I like to think that I had a different experience than other people on the Galapagos Islands. From what I saw, most people visit the Galapagos Islands with tour agencies. These agencies take care of everything for the visitors — providing guides, means of transportation and daily activities. People can choose anything from boat tours to hotel based excursions.

I chose neither option.

It is incredibly difficult to backpack around the Galapagos Islands. Unbelievably, I managed to do just that. And more importantly, I got to see a different side of the Galapagos Islands. Tourists come to see the diverse species of plants and animals. I saw people. I talked to people. Ecuadorians. I got the Ecuadorian experience of the Galapagos Islands. Even the people who I saw vacationing were Spanish speakers, preferring (like me) to choose their own paths and destinations to, from, and on the Islands. The tourist-foreigners were just as inaccessible to me as I was to them. I found myself in the lucky position of not having a tour agency in between me and the local people.

Originally I did not want to tell my host family that I would be going to the Galapagos Islands. In fact, I did not tell them. When I did tell them where I would be going on vacation, I described the places in mainland Ecuador where I would hopefully be visiting. I was afraid; I did not want my host family to alter their perception of me because I had the chance to visit the Galapagos Islands. I thought it would widen the gap between us.

The old Ecuadorian lady and I began our conversation about what else? Coffee. I explained that I had been living in Ecuador for the past few months and that I worked in a fair trade coffee organization. She apparently, as a little girl, grew up on a coffee farm and enjoyed reminiscing. She came to the Galapagos Islands as a school teacher and now was helping at her daughter’s tourism business, located in their backyard (the lava tubes). What surprised me was that her agnostic question was out of the blue. When I did answer her question, she attacked my response. She continued to have a conversation with herself, questioning and answering herself, about God. This was incredibly refreshing for me. Not many people who I know here question their background (Catholic), or if they do (like my host mother), they make up their minds and stick to it. Here was a person who was willing to change her mind, to evolve her beliefs even at as an older woman. (Please appreciate the context where this conversation and questioning took place: the Galapagos Islands, no less, where the theory of evolution first started to emerge in Darwin’s head.) This really impressed me. I hope that when I am old, I am not set and stagnant in my thinking but always revising my views of the world.

When I returned home, I told my host family that I went to the Galapagos Islands, among other places. I decided that it did not matter; my experience on the Galapagos Islands was not of the rich retired person, but of the young Spanish-speaking backpacker. It would be interesting to me to see what their reactions would be. My host sister did not believe me. She still does not believe me. It has now become a running joke in my host family that I “went” to the Galapagos Islands. Not only did their perception not change about me, but when I tried to change it, they could not comprehend it. For some reason, it made me glad that they could not picture me going.

When I first arrived at my house in Apuela, I was annoyed that my host family did not give me my own set of keys to the house. I soon learned that this was unnecessary. Applying the right amount of weight and pressure usually resulted in an open door to the house. The only room that was securely locked was mine and the single key to that room was left in a secret place that everyone knew about. I also figured out that most doors here are like that, with very old doorknobs and locks.

I want to be clear in the fact that I was never afraid for my personal safety in any of these situations. This is Apuela. Everything is relaxed and rather slow. Everyone knows each other. This is a place where my host mother enters her neighbor’s house and finishes cooking whatever is on the stove for her while she is out. It is a place where you could spend the night at somebody’s house even if you just met them. They are incredibly nice and welcoming people. The houses are open which means that anybody can get in or out of the house. But because people are naturally interested in other people’s belongings means that the house needs to be protected. Or maybe it is because they do not have these technological barriers that we have that they can be so open. I do not know. I just wanted to share another side of life here.

These are some of the events that have happened in the past few months. I would like to acknowledge the fact that these events occurred over a long period of time but are presented to you as though they were not:

The first incident is the most personal yet probably the least interesting. I lost my camera. I do not know how or where, but now it is gone. Wherever I left it (if I did leave it somewhere), somebody else probably picked it up. I am not the first volunteer to “lose” her camera. Cameras get lost here all the time. Sometimes they show up, sometimes they do not. Usually cameras get taken from people who have been living here for some period of time and not from people who are passing through or just visiting.

The second incident is a bit more interesting. My host family had some objects taken from our home. We naturally have a bunch of shovels, pickets, hammers, etc. lying around due to constant utilization for farm work. Almost every day we have a worker come work in our fields. One day my host mother was taking stock of these tools and noticed that a few were gone. Believe me, these tools are now located in a secure place. We have a pretty good idea who took the tools. My host mother was incredibly angry. She was so angry that my host siblings and I scattered to flee her wrath (another bonding moment).

The third incident is rather typical. My neighbor was robbed. People entered the house and took everything: the T.V, DVD, Stereo, CDs, DVDs, telephone, and of course, money. Similar to this incident is another- a few weeks after this robbery, a little party was held at somebody else’s house in Apuela. My host family decided not to go. It was no surprise to me the next morning when my host mother told me that at the party somebody took a huge chunk of change from the house (a few hundred dollars). Yet another robbery. My host sister turned to me and said, “Aren’t you glad we didn’t go?”

I have described how things have been taken from me, my home, my neighborhood and even relatively public events. And now for the fourth incident: work. Oh yes. We were robbed. And more specifically, the lab was robbed (which is where I work). Somebody entered the lab and stole a computer. But not just any computer. This computer contained a lot of important documents, papers and research. The owner of the computer sent out a reward ($500) for the hard drive that contained these precious materials. After not hearing for a few days, he went to Quito to buy a new computer. My supervisor also left which meant that I was working in the lab by myself (She gave me a list of things to do). When I got into the lab, I found a note on the floor. It said that the computer would be returned for a sum of $600 at a certain abandoned building at a certain time if the money was first dropped at a certain place. Otherwise the former owner of the computer’s friends would be hurt. After looking through the note and realizing what it was, I ran and delivered it to the office. They freaked out. In conjuncture with the police, they attempted to follow the steps and catch the thief. The thief though, tipped off, did not show and the former owner ended up buying a new model with his money.

Truth be told, I find the last incident funny. I was never worried, nor did I think anything seriously would come of it. In Apuela, things move slowly. People, events all take a long time to happen, if they happen at all. It’s also funny because it feels like it’s straight out of a Hollywood movie, in a place where Hollywood is the last word you would ever use to describe Apuela or the types of events that take place here. Probably the most important lesson of all from these events is that one needs to be aware of one’s surroundings. Apuela is much less dangerous than a city. It’s just that in such a small town incidents like these seem inflated, especially since everyone knows each other and there’s not much else going on around town on most days. In Apuela, one would never expect these things to happen, but they do. These events get blown out of proportion because it’s the most exciting thing going on in town, but once the excitement passes people get on with their lives because they have more important things to do.

On one of the first weekends in Apuela, my host family left me by myself at home. I was incredibly upset and depressed by this; it was one of my first weekends and I was still adjusting to my new life. (Currently, I would love a day in the house to myself). I did not understand how they could leave me alone in the house, bored. A few months later, when they asked me to stay home I understood why. Somebody need to almost always be at home in order to guard the house. And yes, I have had to kick people off the property since.

I finally got the key to my house. My host mother, after hearing about our neighbors, decided to install a new stronger lock to the door. This gives us a bit more flexibility when moving about; nevertheless, it is always good to have someone home just in case.

So I went to Church (again). Although this time it was a Catholic Church and I was sitting up front, actively listening to the service. I felt a bit uncomfortable entering the Church wearing my muddy boots and rain jacket and not in nicer clothing. I was consoled by the multitude of woman wearing leggings or sleeveless and see-through tops. My host brother-in-law, the father of the girls who were about to receive their first communion, was hung over. After absorbing all these facts, I felt a little bit better about my appearance – not that it mattered, really, since at some point during the service almost everyone’s eyes would wander to me anyway (being a foreigner and all).

I had already entered the huge Catholic Church in the middle of the town (albeit not as far in) so the big statue of Jesus hanging on a cross in the middle was not a surprise anymore. I did notice this time, though, that in the back corner was a box where a Priest was sitting, taking confessions. All throughout the service, people would walk up to the confession box and confess.

The Church was full since this was a very special occasion. The only other time I had seen it this full was for a funeral. A group of young people were to receive their first communion. The children were all dressed up nicely: the girls in white wedding-like dresses, with veils; the boys in button-down white shirts and nice pants. As I watched the children enter down the aisle, a thought occurred to me: How many of these girls would again walk down the aisle in white wedding dresses? How many would end up walking down the aisle in gray wedding dresses (signifying that the woman already had a child out of wedlock)? How many would choose not to get married at all and have what they call here, a free marriage? These bits of depressing thoughts stopped as I realized that my whole host family that was currently present in Apuela was at Church except for my host mother. Being a Christian, she would not enter the Catholic Church. My younger host sister, also a Christian, entered the Church but would not kneel (neither did I), and my host brother, although a Catholic, does not attend Church regularly. I was in good company.

The service began with the nuns reciting prayers that presumably everyone knew by heart (I did not know it by heart nor did I know it in Spanish). I was excited to see altar boys- them being a novelty in many books that I have read. I recognized one of them as being my host sister’s friend. Each of the children who were about to receive their first communion received a white candle and rosary beads. At some point the Priest said a little sermon. Later, my host siblings would comment on how the Priest was not that great. Their biggest complaint was that he was not welcoming. At one point he said “those who are ready, come”, giving the impression that if you are not ready, you should leave the church. Apparently, there was a previous Priest who was much better liked by my family because he was charismatic and welcoming to all. The parents of the children present the Priest with an assortment of gifts: food, flowers, and golden cups. The priest gave both the children and their respective parents (and sometimes grandparents or older siblings) the communion. The Priest dipped crackers in wine for the children, but gave the other family members dry crackers. There was a point in the service where everyone shook each other’s hands. At the end of the service people came up front and the priest sprayed water on the congregants. My host brother, younger host sister, and I went as quickly as we could in the opposite direction of the water spraying, out the door of the Church. We were supposed to go over to my older host sister’s house to cook a big meal but that did not work out (it rained).

That evening, around the dinner table, my host brother was once again commenting how I do not eat meat. He suggested that one day he would make a meal and hide some meat in it. After eating the meal (and presumably liking it), he would reveal to me that it was meat and since I liked it, I would continue eating meat. “She does not believe in eating animals” my host sister said. And then I could see the realization across my host mother’s face as she connected dots. “Jews don’t eat meat.” So I came to a little bit of a dilemma: Do I explain the complex Jewish dietary laws or do I take the simple way out? Faced with the notion of my host brother hiding pig in my food, I used a word that I had learned that morning in Church- sin (pecado). I said it was a sin for me, and not for them, to eat meat. Then we had a rather short conversation about the existence of God and went to sleep.

This was a moment where I felt comfortable sharing myself and an important part of my identity with my family.

One of the first things that I noticed about Apuela was that people would throw their garbage on the ground. At first I could justify their actions: why throw a peel or seeds in the garbage when you can throw it in on the soil in your farm as a biodegradable fertilizer? I too began to throw my banana and guava peels on the ground to enrich our farm’s soil. But that’s where I stopped. Whereas I did not throw plastic wrappers, bottles and other non-biodegradable trash around me, most of the other denizens of Apuela did. There was no consideration for the garbage can; people would throw the trash right where they stood.

This annoyed me for a couple of different reasons. It made where we stood dirty; it left the area dirty for later people; it was harmful to the environment; and the trash can was so close, it would not have taken much effort to walk three steps over and just save everyone the unpleasantness of trash on the ground.  Then I found out where the trash went (if it was indeed collected). People either burned the trash or dumped it into the river. After assessing all this information and deciding that I could not change the mentality of the people here, (“Just throw it on the floor; it will end up in the river anyway.”) I decided to say nothing and just stick to throwing my personal garbage in public trash cans.

Therefore, it was incredibly exciting for me when my host mother told me that Apuela was planning on implementing a trash collection system. The local government was providing garbage trucks and the people of Apuela along with the government were buying land for waste and were even intending on separating the trash into organic, plastics and paper. She told me that the system would hopefully be in place by January.

It is really incredibly to me how heavily involved the provincial government is in an individual’s life in Intag. It is equally as amazing to me the desire of the people here to improve their lives and their willingness to get governmental aid and assistance. I know many people who work for the provincial government, one of them being my host father. There are constantly new projects being developed and organized. Signs are up everywhere that say, “This was done with governmental assistance!” and every day at least one official governmental trucks passes through Apuela, if not more. Government officials have stayed at my house and are my co-workers. The government is actively giving aid to everything from ensuring clean drinking water to financially assisting the building of local schools. My host mother recently went to a meeting (she is constantly talking to governmental officials) where the provincial government presented spending, projects and the budget of 2010.

My relationship with my mother has gotten to the point where she knows I want to hear about her meetings so that by the time I came home, she already had all her notes laid out for me to read. We spent the whole evening talking about the government and governmental projects that are happening in Intag. Coming from a place where the government is constantly criticized, ridiculed or just seen in such a negative light, it is nice to see a government actively caring for the people and the people appreciating it. A few weeks ago, my host mother went to a series of meetings led by the provincial government where they asked the people of Apuela what was a good life to them and how could those objectives be achieved. The government was looking for projects that the people needed and wanted so that the money could really assist the people. They took the time to ask and listen to what the people said. Nationally, it might be called 21^st century Socialism but provincially, at least in Apuela, whatever it’s called, it seems to work.

So we got the garbage trucks a month later than was expected. Factoring in government bureaucracy and Ecuadorian time, I think this is pretty good. When I saw the garbage trucks, my third thought was how I had no idea how lucky I was to have a functioning trash collection system already in place back in the States. And really, it’s not a thought that would have normally occurred to me-to be grateful for garbage trucks- had I not been without it.

Who knew that I missed seeing a truck full of trash?

The procedure, if anything, left me exhausted. But that could have been from a week filled with hiking and seeing (or touching) exotic animals, plants and fruits; floating down the River Napo; eating trees (or grubs as the case may be); touching a tarantula (and seeing at a distance other poisonous animals); and painting ourselves using traditional indigenous methods -just to name a few of the activities that we did in the Amazon. Or it could have been the hot afternoon air that made me feel so tired. Still, I was not going to miss out on participating in the other afternoon activities: shooting a blowgun and throwing a spear in a somewhat similar fashion as the local people.

While it was a lot of fun exploring and learning about the Amazon, we were there not just to have fun, but also to learn, as the trip was part of our monthly Training Seminar. And what better place to continue our discussion of global development and social enterprise than at Yachana Lodge – a lodge located on the Napo River?

The profits from Yachana Lodge help fund a local private school and the organizations is committed to protecting the environment. One of the greatest threats to the Amazon and the people living in the Amazon are the oil companies. The oil companies want to dig underneath the ground for oil, which will destroy the environment and the people’s livelihoods that depend on the environment. Yachana Lodge is considered a social enterprise, using business methods to produce positive social change.

During this Training Seminar we examined the effectiveness of social enterprise as one means to development. What I really enjoy about our discussions is that they are not hypothetical, theoretical classroom cases. We discuss methods that we have either seen or are currently working with. This allows us to have insider understanding and enriching conversations as we draw on our own experiences as we analyze aspects of global development. For example, we also visited another social enterprise called Runa Tarpuna that was both very similar and very different than AACRI, where I work. Instead of coffee, Runa Tarpuna sells Guayusa (a traditional tea produced, prepared, and drank by Amazonian indigenous peoples). It was interesting to me to compare and contrast the different styles of management, implementation and approaches to growth between the two companies, one being a social enterprise, the other a community based organization.

We also took the time to evaluate our year thus far, and figure out what we hoped to achieve during the next few months. I really cannot believe that I am half-way through and am so glad that the Amazon was the place to contemplate the past, present and future.

And so, with newly placed “good air” or positive energy, I am ready to tackle the next few months in order to make the most of this experience.

A few months ago, I went to the health center to try and volunteer a part of my time there. What I saw was that people would come to the health center with all sorts of complaints. “My head hurts” “My knees ache”. The doctor would then proceed to do a check-up and eventually would prescribe to the patient some form of medication. No matter what hurt- big, small or even at all- people walked out with some form of drugs. I was struck with this image as we walked around the fields examining coffee plants. In the end, the technician would pull out a pad and prescribe in a similar fashion, what the plants needed. Except that this time it was all organic material.

There is a big problem here in the Intag region where AACRI works: everyone uses chemicals to farm. I saw big fields where the only part that was organic was the coffee farm. The other sections- the tomato, beans, corn and papayas- were all farmed with chemicals. And although in the short term this method might yield results, in the long term this has consequences to a person’s health (breathing in chemicals) and leaves the land without nutrients. The technicians here like to say that if you eat something toxic, you will get sick. It is the same with plants. Eventually the plants themselves get sick and are unable to produce as well. People are trading cash now for no cash later. And really who can blame them? The number one priority is to eat after all, and these fields are their livelihood.

But then I saw yet another part of coffee farming. I live with a host mother who is in charge of both the household and the family farm. I thought that this was normal. Isn’t everyone’s host father a migrant worker? It was not until I went to the fields and saw that the men were the heads of the farm and that the women were in charge of the household: mostly washing and cooking. There is usually one head farmer who hires a bunch of workers to help in the fields. In fact, the technician mostly spoke with the head worker because almost all the men who actually owned the land were away doing business and selling their crops. It was a bit surprising to me that my family was different – with the head of household and the head of the farm being the same, strong woman. Nevertheless, I am so happy to have a host mother who has redefined the way a farm is managed and has control of every aspect of her life here.

Note: To see the captions move your mouse over the photo!

At first I thought that my family was hosting a Christmas party. Only members of our Church attended the party so it was not a weird conjuncture to have. My host family is Evangelical Baptist and I have already gone to Church with them. I guess every town needs to have two churches in it. Apuela has the big Catholic Church in the middle of the town square and a small Evangelical Baptist Church to the side, which is currently under construction. And yes- I do enjoy walking down the street of Apuela and recognizing members of my Church. (I have a Church!)

As people arrived to my family’s party, I speculated how the party would develop. I thought that people would chat and cluster into different groups, much like the American parties that I was used to. Nope. First we had a prayer session. These series of prayers, songs, Biblical readings and preaching were led by different members of the congregation. One person would lead a song, another would choose a passage from the Bible to read responsively and yet another would begin reciting a common prayer. The prayers mostly consisted of “Gloria Dios” (Glorious God) and then a murmuring that I either did not hear or understand (and I recognize that I might have had selective hearing to certain prayers that they had).

Not only did the Pastor attend the party but another Pastor, a Pastor-in-training, also came. They both needed to preach so I sat through two sermons. It was really great that in addition to these sermons, lay people had the opportunity to lead the congregation. Both men and women had the opportunity to decide which prayers were going to be read or sung next. The only prayer books that anybody had was the Bible (in Spanish!) but all the readings and songs truly came from the heart. Here were a bunch of people gathered to praise God. A universal feeling among faiths that I really appreciated.

Except that is it was not a Christmas Party. I only realized towards the end of the prayer session, when people got up, praised the Lord and gave a gift, that this was a birthday party. I should have remembered my host mother telling me in the beginning of the week that she would be having a birthday party. And this was her birthday party. After this realization I was relieved, surprised, and anxious. Relieved that it was only her birthday party; surprised that this was the method of celebration; and anxious as to whether I would be called on to give a Gloria Dios/Baruch Hashem (Glorious God in Hebrew) Happy Birthday speech with a present (which I did not have). This did not occur — after present giving, we ate and then the guests left. (Baruch Hashem, thankfully.)

After having previously been told that the shower was only cold, I decided that I did not care and was going to take a shower nonetheless. After all, the opportunity to be completely clean from head to toe was way too appealing to let the chance slip by for even a day. I took the risk in the cold water.

The water was freezing. As I put shampoo in my hair, I was actually contemplating whether or not bathing from a bucket was really so bad after all. As I was about to brace myself and just stand in the water for approximately two seconds to wash all the soap off, I noticed that one of the handles had a “C” on it and the other one- the one that was turned on, did not have any marking on it. And then it hit me: The “C” stood for “Calor” or “Hot”, not for “cold” as was previously thought! As quickly as I could I turned on the Calor water to see whether I was correct or not. To my immense enjoyment and pleasure hot water came out and I got to enjoy a delicious hot shower.

Well here in Ecuador rainy season has begun. This means that to get to work I wear boots. I also bring along a pair of dry shoes so that I can walk around indoors without trudging mud everywhere. It is especially important not to trudge mud into the laboratory, where I am currently working. In the lab, we grow fungus and bacteria to make coffee plants stronger. We disinfect everything before we use it. Wearing lab coats is a given and we also have nets for our shoes, so that we do not bring any dirt into sterilized areas.

After putting the nets over my socks, I found out that my supervisor would be leaving me for the day. Most of the technology in the lab is somewhat broken and she was going to try and fix the steam-sterilizer. (It has happened where we cannot even open the steam-sterilizer let alone turn it on). Therefore, I would be conducting today’s procedures solo. She stayed to help me prepare the important solutions and gave me instructions on what to do and then left. I had to make sure that the solution was at the proper acidity level. This meant that I got to use the “peh-hachay” (pH) machine and had to add an acidic solution because the number was too basic. Previously, I had difficulty remembering the letter “H” in Spanish, often times confusing it with the letter “J”. No more! Now that I know how to use the machine and more importantly what it is called in Spanish, I will remember the letter “H” in Spanish. I also needed to disinfect some of the materials that we use. We disinfect materials by lighting them on fire and then spread the fire to different surfaces through the use of alcohol. It is so much fun to sterilize objects when fire is involved.

After ensuring that both the solution and the bacteria are ready, I confine myself into a small lab area meant for these types of experiments. I sit there-in my lab coat, goggles, mouth protection, and socks-all alone, removing the bacteria and placing it in the solution. As I do this delicate work I am struck by two thoughts: the first is that it is beyond awesome how I am doing this work and am only eighteen years old. I am so grateful to have this opportunity to sit in a lab by myself. It is empowering how my supervisor trusts me in doing the procedure properly. The second is how much more comfortable work is in just my socks.