The Other Other

27/1/11
Enter the Other.
One is overtaken by green. An awkward duck couple waddles by, cautiously approaching the anxious and paranoid parrot who is walking sideways. He's struggling to use his beak to grasp hold of a wooden stump. The smell of fresh rain moisture moss curls into one's nose amidst the constant churtling of birds. There's a flash of yellow that catches the eye - maybe it's a parrot that's passing by. The flash and click and behind it there is a pallid and portly German tourist.

Under the tweets and crackling tree and animal life, the muffled lull of a vallenato song can be heard - a sensitive and lonesome male is calling out to his mate for her to return to him. His call is one of remorse, a tone distinct and unique to his species - "I may have wronged you, but you are my everything." The female joins him in his call in a harmony a third above his tone and eventually gives in to the call of her unfaithful mate, thus committing themselves to an endless cycle of betrayal. Such is the mating pattern of this human species.

By maintaining a most quiet and disaffected disposition - careful to not give up one's camouflaged position,  one can distinguish the rare, high-pitched call of Western German dialects. The volume is high and seems to be one of great enthusiasm, as the males seem to be discussing the wild birds they have seen and the women proceed to torture the awkward duck couple by chasing them around in circles.  It becomes apparent that this group is about to engage in ritual of exchange and fraternization, which takes place in a wooden container full of hot water - an act that can only take place when actors are partially nude.

Upon entering this heated space, their weathered and travel-torn bodies are transformed into steamy and red fleshy masses. The volume and pitch of their calls becomes noticeably lowered and they discuss about how they are feeling "grounded," "rooted", and "at peace" with this concept they seem to call "the self." Once their transformation has finished, their tendency to chase semi-domestic waterfowl appears to diminish significantly. For what reason has these rare and foreign species migrated to this land? Perhaps they are in search of something: another mate, to accumulate a set of exotic experiences, objects, and stories to recount to their people, or perhaps it is to find this misplaced "self" (note for further investigation: look into the existence of "self trees").

Exit Other. Enter the Other Other. The Other Other smashes the fourth wall of the Other's stage.

Sitting in this hammock makes me realize just how sunburned and exposed I am to getting eaten alive by mosquitos.  It's been a long day and I've had a lot of time to reflect (that happens here, in "nature") and I think I'll treat myself to a hot tub in the hostel later. It's been a long day - we woke up at 2:30 am to meet with the intercultural health leader of the ministry of health in Macas, the first city founded in the Ecuadorian Amazon - and it's time to relax. I sometimes find myself sitting in a still moment and listening to the sounds of my surroundings. Not living in the jungle or subjungle areas (aka the city of Puyo) on a regular basis, I can't help but find myself exoticizing my environment: insects, birds, and plant sounds - you just can't help but become more AWARE.  I get seduced by the "jungleyness" and forget about the actual context sometimes. It's easy to lose yourself in the little created environments - hostels or parks that are clearly urbanized yet manage to elude you into thinking you're in THE JUNGLE (the Jungle where tigers, toucans, and snakes live) and then you look over to the right and see some tourists taking pictures. For a moment, I had this immediate reaction of "silly foreign people, taking pictures of the 'wild' macaw parrot in the hostel garden, this seemingly 'unauthentic' space of jungleness" and then I remember that *I* am a silly foreigner sitting in the weird jungle space, taking it all in. Even when I'm somewhere else in Ecuador and I see a particularly gringo-ized group of tourists, I tend to think "wow, look at those funny gringos. They stick out like sore thumbs." And I immediately remind myself of the fact that I am a relatively pale-skinned blonde gringa and every time I step into a cab, I hear: "Are you here on vacation? How long? Your spanish is good! What country are you from? Do you have a boyfriend? That'll be $5 [when it should only be 2.50]." Sometimes the "Jungle" makes you forget where you are. Oh well.

Exit Other [somewhat disgruntled] Other.