Ecuador: Thursday and more Mafia

I forgot to include this pic one in Wednesday's post. The other kids dubbed this "The End of the World". Clouds consumed a great valley and blotted out any earth beyond. Stew took this one from the bus.

Thursday.

A day of touring. A night of Mafia.

Part of Medlife's mission is giving students a close-up look of the native Ecuadorian lifestyle. We ventured out after breakfast that morning at about 8. All 64 of the students took part in the tour.

The sky was exceptionally clear that day. As a result, the indomitable volcano Chimbrazo could be plainly seen protruding all of its might and fortitude up into the haze of blue and white. The Medlife staff pointed it out to us, which sent the students scrambling over each other as they tried to perfectly frame the jagged mass of earth in their cameras. City buildings kept blocking their/my way, however. The kids naturally turned it into a joke, giving off exaggerated sighs of disappointment when something shrouded the mountain, then squealing in exultation when an ideal opportunity came.

I took this one while were stopped in the city. Apparently, if one climbed to the top of Chimbrazo, they would be the closest to the sun as one could get in the world, due to Ecuador's proximity to the equator.

Stew took this one. I feel it more adequately depicts the breadth of Chimbrazo.

Another taken by Stew. That church on the right is like one of the oldest (or maybe the oldest) churches in Ecuador.

This charade lasted for several miles, until the Medlife staff informed us that we would stop on the way to our first destination so we could take pictures of Chimbrazo.

The place we stopped at was a sort of plaza/park with a church, basketball court, and quaint souvenir shop surrounding it. It did indeed offer a decent view of Chimbrazo. All the students spilled into the plaza and started snapping away pictures with every combination of group standing in front of it -- selfies, girls pic, boyz pic, pics with the staff, whole group pic, couples pic, etc. I snapped a few.

Zoomed in.

Zoomed out.

As pictures were being taken, Eddie, Pete, and I (as well as a couple dozen other kids) decided to check out the souvenir shop. The shop hadn't even fully opened, and the workers toiled hurriedly, bringing out all of their merchandise and putting it on display for us turistas.

We loitered in the plaza for about twenty minutes before the Medlife staff directed us to re-board the bus. Thirty more minutes of driving and we arrived at our first planned stop in the tour.

Luis rolled the bus down a long gravel driveway that lead to a plantation -- a fairly high class one, at that. A woman came to greet us and showed us around while explaining some of the history to us...history that I've since forgotten. Sorry. It's not that I wasn't paying attention to what was being said or found the history bland, I just have been too far removed from that day; I often have trouble recalling such things to begin with (especially when I read books).

I did glean that the plantation was a few centuries old, established in the 1600s I want to say. The founders could not have picked a better spot; the plantation sat on the side of a large hill, enclosed by a thick forest of towering trees. A great valley lay before that vantage, bisected by the highway and dotted with farms of lesser grandeur and acreage. Smooth air drifted into my lungs. The sun shone hot upon my forehead and cheeks and nose. Beautiful day for some touring.

Said valley. Credit Ishaan for all of these wonderful pics. He was on his game. I didn't take too many here.

  

  

I took this one. Skinniest volleyball net I've ever seen. 

We perused the grounds for a bit until the woman led us to the pasture (pastoriza). A baby calf -- eerily resembling a fawn -- grazed in a small fenced area. Most everyone thought it was the most adorable cow they'd ever seen and lined up to take pictures with/of it. Paulo also told us we could go inside the kitchen which lay on that side of the plantation. Pete, Eddie, and I took him up on that. Smoke poured out of that dark room and nearly choked us on our way in. The fumes were worse inside, but bearable. Paulo told us the reason they didn't build a chimney, but of course I forgot that too. I do recall him saying that the women would work in that kitchen for hours on end, exposing their lungs to the constant clouds of toxic smoke -- one of the many reasons why Medlife tried to impose their pro-health presence in this region.

The tour continued through a long barn where cows would be brought, tagged, fed, cleaned, and everything else. Next we saw a crop of strawberries and another fruit that I didn't recognize. The size of the crop seemed formidable, but the tour guide told us they would sell all of those strawberries for only about $15 (Ecuador's national currency is the U.S. dollar). I couldn't believe that. Then again, the USD carries a lot more weight in Ecuador than it does in America. Gas is $1.03, a good lunch can be consumed for less than $4, a new outfit $20. But still, $15?

We went into a greenhouse next. Paulo translated what the woman was saying but still none of us knew what the heck we were looking at -- some tiny plants used for an unknown purpose or sold for a mysterious sum.

Calf.

Strawberries.

Greenhouse.

That concluded the tour. We climbed back aboard the bus and roared off to our next stop -- a true Ecuadorian market.

Luis deftly wound us through the mountain passes and pulled to a stop in the heart of a bustling little city. It appeared the market was in full swing, which had me wondering: Since it was Thursday, did they hold market most days in the week or was Thursday the trading day? I never found out for sure, but my money was on the former.

We hiked up a short hill that offered a great view of a crowded arena where a sort of cow auction took place. Ecuadorians would herd their leashed cows into the enormous circle and advertise them to prospective buyers. Cows mooed and fidgeted, some even bucked anxiously as their masters struggled to keep them calm. One bull even tried to mount a heifer, much to our amusement. The masters didn't find it funny, though. They lashed at the bull with ropes and slapped him the across the face to cool his blood. In the bull's defense, it was hot. The sun beat down on us in our black Medlife shirts, unrelenting and brilliant.

Behold the bovines.

We continued onward, entering a square plaza where dozens (hundreds?) of vendors had set up stalls for food of all kinds -- mango, banana, wheat, flour, pig head, plantains, carrots, potatoes...the list goes on. The myriad of smells left my nose pleased and my stomach teased. I was getting hungry...

Thankfully, Gabriella bought us all bananas to try. One could purchase a bunch of about 10-15 for only $1.50. I gobbled mine down happily, surprised at how sweet and smooth it was. America had nothing on those ripened yellow cylinders.

Best picture I could find of the banana stand. Courtesy of Ishaan.

Several other people bought their own bunches and shared. I took another banana off of Albert's hands as we walked on. Past the food square lay the true market. Not a square. Not a plaza. Not a linear "main street" filled with shops, stands, and kiosks. This market was a sprawling labyrinth of all kinds of stalls and vendors that spread across what seemed hundreds of square miles. I gaped at the sheer size of it all. How anyone could navigate this maze on their own was beyond me. 

The Medlife staff appeared to know where they were going, fortunately. We pressed through the throng of buyers and sellers, occasionally pausing to admire some handiwork or craft. The more stalls I passed by, the more I saw goods repeat themselves; every fourth or fifth stall looked identical to one I had just past, selling almost the exact same merchandise, which begged a few questions: How did these shopkeeps ever sell anything? How did they make money offering the same thing as hundreds of others? How did they differentiate their goods from their neighbor's and attract customers? Those questions were never answered and I wonder about them to this day.

We wove our way through the market for what felt like miles until the staff led us onto a busy downward-sloping street. The stalls were thinner here, only lining one side of the street, but people carrying bags, boxes, baskets, and animals traveled up and down the slope. Cars honked impatiently at the pedestrians as they tried to push their way through the crowd.

The road continued down the hill for maybe a quarter mile. At the bottom, another animal market awaited us, this one dedicated to pigs. Not that interesting. As soon as everyone had a chance to see it, we made our back, up the hill, through the maze, and onto the bus. 

This is one of the thousand aisles of stalls in the market. Taken by Stew.

A sample of the goods. Ishaan took these two.

They served us lunch when we were all seated on the bus, then Luis hauled us off to Stop #3.

Another hour on the road and Luis let us out at the start of gravel road that twisted and turned down to a river valley. The morning's events coupled with lunch in the bellies made most of the students lethargic. Oddly, I felt refreshed, practically skipped down the path. A wide plank bridge lacking rails on either side offered us passage across the river. We traversed it and hiked up the other leg of the valley's parabola. The moist air caressed my lungs, while the sun bore on. Students voiced modest complaints about so much walking. I, on the other hand, was glad to use my legs. Not quite exercise but use at least.

The path ended at the campus of a small (and I mean small) school. A dirt square (which doubled as a soccer court, of course) separated two identical school houses -- you couldn't really call them buildings, just rectangular, one-room structures. Kids were in the middle of a game of fútbol but ceased when they saw our group walk up. We greeted them. Most of them were pretty bashful...

...but that didn't stop Lyndon (left) and Harrison (right) from USC from getting a picture with some of them.

The Medlife staff told us this was the first school that Medlife had ever built (keep in mind Medlife is only 5 years old, so the school wasn't ancient or anything, in pretty good shape actually). The head schoolteacher (possibly the only schoolteacher) gathered us 'round and gave another heartwarming speech about how, by constructing this school, Medlife had changed the lives a hundreds of children and she was so grateful for their contribution. I was proud of myself for successfully holding back my tears.

After the speech, Harrison and Lyndon challenged the kids to a game of soccer. I didn't participate in this one, took some video instead. Again, the students who played did not take it easy on the much younger and smaller Ecuadorian kids, one of which captured the hearts of many of the girls because of his small yet brave nature and excessive cuteness. Us spectators kept grumbling at our peers, yelling at them to let the kids score (especially the cute one). They reluctantly headed our cries, and they let Heart Thief score a goal. Everyone rejoiced.

If you look closely under the right arm of the dude (Boyd from UGA) on the right, you can see the blue-capped burglar.

After about twenty minutes, it was time to move on. We took a (perilous) shortcut back to the bridge -- well, most of us. The shortcut was a steeply descending dirt path that zigged and zagged its way down to the river valley, ending at that same bridge. Some less courageous students weren't feelin' it.

The path. It wasn't so bad, honestly. Pretty fun, actually. Taken by Stew.

 Down the path, across the bridge, up the hill, back to the bus, on the road.

Our fourth and final stop was twofold: first we were to look at a typical source of water the farms used for irrigation, then we would go to an actual farm/ranch.

We had to walk a much longer and more inclined way down to reach the river this time. Totally worth it, though. I still don't know how the Ecuadorians quite did it, but they built a dam of sorts that redirected a thin stream of water they would use to moisten their crops. What also confused me was, since this river was so far downhill, how the water got back up the hill where most of the farms were. Didn't get a chance to clarify that. Here are some pictures.

The "dam". (Stew)

The result. (Ishaan)

The students took a lot of pictures down by that dam in all sorts of group combinations. I was in a couple. But soon we moved on, back up the hill. Instead of going to the bus, our guide, the Ecuadorian gaucho, took us to his ranch.

A horse awaited us, being led by the gaucho's son. Michelle jumped at the opportunity to be the first to ride it. The rest of us kept on the path until we reached a cow pasture. The cows inside the fence mooed loudly and often, clearly skittish at the sight of so many foreign people. Some of the cows let out disturbingly human whines, like the wailing of a fitful toddler. Creepy.

A shaggy mule (donkey?) also stood in the pasture, just as nervous as the cows. The gaucho urged us to hop the fence and come play with his livestock. His daughter held the leash to the mule, waving at us with a smile to hop on. The mule was much less excited about that prospect.

Plenty of students lined up to ride the mule but, to my surprise, even more huddled around the cow, yearning to squeeze and tug some leathery udders. I had seen plenty of such farms throughout my North Dakotan life, so none of these attractions enticed me all that much. I did not hesitate to document, though.

Michelle riding the horse, the gaucho straps her in.

Avery and the mule. 

Franchesca and the mule.

Austin and the horse.

The milking crowd.

The sun peeked through the clouds after a time, casting a golden ray of brilliance down upon us. Luis (the photographer) recognized an opportunity to capture the perfect group photo and pleaded with us to scrunch together and smile before the sun disappeared once more.

Unfortunately, most of the sun's magnificence had passed by the time we posed, but the photo still turned out well.

Time to head out. 

For dinner, we went back to that same restaurant from Monday. Instead of chicken we were served juicy steak (once again accompanied by potatoes, rice, and veggies) and Sprite to drink. We ate on the patio despite a stiff breeze and threatening rain (the patio had big heat lamps to keep us warm, though, so it wasn't too miserable). Suji and I talked at some length about our adventures in Skyrim (she was the first girl I had ever met who had played the game -- refreshing.) 

Got back to the hotel. Showered. 

Pete, Eddie, and I had once again been invited to play Mafia with the Harvard group. We accepted and headed to the room.

A few new players joined us that night -- Tanya, Sharely, and Nicole. Lauren played God again, handed us all cards. By some cruel twist of fate, I once more drew an ace -- Mafia, for the third time in a row.

I was ready for it this time.

I put on the best game face I could, prepared myself to lie at any given moment. Lauren put us to sleep, then woke the Mafia. Mayumi, Stew, and someone else opened their eyes with me. We killed Derek(?), and after the townspeople woke, they randomly killed off Mayumi, because "she's always so quiet." Just like that, the Mafia was down to three. 

In the third and fourth rounds, Stew and the other Mafia person (Ryan or Albert maybe?) were both killed, leaving me alone. Nervous, frightened, doing all I could to not let it show. 

I survived for 6 more rounds, scheming, deceiving, bold-face lying my way through each. I killed people at random to alleviate suspicion while at the same time trying to frame others. Keon and Franchesca each nominated me in different rounds, but I had my defense at the ready: "Guys, I've been Mafia two times in a row, lighting does not strike thrice." I tried so hard to be convincing, to believe the lie, and they bought it.

In the end, it came down to 4: Franchesca, Qaren, Sylvia, and I. At that point, I faced a seemingly unresolvable dilemma. Fran and Sylvia were the most dangerous, but if I killed Fran, Sylvia would know it was me and I would be dead. Likewise, if I killed Sylvia, Fran would instantly suspect me. Fran and Qaren had sat by each other the entire game and I think they knew that neither of them were Mafia. If I killed Qaren, again Fran would know it was me and Sylvia would concur.

Unsure of what to do, I killed Sylvia. But, like I suspected, Fran and Qaren then knew it was me, offed me. Game over. So close to victory...

I don't mean to sound like I'm glorifying myself here, but this was a huge moment for me. It was cool because I had gone toe-to-toe with over a dozen Harvard kids and nearly bested them. It was nice because everyone had been impressed and said what an awesome job I had done. But forget that stuff; what made it huge was that, as a result of my play, I earned the respect of everyone in the room -- kids much more cunning and intelligent than I. In that moment, I felt the Harvard kids had accepted me as one of their own. Very humbling. Equally awesome.

We played another game after that, adding a new role this time; if you were handed the Joker, you became the village idiot. The village idiot's goal is to try and get themselves killed -- they win by getting the townspeople to vote them off.

Guess who was village idiot? 

Seth.

I didn't want to have that role, or any role, honestly, just wanted to be one of the regular townspeople and figure out who was Mafia. But after my previous performance, a large bulls-eye had been put on my forehead. I just had to sit back and give a somewhat decent defense as they nominated me in the first two rounds, voting me dead in the second. Seth "wins" in the most lame fashion possible.

Since that game lasted only 15 minutes, we played another. I drew the King this time -- Inspector. I was more disappointed than I was surprised. Just my luck. I played a terrible inspector that round, but we once again implemented the village idiot role -- it was Pete that time. Had Pete not been voted off in 6th or 7th round, the Mafia (Nicole, Jamie, Fran, and Tanya/Sylvia(?)) would have undoubtedly one. Not one of them had died yet, and once Pete revealed his role, they all shrieked in exasperation. We stopped playing with the village idiot after that.

That concluded the night's events. The hour was late. I had project in the morning, so that meant I could sleep in a little (until 6, we'd leave at 7). Pete, Eddie, and I went back to our room and hit the hay.

End of Thursday.

Project Tease!