So. Today I had to wake up around 7 30 so I could go to get my visa registered. It was pretty boring and involved a lot of waiting around in a jam-packed office. I wouldn’t have even mentioned it except for one amusing little episode. So, anyway, I shall commence by establishing the setting. Here we were in 12 ft x 12 ft waiting room of the “General Foreigners Office” (extremely rough translation), us six gringos and about 25 other people who were presumably foreigners, but you wouldn’t know by the looks or sounds of them. So, you get the picture its pretty packed, but its almost dead quite. Everyone is minding their own business, the majority are silently watching some Ecuadorian home and garden show. Then, out of noooowhereeeee, this old ass American couple come walking into the room.
Now, at this point, this is already a funny story to me, because happen to find that old people are among the most humorous things in the world. I would rather sit inside a nursing home or bingo parlor all day than watch Friends or read the Sunday comics. However. I know the hearts of my readership are not nearly as small nor as blackened, so I am happy to say there is more.
Anyway, old ass couple comes walking in, and take seats a good three rows behind me. Not long after, (as in about 2 seconds) a key development unfolds: Old Man has hearing problem. The ramifications of this drastic and obvious; he speaks obnoxiously loud, which makes the obnoxious things he proceeds to say, that much more obnoxious. Also, his voice and manner of speaking were exactly the same as the guy from that documentary we watched in Mrs. Landreau’s class with the ex secretary of defense, Robert MacNamara, I think his name was. Every time he opened his mouth I thought he was going to tell me to keep my friends close and my enemies even closer, but it was always just to make some embittered remark about the hairstyles of today’s youth, or the “idiots” who were apparently the reason behind their presence at the visa office. His wife endured a good half an hour of this without expressing the smallest sign of discontent. I have absolutely no clue she has put up with him for this long; she has to be the most tolerant human being to have walked the earth.
Then, the old man does something that takes be completely by surprise. He starts speaking in Spanish. I was entirely convinced that he despised anything not American, and would refuse to learn the language as a matter of principle. But he proved me wrong in the most hilarious fashion possible. See, there was a little kid with his dad standing a few feet away. The little kid started to wander around a little bit, and unwittingly strayed a little too close to the old man. The old man started talking to him in the most heavily gringo accented Spanish I have ever heard. Even Kai ordering a Kay-Sa-Dill-Ah could not top this. Anyway, the old man naturally frightens the shit out of the kid, who runs back to stand by his dad. The old man then starts poking the kid with his cane, and making sounds that suggest he is choking on his own tongue. The kid has a look of pure terror on his face, and tries to hid behind his dad, who is shooting one of the most intense glares I have ever seen at that old geezer. Hah! I almost peed myself trying to contain my laughter. This little incident definitely made the half hour wait worth while.
This afternoon, we went to the Archeological Museum. Funny thing about that. Remember how I don’t really speak Spanish at all? Well, seeing as our entire program is carried out in Spanish, that means I tend to miss out on lots of important information. Like the bit about meeting at the HECUA office and not the museum. Oops.
Anyway, eventually everything got sorted out and we commenced our tour of the Archeological Museum… I wish I could say that was a happy ending. I wish I could regale/impress you all with a series of interesting bits of knowledge I picked up, but the tour was, of course, given entirely in Spanish, meaning I understood about 4 words of the entire 2 hour tour. That’s right. Two Hours. TWO FUCKING HOURS. I spent most of the time having pissed off daydreams about how I’d rather be playing soccer (my original plan once I failed to find anyone in my group when I showed up the museum), or valiantly fighting the urge to bludgeon the kid who suggested we take this godforsaken tour with one of the ubiquitous burial urns. AYYYY QUE MIERDA!! (what shit!!! Learned that one from my lil’ sis this afternoon when we were trying to make a curtain for the kitchen window. Even though everything else goes in one ear and out the other, somehow I can always remember the swear words perfectly.)
Anyway, after our tour guide had given us a lecture on EVERY. SINGLE. CASE. full of anthropological knick-knacks (There had to be at least 50), we were on our way….WAIT. JUST KIDDING. You thought we were done because you don’t speak Spanish and couldn’t understand the lady when she said “Now we will go to the art portion of the museum.” Oh…great.
To be fair, the art portion of the tour was much more enjoyable. This might be because you don’t have to really speak the spoken language of an artist to understand/enjoy their painting, but who really knows. Anyway, it was mostly catholic art of extremely high quality, although my embittered mood from the previous two hour stroll through the archeological section prevented me from really enjoying it as much as I could have. Still, it wasn’t too difficult to notice an overwhelming trend; Jesus owns. He was fucking everywhere, just doing his stuff. That’s not too surprising you say, the religion IS named after him, after all. True, true. However, what about all the other good shit, like Adam and Eve chilling in their birthday suits, David stoning Goliath, or Noah packing that herd of animals into his ark? In all seriousness, in most museums with Christian themed art, your get a nice little mixture; some saints here, an apostle there, etc. Not this one. I am willing to bet that at least 93 percent of the works had Christ as their subject matter. Christ in his swaddling clothes, Christ with the holy family, Christ reigning in heaven, and most popularly by far, Christ being brutally crucified. I’m dead serious about this. There had to be at least 40 or so crucifixion themed works, including some of the most gruesome I’ve seen in my day. There was a sculpture in which Christ had about three times as many gaping wounds as usual, and had some 3-D vital organ pouring out of his rib cage. Not joking. It was like the road to the cross must have led through a jungle and Jesus had been mauled by every carnivorous beast within 15 square miles.
Anyway, the point is that this idolization/adulation (possibly not the right word) of Christ struck me as being stronger here than any other European or American museum I had ever visited. It wasn’t just that Christ himself was emphasized more here, but Christ’s suffering in particular. Permit me to extrapolate a bit on that. It isn’t too hard to imagine the Latin American’s relating closely with Christ (in a strictly non-sacrilegious way). Like Christ, they have endured (and continue to do so) so much unjust suffering, so much pain, strictly because of the greed, fear, and hate that plagued humanity. It is ironic, in a way, because the imperialist 16th century Spaniards not only gave the Latin American’s Christ to worship, but also unwittingly gave them myriad reasons behind such fervently profound worship.
Anyway, enough pathetic excuses for profound insights for one day. After we finally got out of the museum, I caught the bus and headed back home, in hopes of a squeezing in a trip to the park for some soccer before dark. I hadn’t played in days, so I was dead set on making my way down there, even if it was only for half an hour and I had to “tener muy cuidado” (be very careful) as advised from my host brother. Wow, am I sure glad I decided to go. It really made my day, which had been hitherto less than exhilarating. I didn’t even get to play soccer (people here are less than keen to play with a gringo like me), but the whole spectacle of the park was something to behold. The thing is absolutely massive to begin with, and there are men and women of all ages playing volleyball, basketball, and oh yeah, soccer. I thought it was cool because back in the states you hardly ever see adults exercising, especially not en masse, but the majority of the people at the park were over the age of 30, or thereabouts. One last thing. Ecuadorians are good as hell at sports. No, I don’t just mean soccer. They are incredible at soccer, don’t get me wrong, but I though I would at least be able to hang with the people playing basketball, seeing as I’ve played a fair amount and have a clear height advantage. Nope. It took me about 30 seconds of watching a pickup game to figure out that these guys would school the shit out of me. Damn.
One last little anecdote; As I was walking out of the park to go home, a stray soccer ball was kicked in my direction, and I went to pass it back to this guy as he ran towards it. The guy says “gracias,” and then proceeds to position himself startlingly behind a pole holding up one of the basketball hoops, unbuttons his pants, and takes a leak. I just about lost it there. I did one hell of a double take; almost gave myself whiplash, I’m sure.
Anyway, that’s all for tonight. It’s a bit late, and I’m getting tired of writing, as I am sure you all are of reading. Ciao!
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