fun with signs

One of my favorite things about traveling to other countries is the signage.  Poor English translations with amusing results are usually the best.  In my experience, China is still the hands-down winner of awkward and inappropriate translations, but I've found a few here in Ecuador that are still note-worthy.

"hell Kitty" --  the more evil and slightly less cuddly Ecuadorian cousin to hello kitty

"sweet & sexy kids" --  There is an adult version of this clothing store called "sweet & sexy" just across the aisle in Cuena's most popular mall.  Neither store has anything particularly sexy, so I will assume this is the work of a marketing executive who does not fully understand the term "sexy."  S/He must also be responsible for this kids' stuffed animal store:

"sexy locuras" --  literally translates to "sexy madness."  There is also an adult version of this store next door with the same name, however, in that case the name is actually appropriate, as they sell sexy adult clothing and, um. . . let's say, accessories.

Moving on. . .

"Fumar te causa Gangrena" (smoking causes gangrene) 
"Fumar te causa impotencia sexual" (smoking causes sexual impotence) -- As many of you know, I am a physician assistant and have spent the last 10 years working in thoracic surgery.  This means that the vast majority of my patients are former or current smokers, so I'm particularly interested in the smoking habits and marketing of cigarettes in other countries.  The images above may seem shocking to those in the US, where heaven forbid we should plainly disclose the numerous adverse effects of smoking in a way that everyone can understand, instead of hiding it on the smallest bit of real estate on the box in words only.  This type of advertising, however, is very common in the rest of the world.  In Thailand, they have autopsy photos of smokers' lungs right on the box.  Now, I'm not entirely convinced that having gruesome medical photos on a box of cigarettes will convince a long-time smoker to just wake up one morning and quit.  Smoking is an addiction, like heroin or alcohol for some.  People do not continue smoking because of lack of information.  However, I wouldn't be surprised if the picture on the box above on the right made a 15 year-old boy stop and think for a few minutes before trying his first cigarette.

"Mi marido no lo entiende" (my husband doesn't understand) -- this is a women's clothing store about a block from our house.  It is along our walking route to school so every day, twice a day when we pass by, Sofia shakes her head and mutters with an exasperated tone, "my husband just doesn't understand."  This name sticks in my craw a little.  It perpetuates the stereotype that all women love to shop and spend money and men just don't get it.  I hate shopping for clothes and shoes.  I bought a pair of pants at the Columbia Outlet store in Portland (on sale) before we moved and love them so much, I plan to just order 3 more pairs in different colors and be done with pants shopping for the next 5 years.  One day, we saw the owner taking everything down and packing it into a van. . . the store was closing.  Apparently, her husband understood better than she did (at least about the viability of her store.)

I've saved my favorite for last.

"McMierda" (McS**t) --  By my count, there are 2 McDonald's in Cuenca and they are not very welcome, as evidenced by the ad above.   Unfortunately, I can't read the first few words above the picture of the sweet baby nursing from a sesame seed bun, but the gist of the message is, "if this is the nutrition you give your children, you give them a future of illness."  (Fun Factoid:  In researching this ad on Google images in the hopes of finding an intact poster to translate, I discovered that International Anti-McDonald's Day is October 16!  I also found some seriously disturbing anti-McDonald's images.)

--  Ileana

carnaval!

The "opening ceremonies' of Carnaval in Parque Calderon

Last week, we completed the celebration of Carnaval here in Ecuador.  Different versions of this holiday exist throughout South America, sharing common roots in Catholicism.  It is a period of celebration and indulgence prior to the forty days of Lent, culminating on Shrove Tuesday (more commonly known as Fat Tuesday in other traditions.)  Modern-day Carnaval traditions in Ecuador, Peru, and Bolivia appear to come from pre-Columbian traditions, including planting festivals, where song, dance and offerings of food and water were given to the fertility goddess, Pachamama.  Interestingly, Pachamama's special worship day is Martes de Challa (challar = sprinkle the earth) and coincides with Shrove Tuesday (I borrowed heavily from www.peruforless.com, a latin american travel blog, for the above history lesson!)

In Ecuador, the key ingredients for a successful, unrestrained Carnaval celebration are corn starch, carioca (shaving cream-foam delivered by canisters with impossibly long streams), and water. . . LOTS of water.  For 5 days, everyone throws water on everyone else, all day long.  Weapons of choice are balloons and water guns, but hoses, buckets, and large city fountains are also popular.  The government officially frowns upon this behavior and issues warnings to the "diablitos" ("little devils", the term for kids who are especially fond of carnaval mayhem), but we witnessed first-hand a band of police officers with good-natured smiles get drenched in water and shaving cream.  Friday through Tuesday are official government holidays (no school, many businesses closed) so many locals leave town to avoid the water-warfare.  The city was a ghost-town!  We braved it and even went out for walks, which is risky.  Cuenca is a beautiful, colonial city, which means it has many narrow streets and sidewalks and buildings with beautiful balconies, perfect launching pads for water balloon drops and bucket dumps.  We mostly escaped unscathed but got a few drops here and there (see photos below!)

mesmerized by the spectacle

watching the festivities with Jared, Annie, and Coco

Fireworks are an almost-daily occurrence in Cuenca, but for Carnaval,
they bring out the big guns!

our intrepid friend and photographer, Rich,
was a favorite target of the diablitos

Our big excursion for the long weekend was a day trip to the towns of San Bartolomé and Chordeleg with our friends Jared, Annie, and their daughter, Coco.  This was a spontaneous, unresearched (on my part) trip, like Craig and I used to do before we had children.  I didn't even know where these towns were on the map until we got home.  We jumped on a bus from the main terminal in Cuenca to a city we believed to be near our desired destination, only to discover once we were on the bus that it was several hours away!  However, after about 45 minutes we realized that we would be going through San Bartolomé, a quaint little town about 20 miles east of Cuenca known for guitar-making.  On these long bus rides between cities, there is a person who walks up and down the aisle of the bus to collect fares periodically.  We asked him if we would be able to get off in the town and he emphatically denied us, despite admitting that they would probably be picking up people in the town.  We decided to force the issue when the bus stopped and just bull-dozed our way to the front, ready to use the ol', "my kid's gotta go to the bathroom. . . NOW!"  No big deal, lots of other people were also getting off the bus.  It was a quaint little town with a beautiful church, but the guitar shops were closed for Carnaval and we had missed the local crafts fair.  We decided to try to find a way to the next town, Chordeleg, which is known for silver jewelry and was set to have a big Carnaval parade.  When I went into a local business to ask about taxi availability, he directed me to a "guy down the street with a truck."  Sure enough, the guy down the street agreed to take all 7 of us in his pick-up truck for $10.  (Right now, my father is taking a deep breath and saying a little prayer for his daughter and her questionable decision-making and wishing he could have prohibited me from moving to South America!)  

The 2 clocks do not agree, and neither of them was correct!

diablitos!

these little guys had some serious firepower!

the local women couldn't get
 enough of our blondies and
draped them with "serpentinas"
(streamers)

our "taxi"

why, Jared, what a lovely blue sky behind you!
No chance of any rain today, right??? (wink,wink)

the road to Chordeleg

We made it safely to Chordeleg, with plenty of time to wander the streets, find the local mercado (farmer's market), eat lunch, and (mostly) dodge the onslaught of water and foam prior to the start of the local parade.  The main town square in Chordeleg is beautiful and was teeming with activity:  people lining the main street in anticipation of the parade, kids throwing water balloons, booths of local artisans, and street food.

This mercado is much fancier than the ones in Cuenca

Proof that they really will dump
buckets of water on you!

That's right… she's got a hose

Town square of Chordeleg 

Cuy (guinea pig!) An Ecuadorian
delicacy and more expensive than
chicken or beef.  Craig is dying to
try it but is battling with the cheapskate
within him.

Then the real fun started.  I am not usually that interested in parades, but a Carnaval parade is a spectacle of color, music, foam, and even more water!  In a normal parade, you could say the participants (marching bands, dignitaries riding in old school convertibles, local high school dance squad) are in the enviable position of performing, receiving cheers and applause.  During Carnaval, it's like being forced to march, slowly, past an unending firing squad, whose ammunition is shaving cream and water. Some participants, however, were ready to fight back.  A group of older, indigenous women marched down the street, covered in foam.  My first reaction was, "this has gone too far, show some respect!"  Then I realized that they were packing their own cans of foam within the folds of their brightly-colored, velvet skirts and having a great time.  

Sofia was not a fan of the foam

We were so distracted by the street party, that we initially failed to notice the darkening skies overhead.  The rain held off for the majority of the parade, but finally, the clouds opened up and dumped a tremendous amount of rain on everyone.  (It's ironic that people still run for cover from the rain, despite the fact that most of them were drenched from the Carnaval festivities!)  Party's over.  Now it's time to figure out how to get home.  We were directed to a bus "terminal" just a few blocks from the town square, where buses to Cuenca run every 30 minutes.  When we arrived, we discovered that "terminal" was an overstatement.  It was a bus stop with a small shelter overhead that was already overflowing with people.  We found a small sliver of dry land under the eave of a nearby building and began our wait.  Now. . . some of you may be wondering why I'm making such a big deal about the rain since we are from Portland, OR, and stereotypically live with rain every day.  Portland gets a lot of gray skies and misty sprinkles.  It rarely RAINS.  That day in Chordeleg, it RAINED.  Rain like you get in Texas or Florida:  buckets of big drops.  

waiting for the bus

When the bus pulled up to the stop, we made a mad dash, along with dozens of other people, but the bus filled up just as we got to the door and they turned us away.  Unfortunate, but at least now we were under the shelter of the bus stop and "first in line" for the next bus.  While we waited, we contemplated taking a taxi all the way back to Cuenca.  A very nice lady sitting next to us informed us that a taxi would cost $15-20 (compared to $1.50 per adult for the bus) and she would call one for us.  Our friends were ready to spring for the taxi. . . Craig was having another debate with himself regarding the cost.  It was a moot point, as the woman informed us that no taxis were willing to drive to Cuenca because of a rumored police checkpoint that had been placed along the way.  It was unclear to us as to what all of the taxi drivers were trying to hide.  Anyway, while we waited, a larger crowd of people gathered under and around the shelter.  By the time the next bus arrived, we started throwing elbows to ensure our rightful place at the front of the line.  We made it on board to discover that all of the seats were full and we would all be standing for the 1+ hour ride home through the curvy mountains.  This is the first time that no one offered me their seat on a bus, despite holding a small child.  We also ended up in the aisle next to a group of seated, 20-something year-old men, armed with cans of foam, the evidence of their antics still clinging to the ceiling above us.  Every time the bus stopped or slowed down, the most obnoxious of the men would lean out the windows, shout at people and spray them or one of his buddies on the bus.  We drove like this, Gracie asleep in my arms, Sofie standing in the aisle wedged between me and a seat back for about 15 minutes before one of the young men finally offered us his seat.  The 3 of us settled into the seat and both kids slept on my lap almost the entire ride home, with Craig standing in the aisle.  All in all, it was a great day.

--  Ileana