Ten Days of DtiDti

* this entry dedicated to a dear friend -- someone who digs in trashcans to find food for a mangy pup; someone who doesn't mind getting lost; someone who somersaults with the tumbling of waves; someone who loves her daughter, her dogs, her family; someone who resonates with the warmth of home. *

a few moments with DtiDti:













sunrise



* this entry from 6/9 *
The Joining of Clouds, Concha de Perla, Isla Isabela

Today, we plan to not plan. Carpe diem. We walk the dirt road to the pier, snorkels and flippers in hand.

A walk down a wooden plank, through a mangrove swamp, its roots twisted and woven, submerged in the water below. The walkway leads to a sparkling pool of ocean.



The lulling crashing of waves against a crest of lavarock. Warm currents sweep through the clear water. Striped fish poke at fuzzy rocks. A sealion swirls in the water. Below the surface everything is calm; there is a peaceful quiet in the underwater world.



In the distance, a figure approaches. A marine iguana? A sea turtle? The obscure shape grows and soon reveals itself to be a leaf.

"Unplanned," Stella says. She's smiling. "You walk out not expecting anything and you come back with a whole lot of amazing. I mean, five stingrays, sea lions, a leaf.."

We laugh.

Blue patches of sky. Clouds come together, stretch over the horizon like an opalescent rainbow.



* this entry from 6/12 *
Treasure-hunters, Tortuga Bay, Santa Cruz

Dtidti is stretched out on the sand, a book spread open before her. She's reading about the Mexican Revolution of 1910. She talks about how leather shoes were boiled to provide flavor for "soup", talks about how the displaced walked through arid desert, northward, hundreds of miles.

Conversation continues and we think about the Individuals in the mid-1900's who ventured over sea and land towards the California coast -- in the direction of gold -- travelling through the vast expanse of unknown, guided by their hopes to find the treasure they sought.





* this entry from 6/15 *
The Last Supper, Quito

"Sometimes God comes to us in different forms -- as a stranger, as a good friend," DtiDti says.

We cheer glasses of wine and mojitos, pick forkfuls of fish from one another's plate.

"The fact that we wake up to the sun -- that's good enough for me," she says. She tells her daughter to pray and be thankful for another day.

Stella is in the moment, her altruistic nature -- the lists she makes of things to include in a care package, the gifts she buys for everyone else first. She would take her flipflops off, donate them, and walk barefooted.

Earlier today, while enroute to Otavallo, a town a few hours outside Quito, we appreciated a scene: a small girl gave her ice cream cone to an elderly man digging in a trash can.



Thank You, Stella.

it's a pleasure to meet You

* this entry from 5/28 *
it's a pleasure to meet You, Isla Isabela, Galapagos

It was as though Mr. Hermit Crab transformed overnight. This human form walks up the low stairs into the shaded patio of the local restaurant. A flash of white t-shirt and gold; golden hair and golden skin. I’ve not seen this image on the island.

White t-shirt and gold hair reappears and sits alongside our small group; his rice and bananas joining our rice and bananas.

The cadence of his voice is calm. He smiles after sentences.

It's learnt that he’s an English professor on another island (San Cristobal), that he's a photographer, that he likes chocolate and lime ice cream.

He lends me a book and in the evening, I see him again.

Two bottles of beer, our conversation travels and soon we are away from the group, from the wood stools, from the conch shells of the beach bar. Salsa music fades as we walk barefooted towards the ocean. Water laps over feet, wets the edge of jeans. He talks about Lost Words and asking questions, helps me over rocky ledges and sinking sand. Clouds blot the sky. Stars twinkle. We label a set of shiny dots the big dipper and throw accuracy to the wind.

A thin slice of moon faintly illuminates the night. The sea enveloped in darkness appears mysterious; a vast expanse of unknown. Standing on that cusp of land and water, it is asked.

“What would happen if we just continued walking into the ocean?”

“There’s only one way to find out.”

Our hands hug and with a firm grip, we walk forward to find the answer. The evening’s darkness blurs the edges of the horizon, a mass of rolling water washes over legs, splashes onto chests. The deeper we go, the tighter the grip; soon our clothes are wet, our hands release, he swims into the black water, another wave crashes, I topple over and surrender to the sea.

The slopping sound of wet jeans against the ground as we walk back to town. He takes me to the door of my hostel and bids a goodnight.

Thank You, Robin.


(photo courtesy of S.G.)

the date

* this entry from 5/27/09 *
The Date, Isla Isabella, Galapagos

He catches my eye from a distance -- interrupting my evening jog.

My pace fades and I start walking up towards him. He looks pensive, his gaze captured elsewhere. His big brown eyes are pointed towards the sky behind me. The clouds look like a brush stroke of water color rose. A sheen covers the shore, captures his reflection. The sea is calm, a soothing lapping of waves.

“Hola.”

I sit next to him and wrap my arms around my knees.

We watch the scenery in silence, comfortable, as though longtime friends. The tide rises, cool water wraps around my toes. A long stretch of sand with two sets of footprints extends before us.

Time passes unnoticed. I like sitting next to him, our gazes crossing.

Water slides up the shore, its white foamy crest draws sand back with it. He stretches upward, his posture erect, and as the next wave laps onto shore, he joins its rhythm, and starts somersaulting in sand towards the water’s edge.

Laughter penetrates. Our eyes meet again.

“So…I have a random question.”

He looks at me with a patient, easygoing attentiveness that calms nerves. His body is moist, it glistens like the glassy shore. I want to touch it.

A breeze lifts mist from the sea’s surface. Under the descended sun’s glow, the scenery is hazy like an oil painting.

“What’s your advice?”

I don’t feel the need to explain myself -- to tell him that I enjoy collecting advice; to tell him about the gambler from Argentina whose advice was “move away from more and more and closer to enough”, to tell him about the Irish fellow who spoke no Spanish and said “the best translation is a smile”. I don’t tell him this. It feels like he already knows, like he just gets me.

“Roll with it.”

We don’t speak the same language, but I understood. His answer elicits a smile.

In one another’s company, we continue watching the ocean, its ebb and flow, until night’s darkness rides in with the tide.

He looks into my eyes, deeply, then gets up, stretches his claws out his shell and crawls across the sand leaving a lingering trail of his presence.

“Farewell Hermit Crab. You’re the neatest date I’ve ever had.”


(Didn't have a camera on me, but here's a flic of a handsome fella; photo source: myanimalblog.files.wordpress.com)

the changing of the seasons

* this entry from 5/26 *
The Changing of the Seasons, Isla Isabela

The changing of seasons, the changing of tides, overcast skies, light rains and music. Everyday -- a jog along the coast with solitude, sunsets, and sea. Today -- a flock of flamingos in flight, a streak of pink against the overcast gray sky.

The tide changes by the hour. In the evening the water is high; yesterday's footsteps erased. By nightfall the water has retreated, revealing rippled sand that glistens under the star specked sky. It feels almost alien, and walking feels a bit disorienting as though some gravitational pull is beckoning me to come out to sea.











sunset jogs

$10 Buckos of Dessert

* this entry from 5/24 * $10 Buckos of Dessert, Isla Isabela, Galapagos
(This entry dedicated to a generous $10 jar donation. The benefactor requested that the moneys be used on dessert.)


Attempt Uno: The Fererro Rocher World Record Eating Challenge

Among the famous competitive eating world record holders: Donald Lerman holds the world record for butter; 7 quarter pound sticks in 5 minutes. Richard LeFevre holds the SPAM world record; 6 pounds in 12 minutes. And someone holds the Ferrero Rocher world record; 7 balls of chocolate in 60seconds. The latter is the record we intended to beat.


(insert video..somehow?)
Cast: Officiator - Ms. Carolyn, inhabitant of a place of outstanding natural beauty
Contestant#1 - Amy, inquisitor of French tourists & NYC squirrels
Contestant#2 - Jaz, eater of things containing sugar

the results.. a (large) swallow away from matching the current world record.



Attempt Dos: Crème Crackers World Record Eating Challenge

Apparently, the world record for number of crème crackers eaten in a minute is 6. I laughed at the figure and with much bravado claimed the record could be easily beat. After attempting to eat seven crackers, the results were a face full of crumbs and approximately 5 crackers bulging in mouth, chewed but not swallowed.




Attempt Très: Stodge-Blob World Record Eating Challenge

Stodge-blobs (an invented name) are a mass of unknown sweetness found (so far) only on Isabela Island. An eating challenge in this arena would guarantee a World Champion as well as make the odds of beating the record very difficult. Therefore, with a 50% chance of holding the title, it was only reasonable to accept the challenge.

(pictures courtesy of C.Y.)

The results.. ate a hell-of-a-lot of food with no title-holding credentials. Congratulations to Rob, official Stodge-blob World Record Holder.

first day of school

* these entries from 5/26 *

Class Uno

The school house -- Jacinto Gordillo Escuela. The building -- cylindrical with wide windows. Green and yellow trapezoid desks are lined next to one another. Images of an axe, a bone, a Christmas tree, and Kevin are pasted to one wall. I wonder how frequent a sentence using those words might occur. An image of a sofa and a woman appears on a Nouns poster, in the Places column. Some of the décor raises a few other question marks.

The teacher introduces me to the class as Jessica; I correct him, and am greeted by the class as Yessica. We start with a simple game of hangman to test their usage of the English alphabet and some basic words. The kids go bananas -- hands shoot in air, students leaned out of their seats, letters shouted, tossed around the room.

A "C" is called out.

Yes.

"Candy Store!" they yell.

No.

An "H" is called out.

Yes.

"Candy Store!" they yell.

Not quite.

After a decent stick man with shoes, shoelaces, ears, hair and fingers is drawn, the students finally get the right answer -- children -- and begin chanting the discovered word. Their enthusiasm made me appreciate the alphabet and the joy of simple things.





Class Dos

The teacher brings me to the front of the class and introduces me as Jasmine. He sweeps his hand across the rows of colorful little desks dotted with little heads as though presenting the finale of a magic trick. Okay, go ahead, he says.

I feel like an image on the wall – a big question mark. Face feeling flush and a rising heat on ears; public speaking in front of a 4-year-old audience has made me rather nervous.

What is your name, I ask a small boy in the front row.

His expression -- also a question mark.

In a moment of impulse, I have the entire class stand up and turn around in circles until I say stop. I figure this will tire them out, but it has a adverse effect -- like a wind up toy, energy builds until they spin out of control.

Left with the task of restoring order was like trying to corral puppies in a small circle. There are types of puppies – the ones that escape, the ones that chew on each other’s ears, the ones that chase after their tails, the ones that run up to strangers and jump on their legs, the ones that sleep, the ones that disappear and are found chewing on some random thing like toilet paper... to illustrate.



hugs & puppy corralling


Class Tres

Use your hands, I say, pointing to my fingers.

He leans back in his chair, closes his eyes, shakes his head and exhales; his feet swing back and forth under him, I don't know.

The other students struggle with their assignment -- a set of five basic math equations: two addition, two subtraction, and one multiplication. One student has changed his minus signs to plus signs and resorted to addition. Another student has a blank page in her lap. A girl is helping a boy cheat; 4+5=18? The first person to answer all the questions correctly wins a bouncy ball. They are very excited about this.

The idea of seven year olds not comprehending basic math. This sleepy volcanic island of less than three thousand residents has been referred to as the end of the supply chain, a place where everything from ice cream to gasoline must be imported. But what about letters, numbers, and more education...

#36

#36, Isla Isabella, Galapagos (5/21)

Doodoo stains on fingers, caked dirt beneath nails. #36 snaps at the air. The baby tortoise’s vision is impaired; he was born with one eyeball. He extends his neck and opens his mouth, chomping on the illusion of food. Another tortoise extends her neck too. She is many times the size of #36. Her name is Ingrid (later it's learned that she is referred to as engriedo (affectionate), but since my Spanish sucks, it's been understood as: her name is Ingrid.) She moves with heavy footsteps towards volunteers, exhales long grunts and lifts her head, allowing us to pet her leathery skin.

Side-by-side, #36 and "Ingrid" are a representation of the positive effects of giant tortoise conservation. The center's Director mentions that it takes 40 years to ensure the reproduction of one specie. Subtract two-hundred years and the scenery for these creatures was vastly different. During this time, pirates and whalers sought them for food. Non-endemic species (rats, crows, goats..) were introduced to their remote habitation which also devastated their population so much that today a few species of giant tortoises are extinct. The Pinta specie, near the brink of its existence, has one member left standing: Lonesome George, who hangs out at the Darwin Center. It's remarked that should he not find a lover, cloning him may be considered.

Observing #36 chomping the air -- given that a giant tortoises' lifespan often exceeds 100yrs renders the thought that he will likely outlive every human being on Earth at the present moment and witness the evolution of the world into the next century.


#36 (photo courtesy of C.Y)


perspective on size (thanks Amy :) )


*

Hammock Land conversations: Carolyn mentions, "the future is in the second".

On The Road -- Quito to Isla Isabela Galapagos

* this entry from 5/19 *
On The Road -- Quito to Isla Isabela Galapagos

The flight attendant walks by, a yellow can in hand. She sprays the corridor with disinfectant, sprays the inside of bins; this action a part of the quarantine program to prevent the introduction of invasive species to the Galapagos National Park.

Upon landing -- volcanic landscape and "cactus trees"; Tortuga Bay and Los Gemelos...


Tortuga Bay (Isla Santa Cruz)

Los Gemelos -- two enormous volcanic depressions, about 200 meters in depth.

A ferry boat, a bus, a motor boat over stomach jolting oceanic currents...

and

Welcome to Isla Isabela

The Expedition Team (Reactions) -- Quito Recruitment

The Deployment Platoon

Upon hearing of Captain Mo’s recent deployment, a long line of candidates enlisted to serve under her command. The recruiting process required in-depth interviews, physical fitness testing, and mental preparedness.

Finally, after many long days and nights, a squad was settled on.

It is with great honor, that The Expedition Team annouces the final cast of the Deployment Platoon.


Chicken
Her fearlessness and ability to assist in paratrooping duties are what made Chicken a prime candidate to fill this position.
She would like to clear up two misconceptions –
One: the usage of “chicken” as in chicken-shit; on the contrary, Chicken is a tough-chick.
Two: Chickens can’t fly. She would like to share photos of herself in flight to disprove this theory.





Slug
Was born in chocolate (Kinder Sorpresa).. which granted him instant qualification


In addition, he is an avid reader, known to carry a newspaper at all times. His up-to-the-moment knowledge of current events is priceless for the task. He can also read Chinese and speak Pashto and Dari.



Dog E.
A faithful and loyal companion who will always greet you with a wagging tail and a wet nose. Qualifications include a keen sense of smell for sniffing out landmines and people. But more importantly, having him around will ensure that despite a landscape of hardship, you can still have something to smile about.


He would like to send love to his puppies in the pound.


Sister Bears
Their sister status gave them priority picking. Being sisters, they are down for one another and because of this they can always be counted on. Their background includes hugging, searching for honey, and having each other’s backs.

They are advocates for hugs.


* The Deployment Team is currently in transit to Afghanistan. *

Picture is in the Words

* This entry from 5/11 *

The first step is generally the most daunting, partly because it requires accepting the likelihood of getting lost. Recently, it was reported that a mob of angry residents lynched two suspected theives and then set a police station on fire. With Quito's reputation for theft, I'm slightly nervous. A stroll past the salsa school takes me into the unexplored blocks - past parks, DVD stores that sell bootleg videos, past peanut vendors and farmacias. At the local trole, I hop on. The city center also referred to as "Old Town" is a few kilometers from the Mariscal Sucre or "New Town" hood.

Old Town --









* this entry from 5/17*
the real picture is in the words, Basilica, Quito

Constructed in the late 1800's, the Basilica de Voto Nacional lies in Quito’s Historic Center, standing some 115 meters above the ground with neo-gothic columns, feathered gargoyles, and embroidered towers that poke through clouds.

A stroll past stained glass and curved arches, past light decorated rooms and lonely chairs, up coiled ladders, into pyramid attics, and onto high ledges with views of the city above and below...

The graffitied walls act like a tour guide; trails of messages read like a run-on sentence, leading to the next room, up stairs and across walls. Albeit being something of a garden for photos, the real picture is in the words; the theme consistent.






























...at the moment, Crossroads Hostel, Quito
music, music, music. Enjoying music and a cup of cafe con leche. Now off to buy a bus ticket to Columbia.