Llapingachos

Llapingachos

I had my second cooking class today, and it was a great success. There were sixteen of us in the kitchen preparing and cooking the meal, and it still took almost two hours to put it together! I had tried llapingachos twice before, but the home made version was so much better.

Several kilos of potatoes were peeled and boiled. They are special 'chollo' potatoes which desintegrate on cooking and are used for 'locro de papas' and turn out to be great for mashed potatoes. Once boiled they are cooled and mashed. Green onions ( which are called white onions here and are much larger than those I am accustomed to) are chopped into tiny pieces and sauteed in red coloured oil and added to the potatoes along with soft cheese (queso de la comida) which crumbles when chopped up and crushed. The potato mixture is kneaded and rolled into balls and flattened so that they can be fried in oil. These are the 'llapingachos'.

Preparing Potatoes and Queso de Comida

The 'salsa' is poured over the llapingachos. Three tree tomatoes are peeled and put into a blender along with one and a half 'ahi' or red chilis, water and salt. The mixture is put through a sieve to get rid of the tree tomato seeds and added to a bowl of chopped onions and tomatoes and cilantro. It is not too hot; my impression is that nothing in Ecuador is too spicy or hot, but that often various types of salsa are available 'on the side', along with tabasco sauce, for those who wish to add extra taste to their meal. A fried egg goes on top of the llapingachos and cooked chorizo (yummy!) next to it.

Beets and carrots are boiled and when cooled cut up and mixed, with chopped onion and cilantro added along with lemon juice and olive oil and salt and pepper to taste. The salad and slices of avocado (ubiquitous here) and bottles of beer complemented the meal.

Chopping up Beats and Carrots

The meal was delicious, perhaps because we worked so long in the kitchen, and our anticipation mounted with each step. It was fun to work together to create our masterpiece. When I got home this evening, I was so inspired, I finally tried a 'locro de papa', but it was not a great success because I had the wrong potatoes and the wrong cheese. It is an easy recipe; the first step is to sautee green onions with garlic, add cumin and achiote ( a red coloured spice from the jungle), throw in the peeled potatoes cut in pieces, add water and boil to cook the potatoes. The 'chollo' potatoes desintegrate with cooking and give the soup a characteristic consistency, but my potatoes maintained their forms, and when I looked for a potato masher in my kitchen I was disappointed. The cheese I had was not quite right either; it too did not desintegrate as had been described to me. Milk was added at the end along with chopped cilantro (yumm!). Maya would not touch the soup, Eric was polite; I will have the proper ingredients next time.

The meal we prepared last week in our class did not have a name, it was simply described as commonly prepared for special occasions in the rural areas. Corn on the cob was boiled (special 'soft' corn), as were 'aves' (big huge light green beans') and a potato-like vegetable. Tree tomatoes were blended with four 'ajis' (chilis), put through a sieve and added to chopped onions and choclos ( a high protein bean-like substance, very popular here) for salsa. A salad of tomatoes and onions with lemon juice and olive oil was the best part of the meal along with the tree tomato juice, which was not particularly popular with anyone else in our group, but I found delicious.

I am determined to try more Ecuadorian recipes. I have been buying the appropriate ingredients, but have been hesitant because of all the preparation time required. It always feels so much easier just to put together my own recipe and get the meal to the table quickly and efficiently.

Chorizo is Yummy

Seeing

Guayasamin's paintings continue to haunt me, and compel me to see with new eyes. I did not avert my gaze as I walked down my street to the bustop. There are three shoeshine boys who take turns for clients on the steps of the Ministry of Health building. Their hands are black with shoepolish, one has a pillow on the top of the stump he uses to sit on, the others balance precariously as they work. They belong in school, why are they not playing, where are their parents?

I pass by a woman with a child on her back and another in her lap. She has a kiosk to sell candy and chips and snacks, and is ready for customers before 7 in the morning. Further on, a young girl sits behind a cardboard box covered with chewing gum packets and cigarettes which she sells one at a time. I have seen her sleeping at times while hawking her wares, or at least her eyes are closed and she is slumped over while mouthing her mantra. An even younger girl has a partner, helping her set up her box, while another approaches potential clients with small packages, pleading for a sale. She has not bathed for days, nor have her clothes been washed; she looks no more than four or five years old. A woman in traditional dress sits on the sidewalk breastfeeding her child; I am not sure of her age, her breasts are young, the lines on her face do not fit the rest of her.

A blind man sings on the bus, his boombox accompanying him. He has a good voice and sings traditional songs; last week he had a partner with him to collect money and help guide him through the bus, but he is alone today. Later in the taxi, we encounter jugglers at intersections. Again they are children, working with other children, sometimes it appears that whole families work together on street corners. When a fire breather performs, the taxiste opens his window to contribute a few cents. Occasionally I see a very old and weathered woman simply beg, her hands reaching for me, in supplication, in misery and pain.

Ecuador suffers from high unemployment and underemployment. Many large families move from the countryside hoping for greater opportunities in Quito, but are faced with dire hardships. Their children are compelled to work to help the family survive, as ambulatory vendors, shoeshiners, entertainers on buses and markets, and labourers. They do not go to school because the family cannot afford to send them, and they are able to bring in some income. The children are out on their own on the streets at four of five years of age. The children encounter all sorts of challenges on the streets and are victims of physical, emotional, and sexual abuse. They are often punished severely when they do not meet quotas, and resort to petty crimes to avoid beatings. Malnutrition is the norm, and infant mortality is high due to poor hygiene (no running water). Children who die do so before the age of five, due to diarrhea as a result of poor hygiene.

I wonder if much has changed since Guayasamin painted, since the oil boom in Ecuador brought so much wealth, since Correa has been in power and the country has moved to the left. I know that the pleading and the pain and privation that Guayasamin depicted confronts me everyday when I walk in the streets.

Capilla del Hombre

My day started with a very heated discussion with Eric, whose position was that the United States generally does far more good in the world than bad, but does not get credit for its 'good works', that most of the population of the world focuses on its negative policies and actions. Although the American government contributes less aid per capita, (or in relation to GDP) than other wealthy nations, its NGO's and private donations go far beyond what the government does. I believe that the United States spends far more money waging war and destroying countries and cultures than it contributes to good works. My feeling is that the United States could easily be a force for good in the world and could accomplish so much more in peaceful ways. It is so effective in using its economic might, and could influence nondemocratic states so much more effectively if it chose nonviolent means. The wars and destruction it wages creates so much anger and antipathy all over the world, and the United States is perceived as imperialistic and self focused: the symbol of America is one of militarism and oppression of smaller and weaker countries.

I had to rush to Spanish class and arrived late, and plunged into a further discussion with Amparo. She confirmed that the policies of the American government (actually I am not supposed to say 'American', since the latter refers to all of north and central and south Americans; instead I am to say 'Estadounidenses') elicit angry and negative feelings, at least in Ecuador, and probably all over south America; examples of offenses include the war in Vietnam, the support of dictatorships and the complicity of the CIA all over south America, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, Guantanamo, Palestine, and more. It may be true that American NGO's accomplish marvelous and helpful things, but the imperialistic militarism stands out even more. Its economic power and influence is just as frightening. I think we talked for two hours about the topic!

Our visit this afternoon to the Capilla del Hombre, Guayasamin's great homage to peace and human suffering, brought significant emotion to the early political discussion. Guayasamin focused entirely on the pain and despair of the poor and the oppressed. His paintings reflect the humiliation of slavery, of suffering, of defeat, of supplication. His art is devastating to see. There is so little joy and light and hope (yet the paintings are compelling and often hauntingly beautiful). The history of the subjugation of the people of South America, of Africa, of the Jews in concentration camps, is depicted relentlessly. Yet his paintings are compelling, meaningful, thought provoking. He did not focus on only one example of loss. When he went to India, he painted a mother with her dying child, the light leaving her eyes, the agony insurmountable. The Spanish Civil War, the second world war, the 'disappeared' in Argentina, the slave trade, the devastation of poverty, the evil of Pinochet; were all topics represented. Oppression in any form graces his canvasses. I was in awe, but also horrified and depressed.

Guayasamin wanted to promote peace, and used his skill as a painter and sculptor to demonstrate all that was inhumane in the world that he knew. I found myself dejected and overwhelmed by the emotions his paintings elicited. He wanted to make a significant difference in the world, not just by painting pictures, but also by compelling the viewer to think about the injustices of the past and the present, and presumingly to take action to prevent them from occurring in the future. I thought of the unnecessary wars of the past few years and the incredible suffering and destruction that ensued and the absolute waste of money and lives. I am sad that it is the latter that people throughout the world think of in relation to the United States; accurate or not.

Baile

I was convinced by our experience at the wedding that we must learn to dance, not only to salsa and merengue and tango, but also to feel the music and not think about the steps but to let our bodies move. I was disappointed in myself; I watched the wedding guests dance nonstop for five hours ( which most likely continued for several hours after we left), wanting to join in, but was too timid and self-conscious (and acutely aware of Eric's discomfort) to participate. I had my second salsa lesson today. I tried to call Eric and have him participate, but was unsuccessful in my efforts (or perhaps he was avoiding me so as not to have to dance for an hour in the middle of the day).

Our teacher last week had us all learning the steps and moving very quickly. We had the chance to dance with a partner as well. This week, a different teacher moved more slowly, but it was reassuring for me because I could remember the steps and was able to hear the beat and stick with the movements. I felt more confident at the end of the lesson and even more eager to return with Eric and learn more steps and try them out with a partner.

I had a second dance lesson at the gym in the basement of our apartment building, but this was an entirely different experience. It was ostensibly an exercise class with dance being the means of achieving some aerobic intensity. All the steps were familiar. What was astonishingly different was the way the teacher moved. Her head and shoulders were relatively still, but her hips were moving constantly, sideways, forwards, in rotation, up and down, all while her legs were moving independently and her arms danced a different pattern. It was stunning to watch, and impossible to mimic. I was happy to get the movement of the feet, the pattern of which was constantly changing, but whenever I tried to add a slight measure of hip movement, I would lose my feet, and the same would happen if I tried to move my arms sinuously. Trying to put all components together was amusing, and I found myself laughing at myself over and over again. I was in awe of this woman and the way she moved her body. I wanted desperately to move like her. I wonder if that is entirely impossible, that there is something different about her genetic makeup, her heritage, her life experience, that enables her to move the way she does.

There is no doubt that people from South and Central America love to dance, dance more, and generally dance better than their northern neighbours. Ecuador is no exception. Whether it is simply a new skill that I must learn (and Eric with me!) or a sense of the music or the rhythm that is teachable, or whether I must learn to feel the music differently or sell a small part of my soul to feel it, I am determined to dance, and dance well.

Pappallacta

We are back to our not so ordinary, ordinary lives.

Eric woke up at 2:30 this morning to meet Tom Small, a postdoc who has been studying birds in Pappallacta for the two years he has been in Ecuador. He is at the tail end of his research and goes to the field several times a week to catch and sample 'rufus collared sparrows' (he bleeds them and cuts off their heads). The goal of his research is to look at mechanisms that control their reproductive behaviour. The area of Pappallacta is higher than Quito, at about 13,500 feet in elevation, and the drive (during the day!) can be spectacular, as the road climbs over an even higher pass in clouds and often snow. I would like to visit Pappallacta to bathe in the hotsprings and look for spectacled bears (which are rarely seen), and Eric enjoys the experience of setting up the nets and capturing the birds.

So while Eric started his week in a very unusual sort of way, it was back to school for Maya and four hours of Spanish for me. We have fallen into the rhythm of our lives here, with ballet and orchestra and violin for Maya, and language classes, exercise, and ferrying Maya around for me. We have adjusted to our new home, and I am learning how to manage in a miniature kitchen without the usual equipment. I finally cooked the chicken I had in a pot on the stove, and it was delicious with added potatoes and carrots and onions. I thought I had to have an oven to cook with, but it appears that one can manage without. I have had all sorts of wonderful intentions about cooking Ecuadorian food, and I do have the appropriate cookbook, but whenever I get ready to cook, it is so much easier and quicker to use a familiar recipe. What is noticeable is how wonderful everything tastes, and I think that is because the ingredients are generally fresher and tastier than at home. We have a wonderful bread shop down the road, and a fruit and vegetable stand as well, so it is effortless to traipse down to the corner and choose a few items. Megamaxi, which is literally a five minute walk away, has everything else one could need (other than a whisk, which I believe is essential for the kitchen but seems immaterial here), but Eric and I try to shop together, and pile everything into the trunk of the taxi for the short ride back home. There is really no other way to shop without a car, and it is inadvisable to walk home laden with groceries, at least that is what we are told.

It is interesting that far from all that is familiar, we have recreated a little slice of the ordinary in the tiny space we occupy in this foreign land, with order and regularity, a challenge to the chaos and uncertainty that this adventure has offered us.

Pululahua

When we stayed at Hacienda Chorlavi, we had met an energetic woman in her sixties, who told us about a place to ride horses in Pululahua Crater. Maya has been eager to get back to riding, so we looked up the possibilities around Quito and decided to take a trail ride at a hosteria of the same name, not knowing quite what we were getting into. We called Tom and asked for the truck when we learned that not only was it at least an hour bus ride to Mitad del Mundo, we would then have to walk another hour to El Mirador at the edge of the crater, (or take a taxi) and then climb down a steep incline into the crater and to the riding establishment( which was a footpath and not an option for a car).

We booked our ride for 1 PM, but were caught in stop and go traffic on the road out of Quito in a small town called Pomasqui. The path was full of buses and cars and pedestrians and it was evident that the street peddlers knew that something was afoot. We did not learn until we passed the exhibition grounds that there was a huge agricultural fair, where most of the vehicles and people were headed. The road opened up after that, and we passed Mitad del Mundo, the parking lot of which was packed with cars, and the IntiSan Museo which appeared empty. Our instructions were to drive to a town called Calacala, but when we saw a sign to the Geobioliogical Reserve, we followed the road to the footpath down to the crater. There was a wonderful view into the floor of the crater, which is green and fertile and covered with farms. When I asked at the 'El Crater' restaurant how to get down to the bottom, we were redirected back to the main road for another two kilometers and then right down a dirt road which would lead us to the bott0m.

Pululahua is one of only two inhabited 'caldera', and last erupted in 500 BC. The archeologists are certain of this date, because ash from the eruption can be found as far away as the coast, amongst archeological layers of human and other remains. The eruption is believed to be responsible for the demise of several cultures living nearby at the time. It was a huge volcanic event and caused the sides of the mountain to fall into the center. The crater has rich agricultural soil and is home to a hundred varieties of orchids and a hundred species of birds. The elevation of the bottom is 2500 feet, and there is paramo vegetation as well as cloud forest.

As we descended into the caldera, we were bathed in clouds and were not able to see down to the bottom, The dirt road clung to the side of the mountain and I was thankful that I could see so little. I knew however that we were at the edge of a precipice, and was terrified all the way down. I wished that we had walked instead of driven, and felt determined to walk back up and meet Eric and Maya at the top. Once in the crater, we were still surrounded by clouds, and all around were fields of horses and cows (and bulls), and the Hosteria was not too far. The horses were ready for us, although we were an hour and a half late.

My guidebook suggested we try the food, which is 'organic' and mostly grown on the farm, so Eric had his favourite 'locro de papas' and empenadas (filled with cheese). I tried avocado soup and 'madera con queso' and Maya had a BLT. Bacon tastes different here. I had served bacon for breakfast and it does not appear to be smoked in the same way we are used to. It simply tastes like pork, which usually needs something added to make it taste.

The horses were saddled and waiting for us when we finished our food. I rode the wilder one who kicks, so I took the rear. Maya was to stay in second place and Eric in third. Our guide took the lead. This was no ordinary trail ride where the horses plod along unenthusiastically; we were trotting in no time and galloping before too long. The path we took was at times steeply downhill or uphill and often the horses picked through narrow footpaths between orchids and bromeliads. We took a very narrow trail dug into the side of the mountain, apparently built by the 'Yumbo' people, whose role in ancient times was to trade goods between the coast and the high Andes. There are trails like this all over the country, which continue to be used today. The one we took today was steep and the sides rose higher than our heads.

The landscape felt tight and sometimes oppressive, partly because were were in the caldera, but also because there were clouds all around us obscuring the view. It was beautiful and at times eerie and ethereal, and so incredibly far from and close to Quito. It was too late for me to climb out of the crater when we completed our ride. There are apparently people who climb down everyday to work in the fields, and return up the hill at the end of the day, but they leave at 4PM to ensure that they can see the path, which is steep and treacherous at times.We drove up the mountain in fog and clouds and the dark, but I felt more peaceful on the way up. It felt as if we had touched down on paradise, were invited to stay for a few hours, and then floated back to our reality.

Ecuadorian Weddings

Where do wedding traditions originate? I wonder how it is that they are similar in so many different cultures. We were invited to Santiago and Alejandra's wedding today, and I expected the rituals to be entirely different from what I am accustomed to, but everything was surprisingly familiar, except that the couple did not cut the cake together. I admired the cake from the moment we strolled in, an hour late for the reception. We had instructions on how to get from our place to the Hosteria San Jose in Puembo, but managed to choose the wrong road after driving through the tunnel to Cumbaya and on to Tumbaco. Instead of driving and driving in the wrong direction, I insisted on asking directions, and we did get back on track and to our destination.

Alejandra had warned me that the ceremony would start exactly on time, that the judge who was marrying the couple had several weddings to perform that day, and to be sure to leave early and arrive at noon. Of course I am always confused here about when I ought to be anywhere, and I was anxious that we would miss everything when we arrived an hour late, but the vows were happening just as we arrived, and there were others who arrived much later. This is Ecuador, and time is different here.

We knew no one but the wedding couple and had only briefly met Santiago's parents and brother's family. We sat on a table far from the main table and did not interact with too many other guests. Toasts were made, champagne was bubbly, food was served, speeches were short. Wine flowed, followed by all sorts of liquors and whisky and many indulged, some excessively. Most of the six hours we stayed were dominated by music and dancing. Eighties and Latin was most popular, along with a healthy dose of Michael Jackson. Everyone was dancing, the parents of the bride and groom spinning impressively. Both Eric and Maya held back, and so we spent alot of the time watching the others dance. I wanted to be dancing, but was too timid to throw myself into the fray. I am determined to take lessons, but I must convince Eric to join me!

Maya played on the grounds of the hacienda. There was a zipline, swings, grass to do cartwheels on, grounds to play hide and seek and tag and chase, and my attention flitted from the dancers to Maya's antics. The hacienda is a world unto itself, offering amusements for all ages, within beautiful walled in grounds. There were sheep and guinea pigs and rabbits and peacocks and hummingbirds and gardens and colourful flowers. I wanted to see the couple cut the cake, but suddenly the servers were distributing the pieces, and the dancing and drinking continued with greater and greater intensity.

There was nothing about the wedding that was particularly Ecuadorian, except perhaps for the enthusiastic dancing. Santiago described that the dancing was a way to get rid of all the unpleasant stuff in their lives, that it was a stress release, that within the year, Eric and Maya and I would all be dancing like the Ecuadorians. I certainly hope so!