One of the first things I was told about Puyo is that it has more dumptrucks per capita than any other city in the world. The traditional dish of Puyo is actually called the dumptruck. “Why so many dumptrucks?” I asked. “Because”, they responded definitively, “you can’t do anything without them”. Hmm. Not the most satisfying answer, but it’ll have to do.
The details surrounding Señor Chavez’s visit are murky. Most people seem to think that he is flying in and out on Tuesday, and that there won’t even be any public appearances. Buuut, the owner of my hotel has some kind of inside scoop, and assures me that Chavez is going to spend at least one night here, and thinks there will be a speech of sorts.
I met some Venezuelan governemt officials yesterday and had a very interesting little chat. At least I think it was very interesting — they were hard to understand. I do know that we talked about the global financial system or something. I have gotten very good and nodding and hmming convincingly enough to keep conversations going. I even throw in the ocassional “¿En serio?” with brow furled when I sense that someone has just made an especially interesting point.
In other news, I don’t really have anything to do here until the Islander clears customs and arrives, at which point I will make a video about it arrving to give to the people who donated $250,000 to Pachamama to buy it. So to fill the time, I started a new project: painting a mural on the wall of Aerotsentsak Airlines. It will be of a Cessna 206 soaring over the jungle with mountains in the background. I projected a photo of the plane on the wall, traced it, and am now filling in the lines with paint. Here is stage 1:
Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez is coming to Puyo tomorrow. In fact, I am being kicked out of my hotel so that his entourage can stay here. Chavez himself will be staying at the hotel next door, and the Venezuelan gov’t has also booked a third hotel on the opposite side of my hotel.
As I was sitting here eating breakfest just now, five very big Venezuelan men and one woman came in and had a coffee. They are with the Venezuelan gov’t, the waiter Roger told me, and from the looks of them they in the security business. They smiled and nodded at me, but I also felt a little bit of suspicion. Do they think I am a CIA agent?
A Venezuelan gov’t plane landed at the airport where I work a couple days ago just to check the runway, then took off again.
Chavez will be here for four nights. The president of Ecuador, Rafael Correa, wll be joining him for all or part of the visit.
As may of you probably know, I have long been fascinated by Chavez. I am torn about what I think. His militaristic posturing scares and repulses me. But I also appreciate the way he has opposed the Iraq War and U.S. Imperialism in general, and stood up for the poor, at least in theory. In any event, there is something monumentous about the fact that he is visiting this tiny town where I happen to be. I will keep you updated.
Lots of interesting things come on the planes returning from the jungle (see fish, below). Here’s me and Ernesto the pilot eating guava:
It’s been awhile since I wrote here and, considering how slow and monotonous things can sometimes feel in this little town of 16,000, a lot has happened.
Some grave illness infested my stomach for a day and resulted in a graphic scene right in the middle of downtown Puyo during a pounding thunder storm. Very cinematic, and I I felt much better afterward.
Two of the pilots I’m working with took me tubing down a river. We waited by the side of the road with our thumbs out. A dump truck stopped just long enough for us to chuck our tubes in and climb on. We sped up the road, standing with our heads above the cabin like dogs, then banged on the roof when we reached the place where we would start tubing. I never even saw the face of dump truck driver. The rapids weren’t too big at first but got bigger when it started to rain really hard. It got pretty extreme, very fun.
I stumbed upon a volleyball court hidden behind some downtown storefronts where seemingly all the older men in town each afternoon to bet on seriously intense games of “Ecua-volley” (like volleyball but with three to a side). If you want a beer, you just yell “CERVEZA” and a 10 year old boy runs brings one in a hurry. There are also little kids eagerly trying to shine shoes, which I did even though I was in hiking boots. At least as much time is spent arguing and renegotiating bets as is spent actually playing. In the end the players agreed to call the game early, with each winning better been paid half the total of his bet, so I got $7.50 back on my $5 bet.
Probably the highlight of recent times has been renting a motorcycle and exploring the area a bit. A great day with lots of discoveries and little adventures. I came across the church above in the middle of a sugar cane field. I had to get off the motorcycle and walk to get there. It had a eerie, mysterious feeling about it, and looked like it is not in use.
I stopped in a one street town that had no sign of life excpet for four elderly people sitting in front of a little store. I bought a water and talked with them for a long time. I kept thinking ‘how amazingly different have our lives been, and yet we are able to sit here and talk and connect as fellow human beings’. Very cool. And I was touched when, as I got on the motorcycle to leave, I heard one of the women say “there are also nice gringos”. Just doing my part to helpthe diplomatic effort.
Yesterday a wonderfully weird fish came back on one of the planes, a gift from an Achuar deep in the jungle to his family here in Shell.
Here is a video:
edit: I just found out the the women decided to sell the fish to the aquarium for $50. Apparently she was very happy.
edit 2: she sold it for 80.
Today as I sat digently translating the GPS manual, I was invited to come join the rest of the employees for some “monkey meat”, laid out on two heaping platters. Immediately, it seemed a little dubious; there were big bones, it tasked like pork, and everyone was grinning at me. When I asked about the huge bones, they said it was the hip of a “really big monkey” and someone gestured chest high. “C’mon” they went on “eat some more monkey!”
I’d be lying if I said I didn’t consider that it might actually have been monkey meat, because i know it is eaten in these parts, and i’ve alreasy eaten giant flying ants here, but by the time we were done and everyone was grinning and asking how I had liked my first monkey, I’d concluded that it was not in fact monkey, but pig. I’d been pranked.
And so I hatched a counter-prank: I emailed my dad and brothers an email with the subject “I ate monkey meat!!” But in the body of the email, I told them the situation and asked that they write back
“a frantic message about the dangers of monkey meat, about the mad cow-like diseases that those of us who have never eaten monkey before are susceptible to, about the high levels of CH-453Q that release flesh munching parasites into the intestinal track, and the awful effects that I am likely to be feeling. “
My dad got the idea completely and was quick to write back. Under the subject “RE: I ate monkey meat”, he wrote:
“Get help immediately! Don’t you know about the dangers of monkey meat? I thought you knew about the mad cow-like diseases that those of us who have never eaten monkey before are susceptible to (an intolerance like Africans to cows milk, only lethal to many Scandanavians). Get to the hospital”
With my best panicked look, I showed the email around. I quivered with fake fear and asked where the nearest hospital was. I got up and began hastily gathering my things. They looked terrified and tried to calm me. Then I started laughing and told them what I’d done. It worked pretty well. It would have been a lot funnier if I’d ran out the door, gotten in a cab, and headed “to the hospital”. I wonder what they would have done.
