter waterfall. I went first and took the camera to film and take a few snapshots of the three girls after me. Did I mention the rest of the group of badasses besides me were all girls? They are fearless and incredible.
On the whole, I am finding myself mostly humbled by the women I encounter on a day to day basis. Aside from the things I am learning about women of the past and feminine identity in some of my classes, I am humbled by the contemporary competition, academic and otherwise. For some reason, for many reasons, I am sure, in my classes and activities I am finding more women than men. I don´t know if it´s because of what I study, or what, but I do know that they all mean business.
The weekdays are pretty normal. I have a lot to read and have gotten to know wery well a feeling of being a little behind all the time. There is always something to go out and see: jazz concerts, tons of places to eat, movies, and I live right next to Mariscal, the late-night district. Last week I got to interview six police officers about things like gender, corruption, and violence for my Cultural Anthropology class. I hope the teacher likes it because I don´t think that most of the people in the class had as interesting of questions.
Last weekend some of the other students and I formed a group of eight and went to a tiny town called Mindo. It is famous for it´s butterfly sanctuary that we checked out on Sunday. The first day we rented some horses and rode them up to a little cable car. On the other side of this huge valley was a long hike to a crazy beautiful waterfall. This waterfall thing seems to be pretty popular; I can´t imagine it ever getting old. It was sureal. We were swimming in a hidden wonder. The walls around were high and a very real green. It almost felt indoors because next to the walls, the sky seemed so far away. For a few hours we were the Swiss Family Robinson. The water was cold but worth it. We walked back to the cable car where the girl who operated amazed us as she rode the length of the ride standing OUTSIDE the cart. --Again with that humbled feeling-- She was laughing when we told her how amazingly brave - or crazy she is.
The Sunday Mindo brought us was pretty calm. After the butterfly gardens a friend named Tracy and I went to the Canopy in mindo where they have set up a series of cables for all your inner Tarzan needs. Some of the cables are short enough that you can go alone. They give you a climbing harness and some leather glove which, after the proper instruction, you use as brakes. However, on the larger ones, they attach the novice to the guide in either the Superman (face-down) or Butterfly (face-up position). You get to know the guide pretty well in either of these positions, however, at that speed I was glad he was stopping us and not me. The guides we had were both really funny and I could tell they enjoy thier job. However, nothing compared to when Tracy, on one of the smaller cables, maybe a hundred feet or so, jumps and is flying when all of the sudden, a renegade jungle cow runs right into her path. Quick thinking and cat-like jungle reflexes were the only thing that saved her from the high-speed tenderizing of the left side of this large brown piece of wild moving hamburger. Between this and the many four-wheelers you can rent by the hour, it was a lot of high speed fun.
This next week looks pretty calm. I still have a little bit of official paperwork to file with The Man here. And I am a little behind in my reading, but not worried. This weekend a smaller group of students and I are planning a little trip to a place called Latacunga (I think that´s how you spell it) for the ¨festival de la mama negra¨ I don´t know what this means... hopefully it is also awesome and will provide interesting new info for your reading pleasure.
Mom, do you remember when you asked me what I would do if all my friends jumped off a cliff... Well I must confess, I live in a place that holds an abundance of exotic things from which to jump... No cliffs yet, and I promise there is always a rope. And I´m pretty sure it´s all safe.
Man, what, it´s been like three-fourish weeks and it feels like much longer. I´ve had some of the most amazing nights and weekends of my life, met tons of really excited and fun new people, but am starting to fall a little behind in my classes... This is not good. I really am trying to be responsible, and I really like all my classes, but there is so much to be excited about.
The weekend after the Otavalo trip, I went to a place called Baños. It is famous for it´s world class but budget friendly adventure opportunities. I think it was by far the most beautiful places I´ve ever seen. Perched in the jungle highlands, the town rests with jungle and high mountains, an infinite, wild, mysterious and foggy, ready to be explored in whatever way you can think of. I think you could go there ten times and never do the same thing twice. Our group of four spent the beginning of Saturday riding a chiva (a bus with seats on the roof) through tunnels, getting splashed by water that just flows off the mountains freely and exploring all the possibilities. There is a bridge that you can go to and pay like fifteen dollars to jump off of (again, with a rope) and I was going to do that on Sunday but we left earlier than we thought we would because one of the girls got a parasite :-S. Until next time. Before the parasite, though, we hiked a nice distance to a pretty big waterfall and after that we decided that we would go canyoning. I still can´t figure out why they don´t call it something else, because we were repelling off of waterfalls
and then jumping into the pools. It was pretty awesome and I think we all felt like badasses after we repelled down the final, 50 meter waterfall. I went first and took the camera to film and take a few snapshots of the three girls after me. Did I mention the rest of the group of badasses besides me were all girls? They are fearless and incredible.
On the whole, I am finding myself mostly humbled by the women I encounter on a day to day basis. Aside from the things I am learning about women of the past and feminine identity in some of my classes, I am humbled by the contemporary competition, academic and otherwise. For some reason, for many reasons, I am sure, in my classes and activities I am finding more women than men. I don´t know if it´s because of what I study, or what, but I do know that they all mean business.
The weekdays are pretty normal. I have a lot to read and have gotten to know wery well a feeling of being a little behind all the time. There is always something to go out and see: jazz concerts, tons of places to eat, movies, and I live right next to Mariscal, the late-night district. Last week I got to interview six police officers about things like gender, corruption, and violence for my Cultural Anthropology class. I hope the teacher likes it because I don´t think that most of the people in the class had as interesting of questions.
Last weekend some of the other students and I formed a group of eight and went to a tiny town called Mindo. It is famous for it´s butterfly sanctuary that we checked out on Sunday. The first day we rented some horses and rode them up to a little cable car. On the other side of this huge valley was a long hike to a crazy beautiful waterfall. This waterfall thing seems to be pretty popular; I can´t imagine it ever getting old. It was sureal. We were swimming in a hidden wonder. The walls around were high and a very real green. It almost felt indoors because next to the walls, the sky seemed so far away. For a few hours we were the Swiss Family Robinson. The water was cold but worth it. We walked back to the cable car where the girl who operated amazed us as she rode the length of the ride standing OUTSIDE the cart. --Again with that humbled feeling-- She was laughing when we told her how amazingly brave - or crazy she is.
The Sunday Mindo brought us was pretty calm. After the butterfly gardens a friend named Tracy and I went to the Canopy in mindo where they have set up a series of cables for all your inner Tarzan needs. Some of the cables are short enough that you can go alone. They give you a climbing harness and some leather glove which, after the proper instruction, you use as brakes. However, on the larger ones, they attach the novice to the guide in either the Superman (face-down) or Butterfly (face-up position). You get to know the guide pretty well in either of these positions, however, at that speed I was glad he was stopping us and not me. The guides we had were both really funny and I could tell they enjoy thier job. However, nothing compared to when Tracy, on one of the smaller cables, maybe a hundred feet or so, jumps and is flying when all of the sudden, a renegade jungle cow runs right into her path. Quick thinking and cat-like jungle reflexes were the only thing that saved her from the high-speed tenderizing of the left side of this large brown piece of wild moving hamburger. Between this and the many four-wheelers you can rent by the hour, it was a lot of high speed fun.
This next week looks pretty calm. I still have a little bit of official paperwork to file with The Man here. And I am a little behind in my reading, but not worried. This weekend a smaller group of students and I are planning a little trip to a place called Latacunga (I think that´s how you spell it) for the ¨festival de la mama negra¨ I don´t know what this means... hopefully it is also awesome and will provide interesting new info for your reading pleasure.
Aqui Estoy, Aprendiendo, y Viviendo.
(From 9-5-2007 Oringinally likemikeposts.com)
The Charango: (sounds like cha-rawng-o)
The charango is a small ten string lute that originated in South America. The back of the instrument is traditionally fashioned from an armadillo. When the Spaniards came to South America, they brought the vihuela (an ancestor of the guitar) with them. The native people liked the vihuela, but lacked the technology to shape the wood in that manner. However, there was a convenient resource available to them: armadillo shells. Thus the charango was born. It was a happy day for music, but a sad day for armadillos. But it is a rare creature that makes music after death. Legend has it that the armadillo has to go to a conservatory for five years to study to become a charango.
Today, many of the best charangos have wooden backs instead of employing the armadillo shell.
All of the above information according to http://www.ancient-future.com/guitar/charango.html
I thought this would be some good insight. This is my new charango. I haven´t named it yet. It sounds incredibly beautiful. Yes, it is the traditional kind, made of armadillo.
If I stop shaving and waste away a little, so I can play it like this man don´t miss the old Mike, because I won´t.
So, here in Ecuador, at USFQ, things are very exciting. This last weekend five other students and I left on a two dollar bus to Otavalo. Only one student almost got robbed- He saw through the tricky ¨we´ll spill mustard all over you and then help clean it off and also take all your stuff¨ scheme and ran away, a little bit wiser, and a little covered in mustard. The destination, located about two hours North of Quito, Otavalo, is home to many artisans who display and sell their work on Saturdays. It´s all amazing, and worth much more than they get for it (in my profesional opinion :P). The town´s markets are constantly busy and filled with exotic fruits, most of which I have never heard of, meats, vegetables, and all kinds of other odds and ends. The best part about it is that they are all in their most raw form: people carrying bags of corn and grains themselves to sell next to entire roasted pigs or wonderful displays of fine varieties of chicken heads, and then maybe a nice colorful flower shop next door. It felt real. Particularly after I bought my new instrument, I felt authentic, except for my Yankee´s hat. Looking back, I could have made a wiser hat selection, from a cultural relativism sort of perspective.
However, I´m not convinced it´s possible for me to actually blend in, even a little bit. I´m like the kid at the swim lessons with inner-tubes still on, who is probably in his teens (just barely), in a class of ten year old swim champions. - Moms are probably looking, wondering. Except the water is the language, and the floaties are my lonely planet book and a busy schedule, that demands a busy appearance-: freshly pressed clothes, shoulder bag filled with books, concerned sort of overall demeanor to display a purpose, a general sort of interest in learning about everything around me. I fear that, perhaps, my high-school "I didn´t do the reading, but I´m going to answer the question anyway" facial expression is becoming all too regular again. It´s canceling out the appearance efforts. People are definitely looking, wondering. But hey, I´m learning all sorts of cool stuff.
So, we went to see the celebration of the Otavalo´s local drink, Yamor, I believe. Although, I´m not sure any of us actually got a hold of the stuff. We stayed in a hostel, explored a little b¡t, saw more than one example of good live music. The first night, some of the girls (it was their idea, and not that I was originally opposed, but I´m not taking credit for this decision, outside of a tagging along sort of manner) suggested that we go to a local cockfight. We decided, adventurously, that we would chalk it up to a cultural experience and leave it at that. It was VERY real. The bets are real. The fights are brutal. They cheer loudly, angrily, and enthusiastically. We left after the second fight that we saw. It was a fight to the death.
It was an experience indeed, one that made more of us sick to our stomachs than not. But not to worry- we soon walked it off with the help of some Chilean red wine and stopped in the street to admire an amazing group of Andean musicians. I must admit; apart from whatever ¨world¨music gets you in with the other well traveled cool kids, I am truly addicted to the traditional music hear. It´s like hearing bright colors that don´t fade- if that makes any sense. I suppose, maybe, it just always sounds bright and fresh. Simon and Garfunkle´s ¨El Condor Pasa¨ actually comes from a beautiful local, famous song. I guess I feel a little bit more culturally rounded after the cockfight, but I´d really like to pick up as much musical influence as possible.
Sunday, the final day, was not complete without exploring the local landscapes by rented mountain bikes. Although, we didn´t get very far before exploding tires ruined our plans... I suppose, next time, we shall be pickier in our bike selection.
I hope to return to Otavalo again- It´s a great place to buy gifts. I feel like I got to know some more good people. I think I´m going to the beach this weekend... I really like it here. It´s hard to keep up in my classes, but we are all focusing on very contemporary concepts that are easily found in real life. It´s hard to know what to take seriously, as far as the work load is concerned. But, I´m looking forward to the balancing act.
- All the Peace and Love in the world. More updates soon.
P.S. Try not to take the blog too seriously... It is meant to keep in touch in a manner that keeps your attention and hopefully makes you laugh. And it is under constant scrutiny.
The Charango: (sounds like cha-rawng-o)
The charango is a small ten string lute that originated in South America. The back of the instrument is traditionally fashioned from an armadillo. When the Spaniards came to South America, they brought the vihuela (an ancestor of the guitar) with them. The native people liked the vihuela, but lacked the technology to shape the wood in that manner. However, there was a convenient resource available to them: armadillo shells. Thus the charango was born. It was a happy day for music, but a sad day for armadillos. But it is a rare creature that makes music after death. Legend has it that the armadillo has to go to a conservatory for five years to study to become a charango.
Today, many of the best charangos have wooden backs instead of employing the armadillo shell.
All of the above information according to http://www.ancient-future.com/guitar/charango.html
I thought this would be some good insight. This is my new charango. I haven´t named it yet. It sounds incredibly beautiful. Yes, it is the traditional kind, made of armadillo.
If I stop shaving and waste away a little, so I can play it like this man don´t miss the old Mike, because I won´t.
So, here in Ecuador, at USFQ, things are very exciting. This last weekend five other students and I left on a two dollar bus to Otavalo. Only one student almost got robbed- He saw through the tricky ¨we´ll spill mustard all over you and then help clean it off and also take all your stuff¨ scheme and ran away, a little bit wiser, and a little covered in mustard. The destination, located about two hours North of Quito, Otavalo, is home to many artisans who display and sell their work on Saturdays. It´s all amazing, and worth much more than they get for it (in my profesional opinion :P). The town´s markets are constantly busy and filled with exotic fruits, most of which I have never heard of, meats, vegetables, and all kinds of other odds and ends. The best part about it is that they are all in their most raw form: people carrying bags of corn and grains themselves to sell next to entire roasted pigs or wonderful displays of fine varieties of chicken heads, and then maybe a nice colorful flower shop next door. It felt real. Particularly after I bought my new instrument, I felt authentic, except for my Yankee´s hat. Looking back, I could have made a wiser hat selection, from a cultural relativism sort of perspective.
However, I´m not convinced it´s possible for me to actually blend in, even a little bit. I´m like the kid at the swim lessons with inner-tubes still on, who is probably in his teens (just barely), in a class of ten year old swim champions. - Moms are probably looking, wondering. Except the water is the language, and the floaties are my lonely planet book and a busy schedule, that demands a busy appearance-: freshly pressed clothes, shoulder bag filled with books, concerned sort of overall demeanor to display a purpose, a general sort of interest in learning about everything around me. I fear that, perhaps, my high-school "I didn´t do the reading, but I´m going to answer the question anyway" facial expression is becoming all too regular again. It´s canceling out the appearance efforts. People are definitely looking, wondering. But hey, I´m learning all sorts of cool stuff.
So, we went to see the celebration of the Otavalo´s local drink, Yamor, I believe. Although, I´m not sure any of us actually got a hold of the stuff. We stayed in a hostel, explored a little b¡t, saw more than one example of good live music. The first night, some of the girls (it was their idea, and not that I was originally opposed, but I´m not taking credit for this decision, outside of a tagging along sort of manner) suggested that we go to a local cockfight. We decided, adventurously, that we would chalk it up to a cultural experience and leave it at that. It was VERY real. The bets are real. The fights are brutal. They cheer loudly, angrily, and enthusiastically. We left after the second fight that we saw. It was a fight to the death.
It was an experience indeed, one that made more of us sick to our stomachs than not. But not to worry- we soon walked it off with the help of some Chilean red wine and stopped in the street to admire an amazing group of Andean musicians. I must admit; apart from whatever ¨world¨music gets you in with the other well traveled cool kids, I am truly addicted to the traditional music hear. It´s like hearing bright colors that don´t fade- if that makes any sense. I suppose, maybe, it just always sounds bright and fresh. Simon and Garfunkle´s ¨El Condor Pasa¨ actually comes from a beautiful local, famous song. I guess I feel a little bit more culturally rounded after the cockfight, but I´d really like to pick up as much musical influence as possible.
Sunday, the final day, was not complete without exploring the local landscapes by rented mountain bikes. Although, we didn´t get very far before exploding tires ruined our plans... I suppose, next time, we shall be pickier in our bike selection.
I hope to return to Otavalo again- It´s a great place to buy gifts. I feel like I got to know some more good people. I think I´m going to the beach this weekend... I really like it here. It´s hard to keep up in my classes, but we are all focusing on very contemporary concepts that are easily found in real life. It´s hard to know what to take seriously, as far as the work load is concerned. But, I´m looking forward to the balancing act.
- All the Peace and Love in the world. More updates soon.
P.S. Try not to take the blog too seriously... It is meant to keep in touch in a manner that keeps your attention and hopefully makes you laugh. And it is under constant scrutiny.
Primeras Impresiones
(From 8-26-2007, originally likemikeposts.com)
Well, all first international experiences have been loads of fun. I´m very happy to begin putting real images and experiences with the things I have been learning about in school.
My friend Sarah, who is doing an environmental study program at the same university, but also IN THE GALAPAGOS, and I got here late Wednesday night with no trouble. We stayed in the Hostel Revolucion (I really dug the name), owned by an Australian traveler who simply decided that he found a place here in Quito where he would like to stay, and bought this hostel, fixed it up, and runs it with one of his friends. It was very warm and filled with interesting international people. We spent the next two days exploring the city, with our new friend Amy. The city is really easy to get around and the food here is really really good.
Protest
And we saw a protest!!! It wasn´t very big, violent, or anything, just people demanding social justice by means of marching. The last night that we were at the hostel, a bunch of us took some taxi´s to a bar and had tons of fun dancing.
The girls begin their studies soon and are meeting up with thier groups, and here I am today with my new Ecuadorian family. The family (a mom and a brother) and our place are both super nice. It´s in the middle of the city above a police building and a call center in the penthouse. The view is incredible, as I am trying to show you in my first pictures. I am really enjoying the location.
Nightscape number twoNightscape from the penthouse
Besides the food, I am very much enjoying the atmosphere. I haven´t been ripped off by a cab yet. There are endless amounts of very beautiful places to check out. Everytime that I tell someone that I am having a hard time with the language or a phrase, I have been treated very nicely about it. Most people are actually pretty warm and would like to help with it. And on top of that, I´ve had a lot of really good conversations with people.
I am looking forward to learning more interesting things and writing about them. (Hopefully it will be interesting to the reader as well)
Goodnight World!!! :=)
Well, all first international experiences have been loads of fun. I´m very happy to begin putting real images and experiences with the things I have been learning about in school.
My friend Sarah, who is doing an environmental study program at the same university, but also IN THE GALAPAGOS, and I got here late Wednesday night with no trouble. We stayed in the Hostel Revolucion (I really dug the name), owned by an Australian traveler who simply decided that he found a place here in Quito where he would like to stay, and bought this hostel, fixed it up, and runs it with one of his friends. It was very warm and filled with interesting international people. We spent the next two days exploring the city, with our new friend Amy. The city is really easy to get around and the food here is really really good.
Protest
And we saw a protest!!! It wasn´t very big, violent, or anything, just people demanding social justice by means of marching. The last night that we were at the hostel, a bunch of us took some taxi´s to a bar and had tons of fun dancing.
The girls begin their studies soon and are meeting up with thier groups, and here I am today with my new Ecuadorian family. The family (a mom and a brother) and our place are both super nice. It´s in the middle of the city above a police building and a call center in the penthouse. The view is incredible, as I am trying to show you in my first pictures. I am really enjoying the location.
Nightscape number twoNightscape from the penthouse
Besides the food, I am very much enjoying the atmosphere. I haven´t been ripped off by a cab yet. There are endless amounts of very beautiful places to check out. Everytime that I tell someone that I am having a hard time with the language or a phrase, I have been treated very nicely about it. Most people are actually pretty warm and would like to help with it. And on top of that, I´ve had a lot of really good conversations with people.
I am looking forward to learning more interesting things and writing about them. (Hopefully it will be interesting to the reader as well)
Goodnight World!!! :=)
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