“What are you making?

-Cookies.

-It smells like mac and cheese.”

-Ryan commenting on my cooking

Eating has ramped up since we arrived in our next stop:  Tuscany. Do you blame us? A typical eating cycle for Lynnie and I has been cookies for breakfast, pasta twice a day (with bread for scarpetta), an aperitivo squeezed in between the pasta and home made cakes for dessert. It’s excessive. It’s awesome. And apparently it’s not going to make us fat because ALL the Tuscan women I’ve seen are unusually lean. But if our pancias (italian for protruding paunch, a.k.a. belly) do decide to take things to another level, we’re tracked down a book that can help.

Easier said than done in Italy

A day in the life of an Italian farm girl is sort of amazing.  I got a whole week to play the part on my host family’s farm in Roccafranca with Lynnie as my cohort.  It went a little like this:

7AM: Still sleeping but smell espresso and hear chickens.  Snooze.

7:30AM: Chickens are back.  Attic window is starting to get light.  Walk over and see mist rising over the backyard cornfields.  How could you stay asleep?

Morning cornrise

8:00AM: Eat biscotti at a kitchen table made for 10.  Drink espresso.   Operating heavy machinery isn’t recommended before several cups.

It's my table and I'll eat if I want to

8:30AM: Ride the tractor and some broomsticks.

Harry Potter meets Old McDonald

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Last weekend the boys set off on a jungle adventure six hours away from Quito. Since I was working and unable to join them, on my days off I decided to explore one of Quito’s closer destinations: the tranquil village of Mindo. I’ve been drooling over Freddie’s pictures of his trip to Mindo, and it did not disappoint.

My friend Amy arrived with our new video camera the night before and I had been carefully observing her to see whether she was experiencing any signs of altitude sickness or jet lag (and nagging at her to keep drinking water). When she professed that she felt fine, I set our Mindo plan in action. Amy, Laurene, and I raced to find a bus to take us the 2-hour drive to Mindo.

The bus ride to Mindo was nearly as beautiful as the town itself: a windy hilltop road snaking through the lush forest. The surrounding mountain range was draped in fog. (more…)

As long as I can remember, incarceration of any type has been my biggest nightmare. I’ve had dreams of being trapped in endless corridors, alleyways,  elevators, mazes and the like since I was a kid.  I think this aversion to any type of confinement   has been one of the driving forces behind my travels since I began over 10 years ago. I grew up amid gangs, drugs and violence on the South Side of Chicago in a tough area known as Back of the Yards where besides working any part time job I could find, travel was one of the only escapes I had from that world.

Today was Father’s Day at Garcia Moreno Prison, Quito’s largest maximum security prison located just a few minutes from the city’s historical center.  The lines wrapped around the corner with prison widows, their children, mistresses and others coming to visit the inmates on this special day.  They came with fruits, snacks, toiletries to visit their fathers, brothers and sons.  We came specifically to speak to one of the many foreign inmates that we had heard about from some of the other travelers we had met in Ecuador.  After waiting about half an hour under an overcast sky we were patted down and then stamped on the arm as we made our way to the check in counters to gain entry into the prison.  We were told that nothing of value was allowed inside, probably for security reasons so we made sure to leave our cellphones, belts, sunglasses, etc at home only bringing our passports, some cab fare and one set of house keys that I had to leave in the care of a clerk at a food stand opposite Garcia Moreno.  At the check in desk we were asked to produce our passports and the name of the inmate we were planning on visiting.  When pressed for a name, we were unable to come up with one and almost left empty handed until one of the guards told us to try a different wing of the prison, La Tres, or building number 3 because he said there would be a better chance of us finding a gringo who would agree to speak to us. Later, we learned that most foreigners are housed in a special wing and are usually doing time there for drug offenses. We also learned that being in Garcia Moreno is no free ride as the inmates have to pay to rent their own cells.  I’m not sure what the going rate is for a room at the place but our prisoner, Californian R. , an ex drug dealer who had been busted in Quito 3 years prior paid about 2,000 USD/mo for his 2 story cell that was outfitted with a  Bowflex workout machine, bed, tv, dvd player, stereo and cell phones.  R. was a very jovial fellow whom although we awakened early in the morning around 9:30 AM for our unplanned visit welcomed us in after first peering out of the dark slot at the top of his door and greeting us in Spanish. He seemed pleased to have visitors and regaled us with story after story of his exploits in multiple countries while chain smoking in his dark cell.

The experience was surreal as this type of existence had always been my worst nightmare but here was this ex-surfer looking man sporting board shorts, a tank top and a pony tail telling us how “it wasn’t all that bad in there” with a smile on his face.  He was the type of guy you would find on the beach in Cabo or Key West but here he was in  Garcia Moreno giving us all of the dirt on prison life, all the dangers, threats, corruption that made up society in his world.  I realized how much I valued freedom, my passport, my family, the ability to book a last minute getaway for the weekend, or go out and watch a movie with friends.  I thought about how I missed my family and friends back home and could hop on a plane this very second if I felt the need.  I wish the best to R. and everyone else at Garcia Moreno and thank God that I am able to come and go as I please. We were only behind the prison walls for just under 2 hours but walking out into a gray rainy sky never felt so sweet.

“What can we do that’s cool before 4pm?

-Let’s get fauxhawks.”

-The boys plotting the rest of their day

We can't seem to shed the Big Apple. We're using this as a transitional shirt.

The moment Perrin and I stepped out of the Venice train station a perceptive Pakistani vendor informed us we did not love New York anymore.  But was Venice so different?  We were on an island and spotted street meat carts, photo-snapping tourists and inflated prices (€2.90 for a Pistachio cookie??).  Manhattan comparisons were not such a stretch.

To ensure we were still in Italy we stocked up on some gelato and pizza and walked on.  At least for 10 minutes until I spotted a gondola and ushered everybody aboard.  I have no problem playing the corny tourist here.  We rocked the boat, knocked on doorways and requested songs from the unremitting gondolier.  The 25-minute ride was worth every bit of the €15 Euro we each shelled out.

We tipped too hard and actually thought for a moment that we were on our way into the canal.

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“The best part of Ecuador is leaving Quito”

-Freddie, on his way out of town

JS0 Takes Roccafranca Children by Water Balloon

Team Fire Champions tossing water balloons in the camp Mini Olympics.

After a successful week of Orientation and Training, Sarah and I were sent to Roccafranca for our first week as A.C.L.E. tutors. I was in charge of the class of 9-year olds, a group I picked because of their class name, “Dogs.” (Each class was assigned an animal name, and frankly, I couldn’t think of a more legitimate way to determine which students l I would work best with.) Sarah was in charge of the “Tigers,” ages 12-13. Our experiences differed dramatically.
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No can-opener? A knife will do. Won’t it, Ryan?!

Pas d’ouvre-boîte? Un couteau suffit, n’est-ce pas Ryan?