Saturday, May 24, 2008
Jungle delights
May 24, 2008
The sun came up this morning casting hazy glows over the moisture drenched jungle and glistening off the snow covered peaks of El Altar. El Sangay is smoking away in the distance, it’s delicate white plumes rising gently from it’s snowy crater. The traffic rumbles on, a constant hum on the road, lapping the jungle shore as it passes through. There is no rain yet today, but it is sure to come.
I was walking to work in a downpour earlier this week when I came apon a small creature charging me just after the suspension bridge. It was about half a foot long with outstretched pinchers and was moving fast enough that I jumped off the path and into the rocks of a small creek to get out of it’s way. I thought it was a scorpion! After careful scrutiny from my vantage point under my umbrella, I realized I was actually looking at a crab! The bold little fellow had been running sideways (as crabs do) with both it’s crab claws outstretched and clacking. Never in my wildest dreams would I have supposed I would encounter a crab on a jungle trail. It’s raining so much the marine life are becoming terrestrial because they think they’re still in the ocean!
The sun came up this morning casting hazy glows over the moisture drenched jungle and glistening off the snow covered peaks of El Altar. El Sangay is smoking away in the distance, it’s delicate white plumes rising gently from it’s snowy crater. The traffic rumbles on, a constant hum on the road, lapping the jungle shore as it passes through. There is no rain yet today, but it is sure to come.
I was walking to work in a downpour earlier this week when I came apon a small creature charging me just after the suspension bridge. It was about half a foot long with outstretched pinchers and was moving fast enough that I jumped off the path and into the rocks of a small creek to get out of it’s way. I thought it was a scorpion! After careful scrutiny from my vantage point under my umbrella, I realized I was actually looking at a crab! The bold little fellow had been running sideways (as crabs do) with both it’s crab claws outstretched and clacking. Never in my wildest dreams would I have supposed I would encounter a crab on a jungle trail. It’s raining so much the marine life are becoming terrestrial because they think they’re still in the ocean!
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Lazy Lyctids
May 14, 2008
I have a wood boring lyctid in my cutting board. I know this because it is leaving a pile of wood dust around the base of the cutting board. It took me awhile to figure out where it was coming from. At first I thought it was the wood cabinet above the sink. But then after cutting carrots on the board I noticed that a small pile of fine wood pellets had become to accumulate off to the side. I found the pin sized hole on the edge of the board. Not much to do about it though. I could tape the hole, but then the bug would be inside and just find another way out.
Turns out it is actually the larvae that do most the damage. They tunnel away, consuming the wood for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and eventually emerge as an adult once a year. According to the web page I googled this happens about June. So looks like I have a little science project in my kitchen. If I time it right I can observe the woodpost beatle emerge from my cutting board, If he is a lazy lyctid he won’t actually fly away, but turn around and lay his eggs in the wood he came out of. Then the cycle repeats.
I didn’t really mind the wood dust. It’s pretty clean as far as larvae feces go. But then the actual thought of living larvae and eggs inside your cutting board isn’t entirely pleasant.
I have four ongoing science projects in the house at the moment. The wood bores are busy in the kitchen, under the bathroom sink, over the desk, and in the hallway. They had a nice spot over the stove, but Victoria the house cleaner found their hidey hole and plugged it up. That works for a little while, but then they just move to another spot, make another hole and start pushing their wood feces out again. Do you think they ever get constipated??
I have a wood boring lyctid in my cutting board. I know this because it is leaving a pile of wood dust around the base of the cutting board. It took me awhile to figure out where it was coming from. At first I thought it was the wood cabinet above the sink. But then after cutting carrots on the board I noticed that a small pile of fine wood pellets had become to accumulate off to the side. I found the pin sized hole on the edge of the board. Not much to do about it though. I could tape the hole, but then the bug would be inside and just find another way out.
Turns out it is actually the larvae that do most the damage. They tunnel away, consuming the wood for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and eventually emerge as an adult once a year. According to the web page I googled this happens about June. So looks like I have a little science project in my kitchen. If I time it right I can observe the woodpost beatle emerge from my cutting board, If he is a lazy lyctid he won’t actually fly away, but turn around and lay his eggs in the wood he came out of. Then the cycle repeats.
I didn’t really mind the wood dust. It’s pretty clean as far as larvae feces go. But then the actual thought of living larvae and eggs inside your cutting board isn’t entirely pleasant.
I have four ongoing science projects in the house at the moment. The wood bores are busy in the kitchen, under the bathroom sink, over the desk, and in the hallway. They had a nice spot over the stove, but Victoria the house cleaner found their hidey hole and plugged it up. That works for a little while, but then they just move to another spot, make another hole and start pushing their wood feces out again. Do you think they ever get constipated??
Walls going up!
May 11, 2008
The clinic walls are going up! And they seem to be going up quite high. Ten feet in fact. The far clinic wall is actually being built on top of the roof to the central supply building, whose wall abuts the clinic on one side. I decided this wall needed a window as they were building it, and it was done.
I also decided we needed a fair few electrical outlets, and that was done too. However, now it seems we have too many. I’ve never placed electrical outlets before and didn’t have any other skill to do it then thinking it looked fairly symmetrical and prettily spaced on paper. The construction workers were groaning as they carved out all the cinder blocks to put the outlets in place. It seems they happily missed placing three. I discovered that they had forgotten to place the water line for the toilet as well. That was only because I asked where they put the silver coil thingy on the side of the toilet. It seems they didn’t know because they had forgot to do it.
I got to spend last weekend in Quito with a different kind of shopping list. I checked out toilets “inodoros” and sinks, “lavamanos”, and facets, “griferias”, for the disabled bathroom. I can tell you that the standard size toilet in Ecuador is 38 inches from the floor to the toilet bowel. I, unfortunately was looking for a model that was 42- 45 inches tall. It happened that one of the stores had had an exhibition and a 45.5 inch toilet was actually found packed away in the ware house. How excited I was to find that toilet! I got a few strange looks as I went around with my tape measure, but in the end several people including the salesperson ended up borrowing it.
The clinic walls are going up! And they seem to be going up quite high. Ten feet in fact. The far clinic wall is actually being built on top of the roof to the central supply building, whose wall abuts the clinic on one side. I decided this wall needed a window as they were building it, and it was done.
I also decided we needed a fair few electrical outlets, and that was done too. However, now it seems we have too many. I’ve never placed electrical outlets before and didn’t have any other skill to do it then thinking it looked fairly symmetrical and prettily spaced on paper. The construction workers were groaning as they carved out all the cinder blocks to put the outlets in place. It seems they happily missed placing three. I discovered that they had forgotten to place the water line for the toilet as well. That was only because I asked where they put the silver coil thingy on the side of the toilet. It seems they didn’t know because they had forgot to do it.
I got to spend last weekend in Quito with a different kind of shopping list. I checked out toilets “inodoros” and sinks, “lavamanos”, and facets, “griferias”, for the disabled bathroom. I can tell you that the standard size toilet in Ecuador is 38 inches from the floor to the toilet bowel. I, unfortunately was looking for a model that was 42- 45 inches tall. It happened that one of the stores had had an exhibition and a 45.5 inch toilet was actually found packed away in the ware house. How excited I was to find that toilet! I got a few strange looks as I went around with my tape measure, but in the end several people including the salesperson ended up borrowing it.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Another bus tale
May 1, 2008
The bus slowed gradually as if changing gears, but then came to a stop and moved no more. The engine was turned off and there we sat, 45 minutes north of Shell on the road to Quito.
“Hay un rumba”, a toothless lady slurred through her gums. She smiled at me knowingly and nodded her head. It was 8:44am.
I pulled out my Spanish dictionary and looked the word up. RUMBA: dance or music it said. That couldn’t be it.
“Una rumba?” I asked the man in the third seat.
“Si, el suelo se cayo”. “Yes, the ground fell down.”
That sounded more like a landslide. I looked at the word below rumba and found RUMBO: course or direction, was the definition. Maybe it meant something like the land had changed directions. I didn’t think RAMBO would be in my dictionary and closed it.
People were getting out of their cars in the line of vehicles ahead of us and milling about. I stood up out of my seat and strained to see ahead, but nothing was visible beyond the bend in the road. I noticed some movement outside my window in the trees above the bus and saw two birds with bright yellow bands on their tail feathers fly into long woven nests hanging high up in the tree.
“There are four land slides”, the toothless lady said and grinned at me. “There is equipment coming at 10am to clean it up.” I looked at my trusty travel clock, a Christmas gift from my sister-in-law Laura. It was 9:40am.
“It will take two hours to clear the road”, was the next report, as a large excavator on a flatbed truck and a bulldozer rumbled by at 9:50am.
An hour later and we still had not moved. I decided to venture out. Cars and trucks were turning around now. Some people were off loading in groups and walking with all their belongings up the road.
“There are seven landslides”, the toothless lady reported. “Very far”, she said.
I decided to go anyways. The bus driver was no where to be seen. Luckily I only had a small back pack and my computer bag. I slung both bags over my shoulder and headed up the road.
There were vendors out now selling their wares. Green mesh bags of mandarins for 1$ or home made potato chips for .50 cents. A man on a bicycle with a striped parasol offered “Mote”, a concotion of a type of large boiled corn with an onion salsa and plaintain chips. He scooped the mixture into a small yellow bag, plunged a tiny plastic fork in , and handed the lot to you for .50 cents.
Ten minutes up the road I came apon the second tunnel in a string of 6 between Shell and Banos. The tunnels had been put in when the road was improved to help avoid the precipitous drop offs and frequent land slides that caused so many accidents and delays on the treacherous path through the mountains. The old dirt road still existed turning off to the left and skirting along the cliffs above the Rio Pastaza. I spoke with a lady there who claimed there were nine landslides. “Very far”, she said.
Groups of families and a few cars were traveling on the old road. A touring bike rolled by going the opposite direction with panniers packed full. I noticed his shoes and lower legs were covered in mud. He must have crossed the land slides. A “camioneta”, a pick up truck with a tarp covering and bench seats in the bed drove wouth with about twenty passengers piled in. The five at the back of the truck sat on the tail gate and sides of the bed, muddy shoes and trousers hanging out. “were people crossing the slide and picking up trucks on the other side?”, I wondered.
I decided to take the old road and see what I could see. Ten minutes later I turned around to see a bus coming up behind me. It was bus number 500 of the San Francisco fleet. That was my bus. When the bus pulled up alongside me I asked the driver whre he was going. “mas adelante”, “further ahead”, was the reply. I hopped back on the bus.
Soon we came apon the town of Rio Verde, named for the clear green waters of the river that flowed past the town before dumping into the muddy Pastaza below. The bus pulled over and parked. There was a police car blocking further progress on the old road. A long line of vehicles was strung up the ramp where the old road met the new one. Several San Francisco buses were in the pile up. One could tell the road had been blocked for awhile because this bus line ran every half hour from Shell, and I counted five San Francisco buses ahead of ours before the trail of vehicles disappeared into the next tunnel.
I got off the bus again and spoke with a lady who was a passenger on my bus. She was from Shell and her husband was in the military as an orhodontist. She was a doctor and was making her way to Quito with her two children to see her husband who had just had back surgery at the military hospital.
“No es rumba”, she said, “Es derrumbe”. I finally had my Spanish word and quickly looked it up. DERRUMBE: collapse; landslide. Even the word sounded like it’s meaning and I could just envision the boiling mass of mud as it cascaded and rumbled down a hillside.
I was not to see the mudslide on this trip however. At 2:30pm bus # 500 turned around and headed back to Shell. It had been 4 ½ hours since the work team had arrived to clear a path through the mud and they did not know if they would finish today, or even tomorrow. I arrived back in Shell an hour later, 7 ½ hours after I left that morning. The kicker to my fruitless journey was that I had been required to pay my return fare back to a town I didn’t want to return to!
The road did clear that night between seven and eight and I was able to get to Quito the next day. The land slides were all concentrated between the third and fifth tunnels and had swept across the roads and into homes on the other side. Mud was easily five feet deep in places. I counted about 7 slides, but it was hard to tell through the steamy windows of the bus where one slide finished and another began. Deep scars cut through the dense jungle foliage marking black trails down the mountain through the sea of green. In places the moist soil and green grass, ferns, flowers, and palms had all doubled over on itself, as if someone had carved into the very flesh of the earth and pinned back its skin to see the heart below.
The bus slowed gradually as if changing gears, but then came to a stop and moved no more. The engine was turned off and there we sat, 45 minutes north of Shell on the road to Quito.
“Hay un rumba”, a toothless lady slurred through her gums. She smiled at me knowingly and nodded her head. It was 8:44am.
I pulled out my Spanish dictionary and looked the word up. RUMBA: dance or music it said. That couldn’t be it.
“Una rumba?” I asked the man in the third seat.
“Si, el suelo se cayo”. “Yes, the ground fell down.”
That sounded more like a landslide. I looked at the word below rumba and found RUMBO: course or direction, was the definition. Maybe it meant something like the land had changed directions. I didn’t think RAMBO would be in my dictionary and closed it.
People were getting out of their cars in the line of vehicles ahead of us and milling about. I stood up out of my seat and strained to see ahead, but nothing was visible beyond the bend in the road. I noticed some movement outside my window in the trees above the bus and saw two birds with bright yellow bands on their tail feathers fly into long woven nests hanging high up in the tree.
“There are four land slides”, the toothless lady said and grinned at me. “There is equipment coming at 10am to clean it up.” I looked at my trusty travel clock, a Christmas gift from my sister-in-law Laura. It was 9:40am.
“It will take two hours to clear the road”, was the next report, as a large excavator on a flatbed truck and a bulldozer rumbled by at 9:50am.
An hour later and we still had not moved. I decided to venture out. Cars and trucks were turning around now. Some people were off loading in groups and walking with all their belongings up the road.
“There are seven landslides”, the toothless lady reported. “Very far”, she said.
I decided to go anyways. The bus driver was no where to be seen. Luckily I only had a small back pack and my computer bag. I slung both bags over my shoulder and headed up the road.
There were vendors out now selling their wares. Green mesh bags of mandarins for 1$ or home made potato chips for .50 cents. A man on a bicycle with a striped parasol offered “Mote”, a concotion of a type of large boiled corn with an onion salsa and plaintain chips. He scooped the mixture into a small yellow bag, plunged a tiny plastic fork in , and handed the lot to you for .50 cents.
Ten minutes up the road I came apon the second tunnel in a string of 6 between Shell and Banos. The tunnels had been put in when the road was improved to help avoid the precipitous drop offs and frequent land slides that caused so many accidents and delays on the treacherous path through the mountains. The old dirt road still existed turning off to the left and skirting along the cliffs above the Rio Pastaza. I spoke with a lady there who claimed there were nine landslides. “Very far”, she said.
Groups of families and a few cars were traveling on the old road. A touring bike rolled by going the opposite direction with panniers packed full. I noticed his shoes and lower legs were covered in mud. He must have crossed the land slides. A “camioneta”, a pick up truck with a tarp covering and bench seats in the bed drove wouth with about twenty passengers piled in. The five at the back of the truck sat on the tail gate and sides of the bed, muddy shoes and trousers hanging out. “were people crossing the slide and picking up trucks on the other side?”, I wondered.
I decided to take the old road and see what I could see. Ten minutes later I turned around to see a bus coming up behind me. It was bus number 500 of the San Francisco fleet. That was my bus. When the bus pulled up alongside me I asked the driver whre he was going. “mas adelante”, “further ahead”, was the reply. I hopped back on the bus.
Soon we came apon the town of Rio Verde, named for the clear green waters of the river that flowed past the town before dumping into the muddy Pastaza below. The bus pulled over and parked. There was a police car blocking further progress on the old road. A long line of vehicles was strung up the ramp where the old road met the new one. Several San Francisco buses were in the pile up. One could tell the road had been blocked for awhile because this bus line ran every half hour from Shell, and I counted five San Francisco buses ahead of ours before the trail of vehicles disappeared into the next tunnel.
I got off the bus again and spoke with a lady who was a passenger on my bus. She was from Shell and her husband was in the military as an orhodontist. She was a doctor and was making her way to Quito with her two children to see her husband who had just had back surgery at the military hospital.
“No es rumba”, she said, “Es derrumbe”. I finally had my Spanish word and quickly looked it up. DERRUMBE: collapse; landslide. Even the word sounded like it’s meaning and I could just envision the boiling mass of mud as it cascaded and rumbled down a hillside.
I was not to see the mudslide on this trip however. At 2:30pm bus # 500 turned around and headed back to Shell. It had been 4 ½ hours since the work team had arrived to clear a path through the mud and they did not know if they would finish today, or even tomorrow. I arrived back in Shell an hour later, 7 ½ hours after I left that morning. The kicker to my fruitless journey was that I had been required to pay my return fare back to a town I didn’t want to return to!
The road did clear that night between seven and eight and I was able to get to Quito the next day. The land slides were all concentrated between the third and fifth tunnels and had swept across the roads and into homes on the other side. Mud was easily five feet deep in places. I counted about 7 slides, but it was hard to tell through the steamy windows of the bus where one slide finished and another began. Deep scars cut through the dense jungle foliage marking black trails down the mountain through the sea of green. In places the moist soil and green grass, ferns, flowers, and palms had all doubled over on itself, as if someone had carved into the very flesh of the earth and pinned back its skin to see the heart below.
Thursday, May 1, 2008
Flying ants and grubs
April 20, 2008
“Are these pictures of flying ants?” I asked, looking at the photo of two waspy looking insects craweling around on a table top. The ants had been placed beside a teaspoon and the body of each was easily as large as the spoon head.
“They sure are”, Norma replied cheerfully and then popped out of her chair and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll fry some up for you, you’re going to love them. It’ll be fun.” She said over her shoulder.
I didn’t have time to decline and in about 5 minutes a bright yellow plate appeared with large winged ants a nice crispy brown.
“You just have to pull off their wings and legs, and then the head”, she instructed as she followed suit and quickly consumed three to four making a little pile of body parts on the table. “They’re nice and buttery, she said, “we just love them.” The buttery morsels made delectable crunching sounds as if she was eating corn chips.
I had just managed to pull the appropriate body parts off a large queen ant and was finding it difficult to imagine the delicacies inside.
“Do the insides squirt out when you eat it?” I asked.
“No, not really” was the reply. “It’s just kind of crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.”
I looked at my decapitated ant. It had a soft furry body and segments along its carapace. There was a bit of white goo apparent peeking through the hole that used to hold it’s head. I held the segmented body up and poised to enter my digestive system. Norma by now had retrieved more frozen ants from the freezer. She was looking for the big ones. Apparently the queens had more flavor then the males because of all the eggs they were carrying inside. Now she was consuming them like pop corn. “These are better, she said, they’re more fresh.”
I decided to eat mine quickly before she started giving me frozen ones. I tossed the bug in my mouth and crunched down before I could feel the furry bits. I could taste a nutty flavor not unlike a toasted pecan. The outside crunched and the soft inside blended with the exoskeleton. In truth it wasn’t so bad. I couldn’t quite get beyond the picture of black ant outsides and insides on my tongue and gulped the lot down as best I could.
“Not bad”, I said.
“See Barb, you’re tough, I knew you could do it!” My cheering squad said. Then Norma mentioned the grubs she had in her freezer. “ Those are good too, do you want to try some of those?” I thanked her profusely but thought we should probably save those for another day. (“Like the day after I left”, I was thinking.)
Norma went on to describe how you caught the flying ants. Normally ground dwellers, their appearance followed a heavy electrical storm followed by a balmy clear day. The drones would come out first and begin cutting the grass around the colonies entrance hole to clear a path for the queen. When the workers had finished an area the size of a dining room table would be cut short in the jungle grass.
The villagers recognized this certain pattern of climate and gathered around the ant holes to stake their claims. Like junkies awaiting tickets for a concert they laid out blankets to await the coming of the queen. When the ants began heading for the front door they were quickly captured and consumed on the spot. According to Norma they had much more flavor when they were fresh.
There are stories of patients that came into the hospital with horrible stomach pains and abdominal cramping. Tests were run, blood was drawn, and no abnormalacy could be found. Then the ant block would pass and everyone would remember that the ants had recently swarmed and they had been a bit overzealous in flying ant consumption. The mass of undigestable ant parts would lodge some where in the bowels causing a massive obstruction.
I certainly wasn’t going to have that problem.
“Are these pictures of flying ants?” I asked, looking at the photo of two waspy looking insects craweling around on a table top. The ants had been placed beside a teaspoon and the body of each was easily as large as the spoon head.
“They sure are”, Norma replied cheerfully and then popped out of her chair and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll fry some up for you, you’re going to love them. It’ll be fun.” She said over her shoulder.
I didn’t have time to decline and in about 5 minutes a bright yellow plate appeared with large winged ants a nice crispy brown.
“You just have to pull off their wings and legs, and then the head”, she instructed as she followed suit and quickly consumed three to four making a little pile of body parts on the table. “They’re nice and buttery, she said, “we just love them.” The buttery morsels made delectable crunching sounds as if she was eating corn chips.
I had just managed to pull the appropriate body parts off a large queen ant and was finding it difficult to imagine the delicacies inside.
“Do the insides squirt out when you eat it?” I asked.
“No, not really” was the reply. “It’s just kind of crunchy on the outside and soft on the inside.”
I looked at my decapitated ant. It had a soft furry body and segments along its carapace. There was a bit of white goo apparent peeking through the hole that used to hold it’s head. I held the segmented body up and poised to enter my digestive system. Norma by now had retrieved more frozen ants from the freezer. She was looking for the big ones. Apparently the queens had more flavor then the males because of all the eggs they were carrying inside. Now she was consuming them like pop corn. “These are better, she said, they’re more fresh.”
I decided to eat mine quickly before she started giving me frozen ones. I tossed the bug in my mouth and crunched down before I could feel the furry bits. I could taste a nutty flavor not unlike a toasted pecan. The outside crunched and the soft inside blended with the exoskeleton. In truth it wasn’t so bad. I couldn’t quite get beyond the picture of black ant outsides and insides on my tongue and gulped the lot down as best I could.
“Not bad”, I said.
“See Barb, you’re tough, I knew you could do it!” My cheering squad said. Then Norma mentioned the grubs she had in her freezer. “ Those are good too, do you want to try some of those?” I thanked her profusely but thought we should probably save those for another day. (“Like the day after I left”, I was thinking.)
Norma went on to describe how you caught the flying ants. Normally ground dwellers, their appearance followed a heavy electrical storm followed by a balmy clear day. The drones would come out first and begin cutting the grass around the colonies entrance hole to clear a path for the queen. When the workers had finished an area the size of a dining room table would be cut short in the jungle grass.
The villagers recognized this certain pattern of climate and gathered around the ant holes to stake their claims. Like junkies awaiting tickets for a concert they laid out blankets to await the coming of the queen. When the ants began heading for the front door they were quickly captured and consumed on the spot. According to Norma they had much more flavor when they were fresh.
There are stories of patients that came into the hospital with horrible stomach pains and abdominal cramping. Tests were run, blood was drawn, and no abnormalacy could be found. Then the ant block would pass and everyone would remember that the ants had recently swarmed and they had been a bit overzealous in flying ant consumption. The mass of undigestable ant parts would lodge some where in the bowels causing a massive obstruction.
I certainly wasn’t going to have that problem.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
