TLC update

Ecuador is in negotiations with the US as I write and will probably sign. Rumours are steady and stories inconsistent, but it looks as if the grand paro will not reignite.
Update from Reuters

Extreme Tubing

One benefit of the paro was an unexpected jaunt over to Mindo, located in the lower elevation cloud forest. We hired a bird guide for an early morning hike, chilled out in hammocks, and risked our lives to satisfy my desire to go tubing.

Tubing, to me, is a mellow, low risk sport. We spoke with a man who flagged down a truck full of locals and climbed in back. They were heading to the river to relieve severe hangovers, and Cameron impressed then with his knowledge of the cane alcohol Puntas and the Ecuadorian word for hangover: chuchaqui. We bounced along amiably until we arrived at the out in, and the volume of water confirmed my suspicion that tubing in Ecuador might be a little different. They placed a flotilla of six tubes in the river with ropes rigged up as handles, and off we went, followed by two solo tubes (in one a very buff guy straddled his girlfriend, navigating the water in an almost obscene display of manliness). We were the only ones wearing life jackets and helmets. After many years of white water guiding and kayaking, I would not have run most of the rapids we encountered which were separated by tumultuous stretches of white water, and here I was TUBING them. Our guide, in nothing more than jeans and rubber boots, controlled our big unwieldy mass by jumping out and swinging us around. I was terrified of losing him, and terrified that he or one of the guys who kept bouncing out if the solo tubes was going to get foot entrapment and drown or dashed to bits on the rocks. It was only the sheer bulk of our flotilla that kept us from pinning on numerous rocks or flipping in giant holes. I clung to those little handles sternly telling myself “falling out is not an option.” Eventually we landed on shore, shivering and white knuckled, adrenaline coursing through our veins, gratitude that we were alive flooding over us. We were bonded to our tubing comrades by the sheer high of survival, and when one of them wound up on our bus back to Quito, he bid us goodbye like an old friend.

The ironic thing is that earlier that day a child had fallen in the river and almost drown. After that, Cameron said he was nervous to go tubing, and I scoffed. A few moments after we escaped the river, I turned to him and said, “The next time you tell me you are scared of something, and I say really?, remind me of this moment, please remind me of this moment!”

Acabo

The paro has officially ended, although rumours still fly about reignition. In an amazing act of morality, the Ecuadorian government has agreed not to sign the TLC and prolong negotiations for another year. Who knows what will happen in the long run, but for now, the people won, and I am still in happy wonder at this outcome.

Llegamos

Paro – work stoppage, blockout
Parar – to stop, halt, finish, detain, end

The bus ride out of Cayambe was on a small local bus that traveled cobbled roads – a sign we were nearing our Ecuadorian home. The radio played interviews with protesters and the station definitely had an anti TLC bias. We arrived at the first road block in Ayora: a large ditch filled with water, a few smoking tires, old bailing wire scattered around, and a few tired looking people. We got out of the bus, crossed without fuss, and began the five km trek on a high altitude dirt road to the next road block accompanied by three indigenous women from Olmedo. On the way, we talked, at first timidly, then openly about the TLC, the campesino way of life, what life is like in the US, the struggle of small farmers everywhere, how we make our money. What stood out to me was the grandmother saying more than once, “We don’t want to lose our culture.” They seemed relieved that we were in agreement with the politics of the protest, and when we arrived at the next road block I was glad for their company as the crowds immediately began taunting us, making fun of how tall is Cameron is and calling me gringita. The three women continued to chat with us as we entered the crowd and they greeted their neighbors by name. When a truck carrying some of Cameron’s students whizzed by with them shouting his name, we exchanged hearty handshakes and meaningful eye contact with our new friends, and then caught a very lucky ride the final leg to Zuleta.

I looked up the word paro in the dictionary after realizing that strike is not quite the right term for what is going on right now. The indigenous federation is in paro, blocking the roads to wake people up, to stop transport, to cause inconvenience, to put pressure on the government not to sign the TLC on Friday. Returning to Zuleta today I began to realize the full impact of the extensive protests. On the truck ride, we heard that the town of Ibarra, our local hub, is almost out of gasoline, preventing all sorts of local transport and limiting local bus service to just a few times a day. Eddie, who was giving us the ride, was stopping often to check on any hidden supplies of gas, as his tank was almost empty. All school has been cancelled as students and teachers do not have reliable and safe means to travel. The one big grocery store in Ibarra is almost out of everything, and is rationing things like toilet paper. At the last road block, we saw big trucks full of corn and platanos just waiting to be able to bring this food to the capital to sell. The hacienda is now feeding most of its milk to the pigs, as it has nowhere to sell it. There was a pause in some of the back road blocks on Sunday, and the rush of big trucks that flew down our rural dirt and cobble roads after the recent rains left sections caved in and ruts bigger than most bath tubs. These road blocks are extremely thorough, isolating communities and suspending all transportation on the Pan-American highway in Ecuador.

If this happened in the states, the military would be there in a flash before anyone felt the pinch. Here, there has so far been no military involvement. At first I thought Ecuador was perhaps a more peaceful country, but upon revision I believe the government fears a civil war, and does not want to anger the indigenous people to the point of unified armed resistance. I do not know what sort of solution this situation will have. Many people think Ecuador will sign Friday, others think they will listen to the people. Vamos a ver. I am concerned for how much money some very poor people are losing right now. I am happy to be back in our little pueblo, and hope our toilet paper doesn’t run out before this is over.

Addendum:
Military involvement began last night, although everything is calm and tranquil in our little area. Cameron found some good articles concerning the situation:
Q & A from the BBC
"State of Emergeny" from the NY Times

Baja los gringos

Stuck in Quito since our return from the Galapagos, we decided to brave the strikes today and make an attempt at returning to Zuleta. The people at the bus station told us "Hay un paro, no hay paso"- "There is a strike. You can't pass." To which we replied, "Yes, well this one company says they have found a way, it will just take a little longer." So we climbed aboard, ready to endure a long bus ride, thinking to catch up on a little sleep. The bus became more and more full as we lumbered out of Quito until all seats were taken and the aisles packed. Each person asked, "Ibarra? Really? you can take me to Ibarra?" At first they said yes, then changed this to Cayambe, many miles south, and then a full hour before Cayambe we arrived to a line of fire and smoke, indigenous strikers raising sticks in the air, and all vehicles and buses turning around. The passengers on the bus grew angry asking for their money back, and the people working the bus begin ushering us down into the street. "There are cars on the other side," they said. The strikers yelled, "Viva los campesinos, viva los Ecuatorianos, baja Los Estados Unidos, baja los gringos, baja Bush" Long live the farmers, long live the Ecuadorians, Down with the United states, Down with bush, and we wondered if we should hop back on one of those buses turning around for Quito.

Ecuador has been in negotiation with the United States for quite some time about a free trade agreement, the TLC. The country is deeply divided over this issue with many thinking this agreement will be the death of local agriculture, small market economy, and generic drugs. Others see this as a boost to the economy, a further step in development, opportunity for more employment, more exportation, and greater access to foreign goods. It is hard for me to believe that such an agreement could benefit Ecuador, as previous free trade agreements with latin america have not served those countries well (anyone hear about the new Walmart Central America?. I think this agreement needs to be challenged and questioned, however they are so far into negotiations at this point that some suggest that the United States will hault all trade with ecuador if they don't sign.

Cameron stood uncertainly, black smoke blowing in front of him, backpack strapped behind him and asked "¿Pudemos pasar?" "Yes, go ahead, but only if you are European, or against Bush." We walked quickly across the debree, all eyes following us, and as I was clearing the smoke someone asked, "Where are you from?" I chose not to answer.

We have made it to Cayambe, and decided not to cross any more strike lines today, or at all if we can help it. As I walk down the street I feel stares burning my white skin and wish I had some way to let the world know that I don't approve of the exploitation my country is so known for. I don't believe all morality should be sacrificed on the alter of profit. Even though this complete shut down of the highways is a pain in the ass, I think it is amazing that it is happening, that the country is allowing this inconvenience, that this freedom of expression exists in a way that is not allowed in the United States. Good luck, Conaie, Viva el paro.

Arguments against the protesters (in English from a local paper)

Arguments in favor of protests, against the TLC - frightening how little I could find in English. If you speak Spanish there is a ton out there.

Reproduction

The blue footed boobies waddled from side to side rythmically in a circle around eachother, laying sticks at eachother's feet, from time to time clacking beaks, and spreading their wings while raising their beaks and tails high in the air to court their mates.

DPSCamera_0014
Originally uploaded by Cameron/Duff.

The frigate bird males inflated a red balloon on their chests, and when a female flew by spread their wings and did a shimmy (pick me pick me). He brought his mate sticks and cooed at her letting her rub his head under his wing before she carefully placed the stick on the nest beneath her.

DPSCamera_0120
Originally uploaded by Cameron/Duff.

The marine iguana dug her hole with feet and legs in which to leave her eggs to hatch or die of their own volition.

warming up
Originally uploaded by Cameron/Duff.

The nazca booby brooded her eggs and preened the fluffy downy feathers of her young.

"I've never seen birds mate. What do they do? I'd like to see that" and a few minutes later- "Jan, quick, quick, they're doing it, bird sex, bird sex."

The land tortoises humped awkwardly and noisily. We thought ineffectually until we discovered the penis is actually at the end of their tails.

DPSCamera_0082
Originally uploaded by Cameron/Duff.

So, this desire for reproduction is just part of biology, part of survival, all species procreate. Do these animals feel the complicated emotions we do around children or the lack thereof?

I was disturbed one day by a small baby shark swimming around on its own. Cameron said "Katie, sharks don't rear their young. They just lay eggs and that is that. Only mammals and birds take care of their babies."

A school of dolphins swam with the boat, and a small baby flanked the right, jumping and diving.

Three baby marine iguanas clung to the rocks. Still small enough to be food for hawks, only their instinct offered them protection.

Do animals who don't raise thier babies wonder about them? Do turtles frogs, iguanas, snakes, wonder if any of their offspring made it? Is there any emotion involved? Is there a concept of motherhood?

The mama sea lions suckled their babies, taught them to swim, snuggled with them on shore, and sometimes ignored them when they cried. I saw in them sometimes the tired new mother who reluctantly rises from sleep to comfort her crying new born, and the tender mother who responds with her whole being to her baby's cry.

Baby Sea Lion?

As Benigno helped me carry bags down from the boat, he named an animal that lives in the Galapagos that could be smuggled in each bag. With Cameron's back pack, "Sea Lion?", with Jan's small tote, "Marine Iguana?", with my back pack, "Baby sea lion?", and my heart broke just a little that the shores of my life would no longer be littered with these small fat furry weepy eyed creatures. On our last hike it must have been morning milk time as they were all nursing with their loud suckling noises, and belting out their pathetic little stuffy nosed cries when mothers turned their bodies making it hard to find a nipple. Then they would awkwardly flop around trying to find food again, or rise up blinking into the sun, or more likely the camera of a tourist. On our first day snorkeling, three baby sea lions entered the water and swam with us, coming towards us with incredible speed as if to crash, but banking a sharp left at the last moment then turning back to look at our reactions. This playfulness delighted me to no end when snorkeling on the surface, but when we encountered sea lions deeper down with scuba gear on our backs it had a different feel. Cameron thought I was tugging on his wet suit, but looked down to see the neoprene firmly locked in the teeth of a sea lion. Another swooped down and started nipping at the hair of our guide Walter. Although I think they meant no harm, I was terrified they would pull at my air hose leaving me forty feet below the surface with nothing to breathe. Even so, it was amazing to look up and see them take a sip of air from the surface, then dive down to play with us in a matter of seconds, their bodies so graceful, sure and quick, nothing like the awkward flop of land. Being from CA and listening to sea lions bark all night in Santa Cruz I did not expect these animals to get me the way they did, but they did. Even so, there was no baby sea lion smuggled in my bag, just a weeks worth of salty crusty clothes.

what flew past

rice fields houses on stilts bamboo concrete brick cinder blocks hammocks faces peering from open windows banana trees palm trees mango trees coffee trees flowers kids in their underwear stagnant water green low hills water guns water cannons water balloons kids throwing buckets of water laundry on lines bread ovens under tarps brahma cows fried meat women walking muddy rivers people swimming. Sun. Water. Rain. Mud. Green.