Spray Paint

While all the Ecuadorians were at the polls, I took the afternoon to do something I'd been intending to do for a while--walk around and photograph graffiti. It seemed fitting, since most of the graffiti is political, much of it pertaining directly to the Constitutional Assembly election today or the Presidential election last fall.

Quito is a very graffitied city, thus the saying "There are no blank walls in Quito." But the first thing I noticed was how crude it all is, scrawled in ordinary sloppy handwriting. I first wondered if the graffiti culture just wasn't developed, but clearly the culture is huge and well-established. It does seem to be less of an art form and more of a medium for expressing particular messages, often political, often amorous (though these tend to be in marker and often in more hidden places, like stairwells.) I suspect being in a country where the police are corrupt and where you won't be given a slap on the wrist if you're caught spending hours defacing someone's property leads people to get their message on the wall as quickly as possible, maybe using two colors as a flourish. Thinking about what I've seen, I'd classify the works into three groups.

First, of course, there are lots of tags, cryptic signatures saying, "I was here."


Second are the many messages meant to be read, rhetorical statements about politics, love, and other topics: "Out Yankees!" "Stop Wars," "We fight for Socialism." Sometimes the message is clever or a little obtuse: "Bald heads should roll" with a hammer and sickle, or, in reference to President Correa's election and move to rewrite the constitution, "The final Correazo comes. Chau Businessocracy" where 'Correazo' refers to the President, but also means something like 'whipping,' a play on the president's name meaning 'belt.' It's also interesting to see which issues are pressing, but marginalized, pushing their advocates to graffiti as a medium.

This one says, "My being a woman isn't for men. It's for being Free!" To which, someone has added "Yes." There are also walls demanding that abortion be legalized, and that lesbians unite. Despite the promises of the Constitution, women's equality is a long way off.

Finally, there's a small amount of stencil art. Interestingly, I've seen it only on walls, never on the sidewalk as is common in California (where, perhaps, it's done by people who are uneasy about defacing a building that clearly belongs to someone, but feel that a public sidewalk is fair game.) Although some are political, these pieces tend to be more artistic, conveying some sort of meaning beyond what a tag does, but without the clear agenda of political slogans. While applying the stencil is still quick, time and craft can go into making the stencil, although here too they aren't nearly as elaborate as I've seen in California.

Even if you don't speak Spanish, you can probably make out that it says "Violators of Verse."

I'm sure you'd like to see more of what I found on my walk, so take a look at my Graffiti Flickr set which contains about 75 photos. (I've translated those that need translation and provided some notes on acronyms and local references.)

New Fruit (#4)

Only one fruit today, since the remaining new fruit at SuperMaxi this week were big enough to feed a large family. So this morning I'm just eating a PITAHAYA, which is apparently called a "dragon fruit" in English.

It's a weird-looking, yellow, pear-shaped fruit with wrinkly green succulent leaves all over and comes from a cactus that grows on trees.

Inside is a translucent pulp with squiggly white filaments leading to small black seeds. It smells distinctly of sweet corn being husked, scoops like a very soft melon and has a pleasant and sweet, if not particularly strong or distinct, flavor. It's especially nice with a bit of lime juice squeezed on top. I'm beginning to wonder if I should start an exotic fruit plantation back in the States. Would these things grow in a greenhouse?

A Latin-American Constitution

While researching the Constitutional Assembly election, I ended up reading a good chunk of the current (1998) Ecuadorian constitution. Almost the first half lists and explains rights, "shoulds" (deberes), and obligations of the people and the government. It's a far cry from the US constitution, which, aside from setting up the structure of the government, puts in writing only a handful of key rights, mostly things the government can't do, not things it should. It's a really interesting list they've got, although as a poor country, they have no way of living up to a lot of these aspirations. I like to imagine what the US would be like if its constitution included these things. We have the resources to make them happen, and perhaps if they were part of our constitution, we'd have to work on making our country really great, instead of wasting our resources stirring up hornet's nests around the world.

What are these rights and obligations I'm talking about? I'll try to translate a few that I found interesting for you.

One of the first things it says is that it is a "primordial obligation of the state to erradicate poverty and promote the economic, social, and cultural progress of its inhabitants."

It guarantees "the right to freely develop your personality," "the right to live in a healthy environment, ecologically balanced, and free of pollution," "the right to a quality of life that assures health, nutrition, drinkable water, sanitation, education, work, recreation, clothing, and other socially necessary services," and "the right to freely and responsibly make decisions about your sexual life."

The right to "habeus corpus" is clearly spelled out.

It promises to "equally support women as heads of households."

"Free and stable unions of men and women outside of marriage will enjoy the same rights and obligations as families created through matrimony."

"Public health programs will be free for all.... The State will organize a national system of health."

"The State will promote and stimulate culture, creativity, artistic work, and scientific investigation."

"Journalists' rights to professional secrets will be guaranteed."

"Publicity in any medium, which promotes violence, racism, sexism, religious or political intolerance, or that affects human dignity is prohibited."

"The government will promote and guarantee the equitable participation of men and women as candidates in the popular election process."

All of these are enough of a given here in this conservative, traditional country, for there to be sufficient consensus for them to be in the constitution, while in much more advanced America, we fight over many of these things, year after year. Interesting.

New Fruit (#3)

The GRANADILLA is yet another relative of the passion fruit, but like peaches, apricots, and plums, these are all absolutely distinct. The outside isn't so much a peel as a shell, thin and hard, but the fruit is incredibly light, like a whiffle ball, and inside is a thick layer of spongy white padding protecting the now-familiar gel-covered seeds.

These taste light too. It's sort of like eating a cloud. There are many types of clouds, yes. These are somewhere between fluffy white clouds and the San Francisco fog. Despite the crunch of the seeds, it tastes soft, sweet, and slightly creamy, with the faintest hints of melon and cucumber.


These tiny orange berries, called UVILLAS, are slimy, which makes sense, since it turns out they are close relatives of tomatillos, which also have a (slightly stickier) slime on them once you remove the lantern-like husk. These uvillas came packaged with the husks already removed. Although the name means "little grapes," their tang is much more citrusy, but they also have an unusual flavor which is reminiscent of a tomatillo, but much fruitier. I'm hoping they can be grown in the States. I'm imagining a bright orange version of salsa verde.

Decisions...Decisions

This Sunday, Ecuador goes to the polls. After winning the presidency on a overhaul-the-system platform last November (I saw that campaign too, leaving the country the day before the election), Rafael Correa called a referendum on revising the constitution. As a result, they are now electing members to a Constitutional Assembly. I've spent the last week researching the subject night and day so I could give a presentation yesterday as my final project at school (thus the lack of blogging), so I'll give you more details later. For now, let me just show you the ballot. The first cool modern thing is that it has pictures of all the candidates.

That's just a small section of the ballot. In Pichincha, there are 34 parties running candidates--lists of 14 for provincial seats and 24 for national seats, adding up to 476 candidates to choose from. Nationwide, there are more than 4,000 people running for the 130-member Asamblea Constituyente.


Even with the pictures, there's no way you can keep all the names straight. Each party is assigned its own unchanging number, used in all their propaganda, and all the parties suggest you vote down the line for one "lista" by drawing a single line straight down an entire column. But you are also allowed to pick and choose candidates or half-lists.

Perhaps because voting is obligatory, with a few exceptions to make it a reasonable requirement, people are much more involved in the election than you'd see in the States. Or maybe it's because they're writing a new constitution, which seems particularly important. On the other hand, maybe that's not such a huge deal, given that it will be the country's 20th constitution since becoming a country in 1830. Regardless, there are bands of flag-waving party loyalists walking the streets, riding around in the backs of pick-up trucks, and handing out fliers on street corners. It's quite exciting, and knowing a bit about what's at stake--perhaps, sadly, more than most Ecuadorians--it's quite exciting. Having no particular opinion, it will just be interesting to see how it all turns out.

End of Summer

Today is the autumnal equinox, which has a somewhat different meaning here in Ecuador. Because we're on the equator, the length of day and night doesn't vary, so it's not the day when night and day are the same length, as it's thought of in the US. On the equinox, the Earth moves in its orbit so that the northern hemisphere tips away from the Sun, and the southern towards the Sun. Thus, the sun crosses the equator, and passes directly overhead, so a vertical pole casts no shadow. It's "the day the Sun kisses the Earth."

Quito has a large pole at the center of the Plaza del Intiwatana in Parque Itchimbía, which is laid out with lines pointing to the sunrises and sunsets of the solstices, as well as north, south, east, and west. I scoped it out yesterday, when it was mostly cloudy, and took some pictures of the sun nearly overhead:

Unfortunately, the Sun was completely obscured by clouds at noon today. Even hidden from sight, I could feel its heat radiating straight down. I knew I had the day right, because there was a gathering of fifty or so people celebrating the Sun's passage overhead and learning about the indigenous beliefs.

Bolivar Romero gave a talk and led some traditional rituals to mark the equinox.


Pre-colombian Ecuador was sun-worshiping, and their understanding or Earth and Sun was apparently rife with male and female coding. The pole pointing to the Sun is male; the circle on the Earth is female. The basin is female, the water that fills it is male. Men shoot arrows and give orders. Women are open receptacles. His explanation was a little more nuanced than that, but still pretty disturbing, especially after staying up late last night debating just these issues. Fortunately he did throw in a few lines about this not meaning that women couldn't also be direct, or that men couldn't be receivers.

About 20 minutes later, while reporters were talking Mr. Romero, the sun did peak out letting you see how short people's shadows were.

I also tried to get a shot of sun directly above me, reflected in the water, despite the cloudiness. Since water is a horizontal mirror, the only time the sun can be obscured by your head is when it's directly overhead.

New Fruit (#2)

I picked these two fruit out of the produce section because they were next to each other, and it turns out they are related.

TAXO:


Sort of looks like a comfortable little cucumber on the outside, but inside, it's full of pulp covered seeds sort of like a pomegranate, but less explosive and more mushy. Kind of fun to scoop out, becuase the pulp is totally separate from the skin, attached by three lines of little cords. When you scoop, all the seedy pulp comes out cleanly and easily. It tastes pretty sour, kind of like blackberries, maybe a hint of mulberry, but definitely no raspberryness to it. I think, seeds strained, it would go well with banana in a smoothie.

MARACUYÁ:


It turns out that this baseball-sized yellow fruit is passion fruit. Essentially the same arrangement of encapsulated seeds inside as the taxo, but a lot more of them. Much juicier and incredibly fragrant. Sweeter than the taxo, but still with a nice tartness that comes from pulp. The juice that pools in the bottom isn't sour at all. It has the familiar taste from fruit drinks that have passion fruit in them, but it's much more vivid in person. As I eat it, the aroma seems to move around between multiple notes. Absolutely tropical. I think I'll be eating a lot more of these.

Incompatible Humor

Most of the Americans I meet are from California, and a lot of them are from the Bay Area. While I was hanging out on the school trip to Mindo, I was joking around with a couple fellow San Franciscans, and was telling them the quintessential Northern California moment witnessed by Kristin.

In a San Francisco ice-cream shop, there was a little girl waiting in line with her mother, and also a police officer. Being a friendly neighborhood police man, the cop asked the girl what kind of ice cream she was going to get. She replied, "Green tea," and asked, "what kind are your getting?" "Vanilla soy," the cop responded.

They thought this was pretty humorous, and the quadralingual French guy sitting nearby wanted to know what was so funny. I knew it wouldn't make sense without knowing America and California pretty well, but he insisted, and of course he didn't understand. His question: "But what is 'soy'?" I tried to explain, thinking it was just a translation problem, but after about five minutes, it became absolutely clear that he had no idea what soy was, had never heard of a soy bean. Pretty unfathomable to me, having grown up in Ohio where they grow soy beans, and having lived in San Francisco, where they eat the tofu, soy milk, and edamame that comes from them. But I guess that's the difference between France and the USA.

New Fruit (#1)

Growing up in Ohio, we had four kinds of juice: orange, grape, apple, and pineapple-grapefruit, in descending order of frequency. Add a banana, a strawberry, and a peach, and it's pretty much everything you were likely to find in the dish of plastic fruit or the chiquita girl's hat, representing the complete bounty of nature's sweet side. Yes, at some point kiwis arrived, and mangos are no longer bell peppers, but when you walk into an Ecuadorian grocery store or encounter the menu at a jugo and batido stand, you are met with an intimidating level of variety. There are so many fruits here that I've simply never seen before.

So, the mission, which I've decided to accept, is to try as many of these exotic fruits (which are vegan, unless you blend them with milk in a batido) as possible. And, I'm going to document the effort, for the sake of posterity, and all of you who will soon be freezing and drinking cocoa instead of smoothies. (Have I mentioned that it's common to have cocoa AND juice for breakfast? That along with bread, cheese or jelly, and eggs, is desayuno simple. Desayuno completo, I gather, consists of chicken and rice.)

So, let's begin:

First, and probably most important in Ecuador, after ordinary things like strawberries, blackberries, pineapples, and oranges, is the TOMATE DE ARBOL:

It's not a tomato, but is slightly tomato-like in color, form, and flavor. It's a fruit that grows in a tree. When talking about juice you drop the arbol part and call it jugo de tomate, because nobody would be crazy enough to make juice out of actual tomatoes here. (I'm with 'em on that.) Here's what it looks like inside:

My first teacher here wrote me up some directions on eating all kinds of fruit, but I lost them. I remember that for most, you were supposed to peel them, and turn them into juice. I bought a basic vegetable peeler, but it isn't so helpful. While getting to know them, I'm skipping the juicing, and I'm assuming that, unless they're really easy to extract, you eat the seeds. So what's it like to eat a tomate de arbol?

It's soft but not mushy, plenty of sweetness but with tartness in equal measure, though not super-sweet or excessively sour. The flesh has a hint of tomato, definitely a bit vegetably, but the seeds have their own soft sweet flavor. Definitely could host vodka, perhaps as the base of a less hearty, happier version of a bloody mary.

OK, on to the NARANJILLA:

The name means little orange, but it's not a citrus fruit, and doesn't peel like one. Jugo de naranjilla is also really common.

It has a tart, slightly citrusy taste, but with a strong savory bite, like basil, which goes well with the firm flesh and slimy seeds reminiscent of a roma tomato.

Finally for tonight, PEPINO:

Small and firm, they're nothing like a pepper. Apparently some people find a similarity with melons and call them tree melons. The seeds are centrally located and easily removed.

It does have the texture of canteloupe, and a sweet, melony flavor, but with something that reminds me of sitting in the back yard late on a summer afternoon--the smell of snapping green beans next to a freshly mown lawn. It's pleasant, if a little odd coming from a fruit.

More after my next trip to the market.

Uniforms

Across the street from the small language school I attend, there's a large high school. Actually, it's two schools: one meets in the morning, the other in the afternoon. The thing that struck me when I first saw the morning classes dismissed as the afternoon classes arrived, was that everyone was wearing either blue or red uniforms, something unfathomable in the culture of California where these are the colors of rival gangs. Many California schools prohibit the colors. Our school last year discussed, with big protests from me, having uniforms to prevent kids from wearing blue or red. It vividly demonstrates how arbitrary cultural symbols like color are. The meaning of uniforms, in general, however, seem more universal: unity, exclusion, conformity, uniformity, subordination.