Finca

So last Sunday, after Alex, his sister, and I returned to Quito, we left to go to his grandparents farm.

The drive was really cool, but also incredibly scary. Winding roads on the mountainside, often times without any kind of barrier to stop cars from hurtling off the cliff, made up a good part of the journey. It seems like here, if there is a car in front of you, the goal is to pass it at all costs disregarding corners, oncoming traffic and just about anything else that would prevent a normal driver from overtaking. We had some very sketchy moments on that mountain road, we were hanging on for dear life in the backseat. I tried to concentrate on the beautiful view out of the windom, but all I could think was, "well, at least if I die here I have something nice to look at before we hit the ground." that thought was completly real and it seemed to come back every time we rounded another bend.

On the way we drove over this bridge which crossed a huge ravine, Mr. Flores said that there was bungy jumping there, so of course Alex and I insisted that we stop and do it. Much to our dissappointment no one was there but we promised ourselves that we would go back another time. Shortly after the bridge I spotted a huge hole in the side of the hillside, about 10 meters above the road. I pointed it out to Alex who said that he had seen it the last time they went to the farm. So we stopped and explored. It turned out to be an abandoned sand mine. All the local construction companies used to take their sand from there to make concrete. It was really cool how the light came through the entrance and worked its way into the different spaces, some of my pictures turned out well. The whole time I couldn't help but feel like Tom Sawyer when he got lost in the mine, thankfully this one was pretty small so getting lost would be virtually impossible.

We got to the farm in one piece, though a bit shaken I think. We were greeted my lots of family members, aunts, uncles, cousins and greandparents. A few minutes later we had lunch with all the farm workers and family packed into a relativly small dining room.

After lunch Alex, JoAnna (his sister) and I decided to walk around on the hill above the farm. There were 2 big fields, one with cows and the other with two llamas. So we decided to play with the bulls. We waved our hands, made weird noises, even took off our shirts any waved htem like matadors, but to no avail. The bulls would not move, how boring. So we moved on to the field with the llamas in it. Howver these were some different kind of llamas, called llamingos. The "ll" in spanish is pronounced like a "y" so its pronounced "yamingos". Alex and I couldn't stop laughing at his ridiculous name, nor could we work out what the difference is between a llamingo and a llama. This will forever remain a mystery. We chased them around the field trying to get them to spit, but again we failed.

It had been raining lightly the whole time we were out, so when we returned we were soaked. Alex's mum was very concerned the we were so wet, but we just laughed, told her we were and thats what we do. So we continued the day with damp clothes and no shoes, asi es la vida.

Soon after we got back one all the women at the farm started gathering at a building behind the main house. The building was made of mud and had a thached roof, we went inside and found them all about to start making empanadas. So we quickly washed our hands and asked if we could help. It was pretty simple, flatten out the dough into circles about 9 inches in diameter, put this mixture of cheese onons and herbs in the middle, then fold the dough over and seal it up. The women had this cool way of doing the edges so it looks like a big spiral, it took we a few tries to tries to figure it out but eventually I got it and was making empanadas like a pro, well, kind of. They were all layed out on metal sheets and put in the oven for about 10 minutes. You can probably guess that there was no stainless steel gas range in this mud hut, instead there was a really hot fire with bricks stacked around it, what looked like metal box was hung over the flames and served as the oven, above that there was a old metal grill. The smoke from the fire just sort of filled the room and eventually found it way out of the gap between the mud walls and the thatch roof. The empanadas were so good, I don't even rememebr how many I ate.

After we were stuffed with empanadas and tired of breathing smoke, Alex and I decided that our new goal was to catch one of the chickens, or better yet one of the two turkeys that wandered around the farm. We tried and tried, scattering grain eveywhere to lure the birds, but they were too quick.

By this time it was getting dark and we started figuring out the sleeping situation. As it turned out there were not enoug beds, we were one short. Alex and I had the exact same though as soon as we found this out, "I want to sleep in the hammock!". So we played rock, paper, scissors for the hammock, Alex one and spent a rather chilly night on the porch.

One thing I forgot to mention in my blog until now is the stars, or lack there of. I havn't seen them in 70 nights, its really getting me down. There are always clouds at night, and when there aren't, the lights of Quito pollute the sky so much none are visible. I really miss being able to lie in the grass and look at the stars at night, here I lack both a field and stars.

Back to the farm. In the morning, I have no idea what time exactly, but early, Alex woke me up and asked if I wanted to milk cows. I lay there thinking about what I wanted to do, and sitting hunched under a grunting, farting, 1400 lb animal, squeezing its udders, was not exactly topping the list. More sleep sounded like a much better option.

When I got up breakfast was on the table, yesterdays empanadas and real coffee! (the exclamation point is for the coffee, everyone here drinks NesCafé, so getting the real stuff is a treat.) After breakfast we went to one of the towns nearby to buy some food and visit the house where Mr. Flores grew up. Despite the clothes on the washing line and the things int he rooms, he insisted that no one lived there. We went into the backyard, which was actually a field with something or pther planted in neat rows, and ate blackberrys off hte bushes and mini coconuts from the tree. He had obviously spent a good amount of time under this tree, throwing rocks to bring the cocnuts down, because he was good. We broke them open on rocks, well Mr. Flores did most if it, we were terrible, and ate the insides.

When we got back Mr. Flores said that we were going to hike up into the hills to see a spring that provided water for the farm. While we waited for various parties to get ready Alex, his grandfather and I went down among the fruit trees to get some sugar cane. The suagr cane grows pretty well rooted into the ground and I was shocked when his 93 year old grandpa jumped in among the plants and ripped some out. We brought them back up to the house and took out the big kitchen knives to get at the sweet center of the plant. You can chew on the center and the juice that comes out is essentially sugar water, alot like the stuff you put in humingbird feeders, but I don't know how many of you are farmiliar with that taste. One of hte farm workers told us to strip the leaves of the tops of the sugar cane and give them to the cuy to eat. This didn't seem like a hard task at all, and really it wasn't, but what we were not told about were the fibers on the edges of the leaves. After taking all the leaves of I went to pick them up and a shot of pain went through my hand. I dropped the leaves and looked down to find my entire palm filled with tiny clear fibers. If you have ever had fiberglass splinters in your hand, I can tell you this was exactly the same. So I spent the next 15 or so minutes, scrpaing my hand with this rusty pair of scissors trying to get them out. At that point I was more worried about getting tetnus from the scissors, but it was the only way.

So once all the spines, well, most of them, were out of my hand we set off up the hill. We followed the water line up the hill which eventaully brought us to a small, but rapidly flowing stream. Up and up we went, climbing over the stream on dead trees, jumping from bank to bank and as always, dodging the spider webs. There were more spiders on this walk than I think I have seen in my entire life put together. They were note like the one I found in my bathroom last month, thank goodness, they were skinnier and more colorful. Every 10 steps or so we would have to duck under their webs or clear them with sticks, but they werent always so easy to see. I think I probably walked through about 10, my hair became sticky with spider webs, whos former inhabitants were probably crawling somewhere on my body.

After going about as far as the thick vegetation and steep incline would let us go, we turned around and went back to the farm where lunch was being prepared.

Along with the turkeys, chickens and other animals kept there, Alex's grnadparents had a whole hutch of guiney pigs. I'm sorry if this next part makes anyone sad or angry (PETA?), but here guiney pigs are not pets, they are tasty treats usually svaed for special-ish occasions. So we went into the hut and caught some guiney pigs, then handed them over to one of the farm workers.

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I just realized that we caught the guiney pigs int he mornign, before going to the town, but I can't really be bother to re-write two paragraphs, so this note will have to do.
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The guiney pigs, here they are called cuy, were all skinned and ready to be put in the oven, whole. We had lunch, soup as always, then the cuy. They were simplt cut in half, so you either got the butt or the head, I got the rear end becuase Mr. Flores said it was better and asked for Alex and I to get have the better part, thanks! It was pretty good, it tasted like chicken with a slight hint of fish, Alex agreed with me but everyone else said I was wrong. Howver, when asked what they thought the flavor was, there was a good amount of mumbling about turkey but no straigh answers, hmmm.

After lunch we went into what I think could best be described as an orchard to harvest fruit. There were tangerines, lemons, naranjillas, grandilla, and avacadoes. The most fun were definitly the avacadoes. They hang really high up in the tree and getting them is a multi person operation. It was usually Mr. Flores and I up in the tree, and Alex and the others on the ground. They would spot the avacadoes, we would get them either by hand or with a hook on a pole, then the people on the ground would either try and catch the falling fruit or prevent them from rolling down the hill. The problem was, there was a barbed wire fence about half way down the hill and much of the time the fuit would roll under it. With a little bit of practice Alex became an expert at chasing down the rolling fruit and every so often making a perfectly executed dive under the barbed wire fence. Though on one of the last divers he caught his shirt ever so slightly and ripped it.

We loaded up the car with lots of fruit, veggies and empandas, as well as our things and said our goodbyes adn thank-yous. We took a different route home, a dirt road that went on the other side of the valley that eventually brought us to the town on the equator, where the monument (tourist trap) is, and later to my end of Quito. They droped me off at my aunts house were the family was drinking (fake) coffee and playing cards. They were all a bit shocked when I walked in with bare feet, my filthy jeans rolled up to my knees, a mud spattered t-shirt and hair style that made me look like a mad scientist. I had to assure them that the only other change of clothes I had was much worse.


So this finally concludes my weekend post(s). Now to write about today, oh what fun! I will and add some photos to this post later. Please ignore all the spelling mistakes, there is no spell check for the blog and proof reading doesn't sound like fun right now.

Also, if you want to read about this weekend from another perspective, Alex has a blog as well so you can read his posts about it.

www.ecuadorexchange.blogspot.com