I’m in São Felipe now, working in the Parque Natural do Fogo office. I’m planning a project to help women entrepreneurs in Chã das Caldeiras improve their jam and preserves business. Hopefully I can help create labels and find more places to sell products, as well as teach basic business practices like accounting, all with the goal that they’ll take over every aspect of the project making it sustainable.
Cape Verdeans are incredibly generous people. There’s never not enough food, drink, room in a car, etc. The other day one of the PCVs was in town with a 10 year old boy, Antonio, from her village. They wanted some food, and though I’d already eaten and wasn’t hungry, decided to accompany them. Antonio ordered rice and beans with pork, and guava juice (which is awesome, why can’t we get it in the US?).
He repeatedly asked why I didn’t order. Wasn’t I hungry? No, I said, I’ve already eaten. When the food came he insisted I eat some of the rice and beans. There was no other option. I also had to drink some of his juice. It was around 2 or 3 pm by now, he probably hadn’t eaten all day, and was quite hungry. But you cannot eat in the presence of someone who’s not eating. It’s unthinkable, even to a boy of 10. If you have something today you share it, even if you won’t have anything tomorrow. Someone tomorrow will take care of you.
I love going to parties in the fora, which I guess is the “bush” of Cape Verde, where there’ll be half as many plates as people or three cups for twenty people, but it always works. You can share a plate or pass the cup. Someone will wash the dishes. It’d probably give a public health worker a nightmare, but it feels nice. I love the communal attitude. Interestingly enough, I’ve had few colds and minor maladies you’d expect from sharing food and utensils.
Recently I went to a party in the fora with another PCV. We waited with a Cape Verdean friend for what seemed like forever for our ride, a Dyna (we have several modes of transport, all Toyotas: Hillux, a pickup, Hiace, a van, and Dyna, a big pickup-style work truck). We picked up a group of our European friends (from Germany, Italy, Portugal, and Luxemburg), and hit the road. We headed up the main road towards Salto, where it splits right to Cova Figueira or continues straight to Chã das Caldeiras. Before Salto we turned onto a dirt road which was rough, and at one point all the men had to get out and walk so the Dyna would make it.
We finally got to the party, which turned out to be an old house emptied of its contents, replaced by a DJ booth and speakers throughout the two room dwelling. They had a bar as well. There was a high cover charge for men (500$ CVE, or $6 USD), so we debated amongst the corn stalks whether to go in or not. It was cold and we’d come far, and we didn’t have a way to get back besides walking, so we sucked it up and paid. It turned out to be fun, and we danced all night.
Around dawn one of the German guys and I noticed the rest of our group had disappeared. We got a little frantic, thinking we’d missed our ride. Someone mercifully helped the two confused white dudes, showing us that our friends were behind the house getting breakfast. The house had a detached kitchen (this is good when you cook with wood), and old women were laboring in the chokingly smoky hovel, over giant cast iron pots of coarsely ground corn, xarem. One of the women, perhaps the lady of the house, apologized profusely it was only corn and there was no meat. I assured her the food was good and we didn’t need anything more. Such incredible hospitality. After breakfast we huddled into the back of a pickup and hit the chilly road to São Felipe, to collapse into bed and catch a few hours of sleep.
22 January 2009
11 January 2009
N sta xatiadu
So I moved to São Felipe Tuesday. You could say I’m bummed. Bummed isn’t strong enough a word but yeah. I’ll refer to São Felipe as Bila, from now on though. That’s what people from the fora (country, sticks, etc.) call São Felipe. My heart’s in the fora, so it’s Bila to me. Bila comes from the Portuguese villa, which evidently is what they called their biggest cities on the islands. Many people in Bila pity me that I had to live in Chã das Caldeiras. But no, I tell them, “Txan e mas sabi” (Chã das Caldeiras is way better than Bila).
Sure Bila has perks, like electricity, running water, free internet in the plaza, places you can buy food, etc. But if you know me, and how crazy I am, these things don’t make me happy. They make me wonder where I am and what I’m doing there. Every hour, every day. I never had doubts about joining, everyone agreed it was a perfect fit for me (minus my Mom, obviously. “Why not AmeriCorps or Teach for America?”), but now…
The night before I left Lauren and I went to Ramiro’s, the only place to hang out after dark in Chã. Some of the guides and the new president of the association, our friends, were there. When they learned I would leave the next day, they organized an impromptu despidida (going away party), buying bottle after bottle of manecom and tons of spaghetti with spam and chorizo for Ramiro’s wife and daughters to prepare. Everyone got a good meal (not always a regular occurrence at their homes) and had a good time (inevitably). I couldn’t express my gratitude properly in Kriolu, other to say that I feel like the people of Chã are my family. I think they understood. I don’t expect such a feeling in Bila.
The next day a truck came and picked up half of my stuff. We had to leave my bed, oven, propane tank, shelf unit, etc. At least I get to go back to Chã to get the rest. My neighbors and landlady are sad, the latter saying she felt safe with me there, her room being attached to my two (bedroom and another for everything else). Riding in the back of the truck with my stuff was surreal, everyone I forgot or didn’t get a chance to tell realizing as we passed with a full load that I was leaving. I hope they’ll understand it wasn’t my choice. I hope they won’t think I gave up on Chã. I didn’t.
Sure Bila has perks, like electricity, running water, free internet in the plaza, places you can buy food, etc. But if you know me, and how crazy I am, these things don’t make me happy. They make me wonder where I am and what I’m doing there. Every hour, every day. I never had doubts about joining, everyone agreed it was a perfect fit for me (minus my Mom, obviously. “Why not AmeriCorps or Teach for America?”), but now…
The night before I left Lauren and I went to Ramiro’s, the only place to hang out after dark in Chã. Some of the guides and the new president of the association, our friends, were there. When they learned I would leave the next day, they organized an impromptu despidida (going away party), buying bottle after bottle of manecom and tons of spaghetti with spam and chorizo for Ramiro’s wife and daughters to prepare. Everyone got a good meal (not always a regular occurrence at their homes) and had a good time (inevitably). I couldn’t express my gratitude properly in Kriolu, other to say that I feel like the people of Chã are my family. I think they understood. I don’t expect such a feeling in Bila.
The next day a truck came and picked up half of my stuff. We had to leave my bed, oven, propane tank, shelf unit, etc. At least I get to go back to Chã to get the rest. My neighbors and landlady are sad, the latter saying she felt safe with me there, her room being attached to my two (bedroom and another for everything else). Riding in the back of the truck with my stuff was surreal, everyone I forgot or didn’t get a chance to tell realizing as we passed with a full load that I was leaving. I hope they’ll understand it wasn’t my choice. I hope they won’t think I gave up on Chã. I didn’t.
19 December 2008
Yup
I’m typing this up in Chã. It’ll be one of my last blogs from here. I have to move to São Felipe in January against my will. I love Chã, the people, the landscape, everything. I feel at home here. I love the fora, which means countryside, or “out” literally, but is really unexplainable in English. It’s just the fora. I’ll miss it so much.
I’ve become used to the lack of physical space and comfort here, whether in trucks, the city, parties, etc. A few days ago I came up from the city. A woman with two small girls got in next to me, so I grabbed one of the girls and put her on my lap, as is normal. About two minutes before they exited, the girl puked all over her shirt, my arm, and some of my shirt. I shrugged my shoulders, took the rag from her mom, and cleaned up as best I could. It didn’t bother me at all, strangely enough.
I’ve been doing well otherwise. I climbed the volcano again yesterday, with the sister of another PCV and one of the best local guides. He’s climbed it over 1000 times, and led his first tourist group when he was 12. Once he did it 20 times in 20 days. I’m learning the trail so I can lead groups of PCVs and friends when they visit.
Last weekend I went down to Mosteiros with Lauren. We did the hike from Chã, with took a solid four hours. It was almost all downhill, which sounds easy, but was incredibly difficult. By the time we arrived our legs were trembling uncontrollably. The trail goes through some of Fogo’s best farmland, with bananas, coffee, guava, and more. It goes through the island’s protected forest, very remote villages, and the Natural Park’s nursery. The weekend was great. It’s always nice to see other PCVs. We’re like family here. It’s more than friendship. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the other PCVs here. They’re all I’ve got. Well, and the people in the village. But when you really need to talk only English will do.
Thanks for reading. I hope wherever you are as the holidays approach, you’re able to be with the ones you love.
I’ve become used to the lack of physical space and comfort here, whether in trucks, the city, parties, etc. A few days ago I came up from the city. A woman with two small girls got in next to me, so I grabbed one of the girls and put her on my lap, as is normal. About two minutes before they exited, the girl puked all over her shirt, my arm, and some of my shirt. I shrugged my shoulders, took the rag from her mom, and cleaned up as best I could. It didn’t bother me at all, strangely enough.
I’ve been doing well otherwise. I climbed the volcano again yesterday, with the sister of another PCV and one of the best local guides. He’s climbed it over 1000 times, and led his first tourist group when he was 12. Once he did it 20 times in 20 days. I’m learning the trail so I can lead groups of PCVs and friends when they visit.
Last weekend I went down to Mosteiros with Lauren. We did the hike from Chã, with took a solid four hours. It was almost all downhill, which sounds easy, but was incredibly difficult. By the time we arrived our legs were trembling uncontrollably. The trail goes through some of Fogo’s best farmland, with bananas, coffee, guava, and more. It goes through the island’s protected forest, very remote villages, and the Natural Park’s nursery. The weekend was great. It’s always nice to see other PCVs. We’re like family here. It’s more than friendship. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the other PCVs here. They’re all I’ve got. Well, and the people in the village. But when you really need to talk only English will do.
Thanks for reading. I hope wherever you are as the holidays approach, you’re able to be with the ones you love.
14 December 2008
Yup
Hey Everyone,
I hope all’s well where you are. I’m doing pretty well, spending the weekend in Mosteiros with some other PCVs. We did the hike down from Chã, which is beautiful. It took four hours and my legs are killing me today. Who knew all downhill could be so tough?
The other day I climbed the volcano for the third time. It’s awesome to see the ocean from the top. It’s like you can see ‘til the end of the Earth. I climbed with another PCV, a local guide, and two Dutch tourists. Their son/brother went to Michigan for his master’s. It’s always fun to meet people who know Michigan for things other than Eminem and Detroit as the Murder City, not the Motor City, Motown (perhaps not for long?!?), or Hockeytown.
I’ve been working lately gathering information about the mountain guides in the village. Most young men say they’re guides, but of the 30+ I catalogued probably 7-10 fit the bill. I would willingly climb with most of them, but then again I speak Kriolu. They all know the trails, though. Everyone here is at least bilingual, if not trilingual. It’s amazing.
My landlady’s daughter just got into town today, so we had a nice feast. I can’t get enough kabrito (baby goat). It’s so cute yet so delicious. The other day my neighbor’s horse killed two of his three kabritos… Even the cassava was good. Perhaps it’s growing on me. I still consider it a cut-rate potato, though.
I don’t have much time left before my battery dies. Thanks for reading.
I hope all’s well where you are. I’m doing pretty well, spending the weekend in Mosteiros with some other PCVs. We did the hike down from Chã, which is beautiful. It took four hours and my legs are killing me today. Who knew all downhill could be so tough?
The other day I climbed the volcano for the third time. It’s awesome to see the ocean from the top. It’s like you can see ‘til the end of the Earth. I climbed with another PCV, a local guide, and two Dutch tourists. Their son/brother went to Michigan for his master’s. It’s always fun to meet people who know Michigan for things other than Eminem and Detroit as the Murder City, not the Motor City, Motown (perhaps not for long?!?), or Hockeytown.
I’ve been working lately gathering information about the mountain guides in the village. Most young men say they’re guides, but of the 30+ I catalogued probably 7-10 fit the bill. I would willingly climb with most of them, but then again I speak Kriolu. They all know the trails, though. Everyone here is at least bilingual, if not trilingual. It’s amazing.
My landlady’s daughter just got into town today, so we had a nice feast. I can’t get enough kabrito (baby goat). It’s so cute yet so delicious. The other day my neighbor’s horse killed two of his three kabritos… Even the cassava was good. Perhaps it’s growing on me. I still consider it a cut-rate potato, though.
I don’t have much time left before my battery dies. Thanks for reading.
29 November 2008
Thanksgivingish
I’m writing from the Parque Natural office in São Felipe, which I guess is technically my…office? Everything’s well. I’m in town for the night, since I got a free ride and kind of need to charge electrical things.
Last weekend was sweet, as some volunteers on Fogo got together in Cova Figueira for Thanksgiving and the conselho (county…ish) festival for Santa Catarina. There are two or three conselhos on Fogo, and Chã das Caldeiras happens to be in it.
Although we couldn’t arrange a turkey, we got two cabritos (baby goats), which were quite cute, but also quite delicious. We also had apple pie, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and pumpkin (squash) pie. I personally gorged myself, but it was a nice change from the rice and beans I normally eat. That said, my rice and beans recipe is getting better every time, as well as my bread.
The main feature of the festival was live music, which started around 11 pm (depending on if the generator was working) and go ‘til at least 5 am (my bed time is 9:30 normally). It was fun to get together with everyone, do some dancing, and experience the culture. I’m just as good at dancing in Cape Verde as I am in the US (not great).
I got back on Monday, having been gone since Friday. Sadly, my village’s oldest resident, at 104, died Sunday so I shared the truck up with mourners dressed in black, teary-eyed and somber. In CV there are seven days of mourning, with women crying hauntingly. I haven’t made a visit to the deceased’s home but I’ll do it tomorrow or Sunday.
On Tuesday my boss from the Parque came with someone from Praia who’s helping collect info about tourist stuff in Chã, like hostels, restaurants, cars, etc. I’ve been showing him around interviewing and taking pictures. I think several ideas for projects have emerged, and there’s potential to help further with this project. It seems accounting isn’t done, so as much as I disliked ACC 271 and 272, I might have to pass on a few things. Next week we’re going to climb the volcano and hike the border of the volcano crater, a two day trek.
I haven’t been running the last two weeks because I kicked a rock and cut my big toe nicely playing soccer barefooted with neighbor kids. They seemed impressed with the cut and the blood, which is cool as they’re way more cut up since they rarely wear shoes doing farming chores. The Peace Corps doctor was in the village this week and it doesn’t seem infected! The post-cut advice I received was, “André bu ten ki bisti zapato ora ki bu sta joga futebol” (Andrew you have to wear shoes when you’re playing soccer). Quite helpful advice indeed, though I think I learned that lesson on my own.
After I left the Parque office I played Scrabble with Johnny and made rice and beans for lunch. Then I surfed the old inter-web and some shopping at Super Rodrigo, which of course was outstanding as always. Johnny and I did some Tae Bo with one of his buddies and his class in a school courtyard overlooking the Atlantic. It felt a million miles from Chã and not a whole lot like Peace Corps, but a good workout nonetheless.
All right that’s it for now; thanks for reading.
Last weekend was sweet, as some volunteers on Fogo got together in Cova Figueira for Thanksgiving and the conselho (county…ish) festival for Santa Catarina. There are two or three conselhos on Fogo, and Chã das Caldeiras happens to be in it.
Although we couldn’t arrange a turkey, we got two cabritos (baby goats), which were quite cute, but also quite delicious. We also had apple pie, mashed potatoes, stuffing, and pumpkin (squash) pie. I personally gorged myself, but it was a nice change from the rice and beans I normally eat. That said, my rice and beans recipe is getting better every time, as well as my bread.
The main feature of the festival was live music, which started around 11 pm (depending on if the generator was working) and go ‘til at least 5 am (my bed time is 9:30 normally). It was fun to get together with everyone, do some dancing, and experience the culture. I’m just as good at dancing in Cape Verde as I am in the US (not great).
I got back on Monday, having been gone since Friday. Sadly, my village’s oldest resident, at 104, died Sunday so I shared the truck up with mourners dressed in black, teary-eyed and somber. In CV there are seven days of mourning, with women crying hauntingly. I haven’t made a visit to the deceased’s home but I’ll do it tomorrow or Sunday.
On Tuesday my boss from the Parque came with someone from Praia who’s helping collect info about tourist stuff in Chã, like hostels, restaurants, cars, etc. I’ve been showing him around interviewing and taking pictures. I think several ideas for projects have emerged, and there’s potential to help further with this project. It seems accounting isn’t done, so as much as I disliked ACC 271 and 272, I might have to pass on a few things. Next week we’re going to climb the volcano and hike the border of the volcano crater, a two day trek.
I haven’t been running the last two weeks because I kicked a rock and cut my big toe nicely playing soccer barefooted with neighbor kids. They seemed impressed with the cut and the blood, which is cool as they’re way more cut up since they rarely wear shoes doing farming chores. The Peace Corps doctor was in the village this week and it doesn’t seem infected! The post-cut advice I received was, “André bu ten ki bisti zapato ora ki bu sta joga futebol” (Andrew you have to wear shoes when you’re playing soccer). Quite helpful advice indeed, though I think I learned that lesson on my own.
After I left the Parque office I played Scrabble with Johnny and made rice and beans for lunch. Then I surfed the old inter-web and some shopping at Super Rodrigo, which of course was outstanding as always. Johnny and I did some Tae Bo with one of his buddies and his class in a school courtyard overlooking the Atlantic. It felt a million miles from Chã and not a whole lot like Peace Corps, but a good workout nonetheless.
All right that’s it for now; thanks for reading.
21 November 2008
Fika fixi
Txan Blog 2
This is my first attempt to write a blog up at site. We’ll see how long the battery lasts. Good thing I have a Gateway (sarcasm!). Everything’s going well; last week was eventful.
Tuesday I came to São Felipe to watch the election in a bar with some other volunteers from Fogo. We lounged for awhile, did internet, shopping, etc, ‘til it was time. We went to a bar run by a guy name Vicente to hang out before dinner. Then we went to Tropical, whose owner lived in the US and promised CNN on the satellite. Getting it turned into somewhat of an ordeal but we had it by the time it was important. Before that we watched election coverage from a French station. It was a fun group, with a former volunteer, current ones, people who’d lived in the US, and Cape Verdeans interested in the race (most of the population was aware of the election, and I’d guess 99.9% were pulling for Barack). We were there ‘til 4:30 am our time (pretty late when you go to bed at 9:30 pm regularly), when we got the final result.
Everyone was ecstatic and felt the importance of the event. I have to admit I shed a tear or two when Barack made his speech in Grant Park. We wandered the empty streets back to the volunteer’s house where we stayed, passing out wherever we could find room on the floor, futon, or beds. Around 8:30 we got up, a few of us got breakfast (so good…goat cheese, fresh bread, coffee, banana), and ran errands. I went to the market to get produce, including kovi (kale?), carrots, onions, cabbage, and garlic. Even though my village produces lots of food, it’s nearly impossible to buy there. Then the internet and back to the house.
Many Cape Verdeans have asked me about the election and expressed excitement at Barack’s victory. I don’t think Americans realize how important this election was to the entire world (I don’t think we care about the world outside our borders much, and it’s a shame). The average Cape Verdean probably is fuzzy on the policies of the two candidates, but they know about the wars that have started over the last two terms, the economic problems, and know that with Barack there’s a better chance of positive change, especially regarding war. Cape Verde is a very peaceful country. There are no tribal divisions like on the continent, which fester because of a lot of things, including arbitrarily drawn borders by colonial powers. That’s because the Portuguese pretty much destroyed any differences, good or bad, between people, when they brought them to these islands as slaves. Older Cape Verdeans also remember men getting shipped off to fight for the Portuguese in Angola, to essentially forced labor in São Tome, or fighting for freedom in Guinea-Bissau. I suppose I’ve gotten off track…
We waited forever for the car back to Chã das Caldeiras, and ended up going with a Parque Natural pickup, which was great because it was free. It’s expensive to go back and forth, so whenever you can get a free lift, take it. The ride was nice, with awesome views of the mountain as we climbed into the clouds. We picked up a family along the way, and I ended up holding a rather disheveled baby boy since I was in the cab and his parents were in the bed. The bed affords a much better view but you have to hold on and ride with fresh-ish fish, and possibly goats, chickens, or pigs.
Friday was the inauguration of the winery, which felt very un-Peace Corps but was really fun. It’s been running for…5-10 years but finally everyone got together to celebrate. After waking up a little late I ate a PB&J with terrible coffee I bought from Super Rodrigo (the Wal-Mart of Fogo, so they say) in São Felipe. Then I scrubbed my backpack, which not surprisingly got fish juice on it riding in the bed of the Parque Natural pickup. Afterwards I took a shower, or rather, boiled water, put it in a bucket, and took a bucket bath.
Around 10:30 I got to the winery, thinking I was late, but nothing had happened yet. I sat with the women and peeled potatoes. There was a ton of food, including two goats, two pigs, at least 100 pounds of potatoes by my estimates, pot after pot of beans, rice, and everything else that makes a Fogo feast complete.
Around 12:30 things got rolling, with all VIPs arriving. There was a representative from COSPE (Italian NGO active here which supports the winery), the ambassador from the European Union (the EU also funds the winery), the head of the zone’s council, the minister of environment, and incredibly, the president of Cape Verde. He gave a great speech, in Kriolu (everyone else spoke in Portuguese), about how Fogo has potential in wine, coffee, aloe, and fruits, as well as tourism, but it has to do things well. It’s no good to produce crappy wine or coffee or run a second-rate hostel.
After the speeches (the president spoke last, as he was the most important person), there was wine tasting (white, rosé, passito, and red), Fogo goat cheese (so good), and toast. After the one good corkscrew broke I helped with my Swiss army knife’s corkscrew. Then came food, bowl after bowl, plate after plate. Everyone was stuffed, and there was a lot left over. This was great for the community, as many women came and took some for their families. No one eats much meat here, and it wouldn’t surprise me if this was the best meal some of the kids had eaten, and certainly more meat than usual.
When it all wrapped up around 5 pm, Lauren and I went over to Casa de Ramiro, a store/bar where Ramiro and family/friends play traditional Cape Verdean music. We sat awhile with the mix of locals and tourists who normally fill the tiny place in the evening. Exhausted from a day of gorging myself, I made the short trek downhill to my place, ate cake for dinner, and hit the sack.
Otherwise I’ve been keeping somewhat busy, reading, learning to bake bread, talking to people, getting back into running, practicing Kriolu, casking fijon. I just finished The Three Musketeers (thanks Shanka!), the 12th book I’ve read at site. Pretty soon I’m going to start giving an English class for the mountain guides and others involved in tourism. We get a lot of Germans, all of whom speak English, and expect an influx of Brits. I hope to get that off the ground in the next few weeks. I just made a delicious pot pie for dinner. It was great. I’ll make it for you sometime, especially if you visit.
Well, that’s it. Thanks for reading. Fika fixi (stay fine)
This is my first attempt to write a blog up at site. We’ll see how long the battery lasts. Good thing I have a Gateway (sarcasm!). Everything’s going well; last week was eventful.
Tuesday I came to São Felipe to watch the election in a bar with some other volunteers from Fogo. We lounged for awhile, did internet, shopping, etc, ‘til it was time. We went to a bar run by a guy name Vicente to hang out before dinner. Then we went to Tropical, whose owner lived in the US and promised CNN on the satellite. Getting it turned into somewhat of an ordeal but we had it by the time it was important. Before that we watched election coverage from a French station. It was a fun group, with a former volunteer, current ones, people who’d lived in the US, and Cape Verdeans interested in the race (most of the population was aware of the election, and I’d guess 99.9% were pulling for Barack). We were there ‘til 4:30 am our time (pretty late when you go to bed at 9:30 pm regularly), when we got the final result.
Everyone was ecstatic and felt the importance of the event. I have to admit I shed a tear or two when Barack made his speech in Grant Park. We wandered the empty streets back to the volunteer’s house where we stayed, passing out wherever we could find room on the floor, futon, or beds. Around 8:30 we got up, a few of us got breakfast (so good…goat cheese, fresh bread, coffee, banana), and ran errands. I went to the market to get produce, including kovi (kale?), carrots, onions, cabbage, and garlic. Even though my village produces lots of food, it’s nearly impossible to buy there. Then the internet and back to the house.
Many Cape Verdeans have asked me about the election and expressed excitement at Barack’s victory. I don’t think Americans realize how important this election was to the entire world (I don’t think we care about the world outside our borders much, and it’s a shame). The average Cape Verdean probably is fuzzy on the policies of the two candidates, but they know about the wars that have started over the last two terms, the economic problems, and know that with Barack there’s a better chance of positive change, especially regarding war. Cape Verde is a very peaceful country. There are no tribal divisions like on the continent, which fester because of a lot of things, including arbitrarily drawn borders by colonial powers. That’s because the Portuguese pretty much destroyed any differences, good or bad, between people, when they brought them to these islands as slaves. Older Cape Verdeans also remember men getting shipped off to fight for the Portuguese in Angola, to essentially forced labor in São Tome, or fighting for freedom in Guinea-Bissau. I suppose I’ve gotten off track…
We waited forever for the car back to Chã das Caldeiras, and ended up going with a Parque Natural pickup, which was great because it was free. It’s expensive to go back and forth, so whenever you can get a free lift, take it. The ride was nice, with awesome views of the mountain as we climbed into the clouds. We picked up a family along the way, and I ended up holding a rather disheveled baby boy since I was in the cab and his parents were in the bed. The bed affords a much better view but you have to hold on and ride with fresh-ish fish, and possibly goats, chickens, or pigs.
Friday was the inauguration of the winery, which felt very un-Peace Corps but was really fun. It’s been running for…5-10 years but finally everyone got together to celebrate. After waking up a little late I ate a PB&J with terrible coffee I bought from Super Rodrigo (the Wal-Mart of Fogo, so they say) in São Felipe. Then I scrubbed my backpack, which not surprisingly got fish juice on it riding in the bed of the Parque Natural pickup. Afterwards I took a shower, or rather, boiled water, put it in a bucket, and took a bucket bath.
Around 10:30 I got to the winery, thinking I was late, but nothing had happened yet. I sat with the women and peeled potatoes. There was a ton of food, including two goats, two pigs, at least 100 pounds of potatoes by my estimates, pot after pot of beans, rice, and everything else that makes a Fogo feast complete.
Around 12:30 things got rolling, with all VIPs arriving. There was a representative from COSPE (Italian NGO active here which supports the winery), the ambassador from the European Union (the EU also funds the winery), the head of the zone’s council, the minister of environment, and incredibly, the president of Cape Verde. He gave a great speech, in Kriolu (everyone else spoke in Portuguese), about how Fogo has potential in wine, coffee, aloe, and fruits, as well as tourism, but it has to do things well. It’s no good to produce crappy wine or coffee or run a second-rate hostel.
After the speeches (the president spoke last, as he was the most important person), there was wine tasting (white, rosé, passito, and red), Fogo goat cheese (so good), and toast. After the one good corkscrew broke I helped with my Swiss army knife’s corkscrew. Then came food, bowl after bowl, plate after plate. Everyone was stuffed, and there was a lot left over. This was great for the community, as many women came and took some for their families. No one eats much meat here, and it wouldn’t surprise me if this was the best meal some of the kids had eaten, and certainly more meat than usual.
When it all wrapped up around 5 pm, Lauren and I went over to Casa de Ramiro, a store/bar where Ramiro and family/friends play traditional Cape Verdean music. We sat awhile with the mix of locals and tourists who normally fill the tiny place in the evening. Exhausted from a day of gorging myself, I made the short trek downhill to my place, ate cake for dinner, and hit the sack.
Otherwise I’ve been keeping somewhat busy, reading, learning to bake bread, talking to people, getting back into running, practicing Kriolu, casking fijon. I just finished The Three Musketeers (thanks Shanka!), the 12th book I’ve read at site. Pretty soon I’m going to start giving an English class for the mountain guides and others involved in tourism. We get a lot of Germans, all of whom speak English, and expect an influx of Brits. I hope to get that off the ground in the next few weeks. I just made a delicious pot pie for dinner. It was great. I’ll make it for you sometime, especially if you visit.
Well, that’s it. Thanks for reading. Fika fixi (stay fine)
04 November 2008
FOGOOOOOOOOOOO
Sorry for not positing the last month or so. The transition from training to actual service was quite hectic, and my site, lacking electricity and thus an internet caf� makes it difficult. Still, I�ll try to get posting more regularly as I have more time to write, once I find a place to charge my laptop.
I live in Ch� das Caldeiras on the island of Fogo (Fogo means fire in Portuguese; the island is a volcano). I live in the crater of the original volcano. Mt. Fogo is the highest peak and is literally in my front year. I climbed it with several Spanish tourists and a local guide, which took around four hours up and 1.5 hours down. Going down is sweet; you kind of ski/run or loose cinders. The volcano last erupted in 1995 (with no loss of life, Mom!).
My house is a two room cinder block rectangular box connected to my landlady�s bedroom and kitchen. She also has several rooms to rent to tourists, primarily Europeans. If you�d like to visit you can stay there, if you don�t want to share my double bed or the concrete floor. No electricity or running water, which was actually quite easy to get used to. I get water from a tank which is filled from rainwater from the roof, bucket by bucket. Thankfully, my most possession, my Freeplay Summit shortwave radio, is solar and crank powered. I charge my cell phone at the winery here, a project funded in large part by an Italian group. It has solar panels and a generator for power, and it�s understood that citizens can charge phones there. I cook for myself on a gas stove, the kind you have to light with a match and almost burn your hand. I don�t keep much food on hand, lacking a fridge. I wash my clothes by hand every so often and am probably scoffed at by the more �traditional� Cape Verdean men.
So this is a rich agricultural area, as a result of the volcanic soil and relatively good rain. Right now is the fijon and nbonji harvest, types of beans. I spend lots of time with local women removing beans from the pods. Apples are just coming in, and grapes, pomegranates, and quince just finished. There�s also coffee, tomatoes, potatoes, and other beans. People keep fewer animals here than in my training village on Santiago, but there are chickens, pigeons, cows, pigs, goads, donkeys, and wild Guinea fowl.
This is a big tourist area by Cape Verdean standards (the country is small, around 450,000 people with a landmass equal to Rhode Island, divided amongst ten islands). Oh Kevin, if you read this, Rhode Island is not an island. I live on an island, which is surrounded on all sides by water. That�s what an island is! There are a few restaurants and hostels as well as the winery. I like talking to tourists, apologizing for the last eight years of American politics (Peace Corps is nonpartisan, but volunteers aren�t required to be), etc. I�ve met Germans, Portuguese, Swiss, Austrians, Spaniards, Brits, French, as well as workers from Guinea Conakry and Bissau, Senegal, Liberia, and Sierra Leone. I never know what language to speak to them, and sometimes I just speak Kriolu to make fun of the tourists.
Sorry this has been rater dry; the next ones will be better. So I guess I�ll go through an average day:
Wake up around 6:30 when the birds start chirping and my landlady stirs. Make breakfast, normally PB and J or oatmeal, and coffee. Listen to BBC and do Sudoku or crosswords for awhile. Read Newsweek or a book for awhile. I try to run a bit either before or after lunch. It�s hard with the altitude and I�ve been sick the last few weeks, but am better now. Then I go up the road to the other volunteer�s house, usually getting diverted to help shuck beans or talk. Then Lauren and I chill awhile, talk to people, bounce project ideas back and forth, etc. For lunch it�s usually leftovers, rice and beans (the local staple), some sort of stew, or pasta. Afterwards it�s more of the same until dinner. After dinner I read by candlelight for an hour or two, until I�m tired. I�ve read 11 books so far (�Siddhartha� was the best, �Naked Lunch� the most difficult, probably because Burroughs was strung out on heroin when he wrote it). Finally I blow out the candle, curl up in my sleeping bag, and hit the hay.
I think the best thing I�ve see, so far, aside from the view from the top of the volcano, was a drunk guy in a hockey jersey, cutoff jean shorts, and Timberlands, riding a donkey down the road, slumped to one side, at 10 am apologizing profusely. The night before I found him passed out on the side of the road in the dense fog.
I live in Ch� das Caldeiras on the island of Fogo (Fogo means fire in Portuguese; the island is a volcano). I live in the crater of the original volcano. Mt. Fogo is the highest peak and is literally in my front year. I climbed it with several Spanish tourists and a local guide, which took around four hours up and 1.5 hours down. Going down is sweet; you kind of ski/run or loose cinders. The volcano last erupted in 1995 (with no loss of life, Mom!).
My house is a two room cinder block rectangular box connected to my landlady�s bedroom and kitchen. She also has several rooms to rent to tourists, primarily Europeans. If you�d like to visit you can stay there, if you don�t want to share my double bed or the concrete floor. No electricity or running water, which was actually quite easy to get used to. I get water from a tank which is filled from rainwater from the roof, bucket by bucket. Thankfully, my most possession, my Freeplay Summit shortwave radio, is solar and crank powered. I charge my cell phone at the winery here, a project funded in large part by an Italian group. It has solar panels and a generator for power, and it�s understood that citizens can charge phones there. I cook for myself on a gas stove, the kind you have to light with a match and almost burn your hand. I don�t keep much food on hand, lacking a fridge. I wash my clothes by hand every so often and am probably scoffed at by the more �traditional� Cape Verdean men.
So this is a rich agricultural area, as a result of the volcanic soil and relatively good rain. Right now is the fijon and nbonji harvest, types of beans. I spend lots of time with local women removing beans from the pods. Apples are just coming in, and grapes, pomegranates, and quince just finished. There�s also coffee, tomatoes, potatoes, and other beans. People keep fewer animals here than in my training village on Santiago, but there are chickens, pigeons, cows, pigs, goads, donkeys, and wild Guinea fowl.
This is a big tourist area by Cape Verdean standards (the country is small, around 450,000 people with a landmass equal to Rhode Island, divided amongst ten islands). Oh Kevin, if you read this, Rhode Island is not an island. I live on an island, which is surrounded on all sides by water. That�s what an island is! There are a few restaurants and hostels as well as the winery. I like talking to tourists, apologizing for the last eight years of American politics (Peace Corps is nonpartisan, but volunteers aren�t required to be), etc. I�ve met Germans, Portuguese, Swiss, Austrians, Spaniards, Brits, French, as well as workers from Guinea Conakry and Bissau, Senegal, Liberia, and Sierra Leone. I never know what language to speak to them, and sometimes I just speak Kriolu to make fun of the tourists.
Sorry this has been rater dry; the next ones will be better. So I guess I�ll go through an average day:
Wake up around 6:30 when the birds start chirping and my landlady stirs. Make breakfast, normally PB and J or oatmeal, and coffee. Listen to BBC and do Sudoku or crosswords for awhile. Read Newsweek or a book for awhile. I try to run a bit either before or after lunch. It�s hard with the altitude and I�ve been sick the last few weeks, but am better now. Then I go up the road to the other volunteer�s house, usually getting diverted to help shuck beans or talk. Then Lauren and I chill awhile, talk to people, bounce project ideas back and forth, etc. For lunch it�s usually leftovers, rice and beans (the local staple), some sort of stew, or pasta. Afterwards it�s more of the same until dinner. After dinner I read by candlelight for an hour or two, until I�m tired. I�ve read 11 books so far (�Siddhartha� was the best, �Naked Lunch� the most difficult, probably because Burroughs was strung out on heroin when he wrote it). Finally I blow out the candle, curl up in my sleeping bag, and hit the hay.
I think the best thing I�ve see, so far, aside from the view from the top of the volcano, was a drunk guy in a hockey jersey, cutoff jean shorts, and Timberlands, riding a donkey down the road, slumped to one side, at 10 am apologizing profusely. The night before I found him passed out on the side of the road in the dense fog.
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