Ecuador: Friday = Project + Discotec

Friday.

Project day.

As I've said before, throughout the week a squad of 12-15 kids from both groups were assigned to work at the project site instead of going to clinic. Friday was my day to go. After a week of eating carb after carb -- starch on starch on starch -- my hands nearly cried out at the thought of wielding a shovel. Seth wanted to dig.

For that was what we were to do. Our project's goal was to build a public bathroom for rural Ecuadorians to use. Before constructing the actual lavatory, we first needed to dig a hole for the septic system. I channeled my inner Stanley Yelnats in the shower that morning and walked down to the lobby, ready to burn through my stores of ATP.

We had a solid group going along -- a handful of USC/UGA (Matt, Boyd, Sneha, Val and others) that were pretty cool from what I'd seen, Michael, Sylvia, Franchesca, Avery, Lauren from Howard...and Preston. Nicknamed "Brotein" by his Harvard schoolmates, Preston, like everyone else, was a genuinely nice person, so he's maybe not the typical "bro" you've encountered before. But he's always on the lookout for a way to use his muscles, not to show them off in any way, but just to work them, give himself an excuse to mix a "brotein" shake and chew on some "brotein" bars. Needless to say, Preston was as excited (if not more so) as I to start digging.

Our group piled into two separate vehicles -- a truck and a van -- and sped off for the mountain road that led to the site. Another beautiful morning. Sparse clouds, pale blue skies, a light breeze -- perfect day for some hard work.

The drive only lasted an hour. We climbed out of the vehicles and walked to the hole. It was more of a square than a circle, and pitifully deep -- only about 3.5 feet. Preston, (appropriately) sporting a bro-tank that day, scoffed at the lack of work that had been done by the other groups so far as he surveyed the land. He and I inquired about tools to our driver (Franchesca translated). The driver pointed at the other driver, who was carrying over two short-shafted shovels with square blades and worn handles, as well as a pickaxe.

Preston and I grabbed shovels, then as a group we deliberated on how best to go about digging.

At first, Preston and I went in the hole together, but quickly gathered that a two-at-a-time method was not feasible. We agreed the best system would be to have one person go in at a time and shovel hard for a few minutes (or until they became sufficiently tired), then have another person tag in. Preston went first, shovel in hand. It only took a few lackluster scoops of dirt to realize that the ground was too hard to be shoveled efficiently (the earth was more clay than dirt, hard-packed and stubborn). He called for the pickaxe and started hacking away, with great success. Chunks of clay fell away at every downward thrust. Preston, definitely set the tone with that initial shift, tireless, powerful, assiduous.

Watching him work made my arms and hands tremble. I all but jumped on top of him to tell him his turn was up and he should rest. Then I hopped down and went to town. The shaft of the pickaxe was gnarled and coarse. A handful of swings later and I started to feel the blistering danger my hands were in. Heedless, I swung on, putting my weight behind every heave and thrust.

Brotein himself, leading by example.

Hole construction early on. A nearby farmer offers Boyd his hand as thanks. Also note how tall Erin stands in the hole. Avery holds the other shovel up top; she took turns with others clearing away the clay we would toss up.

I think mine and Preston's urgency (prurience, almost) was contagious. Michael jumped down next and started shoveling away the dirt we had left behind. To be honest, Michael didn't strike me as a manual labor kind of guy, so I was both shocked and impressed when he finished shoveling and asked for the pickaxe. Respect.

The rotation rolled on; Matt went next, followed by Val. A few of the girls and other boys wanted to give it a try (there really wasn't anything else to do but watch us work, unfortunately). We obliged, in the beginning. But they worked considerably slower than we did. Thankfully, they only wanted one turn at it to ease their minds. I was grateful for the break and their willingness to contribute, but at the same time I wanted to keep progressing, turn that hole into an elevator shaft.

Michael -- Harvard's Medlife club co-president -- tossing dirt like it was cotton candy.

Matt from USC. He also stepped up nicely.

Fran and Sylvia noticed our already blistering hands and went to work devising a makeshift handwrap to save us from further pain. Fran had baby wipes in her backpack and empty plastic soil sacks lay around the area. They placed a baby wipe around our hands, then reinforced it by wrapping strips from the plastic sacks over the wipe, tying it all down with whatever they could find -- hair-ties, rope, twine. Preston, Michael, and I had one put on each hand. They worked like a charm -- a more primitive product of Harvard ingenuity.

We toiled and sweat as the sun climbed higher and shone brighter. Sneha shuffled some songs for us on her iPhone (we started marking shifts by the amount of songs we'd worked through, e.g. "Mike, you've been going for almost two songs, it's my turn now!").

A couple hours passed and soon the other boys started to tire. Sensing this, Preston and I tried to motivate and uplift the workers by complimenting their work ("Atta boy!" "That's a way to work!") and encouraging them to "dig deep" and "push yourself". Avery (a former cheerleader) came up with actual cheers and chants for every guy and others would take them up with her. Michael continued to impress me by gritting his teeth and ignoring his obvious fatigue.

I was tired, too, but not as bad as I could have been. I started to make sense of why the other groups had accomplished so little: they had had less time to acclimate to the elevation. That Friday marked the 7th day of my stay in Ecuador. If I had done project on Monday, things would assuredly have been much different. Instead, the extra days no doubt gave our lungs and muscles an advantage over the other groups. We capitalized. 

I strongly dislike the term "sweat equity" but there is a lot of truth to it. Working with those guys, pushing them, picking them up -- those kinds of interactions developed into a tangible group cohesion, something I hadn't fully felt since my days of high school football. Sweating alongside those men and women only exacerbated the appreciation, respect, and affection I had established during the week of clinic and touring. 

Three hours we worked -- three hours of dirt, dust, blisters, and sweat before the drivers came and alerted us we were done working. Preston of course wanted one last go. They consented, and he finished with a furious flurry of pickaxe swings. I went in after him and cleaned up his mess with the shovel (the hole was so deep by then, I was about the only one who could reach up and shovel the dirt out). When the drivers saw the progress we had made, they beamed, shaking our hands once more and thanking us. I couldn't help but smile back at them.

The aftermath:

Me, Preston, and Mike. We talked of starting our own hole-digging business after that.

Note the handwraps. God bless Sylvia and Franchesca...

Group photo! Fran is standing on a ladder by the way.

Paradigm shift! 

                  

Back.

Socks.

                        

The drivers brought out a couple coolers full of lunch. I ate greedily and sucked down water like a man who's been stranded in the desert for three days.

The ride back put me in a sleepy mood, though I didn't sleep. Since we were done much sooner than the students at clinic, we had about 2-3 hours to kill. I took a long a shower and a brief nap before meeting up with Franchesca, Sylvia, Preston, Michael, Avery, Jack (who had hung back from clinic for some reason), and Boyd out on the sunny street.

Parades had been floating up and down the street right outside our hotel all week to celebrate Ecuador's Flag Day (which happened Thursday) and that Friday marked the inauguration of Ecuador's newly elected president. As a result, people flooded the streets to take part in the week's festivities. Live music blared, kids ran around playfully, couples held hands, food stands dotted the streets, advertising their goods with savory scents.

We joined the masses, initially in search of a souvenir shop that could make custom bracelets with one's name woven into the band. Jack showed me a place where I could get 16 oz. of much-needed coffee for $.50. The taste was bearable -- I was more interested in its caffeine content anyway. 

During our search, we spotted a beautiful cathedral resting on a small hill and decided to put the bracelet hunt on pause and investigate. Near the church was a secluded park with a caged soccer court occupied by some teenage Ecuadorian boys. Stairs climbed up to a platform that held a monument for some past Ecuadorian leader. I skipped up the steps and admired the view the platform offered. 

Riobamba. Such a gorgeous day.

Sylvia and Fran in front of the cathedral. Michael took this with Fran's camera, I think.

We went inside the church next. Creaking boards made the only noise; we tried our best to be respectful, whispering, stepping lightly. A wonderfully intricate alter towered before the wooden pews. Franchesca took a great picture of it.

We reveled in the church's majesty for a while before reuniting with the bustling city and glaring sun. The bracelet search continued, to no avail. Fran found something just as good, though -- a street vendor selling coconuts (one could drink the milk inside it then bring it back to the vendor and have them carve it into chunks for eating). She asked for two straws and practically forced us all to try a sip (she was adorably bossy). It tasted like a sweeter, more watery milk with just the slightest hint of coconut flavor. Supposedly, coconut milk is really good for you. At least that's what the street vendor said.

Jack wasn't feeling well, Michael said he was super tired (he certainly looked it), and Avery needed a nap as well. They went back to their rooms, leaving just Fran, Sylvia, Preston, Boyd, and I to keep wandering. An idea for a cute photo hit Fran then -- a picture of her and Sylvia sipping out of the coconut simultaneously. They posed and of course Fran wanted every combination of couple after that so we stood on the sidewalk, epitomizing tourist behavior and capturing ridiculous photographs. It was really fun.

The one that started it all...

 

 

I think I like this one the best.

That shenanigan ended and I couldn't help but notice the "typical tourists" stares we were receiving from the Ecuadorian onlookers. I also didn't care, I was having too much fun.

We walked up the main street, the bracelets all but forgotten at this point. A dozen blocks later and we stumbled upon a clean and friendly looking plaza, complete with its own seemingly brand new park. Fran wanted more pictures of us and the coconut and Preston had the idea of doing some piggyback pictures. I happily went along.

Fun picture. You can kind of see the park over Fran's left shoulder.

After another ten minutes of photographic foolery, we ventured into the park. Kids skipped and squealed their way about the playground equipment while their parents licked at ice cream cones. Young adults showcased their parkour abilities. Couples snuggled together on benches. Beautiful scene of an inviting park.

A good sized pond took up a large chunk of the park's area. Families paddled boats across it and Fran instantly wanted us to get in one. We each had to pay a dollar to rent one out -- a small price for fun!

The pond and the crew as we wait for a vacant boat. A pair of spheres float to the right of Sylvia's head. People could pay to go out on the water in those bubbles; Preston claimed that was the #1 cause of drowning in Ecuador...

We crawled aboard our boat and a worker shoved us off but not before Fran coerced him into taking a picture of us.

Preston and Boyd started out peddling/navigating. They were awful at it. Sylvia and Fran kept laughing loudly at them and making fun of just how bad they were at steering the boat. I laughed with them. Our boisterous behavior earned us more stares from the Ecuadorians. I continued not caring.

Preston got fed up with their sass after a while and challenged them to take over. They only had marginally more success. I just kept laughing, taking video as we drunkenly drifted around the pond, bumping into obstacles and performing unintentional donuts. 

Preston and I pulled us in after about 20 minutes on the pond. As we headed for the dock, this group of Ecuadorian kids thought it would be really fun to ram us. Turns out, they were right -- totally fun. We tried to fend them off and out maneuver them, but they clearly were more practiced with the boats than we; they hit us several times. Eventually, they let us alone and we docked.

The rascals. Taken by a giggling Fran.

By that time it was well after 4 pm and we figured the other group was likely back at the hotel. Thus ended the most fun I had had on the trip yet.

Indeed Eddie and Pete sat in the room when I got back. We exchanged stories of the day's events and went down to the lobby to chat with the other kids while we waited for the bus to take us to dinner.

We ate at the same restaurant again -- the one from Monday and Thursday -- out on the patio. This time, the weather was considerably better and a dude had set up some DJ equipment and a microphone. Looked like we were to be entertained that night.

Though he wasn't that entertaining. Perfunctory applause followed each number. Ishaan took this photo.

Another surprise came when we were served burgers and fries instead of the good ol' meat, rice, and potatoes I had become accustomed to. The burgers were juicy, the fries crispy, the absence of Heinz notable (their definition of ketchup leaned more towards our version of sweet and sour sauce).

I sat by half of the USC group. Apparently they had to leave for Quito that night. Thing was, the departing flight they had originally booked weeks ago got canceled earlier that week, so they had been searching for a flight back to So-Cal ever since. They found one, but it left Saturday afternoon out of Quito, thus the USC kids had to board the bus that night at 9 and head for Quito. I felt bad since they would miss out on the discotec that night as well as whatever kind of tour we were supposed to conduct on Saturday.

We ate merrily despite the bitter news. I earned the title "Homie From the North" from Harrison and Lyndon that night. A high honor. 

Back at the hotel, I put on the outfit that most closely resembled clubbing clothes (I hadn't thought to bring any such garments when I packed). At like 8:30 I went down to the lobby and said goodbye to the USC kids, taking many memorable departing pictures in the process. 

Joanne (a runner!) on the left, Matteen (a basketball player!) on the right. Good people.

Juan (left) and Jack (right).

Project buddies: Val on the left, Matt on the right.

A terrible picture but unfortunately the only one taken of me between Jonathan and Tri.

Veda and Sneha.

This was supposed to be of me in between Harrison and Lyndon, but Eddie joined. Jonathan snuck into the pic, too.

My attempt at a photobomb.

Matteen showing me how photobombing is done in So-Cal. Left to Right: Jasmine, Tri, Jeanie, Val, Jonathan, Sneha, Erin.

My favorite one taken that night. The "I love NY" dude is Daniel. The hotel clerk is unimpressed.

The somber moment came and I saw them all off with hugs and goodbyes and promises of visitation.

The remaining students started showing up to the lobby by then, dressed in nightclub finery (I must have missed that email). Since everyone looked so nice, we took some more photos.

The miscellaneous school crew. L to R: Eddie, Lauren from Howard, Chloe, Nicole, Tiffany, Suji, and Pete. Adorbs.

Clubbin' time.

The Medlife staff led the way as we exited the hotel around 10 pm. The club (I forget the name) was only a handful of blocks away. The cool night air felt like a soothing aloe after my long day in the sun.

A small line extended from the doors of the club. The cover charge was $6. Andres snapped some selfies (as he was wont to do) while we waited for admittance.

I paid my fee and the man behind the desk fitted me with a neon wristband. The club was not large. A short and tacky bar greeted us upon entering, and to the right of that stood a foggy, laser-lit dance floor where a few Ecuadorians talked and swayed more so than danced (keep in mind, the night was yet young). A projector lit up the back wall, displaying the silhouette of an obviously butt-naked woman dancing nonchalantly around the club's logo, psychedelic light patterns waving and pulsing in the backdrop. 

Ryan was rather transfixed by the silhouette when he saw it, much to my amusement. Everyone piled into the club, most immediately hitting the dance floor but some grabbing what I learned later to be expensive drinks. 

We danced. Andres tore it up (as he was wont to do) and I admired his energy and charisma. Keon also danced well, so did Lauren...just about everyone was an excellent dancer. I kept doing my thing. 

Amalia taught me how to salsa and I failed to learn; I was terrible at it. After a few minutes of awkward, arrhythmic stepping, I gave up. But the perfectionist in me refused to quit, so I asked Mayumi to give me some more pointers. She and I salsa-ed for a while, until I finally started to get the hang of it. I went back to Amalia with a little bit of what some might label "swag." We danced much more successfully that time -- though when I tried to start putting some flashy hip movements into the steps, I fell out of rhythm.

We danced. And danced. Nearly 2.5 hours of nonstop dancing. That doesn't sound too lengthy but consider that everyone was up at or before 6 am and put in a full day of work. By the end, the grind of the day's events caught up with me, turning me into a discotec zombie. I didn't mind leaving; I had danced my fill.

Back in the hotel lobby, Lauren from Harvard, Eddie, Pete, and I sat and talked for bit. The lobby had one computer with spotty internet, but since the USC group was gone, Eddie suspected there would be much less internet traffic and hence a more reliable connection. He was right and Lauren waited to use it after him while Pete and I kept them company. Once they were done, I plopped on my bed (I had brushed my teeth beforehand, guessing correctly that I would be too tired to do it after clubbin') and sunk into sleep.

End of Friday.

Saturday preview: What could Ryan possibly be gaping at? Find out next time!