gringa

  So—I’ve already established myself as a terrible blogger.  The Ecuadorian slang term for lazy is “vaga,” and I’ve definitely been vaga in my blogging.  On the other hand, I haven’t been vaga in enjoying my everyday life.  I try to stay as busy as possible and even when I’m tired or feeling homesick, I pull myself out of it and try to participate in whatever is going on. 

These past few weeks, I’ve been working very hard to change my “gringa” (slang term for American girls) ways into la vida Ecuatoriana.  The whole business of dancing is quite a challenge for me and my fellow gringas, but we’re certainly learning.  The fist pump and head bob just aren’t accepted here.  My only set back so far was one instance when I was bobbing my head to a song in the car, and my 9 year old brother started hysterically laughing at me for a good 2 or 3 minutes.   But, I have to say, I’m lucky that I don’t need to follow the custom of wearing heels.  I’m already taller than most of the girls and about half the guys, so heels really don’t do my any favors—just enhance my enormity.   So far, I’ve had a few lessons in salsa from my mom, cousins, or other pittying onlookers, but so far, nothing dramatic has come of it.   I am starting to love Reggaeton, which the Ecuadorian/South American version of electronic or pop music. 

Another one of my recent “gringa moments” happened on my first trip to the feria [fair].  They have some of the familiar rides (zipper, ferris wheel, etc.) but also a selection of new ones that I’ve never seen. There’s one called the Tagada, which is basically an enormous flat circle with bench-like chairs around the outside (no seatbelts or safety restraints—just seats and metal bars to hold on to).  The wheel spins, tilts, shakes, and basically just heaves until people fall into the center of the wheel.  Everyone is laughing and screaming, and trying to crawl back to their seats, when the ride just miraculously stops.  The whole “that was fun, but thank God it’s over” passes through your head, but just as you stand up and start to head for the door, the ride starts up again.  Unfortunately, about half of the people on the ride knew about the trick, and half didn’t, including me. 

I am, luckily, adapting to the transportation process in Portoviejo.  No one wears seatbelts here, and I no longer have to hold onto the seat in front of me with both hands to stay in place.  I also don’t gasp as much when moving cars come within a few inches of each other, or when we invent new traffic lanes to pass people.  I’ve also learned how to call a taxi, and I can usually tell if they’re ripping me off (I usually pay what they ask anyway, but I at least have the satisfaction of knowing that I’m being ripped off).  Unfortunately, when I attempted to ride the Portoviejo bus, I had a very humbling experience.  The busses don’t really like to stop… they do for a few seconds, but once you’ve stepped up into the entrance, the bus is moving again (and when you get off, you basically leap and hope for the best).   They also drive really quickly through the narrow, unpaved back roads.  It’s pretty lurchy and jerky, and when I was trying to find a seat, I was falling all over the place and holding on to bars and chairs for dear life.   My Ecuadorian friends had a really good laugh, and the gringa was reminded that she still had much to learn…