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.