Mayoristery

The price of manual labor in Ecuador is $150 per week. The weekly food bill for us once stood at $80 for two adults and a toddler. I kept asking anyone who would listen how workers with large families accounted for this. When several EMAPA employees came to install the water meter on Pedregal I finally received an answer.

Ana Lucia took me along to the Mayorista the first week I was in Ibarra. We walked along amongst open rooms full of woven plastic sacs bulging with fruits and vegetables. Ana Lucia stopped now at the blood-red Tomates de Arbol, now at the tiny orange Naranjillas and now at the enormous light green Watermelons. At each stop she conducted business with a familiar humor and then asked me to show the vendor to which car to carry each 15 kilograms of fruit.

"Ana Lucia," I asked after the last watermelon had rocked the car and we glided through throngs of buyers, "Can anyone shop here?"

"Of course, why wouldn't they be able to?"

"It's a wholesale market and I don't know if it's permitted for people who don't own restaurants or––"

"Ah, no, only store owners are allowed to shop here."

"Food stores?"

"Hmm... Food stores, restaurants, anyone who needs a large quantity of fruits or vegetables."

"So I couldn't buy here?"

"No, I don't think so; No."

I looked out of the window and watched the exit barrier swing back in place. Just like that, the Mayorista was out of my mind.

Months later I stood next to a pickup, swatting at sand flies.

"It's the hour when they're most active," said one of the men with a yellow helmet and reflective vest.

"What? Oh, the flies, yes. You have to put on repellent in the afternoon." I was watching his compañero dig for the water main.

"Is the wall OK?" I gestured to the brick wall covered with patches of cement mortar.

"What happens is that if we put the meter in the wall we have to make a hole for it and the wall will fall over. But that doesn't matter, we'll put the meter on top and if you have more bricks you can build around it later."

"That's fine, I've got about 15 bricks more."

"You won't have a problem then, that's easily enough."

"I wasn't there when the technician came to verify the location of the main here, but I heard that he said a brick wall like this would be fine."

"No, you want something with a hole in the middle, so we can install the meter like that," and he pointed across the road at a small concrete-block wall with a water meter neatly cemented in the center.

"It doesn't matter though, we'll use cement to put the meter on top of the bricks and you can put the other bricks around it when you have time."

I nodded and watched the worker connect the main to half-inch plastic tubing.

"I have a question for all of you, something I haven't managed to figure out here in Ecuador. How is it that salaries for labourers are so low, but commodity and food prices so high?"

They all looked at me.

"Well, for example, what's the salary for a week of manual labor?"

"They don't charge by the week, usually you pay for a month at a time. But a week would be about $125."

"I paid $150 per week for three weeks, but I guess that's a little expensive?"

"$150... that could be the price."

"We pay about $80 a week for food at Gran-Aki. If you live with your parents and children, how do you cover the cost of living when most of your salary goes toward food? I don't understand this."

"You buy fruit and vegetables at the Mayorista."

"At the Mayorista... can you shop there if you're not a business?"

"Yes, anyone can shop there. What you buy at the supermarkets usually comes from there, and then the supermarket adds to the price for the store, the employees and taxes. The Mayorista is cheaper, and better quality."

"Cheaper? I don't know. We buy on Tuesdays at Gran-Aki and there's a 20% discount on produce."

"Look, how much is a lettuce there?"

"85 cents before discount, so––"

"25 cents at the Mayorista, and for better quality."

"And you're sure anyone can shop there?"

"Yes, it doesn't matter who the person is."

I was all questions and they were eager to educate me. A little too eager.

Today the water company had to send workers back to Pedregal to fix a leak between the main and the meter.

Last week we took our first shopping trip to the Mayorista. There's a section called the Minorista, where we buy most of our veggies but we also visit some of the larger wholesalers, buying mandarins and pineapples directly off of a truck. The Mayorista is the typical market experience: searching for the right quality of fruit, some haggling and finding our señora who this week threw in some extra veggies 'because it's you.'

Now, I feel horrible doing this because I know not all of you are happy with your available choices in local food, nor can all of you afford what you'd like in fruit. When we were living in Brussels most of the fruit we bought was from Morocco and my favourite, strawberries, were $5-6 for a small plastic box, so expensive for us that they were a twice-a-year treat.

... and yet I am compelled to continue, perhaps by the desire to document, perhaps by the desire to entice volunteers. Whatever be it, here is the total of our produce purchase from this Monday, at a price of $26.

Strawberries $1. Non-produce purchased at Gran-Aki.

Siga no más

"Siga no más:" the first Spanish phrase I taught to Oliver.

"Go ahead; Proceed; Continue; Carry on." Those three words carry these ideas in Ecuadorian Spanish.

Oliver came to us fresh from his apprenticeship with the Cob Cottage company. He is a young man ripe with ambition and for five weeks he worked alongside us to accomplish the next stage of our project. In natural building they say that planning and foundations are the most intensive stages of building. We made use of Oliver's tremendous physical efforts to proceed swiftly through these stages. Just look at the materials we obtained:

• 10m^3 of gravel infill for drainage in the foundation trenches
• 36m^3 of stones for the stem wall
• 27m^3 of clay-filled soil for cob mix
• 16 bales of straw for cob mix

I'm excited to say that materials are nothing without hard labour. As we swung shovels, heaved rocks, and laboured away with chisels and sledge hammers, we realised the formal beginnings of the house. We dug the foundation trenches, filled them with gravel, stacked the stem-wall to near completion, poured a concrete column and built a brick wall for the installation of electric and water connections and finally erected a frame for the dry toilet. A fine list of accomplishments for only five weeks!

There are many stories to tell, and I hope to regale you readers with them in the coming weeks as the machinery of this blog spins back to motion.

Oliver left Ecuador on October 1st, early in the morning. He plans to look for work from Seattle and he hopes to begin a contracting business in Guatemala when he has earned sufficient start-up capital. 

Oliver, triumphantly appraising the poured cement column and
2.5m galvanised steel tube assembly.

Thank you, Oliver, for your hard work! Best of luck in your future endeavours.

Rest Ahoused

We have been in a frantic, headlong rush to complete as much of the restoration as possible  before the first volunteer/intern arrives Wednesday night. Necessity hastens.

The interior bedroom was the first priority. We painted the floor a terracotta color and unpacked even our long-packed luggages into the dresser. The two nights since have been quiet and peaceful in a way completely opposite of nights in Ana Lucia's house across from the karaoke bar.

Next was to complete the netting around the Veranda and install the outdoor kitchen area, comprised of preparation spaces, a sink and an oven with built-in stovetop. We ran out of assembly pieces -- nails, bolts, wall plugs, etc. -- and will be heading to Ibarra in a few hours for a small shopping trip.

Meanwhile, now that the evening drive has been eliminated and we can sit down to discuss our ideas for the house we have finally had time to prepare a small model, more or less to scale. Here it is:

View of the bedroom, lounge, kitchenette, storage room and entrance -- facing south.

View of yoga room with human figurine for scale. Figurine represents a height of roughly 5'8" (172 cm). Yoga room is on a lower level than rest of house.

View of lounge with human figurine for scale. Lounge is also on a lower level.

Top view of house. North is the top of the plywood sheet, where the bedroom is. Yoga room to the east, entrance and storage to the south, lounge to the west.

View of entrance with human figurine for scale.

View of kitchenette with human figurine for scale.

Latitudinal Location Leavens Luxurious Allure

A short Astronomy primer for the Equator.

The location of Latitude and Longitude lines is measured in degrees (º), minutes (') and seconds ("). A standard measurement looks like this: 0º 28' 5,988".

1º is 69 miles or 111,2 km.

1º divided in 60 'minute' parts leaves 1,15 miles (1,853 km) per minute.

60' divided in 60 "second" parts leaves 0,019 miles (0,03 km) per second.

The standard measurement above --  0º 28' 5,988" -- is the location of the house in Chirimoyal, roughly 32,31 miles (51,99 km) North of the equator.

According to The Hand-Sculpted House, the degree above the horizon (the altitude) of the winter sun at noon can be calculated by subtracting the latitude of the site from the latitude of the Arctic Circle: 66º 33' 44". Amazingly, the arc of the winter sun throughout the day is also the path of the summer moon, which provides a second method for estimating solar and lunar location throughout the year.

Following the formula, the winter sun at noon above Chirimoyal has an altitude of

(66º 33' 44") - (0º 28' 5,988") = 66º 5' 38,012"

Equation for the winter sun at noon above Chirimoyal.

Using Find My Shadow I can verify that this equation is roughly accurate by comparing it to 

the location of the sun in mid December (66,183º) and mid January (67,680º).

Chirimoyal - Summer sunset

Reckoning the summer sun is done by adding 46º to the winter sun's position, but this is where the Astronomy becomes interesting and also where I had to do some research into the Astronomical implications of being on the Equator in order to understand where the Sun is throughout the year.

There are several wonders of being at the middle of the world.

First, light leaks from the sky much faster here than anywhere else. Far into the Northern or Southern hemisphere, the sun follows an oblique arc through the sky. When the sun sets it continues to move horizontally and vertically, tracing a slanted line and casting visible light into the growing dark for the duration of its perceived descent into the west.

On or near to the Equator, the sun travels close to directly overhead, in a relatively straight line with regard to the horizon. According to Euclid's "Triangle Inequality" proposition, 

In any triangle the sum of any two sides is greater than the remaining one.

This proposition is part of the statement that the shortest path between two points is a straight line. Whereas in the Northern and Southern hemispheres the sun does not follow a straight line toward the horizon, at the Equator the sun travels relatively directly across the sky and sets relatively perpendicularly with regard to the horizon. The period of descent is therefore more rapid and consequently the length of sunset much shorter at the Equator.

Second, while in the Northern and Southern hemispheres the sun appears to be higher or lower in the summer and winter seasons, on or near the Equator the sun is always high in the sky but passes between the south and north of the sky twice per year. From roughly April to September the sun is in the North, from October to March it is in the South.

Thereby in Chirimoyal we expect to find the summer sun above the southern horizon at

(66º 5' 38,012") + 46º = 112º 5' 38,012"

Equation for the summer sun at noon above Chirimoyal.

This is an obtuse angle -- greater than 90º -- and means, of course, that the summer sun is actually (180º - 112º 5' 38,012") = 67º 54' 21,988" above the northern horizon.

Pathways towards Completion

Pathways, guides into the mystery of beyond, once infused with intent radiate a sacred presence into the very air around them. "Follow me," they promise, "for I lead somewhere."

Pathway to toilet foundations.

I worked on a pathway for all of the afternoon. It leads to the site of the dry toilet. The pathway is soft earth lined with stones. I finished construction for the day and walked along, inspecting my work. On the pathway I felt a tingling sensation up and down my spine, such as I have felt at midnight temples and tea-houses in Japan. Working ceaselessly as we are on restoring the old house to the fullest extent possible before the late august moon heralds arrival of a first volunteer; working slavishly on tiny details and in tiny spaces I forget our true purpose. The house, the house ! -- inside becomes my space and outside the wild, the foreboding, all prickly burrs and biting bugs. In placing the pathway I found my head. In placing the pathway I performed a first trick of magic on the site, mixing chaos and order to seed sacred serenity. Renewed, I delighted in the ecstasy of being.

Painting the walls green.

Boring though the recent renovation has been, constant commitment to the task at hand has allowed us to beautify the interior. We have painted the walls, white and lavender in the interior bedroom and white and new-leaf green in the main room. We have sealed the ceilings with plaster and silicon; before that we screwed fresh plywood to the rafters and made ceilings in the pantry and main room. I have hewed four legs for a bed frame from a 5m lumber pole. I have finished the first wood window frame and attached a tule cut to screen out the bugs.

Plywood ceiling.

Bed frame.

Slowly, steadily this temporary residence that has absorbed so much of our time is nearing completion!

There are no strings on me!

We knew the big challenge when Oscar left would be to work on the house while caring for Ainoa. At nine months of age she revolts against overlong rides in the baby carrier. Her crawling skills have improved to where leaving her sitting on the foam play-mat is out of the question as well. Our temporary solution is that Sandra has been taking care of Ainoa while I work on the house, though we try to switch roles and relieve each other during easily rotatable activities like painting.

Chirimoyal - Main room with netting tent

For some work rotation is simply not an option. When we have a task requiring us to combine our efforts and leave Ainoa alone for a short time we place her in a travel crib and try to focus on our work over her cries of frustration. Just two days ago she learned to pull herself up on the crib side and watch us work through the open doorway. This discovery and mastery of equilibrium has provided for a much calmer co-working time. We also have begun more keenly than before to feel the need for a large playpen which should give Ainoa sufficient space to exercise her burgeoning crawling and walking skills.

Chirimoyal - Painting the interior bedroom

On Wednesday we visited the elusive carpenter Juan and gave him measurements and descriptions for the playpen, using one piece of a set he had crafted for Valentin as a model. The 155 cm by 125 cm size will fit around the foam play-mat and the price, US $150, was in the range of 1 m^2 playpens we had inquired about at the Santa Clara market in Quito.

Once the interior bedroom has been completed, which may be as soon as July 6, we will move Ainoa in along with her new furniture and current anti-fly enclosure. We will continue to use the crib for positioning her around the house while we finish the interior.

For future outdoor work we have yet to develop a method, having however the outlines of a plan in mind. The basics of this plan are:

1. Choose a visible location near or around the site and clear the ground. May involve levelling terrain.
2. Install the bug-net equipped 3 m^2 tent on this location.
3. Place the play-mat in the playpen under the tent.

Of course we shall have to evaluate the practicality of this plan once we begin construction of the dry toilet, our first big outdoor project. The final solution may keep us working at a slower pace, as does the current arrangement, but enjoying Ainoa’s ever more alert and active presence the day through is, for now, a welcome exchange.

Magnum Opossum, Part One

When moving into an abandoned house, never assume the former tenants were human – or former.

Chota Valley - Repair works on the roof.

Twenty years is roughly how long the house in Chota had been derelict when we arrived in Ecuador last February. While inspecting the house for the first time we noticed a shoddy wooden food rack and two thin mats in the middle room which connects to the veranda. These obvious human artefacts put our minds at ease and led us to the assumption that natural processes had been kept at bay, at least somewhat, by the presence of people. Even if only a resting area for day labourers, we thought, the habit of the attentive species homo-sapiens to form a comfortable habitat could be relied upon to ward off complete re-assimilation of the house into the field. If we had taken the Mango tree seriously, we would have arrived at a very different judgement.

Chota valley - Stripping the ceiling 

Beside the front entrance to the house is an old Mango tree, the crown of which looks down upon all the land. I park the pickup truck in the shady nook between tree and house. We have trimmed the branches of this Mango tree several times to protect the house. In the beginning, the Mango tree was devouring the house; and an opossum was devouring the mangos.

Usually when something unexpected falls into one’s lap, one does not expect to be bitten: that is just what is unexpected. The worker we hired to repair the roof encountered an opossum in the rafters, startled, lost his footing and fell through the ceiling to the floor where he lay when the opossum fell on him, bit him, and scurried away. Or, as one version of the story went, he killed the opossum, worked the rest of the day, took the carcass home and had opossum for dinner. Whether we believed in escape or entrée, at least the opossum seemed to be a problem resolved.

Chota Valley - Covered in dirt

While we were back in Quito haggling over paperwork at the visa office, Oscar stayed on in Ibarra to continue working on the house. He soon heard scuffling and squeaks in the ceiling, starting daily around four in the afternoon. We returned and I went back to working on the house with Oscar. I didn’t hear what he had, however as we were about to fit a new ceiling into the interior bedroom and I thought removing the old, rotting plywood would make this easier, I suggested we have a look. Up the ladder I climbed, between the plywood boards I wedged a metal trowel, I pulled and down the board came. I was not prepared for the shit we found up there. Opossum turds, mango pits, dead leaves and corn cobs; detritus poured to the floor and rose billowing into a grey cloud until the walls of the room were invisible and I fled, coughing and brushing my eyes clean with the inside of my shirt. I resolved to buy an anti-dust respirator and goggles and continue the next day, which I did. When all strips of plywood had been brought to the ground and the grey dust hung low in the darkened room I surveyed my work. Several inches of debris covered the floor in a thick layer, hiding many of the plywood strips. Oscar came in with a broom; I took a shovel. All the refuse was enough to fill two large sacs formerly used for 50 kg of sand. We dug compost holes in the garden and emptied the sacs there.

Chota Valley - Stripped ceiling

Two days later I had stripped the plywood from every ceiling but the standalone room in which several weeks earlier we had installed the gypsum board sub-ceiling. I went through an entire anti-dust cartridge in the respirator and each time I finished a room I could feel the dust in my nose, in my mouth, on my skin. We had eliminated a potential Asthma risk for Ainoa but still we had not found the opossum. There were only three pieces of plywood left on the ceiling against one wall of the main room. We decided to leave those for the moment and continue putting in the new ceiling.

Boondocked

We had been docked in Quito for long enough. Barnacles grew on our ship. Our passenger was already beginning to crawl and she practiced standing with the usual biped zeal. Finally, the legal papers granting us a years passage in Ecuadorian waters were approved and duly appended to our books of travel. The luggage was hauled up the gangway and lashed on deck, the sails were raised and we turned from the port ready to navigate the harrowing narrows leading to the open sea. Narrows navigated, I settled in at the helm steering a course for the oasis of Chota.

Chota Valley - Back yard

Eight days of absence had left the house naked in incompletion, all illusions stripped from our minds. Oscar had departed and the responsibility for finishing the opus hung most terrifying, yet also most satisfyingly, on our shoulders. Naturally, we did the most practical thing and set to work.

Facing the unknown, we chose prudence and planning as the guides of our method. The first order of business was to split planning into two stages: before we move into the house and after we move into the house. The former involves preparing, sealing and cleaning – and in some cases constructing – indispensable areas of use, such as a bedroom, the larder and the composting toilet. For the moment, when nature calls we dig holes and fertilise the soil, however this leaves the most delicate and vulnerable parts of us open to the dozens of hovering midges waiting for a glimpse of soft flesh. They descend like piranhas at the scent of blood and perform their succulent work just as quickly.

Chota Valley - Applying Plaster.

Our new schedule of work covers many first-time tasks for me: mixing cement and plaster were the challenge of the early week. For the cement, two parts sand to one part cement, mixed together and wet until appearing correct, was a successful strategy mostly because I knew the dry measurements and I had seen cement before, which gave me an idea what the mix ought to resemble. I found the plaster mixing much more difficult, having no idea of what consistency the mix ought to be, and I tried four different mixes of gradually drier consistencies. I still don’t know if my mix was ideal, but most importantly I was satisfied with how it applied to the walls. By attempting to plaster between the edge of a wooden ceiling support beam and the wall I discovered a basic limitation of plaster, namely that if it is stretched too far between surfaces it will not float suspended and falls, by the most direct path possible, down. This discovery prompted a call to my father, who proposed wedging foam strips between wood and wall in order to give the plaster a support surface where otherwise there had been nothing. This solution did not result in the most attractive work, by fault mostly of my neophyte hand, but it completely suited our ‘quick & easy’ criteria. I hope we can finish the look in a more satisfying manner through further work.

You Shall Not Pass!

If one makes plans in the Rio Verde communities, past the dirt road turn-off in Lita, one must take the weather into account. Otherwise, one may die.

On the road to Rio Verde - Horse Crossing Muddy Water

The wednesday afternoon I drove to collect Oscar from Chota was heavy with a chaotic spectacle of clouds. Low, wispy clouds stretched across the valley, like the languid smoke from countless smouldering embers hidden between the sugar cane fields. Thick, puffy clouds emanated from beyond the distant eastern mountains, seething up stupendously to the inner reaches of space. I drove slowly, fighting with my curiosity and wonder to keep my eyes on the road. Around the mountain bend a flat crown of clouds remained visible behind. When I arrived at the site, I mentioned what I had seen to Oscar and joined him for two hours of work. When we departed for Ana Lucia’s house in Ibarra, neither of us thought to what the clouds might portend.

On the road to Rio Verde - Villagers Returning

Thursday morning came and we woke early at the sound of our alarm clocks. By a quarter past six we stood in front of the door to Pablo’s offices, waiting for our ride to Lita. The streets were empty. Along came a young man on a bicycle and sat down beside us. He nodded our way. “Are they often late?” I asked him. “Yes,” he said.

At half past six, one of Pablo’s employees arrived in the organisation’s shabby Mazda 4x4 double-cabin pickup. As we prepared to load our tools and my saxophone into the cabin, I asked him if there would be much cargo in the bed. “No, not much,” he replied. We placed our gear in the cabin, thinking to move some of it to the bed before leaving the city. Another pickup, a massive Toyota Hilux, pulled into the space behind the Mazda. Another of Pablo’s employees stepped down from the passenger side door and waved to us. We exchanged greetings and helped her load a few bags more into the Mazda cabin, then the two employees, the young man, Oscar and I boarded and we left behind the quiet sidewalk.

Chicks in Boxes

We stopped on Fray Vacas Galindo, beside the old railroad tracks leading to Highway 35 and out of the city. The driver made a call on his cellphone. He left the car, still talking on his phone, and approached the only open shutter on the block. From the cabin we watched him negotiate a deal with someone inside. The other employee turned around in her seat and asked us to help load some boxes onto the bed. As we climbed out of the cabin and picked up the boxes I had a good view of the dozens of little chickens inside each one. This was the cargo for the chicken-raising project in Rio Verde Medio. Next came four 25 kg sacks of chicken feed. Between the 100 kg of feed and the 70 chicks in boxes there was a full load on the bed.

Across the valley and beyond the first of the eastern mountains, Oscar woke me from a doze. “Look,” he said, pointing to outside the passenger window. I did not see what he intended me to. Realising my confusion, he added “The waterfall.” A wide stream of water was cascading down from the peak of a mountain on the northern side of the Mira River. On our last two visits this waterfall had been a thin white line barely visible from the highway. “It’s been raining here,” said the driver in response to our conversation about the volume of the waterfall. “Jamie saw huge clouds on this side of the mountain range, towards Lita, yesterday,” Oscar mentioned. “You have been to Lita in all sorts of conditions, haven’t you?” I asked the driver.

“Yes.”

“Do you think we’ll be able to pass the roads to the Rio Verde communities?”

“We won’t have any problems today. I have seen worse than this.”

Thinking that he must not have seen the clouds I had seen, I closed my eyes and fell back asleep.

When I awoke, we were at the military checkpoint just before Lita. A soldier was directing the pickup into the small parking area and had asked for Oscar and I to bring our passports to a little desk underneath a tarp. We crossed the two lanes to the desk and I sat down on a bench against one of the three waist-high walls. Still bleary from sleep, I heard someone say, “Remove your jacket.” I looked at the soldier sitting behind the desk. “You cannot wear that jacket here,” he repeated. I looked at him. “What?” I asked. “Your jacket, you have to take it off here.” Finally my brain clicked on. I began to unzip my military camouflage jacket while asking, “You mean here at the checkpoint, right?”

“Yes, you cannot wear that jacket at the checkpoint.”

When we were back in the car I turned to Oscar. “I’ll have to find some military camouflage pants.”

Former Road to Rio Verde

Three minutes later we were in Lita, turning onto the dirt road. As we climbed the first steep incline, rounded a corner and began to climb again, a siren interrupted us. The driver pulled over and we watched as first an ambulance, then a pickup truck with seven people in the cabin and about a dozen crowded together on the bed, and then a police pickup with

Road to Rio Verde - Waiting at the bridge

another dozen people packed onto the bed passed on our left. Oscar looked at me. “I don’t think we have luck with the roads today,” he said in English. “No,” I replied, “I don’t think we’ll be doing any painting today.” Continuing along the road for several minutes we came to the first clay bank, an enormous red wall of earth which usually presented us with the first sign of how the roads further along would be. On our last visit we encountered a heavy truck unable to pass, but I managed to drive the pickup as it had fishtailed through several puddles of mud. Today was different; there was no road. The road was there where it passed over the river on a short bridge, and it turned right to head in the direction of the slope -- and that was where a lake of mud occupied the ground where the road normally continued, two small trees bent over in the middle of the lake. There would be no passing through to the Rio Verde communities.

Road to Rio Verde - Young men and their bikes.

As the employees waited around trying to postpone the inevitable decision of returning to Ibarra, mission incomplete, I climbed onto the mud bank to take some pictures. While I was taking photos of the slide, two men from the Rio Verde Medio community arrived on foot. They spoke briefly with the driver and then set out into the jungle. When I had climbed back down and cleaned the mud from my boots in the river, I asked him what they had said. “Someone on a motorbike was washed off the road last night by one of the landslides. They found his body under the slide this morning.”

Chicks in Baskets

We began to discuss our options. The employees tried contacting Pablo, but neither of them had reception. We waited. I took more photos. A trickle of Rio Verde Medio community members began to arrive, and then a stream, until half of the community had marched through the mud to reach us. All at once we began to engage in activity, moving the chicks from boxes to leaf-lined baskets, deconstructing the cardboard boxes to make basket lids, lashing the feed bags to their horses. As each basket was filled with chicks someone would heft it onto their back and start out across the lake of mud. When all of the cargo had been distributed and taken away we bid farewell and a safe voyage back to the remaining members of the community and watched as three young men who had arrived in the meantime hauled a motorbike through the mud. The employees tried once more to contact Pablo, could not, and at last made the decision to abandon the rest of our mission and return to Ibarra.

Road to Rio Verde - Help Arrives

On the drive back Oscar and I were discussing the efficiency of weekly drives to Lita that might or might-not end in a quick return. “We have no way of knowing if the roads are going to be cleared by the time we arrive or not,” chimed in the driver. “So you drive down regardless of the weather and if the roads are blocked you return to Ibarra?” I asked. He nodded. “That is a remarkably inefficient way of conducting business.” Oscar looked at me. “Jamie,” he said, “better to be inefficient and alive, than efficient and dead.” I looked out the window. Thick torrents of water gushed down the mountainside. Above, the open sky shone blue.

Recruiting Volunteers -- Haircut not included.

Ana Lucia on the scissors.

With a fresh new haircut, a clean car, and a house finally approaching completion, we're ready to begin looking for volunteers. We'd like to cast the call as widely as possible, which means you, our readers, will have to act as the internet megaphone. Drop some information in a casual conversation with a friend, suggest a trip to Ecuador to a family member looking for something to do, if you or someone you know is emotionally disconnected at work consider taking time off. Do what you've got to -- we're waiting for you.

Travel to Ecuador and spend up to three months learning or refining natural building skills with a small family in an Andean valley. Information is presented three ways, as suits your reading style, below.

Too long; Won't read.

We are looking for several interns to help build a cob house and tend the kitchen garden on land in the Chota Valley of Ecuador. We will provide housing, shower and toilet facilities, Internet, food for 3 meals a day and ground transport to and from our site. You will provide air fair and a minimum of US$200 per month to cover lodging expenses. You may choose to stay between one and there months. The week is five days of work with the weekend off. The climate is hot and dry with lots of sun. Contact us by e-mail (pedregaldechota@gmail.com), twitter (@pedregaldechota) or Skype (barisajam) if you are interested or have any questions.

Don't mind reading more: Details!

We are looking for three volunteers/interns to help us in the construction of a cob house in the Chota Valley region of the Imbabura province in Ecuador. Living facilities will be provided, including: one private bedroom, one shared bedroom, three meals a day (to be prepared communally), potable water, Internet, electricity, outdoor kitchen & larder area,  washing machine for laundry, composting dry toilet and solar shower. Additionally, we will provide road transport to and from our site, or in the case we cannot provide it, alternative methods will be arranged.

Out back.

The land is located in a warm, dry climate with lots of sun and a daily breeze in the mornings and evenings. The Chota River runs along one side of the property 500m from the lodgings. Temperatures range between 20-30ºC in the day and 15-25ºC at night. There are many insects and arachnids inhabiting the land and many of the insects have a mosquito-like bite (think biting midges). We have done our best to seal the habitation as well as driving the worst of the insects from the immediate vicinity of the house and workplace, however no method is perfect and encounters with these flying neighbours should be expected.

Both of us (Jamie and Sandra) have worked as volunteers on natural building projects so we have some understanding of the issues facing you. We are prepared to offer emotional support and what counselling we can. We are always open to discussion of on-site practices.

We ask that you pay a minimum of US$200 per month to help us provide utilities to the site and ensure the pantry remains stocked. The amount is open to higher donations if you enjoy your stay and wish to contribute more to our project.

You will be expected to work 5-day weeks from morning (~8am) to evening (~6pm) with a two-hour lunch break and water/snack breaks. You will not be asked to work through sicknesses, injuries, or physical or mental exhaustion. We know you are volunteers/interns, not indentured servants.

Weekends will be free to do as you see fit: spend the day relaxing, work on an on-site project, visit Ibarra or Quito, travel. If you wish to travel we ask that you inform us at least several days in advance so that we can plan to transport you or help you arrange transport and accommodation for yourself.

Washing the pickup. When this gets old, you can carry
old cooking-gas tanks up the mountain to Ibarra,
or crawl through the ceiling looking for opossums.
We have prepared a number of tedious, strenuous chores
to ensure you 'enjoy' your stay!

Work will consist of preparing and building cob, putting in doors, windows, plumbing and electricity, floors, shaping terrain and landscaping, gardening and some cooking and cleaning. In general, you should consider all activity surrounding natural building as included in work. All work is communal, in other words performed together or on a rotating schedule -- we will be cooking meals and cleaning the site as often as you.

Ecuador offers 90-day tourist visas to holders of passports from certain countries. You will be asked to possess a passport valid for at least a year from your planned date of entry. We will help you as much as we can, should you request our help, in locating the nearest consulate and identifying required documents. We are veterans of the visa process and at the very lest we can offer you some helpful tips.

“We” are myself, Jamie, a 29-year-old American man from New York, who has lived on both coasts of the US, Japan and Belgium, and Sandra, a Belgo-Peruvian woman in her early thirties who has lived in Belgium, Peru, Japan and the Czech Republic. We are LGBTQ friendly and welcome people of all skin colours and ethnic backgrounds. We believe that everyone has the right to their own belief (and diet) and while we enjoy discussion, we ask that you please not evangelise.

These are the general descriptions of where, and with whom the internship/volunteer position will be. If you are interested and/or have additional questions, please contact us at the project e-mail (pedregaldechota@gmail.com), on twitter (@pedregaldechota) or at Skype username barisajam.

For all interested persons we will conduct Skype or phone interviews. We are looking for people who can bring something from their own lives, so if you play an instrument, sing, practice yoga, tell stories, speak a second language, teach children, can educate us about a different walk of life -- you get the idea.

We look forward to speaking with you.

Conditions

1 Pay for your own transport to and from Ecuador.

2 Agree to 5 day/week work schedule, weekends open.

3 Agree to certain daily and weekly chores: cooking, cleaning, etc.

Soon to be site of the outdoor kitchen.

4 Inform us of any dietary needs, allergies, phobias, health concerns, etc.

5 Pay a minimum of $200 per month to cover expenses. Price open to donations!

6 Have a passport valid for at least a year from date of entry.

7 Pay for medical visits and prescriptions while in Ecuador.

Environment

1 Housing in a restored brick and concrete house. Private room & public room for bedroom options. Outdoor kitchen. Electricity, potable water, cooking gas. Dry toilet. Solar shower.

2 Dry climate, temperature between 20-30ºC with breeze in the morning and evening. Lots of sun.

3 Many small biting flies. Spiders. Opossums. Birds.

4 Spanish speaking country, neighbours.

5 About four hours from the pacific coast (no nearby surf spots however), 45 minutes from Ibarra (provincial capital), two and a quarter hours from Quito (national capital), three hours from Columbia.

Provisions

1 Basic foodstuffs, seasonings. Three meals a day.

2 Ground transport, by pickup truck, to and from the airport. Trips to Ibarra or Quito on weekends. Other trips can be planned in advance, or help with the bus service will be provided.

3 Counseling and emotional support. Language support.

4 Learning opportunities in natural building, dry toilets, wastewater management, gardening.

5 Internet access on-site.

6 Support for medical visits, sick care, etc.

Term

1 One to three months for holders of passports from countries with a 90-day tourist visa agreement.

Hasta la Visa, Baby.

We've been leaving and returning to Quito so frequently recently we decided to stay until the Visa process was finished. Although the volunteer visa application process would seem to be straight forward with little room for trouble if all the documents are in order, we found order in a procedural sense to be something conspicuously absent from the visa offices. Below is an account of the rest of our application process.

30 May, Thursday

Early morning fog along Gonzalez Suarez, from Guápulo

We returned to the ministry in the early morning and by ten o’clock we were sitting across a desk from a ministry agent. She checked all of our papers and checked them again. She went through the list of requirements for the 12-VII visa and had us point out each document as she ticked them off. “OK,” she said, “I see that you have all the necessary documents, all correctly legalised. have you canceled your current visas?” No, we replied. What? “Before you can submit your application you must go through the process of officially cancelling your current visas. The fee is $50 per person. You can find the application form and requirements on the website of the ministry. Come back tomorrow and cancel your visa -- oh, and don’t worry about photos on the cancellation application -- then bring your receipt of payment to me on monday.” She flipped through our application a final time. “You’ll also need to buy a folder for all these documents; and tell me, where is your ‘Project’?” She tapped the requirement printout where it read:

For anyone applying for visa 12-VII as a volunteer:

• A letter from the organisation to the head of the ministry requested the services of the volunteer.

• A letter from the volunteer to the legal representative of the organisation in which the volunteer agrees to offer his or her services freely.

• A chronological list of activities to be carried out by the volunteer.

• Project.

These documents must be submitted along with the application. 

 “What is the necessary documentation for the project?” I asked.

“Let me see if I can get you an example,” she replied, leaving the desk to search through several applications on the wall behind her. She returned shortly. “Hmm, I can’t find any examples, but it should be OK if you just write about the project you will be doing.” I showed her my letter to the organisation in which I had specified the dates and content of my volunteering. “Like this, on a separate piece of paper?”

“I think that will be acceptable.”

“Can you give me any more advice about what specifically I need to write?”

“Create a new document with the heading ‘Project.’”

“And if I copy and paste the information from the letter under the heading ‘Project’ that will suffice?”

“I don’t know exactly. But that seems like enough to me. Do that, bring it with the receipt of payment for the cancellation, and we will look at your application again.”

We thanked her, left the ministry, picked up our small luggage in Guápulo and left Quito for Ibarra.

3 June, Monday

We returned to the ministry at ten o’clock, fully expecting the cancellation process to be quick. The ministry agent at the information desk looked over our application. “Where is your application for the new visa?” he asked. I looked at Sandra. She covered her mouth with a hand. I looked back at the agent and told him that the woman with whom we had spoken had not informed us we would need our application for the 12-VII visa in order to cancel our current visas, nor was that listed as a requirement on the ministry webpage. He would not give us a turn-ticket without the application. We caught a cab outside post-haste and once back in Guápulo printed the “project,” added it to our 12-VII application and caught another cab back to the ministry. This time we quickly received a turn-ticket and on the sparsely populated first floor our number was called immediately. As the agent behind the desk was reviewing our application I asked her if having so few people was normal on mondays. “No,” she replied, “none of us know what is going on.” She flipped back to the application form. “You need photos for each of you, but otherwise your application is complete.”

“The woman we spoke with last time we came told us explicitly that we would not need photos on this application form,” I said.

“You do need photos. Give the woman at number three your 12-VII application and ask her to review it. In the meantime, you can go take photos.”

While Sandra went to have her picture taken next door, I went to number three with the 12-VII application in hand. The same woman we had spoken with four days earlier gave the application, now properly enclosed in a folder, a cursory look and asked, “What documents were you missing?” I showed her the “Project,” she nodded approval and we both returned to number one. At this point Sandra met us with her photos which, glued onto the form, completed our application. We took the $150 invoice to the payment window on the ground floor, copied the receipt of payment at a copy shop down the block to include with our 12-VII application and returned to number one on the first floor to hand over our passports, to be picked up the following day.

4 June, Tuesday

Public parking for Ministry of Foreign Relations, Quito

The queue on the first floor was longer today and we waited about 45 minutes with a large screen broadcasting children’s cartoons from the front of the waiting area. The layout, with all of the seats turn forward in rows, reminded me of the US embassy in Brussels. No books, no magazines, no newspapers and no areas to chat; only a lone TV screen broadcasting unrelentingly into rows of onlooking seats. Our number was called, granting blessed relief from the television and another interview with the familiar female agent at number two. I mentioned the addition of the copies of receipt of payment for the visa cancellation. She looked over the requirements and had us locate each document for her. We did this several times as some of the requirements were together in a single letter or form. Satisfied that our application was complete, she had us sit in front of a camera for photos. “Everything looks to be in order. I’m giving you an appointment for next tuesday. Come between three thirty and four and go to the second floor,” she informed us. We left giddy and giggling between ourselves. Finally, our visas!

7 June, Friday

When Oscar and I arrived home at Ana Lucia’s in the evening after a day of working on the house in Chota, I noticed a message in my inbox from the ministry. The e-mail read:

After reviewing your application we have determined several documents are missing. You have 48 hours to submit the following or your application will be canceled:

• Birth certificate, apostilled or notarised, with notarised translation

• Domestic Partnership

• Justify diploma and workshops on résumé

Sandra and I conversed in puzzled horror. The only birth certificate listed as a requirement on the website was for children, and we had given an apostilled birth certificate of Ainoa’s along with a notarised translation as part of our application. What did the mysterious second line mean? How could we give a “domestic partnership” to the ministry? We had submitted a notarised statement in which we attested to living together as legal cohabitants for two years in Brussels. Likewise we had submitted an apostilled diploma with a notarised translation. What -- and how -- did I have to justify? And finally, what to make of the 48 hour deadline? Was that business days? Did the deadline stand in reference to our tuesday appointment? Was the ministry open Saturday? I sent a reply asking for clarification in the form of detailed explanations of what documents exactly were required, and we planned to leave Sunday night and visit in person on Monday.

10 June, Monday

Relatively short wait in line. At number three we met a new agent. We showed him a printout of the e-mail. “Did you submit your child’s birth certificate with the application?” he asked. We had. “And was it apostilled?” It was. “And your diploma?” Apostilled, with a notarised translation. Andres had explained to us that the “Domestic Partnership” document had not been used by population services for five years and our notarised statement was the most proof we could give. We explained this to the agent. He excused himself to retrieve our application. He had us show him all the documents, the copies in his file and the originals we had brought with us. He excused himself again. When he returned, he explained what had happened.

“Normally your application must contain notarised copies, but you have shown me the originals today and I have spoken with my director and he approves the application. We may ask to keep your notarised translations, but your application should be unblocked. Call this number tomorrow. It’s the legal department. They blocked your application. Tell them you spoke with Jimmy V. and his director told you to call. Ask them to confirm the status of your application. Then come back on Friday after 11am.”

We thanked him and drove back to Guápulo.

11 June, Tuesday

We spent four hours, from nine to one, calling the legal department at the ministry. The two times my call did not arrive at the voice mailbox, which was full, I explained the situation, the other party put me on hold, and within a minute I was listening to a dial tone. Sandra finally succeeded in having a discussion around a quarter to two. She was told that the justice department communicates exclusively by e-mail and if we had not yet received an e-mail yet we must continue to wait. They still had not replied to my original reply of two business days before. We decided I would return to the ministry the following day alone to get some answers.

12 June, Wednesday

I had to wait for over an hour but I had brought an illustrated Spanish vocabulary book so at least I was able to get something done and avoid the television, which was again broadcasting cartoons. When I came to number three the familiar woman was there. I explained the situation. She got up and went into the back room. When she returned she told me, “Your application has already been handed over to another department for processing. Don’t worry, you have all the documents and the application should go through now. There’s nothing you need to do. Don’t worry.” She gave me an appointment for Monday at 11:30 on the first floor. We had been told numerous times that I could come alone so that Sandra would not have to come with Ainoa, but all things considered we decided to go all three of us.

17 June, Monday

One of the guards helps Sandra carrying Ainoa by pulling her past the line and giving her a priority ticket while I retrieve my passport from the glove compartment of the pickup. Good thing, for when we arrive at the first floor there are more people waiting than we have seen in any of our visits. Even with priority, we have to wait about 40 minutes before sitting at number three. Our female acquaintance looks askance at us. “What was the problem with your application?”

“What?”

“What did they write to you?”

Sandra has to step in and help me because I cannot understand the Spanish. The woman listens to her response and leaves to the back office. When she returns she says, “Please take a seat. I’ll call you when your application is ready to be reviewed.”

Ministry of Foreign Relations, Quito

We sit back in the waiting seats, baffled. I am still a little hopeful. Sandra is devastated. The next in line at number three is an English speaking couple. From their conversation with their translator I make out that they too are having problems in getting their application approved. I ask them what visa they are applying for and what seems to be the holdup. The man’s 12-VII application has been held up for reasons unknown to them while the woman’s application has been approved. The only difference between their applications was their résumés. I wish them luck and return to my seat beside Sandra and Ainoa. The time is one thirty. We are called back. The woman brings the application file and asks where Ainoa’s birth certificate is. We locate it for her. She brings our file to the back office where she discusses it with two male agents and then brings it back to us. She asks where the apostille is. We ask her to turn over the page and have a look. Again she has a discussion in the back office and returns to us. She begins to enter data into her computer. I suggest that we give her the original notarised translation if that will help. “No,” she says, “everything is in order. Don’t worry. Your application needs to be signed by the director, which should take 10-15 minutes. Have a seat and I’ll call you when it is ready. Please wait downstairs with the baby so she isn't disturbed.” Half an hour later Sandra comes back to the first floor. Ainoa is asleep in the baby carrier. Five minutes later we are called to number three. Our application has been approved. We take the $250 invoice, pay downstairs, make a copy of the receipt, return to number three on the first floor, hand over the receipt and our passports. In return we get official application papers and an appointment for Wednesday to pick up our passports, new visas inside.

19 June, Wednesday
Our visas are here -- unfortunately we only have a year with them before we must renew. On the other hand, when we do renew we can add an additional two years to the stay, provided we still have money to continue with our project. Here's to the future!