Jungman 2 Jungle: Getting there and the first day

To get to the jungle, one must ride a 12 hour bus, overnight, to the Cuyabeno Reserve. If you are the type of person who enjoys riding in hot buses for from 9 pm-9 am on poor roads with Spanish polka blaring in your ears the whole time, then this would have been right up your alley. I am not that type of person.
As I have mentioned before, Ecuador is a loud country. Contrary to the practice of most any airline that conducts overnight flights, the bus conductor seemed to think that blaring loud music all night might help people sleep, or make the journey somehow more pleasant. He was obviously quite mistaken.
Finally though, we did arrive at the reserve. After the passport checks by M-16 toting soldiers (What, in case someone tried to make off with a monkey?), Jairo issued us ponchos and life vests, and we took boarded the motorized canoe for the short trip upriver to the lodge. I was mostly thankful to be off the bus and in the fresh air. As we started off into the river, we passed though a canopy of trees growing in the middle of the water, with myriad vines hanging down. At this point, Neil rightly observed, “We are legit in the jungle.” Legit. Jungle. A start to a most excellent day.
During the boat ride, we observed some colorful butterflies and enjoyed watching Meliton (the boat driver, remember, if you haven’t read it yet, read the cast of jungle characters in the previous post) deftly handle the canoe with one hand and whack unwanted branches and vines with the machete in the other. We were greatly entertained.
We arrived at the lodge and settled into our rooms, with a few bats that resided there as well flying around to greet us. Fortunately, the bats were really not much of a problem. We were out of the room during the day when they slept, and they were gone for an evening of eating mosquitoes by the time we retired after dinner. Only in the early morning when they returned did we ever cross paths. We got along pretty well with our winged roomates.

I didn't mention this before, but from the moment we arrived in the jungle, it was raining. But of course, this is the RAINforest during the RAINy season, so we really should not have been surprised. Rain or shine (more rain than shine) we carried on with the plans for the day which included a hike through the jungle with Jairo stopping along the way to point out medicinal plants and other useful jungle oddities. Jairo honestly could probably survive in the jungle for a month without any supplies, just living off the land. We made "jungle rope" with some incredibly strong vines, we ate ants that live inside trees (they tasted like lemon), we found plants that do just about everything including help cure cancer, we even made jungle hats (see picture).

The whole time it was somewhere between steady rain to pouring, but I would still place it among my top 20 lifetime hikes. I really can't begin to describe all the interesting stuff we saw, but it was awesome in the true sense of the word.

Jungman 2 Jungle

We returned on Monday from the Cuyabeno Reserve in the Amazonian Basin after a 4 day trip to the jungle. It was a truly breathtaking experience; a wonder to behold the complexity of God’s creation. I am going to write about the jungle in the course of several posts. First though, I must make mention of the cast of characters.

Will and Neil: If you’re reading this, you probably know at least one of us, so I think no introduction is needed.

Jairo (prounced Hi-ro): Our English-speaking jungle guide, and one of the most knowledgeable guides I could imagine. He could describe the unique features of dozens of plants and had a remarkable knack for spotting even nearly impossible-to-see animals.

The Danes (Knut, Jacob, Jacob (whom henceforth shall be known as Juan Pablo), and Nicholas: 4 Danish guys our age who drink more than anyone I’ve ever met. Apparently, Denmark is ranked as the most drunk country in the world, and these guys even considered themselves light drinkers. Their stories were absolutely hilarious, as it seems all there is to do in Denmark is drink. Usually, every story ended with Juan Pablo saying, “Oh, we were so drunk that time.” Only it wasn’t like the American stories where people try to top each others drunkenness. These guys would blow any Americans out of the water (or the vat of beer, as the case may be). 30 drinks per head in a night was just a good time. They were fascinated by Neil’s and my stories of wild animals, adventures, wide open spaces, high legal drinking ages, ethnic minorities, car ownership, and violence in the States, as in Denmark these are all practically non-existent or unheard of.

Meliton: Our motorized canoe driver. Neil and I sat in the back of the canoe closest to Meliton, who only spoke Spanish. On the first trip downriver, he informed us that we were lucky to have him along, as he would make sure that Jairo would not tell us anything false or embellished. He was there to keep Jairo in line, he claimed. Meliton then proceeded to mislead and lie to us about everything in the jungle, constantly trying to trick us. Neil understood more of what he said than I did, and translated Meliton’s absurd comments for the enjoyment of the group.

The cook (name unknown): A very important person to have around, although his portions were never quite large enough. Maybe because he himself was a rather diminutive man?

2 dogs (names unknown or nonexistent): A big, rather sweet, black Rotweiler that hung around camp and another unidentifiable breed that was mostly blind, but made a good effort to attempt to knock me off the camp walkways into the water on a few occasions. Both incessantly clamored around the table for scraps, and due to his size, the Rotweiler could be quite pushy. I also learned last night from the Danes (who we met back up with in Quito) that the smaller dog killed a boar that they ate for dinner the day we left. I would have loved to seen that!

Yes I am working

You may have noticed that few of my posts so far have actually pertained much to what I came to Ecuador to do, namely to research men in microfinance. The reasons for this are as follows: first, the research up to this point simply has not been as interesting (a) as adventures and oddities of life in Ecuador or (b) as I had hoped for. I guess point (a) is to be expected a little, but I had been somewhat disappointed by point (b). The other reason is that it has taken a long time to figure out what end the research was serving.

When we arrived in Latacunga a few weeks ago, the head of the office there told us point-blank that FODEMI prefers not to lend to men, but to lend to their wives instead. Then he gave us quite a bit of evidence as to why they had good reason to operate this way. This all came as a bit of a surprise, seeing as I had been gearing up to study men in microfinance since November.

We went ahead with our interviews in Latacunga and learned a lot about the way a microfinance organization functions. We also found some possible weaknesses in FODEMI's current system. For FODEMI, we have drafted what amounts to a sort of consulting report that we are submitting to them. Hopefully, they will actually use some of our suggestions.

Back in Quito, things started to get more interesting. We had a couple meetings with Jorge Moyano, the CFO of Diners Club here in Ecuador and one of the people behind starting Fundacion Amor y Esperanza's microfinance program. When we first met with Jorge, hardly anything had been planned yet. He and Pancho Sola had met once to discuss the future possibility of a microfinance program. He asked Neil and I to prepare a presentation outlining what we learned at FODEMI and our suggestions for how to start a microfinance program for Amor y Esperanza. Quite an exciting, and daunting, charge to be asked to form the intial ideas for a new microfinance program that was going to be started with the help of numerous bank executives here in Quito. We prepared a presentation and presented to Jorge, who actually thought it was great.

Things really came to a head last night. We met at Jorge's church with him, Pancho and Pity Sola (directors of Amor y Esperanza), the VP of one of Ecuador's larges banks, a local businessman (in the chicken business of all things), and a marketing expert. Throughout the meeting last night, three of the other men gave their short presentations, but Neil's talk was the centerpiece. He did a truly outstanding job, and I think really impressed some people who certainly know many times more about business, banking, aid organizations, and microfinance than we do combined.

Through much debating and discussion, a bare outline for an organization was mostly verbally hashed out. The vision is to create a Christian microcredit organization, based on Biblical principles that will reach out to the poor, Christian and non-Christian alike. There is a lot of work to do before it can get started, but it looks like this is really going to happen. The various businessmen are going to contribute their expertise to starting the organization, and Neil and I are creating a very preliminary business plan. Tons of obstacles remain. One of those is raising startup funds. Jorge though boldly stated that night that this was really not a big problem, as we just all needed to pray and God would provide. I hope so. Also, I ask for your prayers that this organization would be come a reality, that it would get the needed funds, and that it would successfully help people improve their lives here in Ecuador.

God bless.

Noise Pollution

This is Beasley. Beasley is one of two beagles that lives with my family in Atlanta. Beasley is a pretty good dog, but every now and then he will start barking. Being a beagle, he barks very loudly.

What does this have to do with Ecuador, you ask? I have increasingly come to realize that Ecuador is many things: beautiful, Catholic, a place to find cheap food, safe by Latin American standards, and LOUD. There are dogs in Ecuador, too, and they bark as well. However, there is a fundamental a difference in how dog owners handle their dogs in Ecuador. When Beasley gets to barking at the mailman, the UPS truck, another dog, or nothing in particular, someone in our family goes out in the front yard and takes him back inside, usually involving a short chase (which gets shorter as he grows older). People in Ecuador do not bother to corral their barking dogs. No, they'll let their dogs up onto the roof (many buildings have flat roofs) or out into their tiny yard and let the dog bark all night. They would never think about shutting up a dog that carries on, constantly, from 11pm-4am. I know this because there is a dog that barks all night at one of the buildings right outside my bedroom window. Did I mention that I am a light sleeper?

Also, people honk constantly here. In the US, or maybe particularly in the South, people don't honk much. Unless they are rude, people usually only honk when its very necessary to get someone's attention on the road. You all know this, most of you are from the South. I think people in Ecuador honk for the sake of hearing their horn. Cars will be driving along a flat, open road, free of traffic, and they wil honk. Honking is also sometimes as substitute for stopping at an blind intersection, as in "I'm coming through here and not stopping, so I hope you hear my horn." While American juveniles might get their kicks from racing their cars at high speeds on weekend nights, I think some Ecuadorians enjoy driving up and down streets honking their horns. They may actually be competing in some way, I do not know.

Also, too many people get hold of loudspeakers in this country. In Latacunga, a truck drove around a couple times a day with speakers pointed in 3 directions, dispelling some mostly incomprehensible gibberish. It reminded me of the German trucks roaming the streets of occupied Paris spewing propaganda such as "Amerika ist kaput." I'm pretty sure it must have been the local Latacungan public information minister, or the Ecuadorian communist party (if there is one).

On the note of loudspeakers, a few weeks ago, around mid morning in Quito, I heard another voice over a loud speaker. I thought at first that we must be near a mosque and that all of Quito's three dozen Muslims (the country is 98% Catholic) were being called to prayer from a minaret. I don't know any Arabic, but whatever was being said could have been in Arabic as far as I as concerned. It sure didn't seem like Spanish. Then, a few days later, I passed by the source of this cacophony. A woman rode around the neighboorhood in the back of a truck yelling into a megaphone trying to sell various fruits. It was only then that I was able to make out what seemed to be the word "naranja," ("orange") at the end of her still undecipherable. I am quite tempted to buy all this woman's entire stock of produce if she only woudn't ride around all morning shouting Spanish/Arabic into her loud speaker.

Maybe I am too easily annoyed by Ecuador's noisiness, or maybe I am just too accustomed to the quiet of home. Obviously though, I think my enjoyment of peace and quiet is very at odds with the realities of life in Latin American cities.

Sunday Morning Church, en espanol

For the first time in Ecuador, I went to church this Sunday morning. The church is called Iglesia de la Republica and Jorge Moyano, one of our contacts with Amor y Esperanza, invited us. It’s the same church a family friend (Dirk Cameron) used to attend in Quito, and is literally a 5 minute walk from our apartment. Unlike most churches in Ecuador, this was NOT a Catholic church. I’m not sure if it was associated with any denomination, but it seemed like it might have been a non-denominational Bible church. It was an incredibly welcoming place. We probably stuck out a little, especially seeing as I much too white to be Ecuadorian and was wearing a coat and tie unlike anybody but the ministers and the old men (always better to overdress than the opposite though; for example, wearing a tux to a pool party is funny, but swim trunks and flip-flops at a black tie wedding are simply distasteful). A guy around our ages greeted us and told us all about the church. Later we found Sr. Moyano and met his family. The people I met there seemed to be filled with a great conviction of God’s loving presence in their lives. Jorge even took Neil and me aside with his wife after the service and prayed for us and for our work.
Going to church non-English language services is always an interesting experience. I’ve been to a Catholic service in Bayeux, France, and a non-denominational service in Sao Paulo, Brazil (I also went to an Anglican service once in the Bahamas, and at times I thought we weren’t speaking the same language). I could understand some of the speakers pretty well today, but unfortunately the woman giving the lengthy sermon was not one of them. I did thoroughly enjoy the service. The service began with the classic worship song “Lord I Lift Your Name on High,” only in Spanish. I sung a little in Spanish, but mostly in English. It reminded me very distinctly of spring break in Brazil, where practically every song we sang at the service also had English lyrics with which we were familiar. While attempting to sing the Spanish was an interesting experience, the words carry little meaning to me, unlike the words in English. I also found myself focusing more on the pronunciation of some unfamiliar words, rather than the purpose of the song, namely to praise the Lord. So I opted for English, where the words and their pronunciation are instinctive, leaving the mind and heart to praise God.
Not understanding some of the service gave me time for my own reflection and prayer, however my mind wandered at time as the service went on. As I have grown older and gone to other churches besides the St. Lukes and Northside, I have come to think that the one-hour service must be a distinctly Methodist tradition. I grew up on one-hour services, and I think after about an hour and eleven minutes, the Methodist’s mind begins to wander, unless of course there is communion in which case more time is allowed before the mind’s ship makes port at La-La Land (thus I can manage the somewhat longer services at Christ Church in Charlottesville).

Haggling

Haggling has been on my mind lately, as we went to the artesians market in a Quito park this morning. I've come a long way in my haggling since my experiences at Otavalo on my first Saturday in Ecuador. Most noticibly, my vocabulary and verb usage is now nearly flawless when bargaining a price. I've learned other tricks, too. I never look too interested, even if something really catches my eye. Sometimes I even chat for a minute and say I'm going to look further. Occasionally, such as was the case of the hammock I bought for $10 today, I explain that I really don't think I need it; that I don't know where I could put it. If I have to ask how much it is, I try to not make an offer until hearing the line, "Pero, por usted mi amigo, hay una discuenta" (But, for you my friend, there is a discount). I quickly decide on a maximum price I'll pay (usually around 75% of the quoted price), and then the fun begins!
I always make a lowball offer, usually around 50% of the offered price. This brings a little shock to the vendor's eyes, and is followed by a head shake or an brief mention of the good's high quality or excellent craftsmanship. I concede, and raise my price, as little as I possibly can, usually $1. In the end, I usually get my target price, and sometimes beat it.
I really enjoy haggling. It's like a fun game to me, and there are a few cheap items I've bought here simply for the fun of haggling them down to half their quoted price or less.
Yet, as I've managed to bargain down the prices, I've wondered how I should feel about trying to pay these vendors as little as possible. Some of them are obviously rather poor. As I bargained the woman for the hammock yesterday, I was trying for $8 while she was holding steady at $10. Then she looked at me and said something about being poor, I didn't quite catch it but I heard the word "pobreza." At that, I felt rather guilty and consented to pay $10. It's a bit of a paradox. I'm here to address methods of helping microentrepreneurs, yet I am perfectly willing, as a consumer, to whittle down their profits as much as I can.

An Aggie in Ecuador

This post is really for my cousin, Jennifer Emerson, so I hope she reads it.

I always like meeting Americans here, particularly those from my region of the country. I was on the bus today and heard a couple guys speaking English, one of whom sounded as though he could easily be from Texas or the South. I found out that they were working with the Peace Corps down here, and that one was from a small East Texas town (the name escapes me now) and had graduated from Texas A&M about 4 years ago. He was actually wearing a National Student Leadership Forum t-shirt, which is an annual Christian leadership conference in DC. I loved running into a fellow Texan, even if he was an Aggie.

Child Protesters

On Tuesday, as we walked the two blocks from our hotel to the FODEMI office in Latacunga, we were surronded by throngs of schoolchildren costumed in an eclectic array of colorful outfits. They were apparently parading schoolchildren protesting children's labor. I wasn't really aware that 8 year olds were big into protesting for economic and political justice (I thought they were more into protesting their parents to see PG-13 movies), but apparently these kids were. We got to the office, found no clients there to interview, and returned to the street to take a few pictures of the scene.

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Latacunga Pictures

We got back to Quito last night, so these pictures are all finally going up. Despite the fact that Latacunga proved to be an extremely boring place to spend a week and a half (EVERYTHING closed around 8:30), I did take some cool pictures of the town square and some FODEMI clients.

After returning to Quito last night, we went to The Turtle's Head for dinner. It was like a little slice of England here in Ecuador. They had a microbrewery serving a beer called a heavy Scottish beer that was, hands down, the best we've had in Ecuador. Also, I got some fish and chips that were simply to die for. To be honest, it made me really look forward to a little golf in Scotland later this summer.

Here's the Latacunga pictures.

Climbing Cotopaxi

The first picture is the hike up to the lodge, where the wind and freezing rain where absolutely punishing. Most of rest are from the afternoon before the climb, including ice training. The two in the dark are during a stop to add someone to our rope during the descent.

A Short Hike from Tambopaxi

Friends and family across the globe

I've been following Kathryn on this year's Running Through History website. The guys in her group that set it up really put my humble blog to shame. If you want to see what Kathryn or any of the other rising Westminster seniors in Europeare up to this month, see the website at: http://www2.westminster.net/faculty/tribble/rth/welcome.html

Also my friends Fraser Henderson and Edward Bennett are posting to blogs about their travels in the distant land of China. The Chinese government actually seems to have deemed their blogs dangerous to the People’s Revolution or something like that and rather unsuccessfully attempted to block these noble Americans’ freedom of speech. For some interesting and amusing reading on China, do your civic duty defying communist oppression and take a look at their blogs.
Edward: http://sericus.blogspot.com/
Fraser: http://moosedung.blogspot.com/

If you are friend reading this blog and keeping some sort of online documentation of your travels, troubles, triumphs, or trabajo (Spanish for "work") this summer, please let me know as I’d love to see what you’re up to. So many of us are scattered all across the country and the world this summer (I know that among those of you whom I initially emailed this blog link to, you will collectively cover at least 5 continents and a few dozen countries this summer), but let’s keep in touch.

Volcán Cotopaxi

As I mentioned in my last entry, I climbed Cotopaxi last weekend, the tallest active volcano in the world. I did not reach the summit, but it was quite an experience.

We left Latacunga (9200 ft.) arrived in la Parque Nacional de Cotopaxi on Friday afternoon to begin our acclimatizing. Dropping our stuff off at the Tambopaxi lodge (12,400 ft.), we went for a short hike in a little bit of rain to a nearby lake. Along the way, I saw a group of llamas and hundreds of wild horses. I really wanted to ride one (referring to the llamas).

The next morning we rode a camioneta up to the parking lot (15,000 ft.) below the Refugio Jose Ribas (15,700 ft.). When we arrived at the parking lot, the wind was probably the strongest I have ever encountered. It was definitely sustained over 50 mph, and maybe even over 60. The gusts could make you lose your balance. Hiking the 700 ft. up to the refuge was not fun. The wind had a way of sucking the breath out of my mouth, thus further depriving my lungs of the air needed at that altitude. Also, there was freezing rain and gravel being blown horizontally and mostly into my face. When I finally got to the refuge, I clambered inside and noticed that I could still see my breath. To my disappointment, the refuge was not heated; no fire even burned in the fire pit. We spent the next few hours sipping hot chocolate, meeting American day hikers who came to the refuge, and waiting for our guides.

When our guides and the rest of the group arrived, we suited up in our technical gear and hiked 20 minutes to the base of the first glacier for ice training. We learned crampon and ice axe techniques. I really enjoyed sliding down the glacier and then twisting and planting the ice axe to stop. Although, I wouldn’t much enjoy having to do this so frequently that night.

After dinner, Neil and I played “Cotopaxi” with another group consisting of a Swiss, Englishman, and Canadian. “Cotopaxi” was simply Texas holdem, but playing with volcanic rocks of no monetary value instead of poker chips. Everybody went to bed around 7:30 and I tried unsuccessfully to sleep until we got up at midnight.

At 12 am on Sunday, the refuge came to life as climbers suited up. Unfortunately, I got out of bed with a queasy stomach and needing to take a trip to the baño. This would have to classify as one of the least convenient places I have ever been to use the bathroom. The bathroom is in another building behind the lodge. It does have walls and a roof to provide some shelter, but other than that it is completely open air. Thus, the temperature outside was also the temperature in the bathroom. That temperature was probably in the mid teens. There were no lights, so I had to rely on my headlamp which quickly dimming. Also, I was wearing mountain climbing gear. I’ll just leave it at the fact that it was probably one of the least pleasant bathroom experiences of the past 20 years.

After popping some Pepto, I joined the group and started up the mountain. By the time we got to the glacier, my headlamp had dimmed to the point that it was less effective than a candle (when I told Neil I was having a problem with my headlamp, he replied that it wasn’t turned on, only it was) and my stomach was still in knots. As we put on crampons, I also managed to change the batteries. Now I was no longer blind, just kinda sick. After roping in, Neil and I started up the glacier with our guide. Climbing glaciers is really kind of boring. You repeat the same cross-legged steps ad infinitum, while using the ice axe as a sort of walking stick. The thing that made it so hard was the wind. The wind was blowing straight down the mountain, making each step up all the more difficult while also causing a loss of footing when I didn’t get a good hold with my crampons. It’s a little hard for me to write about the 2.5 hours we spent climbing, because it was basically the same thing over and over. Slow, methodical steps, occasionally switching sides of the rope depending on the direction of the traverse.

In about 45 minutes we came to the top of the first glacier and then spent another twenty minutes on rocky terrain to reach the second glacier. On the second glacier, I really started wearing out. My stomach started feeling better, but I think it was just a relative thing compared to my legs, which were absolutely on fire. The second glacier was probably about a 45 degree angle, one of the steepest parts of the climb. As I ascended further, I started wearing out more and made more mistakes in planting my crampons into the ice. Each time that happened, I stumbled or was knocked over by the wind. After about an hour and a half on the second glacier, with another hour to reach the less steep sections, I was done. The wind was just knocking me over too much, and I couldn’t make consistent steps anymore. I decided to descend.

I returned to the refuge exhausted and cold, and happily climbed back into my sleeping bag. Based on various reports from the guides, I think we turned around somewhere in the neighborhood of 5400m, which is 17,658 ft. In retrospect, it’s not very surprising that we didn’t reach the top. No one in our group did, and out of all the people climbing in various groups that night, our Swiss friend and his guide were the only people to reach the summit. Everyone in our group turned around somewhere on the steep portion of that second glacier. I don’t know if I will ever return to that altitude again, but I sure would like to summit a big, snow capped mountain one day.

I´m not dead

Much to the relief of some people who thought I would surely perish attempting to climb the world´s tallest active volcano, I in fact did not die this mornging on Cotopaxi´s slopes. Unfortunately, I didn´t reach the summit either, but neither did all but one climber and guide out of all that attempted this morning. Mostly I remember that it was dark, cold, steep, windy, and entirely lacking in breathable air or drinkable water. I shall tell more later.

June 5- A Countyside Outing

Today did more interviews of FODEMI staff and clients, although we were much better prepared yesterday than today. Then we went with an “asesor” (a loan officer) to visit a group of clients applying for a second loan and present FODEMI’s options to their community. This was an indigenous community up in the mountains. We got there by riding in a rickety truck through winding mountain roads. I road standing up in the back, holding on tight. Sometimes, the turns were so sharp that the driver would have to back up and change his angle a few times to make the turn. Also, the road was one lane, so multiple honks are required when coming around a blind curve. All told, I’d rate it pretty high on my list of most exciting drives. The scenery was gorgeous and the driving just precarious enough to keep a little adrenaline going, but not so much as to make one’s life flash before one’s eyes. It’s amazing how these little mountain communities seem to have no one in the, but when someone shows up to talk about lending money people seem to just come out from the woodwork. When we pulled up to this little concrete building there was no one there. I went inside for a few minutes, came back out, and sure enough dozens of villagers were gathered around.

The asesor that we traveled with gave his presentation, telling them how they could form community banks with shared responsibility and receive loans from FODEMI for their microenterprises. People were very excited to hear that they could receive money at relatively low interest (at least in comparison to the “money lenders” that often operate in these parts) and it seemed that some people were thinking of forming a group. We also interviewed a few current clients who professed that the loans they had received made a huge difference in their lives. As one client said, “You get a loan and buy a cow. In ten months, you pay off that loan, and you still have the cow that you didn’t have before.” Microfinance is raising people’s quality of life in this community.

June 4- That was, like, soooo awkward

We arrived at the Latacunga office of FODEMI and met for a while with the “jefe.” Then, thinking we were ready to start interviewing, they thrust us into a room full of about 20 clients applying for a second loan. Completely unprepared, Neil and I began clumsily asking questions. About three clients across the front row were very eager to answer our questions. But being unprepared, we were fumbling around trying to figure out what to ask and what not to ask in a situation where we had not expected to do interviews.

If things were a little awkward at first, they got much more so in a couple minutes. While trying to ask questions, a baby in the room with its mother started wailing. What’s a good way to deal with a crying baby? You give it milk of course. Only, this mother sitting directly in front of me didn’t pull a bottle out of the baby supplies bag, like most American mothers. She went for the more, natural, option. Yes, she just hiked up her shirt and started breastfeeding her little one right there in front of us.

I could hardly believe it. Now, as I looked back and forth between the clients that answered our questions, I felt compelled to somehow not look at her. This was made difficult as she was sitting right between two of the men who were answering the most questions. Then, another baby, a couple seats down the front row, started wailing. Yep, more of the same.

June 4- High speed passes

Today we traveled from Quito to Latacunga, via bus of course. Apparently, drivers in Ecuador like to pass a lot on two lane highways. They pass when American drivers wouldn’t even think about passing. It is not at all uncommon for one vehicle to pass another with a third vehicle coming from the other direction. The three vehicles will pass 3 abreast on a 2 lane road, with the passing vehicle on the inside and the other two moving partially into the shoulder. I’ve also always thought that the double pass is a rather bold move an well trafficked roads, particularly when there are large vehicles being passed. Well our bus driver passed three cars, a couple trucks, and a bus all in one move, while traffic was coming from the other direction. Drivers here are truly fearless.

License Plates

I saw these at a restaurant in La Mariscal. I think Dad will particularly like the older Texas plate.

June 3: Ruca Pichincha

I'm sitting at a McDonalds in the mall near our apartment. That high school Spanish classic "Bailamos" is thumping in the speakers. But I was not here all day. Today, I climbed a volcano.

Yes, Neil and I actually climbed Ruca Pichincha, one of the two Pichincha peaks outside of Quito. It used to be one big volcano, but a eruption eons ago blew it into two peaks. Ruca's summit is at 15, 130 ft. Honestly, it was one of the most physically challenging things I've ever done. I got the hang of hiking up some steep hillsides, just take it slow and take breaks. We joined up with an English-speaking Swiss doing volunteer work in Ecuador. He was in the Swiss Army and later powered on up the mountain past us, but he was an enjoyable fellow while he hung around. I was pretty soon on the mountain-proper. After traversing some creeks, rocky spots and so on, we came to the sandy slopes. The sandy slopes are the "easy" way up (the hard way being climbing up the rocks, which for which you would need climbing gear). Imagine this: a beach, with soft, loose sand, on a 50-60 degree incline. With each step, I'd advance about half a step at best because my feet sunk back into the sand. Also, I was close to 15,000 ft. Catching my breath there was not a matter of going for 5-10 minutes, then taking a 30 second breather. No. I would count 30 steps, then try to suck in as much oxygen as possible while taking a break. Finally we got out of the pure sand, and traded that for a mixture or rocky outcroppings, sand, and a little ice. That was really no eaiser. We did finally reach the summit though. The picture of me sitting in the clouds shows that. Getting back down was not nearly as exhausting, but my backside sure took a toll as we basically had to slide on our butts out of some of the rock. The sand was much more fun going down. It was kinda like skiiing in hiking boots. We finally got back to Quito, and I've really never been so throughly exhausted. Having hardly had much of an appetite for food all day, Neil and I easily polished off super size pizza this evening.

I'm not sure when I'll be writing again. Tomorrow we venture to Latacunga, Ecuador for two weeks to work with FODEMI. According to our guidebook, "After 2-3 hours of walking around Latacunga, there really isn't much else to do there." I guess besides our work we'll be watching a lot of movies, and doing a lot of running to try to acclimatize. When we came down Ruca, we could see 19,347 ft. Cotopaxi looming about 50 km south.

Neil's Pictures: La Basilica del Voto Nacional

Neil's Old City Pictures

Neil's Ovatalo Pictures

May 31- Corriendo

“Corriendo” is Spanish for “running.” I went running today. I am…so…tired. THERE IS NO OXYGEN HERE. But I figured I had better start conditioning to climb Cotopaxi in a week and a half (because the summit is about 10000 ft. above Quito).

May 31- Fundacion Amor y Esperanza

We visited la Fundacion Amor y Esperanza today, meeting with the director Pancho Sola. Pancho is a gregarious man, excited to fulfill his vision for Ecuador’s poor areas, and full of the love of God. Literally from the moment I walked into the school run by the foundation, I could feel the excitement (Neil put it better, he said he could feel the “JOY”) of the place. There was activity everywhere. Pancho took us around to a bunch of the classrooms where we were greeted by shouts of “Bienvenidos” (“Welcome”) from the kids, many of whom crowded around us to get a better look or just hold our hands. The school really is a great facility for these kids.

In addition to education of children, the foundation is active in promoting health and adult education. But what they lack is a means to help adults start business and earn income. They want to expand into microfinance, and that is where we enter. Pancho seems to want us to help him figure out how to design a microfinance program, and hopefully our research can aid in that.

I would ask you to please just pray for us as we start our research. Please pray that God can use us to find something constructive for both these organizations. Pray God might use us as a tool to serve the poor here in Ecuador. Thank you.

May 30- Meeting in Ibarra

Today Neil and I traveled to Ibarra (about 3 hrs north of Quito, on the same road as Otovalo where we went on Saturday) for a meeting with FODEMI, a microfinance organization in partnership with World Vision. World Vision is a Christian aid organization, and FODEMI is a Christian organization as well. We met with the president and executives. Jannake Robbe, the communications director, is from actually from Holland and speaks English (for which I was very thankful). We talked in Spanish with the president, Luis Rios, and Senor Riofrio (yes, that translates as “cold river”) for about 45 minutes, after which my head was throbbing from trying to decipher so much Spanish. It was a good thing that Neil and Ms. Robbe were there to help me out.

We decided that we will be working with FODEMI in an area a couple hours south of Quito for the next two weeks. They are trying to figure out whether to expand their services in the area, so they are very excited to have us research there and answer some of their questions. We are thrilled that they want to help us. Also, I’m really excited to get to work with fellow Christians who are seeking to truly reach out to the poor in Ecuador in ways that can really change lives.

May 27- La Ciudad Vieja (The Old City)

With this being the equivalent of 4th of July weekend in Ecuador, we still haven’t really been able to make a lot of headway on the research. Today, we went down to Quito’s Old City to see the colonial buildings and churches. The architecture is just fantastic in its Spanish Colonial style. My digital camera was nearly dead, so most of my pictures from today are on film. The highlight by far was climbing to the top of Basílica de Voto Nacional. It’s a huge baslica on the northern side of the Old City. First we climbed the stairs to above the ceiling of the sanctuary, and crossed a wooden walkway that ran the length of the ceiling across the arches to climb up to the lower steeple. Then we climbed up a bell tower. First we were on stairs, then iron stairs, then a spiraling iron staircase, then rebar ladders, then rebar ladders with half as many rungs. At the top, we were above the bells with a truly unbelievable view of the whole city. We even climbed out to the ledge and let our feet hang over. The pictures really don’t do it justice (those are Neil’s feet).