bike blender blog

a small home tour

2012-01-22T22:17:00.006-06:00

About two months into my trip i started scheming for my return to the states. Corresponding with friends and former teachers i was able to arrange several presentations and one workshop for the week of my return. My first stop would be my old highschool, Cheltenham, to present to both the environmental studies classes and the spanish honor society. After that i would travel to upstate NY to present to Old Chatham Monthly Meeting (a group of quakers i lived and worked with for several years) and then i'd bus to the other side of the state to build a blender with a group of art students at Alfred University.

I went through all my photos to come up with enough to make a well rounded slideshow. And then came the fun part- digging through my parents basement to see what I could find by way of bikes. I was fortunate enough to bring home with me one of Carlos’ creations, a rear-rack blender. My thought was that it would come with me and that every slideshow would end in smoothie making. The challenge was twofold, finding a bike would fit to the dimensions of the blender rack, and getting it set up in the absence of any actual bike tools or equipment. Fortunately, resourcefulness was one the main take aways from Maya Pedal.

To get the blender into my carry-on I had to disassemble it to a certain degree. Putting it back together without a vise or a real workbench was awkward, it really needed to be held still. (I think I also might have needed to make additional parts for it at this point too, but its been so many years I can’t really remember.)

So my mom’s bike, while the best maintained and prettiest, was too small. My dad’s too rusty. My brother’s, just right. Well, not exactly, but it worked.

I needed a bike stand to be able to properly install the rack, specifically to get the rear wheel of the ground for testing purposes. No rack. But there was rope, so I hung it up from the rafters in the basement ceiling.

I had to finagle with it for a bit, but it got there.

The next step was to figure out a stand for it. In Guatemala we had these pretty simple, and somewhat unstable, metal fixtures that would prop up the rear wheel for exactly this purpose. I had been given a small home welding kit for Christmas, so I stepped out in the back yard to give it a whirl.

Although never having done gas welding before, I thought I could figure it out easy enough. Wrong. Couldn’t even get the damn thing to turn on.

So I stepped next door to ask if they had a welder. Worth a shot, right? No welder, but they did have an off season training stand- never heard of it before, but it was perfect, and already built. Can I borrow it for a while? Sure. (Thanks again Dan, I owe you lunch).

Off to my first stop, CHS.

First the slides, a briefing on peak oil, and then what everyone was waiting for- smoothies.

I gave several presentations that day, 3 to environmental science classes and one to the Spanish honors society. People seemed pretty excited about the machines and the organization, some said they might even go.

Overall good day, great chance to inspire the next wave of potential volunteers, catch up with some terrific former teachers, and give a bunch of high school students copious amounts of sugar during class.

…

My next stop was Old Chatham, New York. I’d lived there briefly as a kid, then came back to the area during college to do house building with the Quaker Intentional Village Project.

The slide presentation was a big hit, all ages alike were excited to see the pictures and hear the stories.

It was another great opportunity to catch up with old friends, and see how the community was doing with its house building.

And of course, smoothies.

Leaving Guatemala

2011-02-25T16:32:00.008-06:00

At the end of the conference i waited a while for the architect's assistant to retrieve me and the machines. He showed up with the architect's truck as promised and together we loaded everything into its bed.

I had a bunch of postcards that i wanted to mail and he was very nice about helping me find a post office to mail them from. It was more of a scavenger hunt than i had expected, he didn't know where any were, and neither did anyone we asked. I'm not sure if that's normal, or if we just happened to ask the exact four people who didn't know. Eventually, he said there's an office building that might have one, and so we went to check it out. He was right, there were signs for it. Instead of a store front, it was literally a little hole buried deep inside of the outdoor underground plaza. Got there just in time to send out all the postcards.

After that I asked him if we could stop by an internet cafe (the memory card on my camera could only hold 33 pictures, necessitating frequent stops to the gatekeepers of the internet). Again, he kindly obliged and we stopped by a mall close to the architect's house. Pictures uploaded and email checked we left. He took me back to the house and told me he'd be back later and we would go grab some dinner. There was some time to kill, so i probably watered the lawn.

Darkness fell and the assistant returned. He asked where i was interested in eating, in the hopes of avoiding the TGIFridays style restaurants i said "somewhere with no tourists." We drove around the city for a while to a small place with lots of locals. On an otherwise sleepy street, this place was very lively. It was bench seating, long tables, and a limited menu. The main decision to make was what meat you wanted with your beans, salsa and tortillas. Beef, all the way.

The place was noisy with people talking, the assistant and i mostly focused on our food. At some point an off duty, but still costumed, mariachi band walked into the joint. The architect's assistant could see the excitement on my face and asked if i wanted to hear them play. I nodded with wide eyes. He called them over and negotiated for a song. The started right up, the whole cafeteria stopped to listen. They were so good! The guy singing had an awesome, somewhat rough voice like a smoker. I wanted so much to have recorded it, even to have taken a picture (i don't need my camera, nothing exciting is going to happen when we go out to eat...). The architect's assistant thought the whole thing was hilarious, he was practically crying with laughter. It seemed like he was reacting to them the way that i would to a bunch of poorly cast and overdressed shakespearean actors singing a cheesy madrigal in ye olde english offtune and with too much vibrado. Except the mariachi band was on tune and awesome... oh, cultural differences.

After that it was back to sleeping bag.

The next morning the assistant picked me up for the last time, my destination being the airport.

Having missed some good shots from the night before i overdid it on the ride in regretful overcompensation, shown here for nostalgic, more than narrative, purposes.

We arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare. I thanked him for all of his help and kindness, making sure to give him a good tip for all the time he took to look after me. We said goodbye and i made my way in.

Unlike some of the airport art i saw at the beginning of my trip (stateside), i actually liked these stone reliefs. Though I do wonder if this was another mariachi vs. shakespeare moment, appreciating something for personal newness/ lack of exposure.

This one, on the other hand, while pretty was boring. An, yeah, probably because of its familiarity.

The rest was as expected. No shoe bombs or anything.

Though, i was pleased to find some decent reading material on the plane. Pretty far from the normal airline-skymall-bose headphone bullshit.

I landed safely in Miami with plenty of layover time to do... nothing. So i wandered around the airport. Eventually i found a hotel in that had an internet station. Unlike the rooms full of computers that i was used to, this was one single computer in a dimly lit obscure corner of the 5th floor. One hour of internet there cost the same as 7 hours of internet in Itzapa. I didn't expect to have much re-entry culture shock, but when i saw the total was $5-something, my reaction was "What? Five dollars? Ridiculo!" I know, pretty big deal.

More wandering around discovered this...

And if you couldn't tell, they are covered in plastic flowers.

Unless this was made by someone to be ironic, or because they secretly hate the beatles, or were taking a tounge-in-cheek jab at airplane riders, then i think i might barf.

Returning to Philadelphia i was greeted by my wonderful parents, who were both very happy to see me. They were pretty convinced that i was going to die or get maimed somewhere along the way (seriously, about three weeks before i flew down they tried to convince me not to go). (I'm really glad i didn't listen to them).

Readjusting to life in the states wasn't hard. The only difficult part was restablizing my digestive tract. Somewhere in there i got... something. The doctor in antigua didn't even bother to check for what it was, instead he nuked my gut. It took a while to repopulate my intestinal flora, lots of probiotics, yogurt, kefir, etc. Another part of getting sick was losing 30 pounds. Which was crazy, cause i didn't even notice, how could i not notice? That's like a 3rd grader. WTF.

So yeah, gained back the 3rd grader, got my gut checked out, had lingering "issues" for about 8 months after, but eventually everything healed. It was good to be back, good to see family and friends, but i missed Guatemala a lot, still do. Think about going back all the time. Hopefully soon.

La Semana Nacional de Ciencia, Tecnologia y Innovacion

2011-02-23T17:06:00.002-06:00

At some point in February Carlos started getting calls from the BBC. None of us knew it then, but the dominoes of good fortune were about to fall. Within a matter of weeks two online articles* were published about Maya Pedal. After spotting the BBC's piece, Guatemala's national paper, Nuestro Diario ran their own- a beautiful, full color, two page spread. (page 46)

Then calls for interviews started coming in from all over central and south america. And somewhere in the barrage of phone calls Maya Pedal received an invitation to Guatemala's National Week of Science, Technology and Innovation Conference. It was to be held in the capital; we were told the president would be there.

So we prepped for the adventure by tuning up several of the machines and giving them a fresh coat of paint. Someone (I can't remember who, maybe the architect) put together a spiffy glossy poster briefly explaining Maya Pedal's mission and history.

On the first day of the conference Carlos asked Erin, Allison and Luisa to represent Maya Pedal. Either the architect picked up the machines, or Carlos drove them out to Guatemala City, i can't really remember. --Another note on not remembering things, i say "the architect" to refer to a member of the board whose name escapes me other than Carlos' nick name for him, el arquitecto.

In any event, the girls went out and set up the display and machines for what turned out to be a mostly empty building. The non-empty part of the building being Guatemala's vice president, not the president, and accompanying security detail. The ladies were pretty bored by the whole process and mostly just wanted to get out of there. So for day number two Carlos asked me to go with him to man the booth. I was excited to have the opportunity and it was convenient as i needed to fly out of the city after the conference was over. You can stay with the architect, Carlos told me.

I had been told not to take the bus between Guatemala City and, well, anywhere. There are regularly hold-ups and murders on the buses, especially at night. So when Carlos asked me to go with him i assumed we'd drive. We didn't, we took the bus. But it was daytime and i trusted Carlos' judgement.

A several hour long and completely uneventful bus ride ensued. We arrived in Guate sometime in the late morning and walked to the hotel. I couldn't help still being somewhat on edge, i was forewarned by many of the dangers that await in Guatemala's capital. But again, no muggings or murders between point a and point b.

The hotel stood in an affluent part of the city, it wasn't the most ornate hotel i'd come across in the capital, but it certainly fit its surroundings. We waited in line outside for some time, then waded through crowds of chattering school students on the way to our booth. At the entrance to the main conference hall security asked us for our pass, Carlos produced a photocopied pass that had no identifying information linking us to it whatsoever, but that was enough.

Things were mostly set up at the booth when we arrived, but we did some slight rearranging of things to Carlos' liking.

The big poster i talked about is all the way in the back left corner. Myself and Erin both made it onto it:

Carlos held down the fort for the first while, answering questions and encouraging people to try the machines. There was less engagement with his inventions than i anticipated. There was certainly curiosity, but it was curiosity from afar, the kind that points rather than touches. The experience wasn't altogether surprising, even in San Andres Itzapa people didn't seem that affected by Carlos' work. One woman, a frequent visitor to Maya Pedal, asked me once why we north americans were so captivated by his machines. It was clear, even after i tried to explain, that she just didn't get it. The unspoken question, seemingly shared by most, was why would you use a bicycle when you could use an engine?

That mindset was, apparently, as pervasive in the nation's capital as it was in Maya Pedal's hometown. But that's not to say that there weren't those more interested in the machines. Several people, mostly young men, were very excited to jump on the bikes and try them out. And a few young women seemed just as interested, however, were far less inclined to actually test them.

While Carlos entertained questions i explored the rest of the booths. I'm not much of a science person, plus my spanish is pretty basic, so not much kept my attention. There were displays on recycling, something to do with the internet, plants, and a whole lot of really technical stuff that i had no idea what they were. Graphs. Charts. Really big words. In spanish.

The one that did catch my interest, and seemed to be the most popular, was this one that had a little robot whizzing around on the floor. It was a display put on by the technology program of a particular university. They had plenty of dissected models and parts to examine, but the carpet lobster was definitely the main selling point.

After i checked the place out i joined Carlos at our booth. We sat for a while and talked, then broke for lunch. After lunch, Carlos announced to me that he was leaving. And that i was going to run the booth on my own for the remainder of the conference. Uh... well, okay, i can do that.

Upon Carlos' departure i tried to prepare myself mentally to answer technical questions, but my preparations were made in vain. And to explain what happened next i'm going to share a similar, but more exaggerated, example from a different latin american adventure.

Winter break of '07 i traveled to Ecuador for a month, in my first week there i went to an eco-lodge called Shangri La. While not uptopia, it was pretty gosh darn close- one of the most amazing places i've ever been in my life. The lodge is a beautiful hand-made wooden cabana, with several stories, thatched roofs, an entire floor for hammocks- its at the edge of a cliff 300 ft. above the Rio Anzu, a gorgeous winding river, the backdrop for which is the rainforest. It was absolutely breathtaking- when i die i hope heaven looks so good.

So here i am with about 20 other guests- all Ecuadorian university students, and they don't seem the least bit interested in their surroundings. But they were very interested in learning everything about me and having me spend lots of time with them. They even ignored the tour guides and their own instructors to talk to me. I was completely shocked. I just couldn't believe that this spectacular place paled in comparison to one white guy. And that's what was really going on, it wasn't about me at all, it was about what i represent as north american white male.

The science conference was pretty similar, but a condensed version. Once there was no Carlos to deflect their impetuous curiosity, swarms of blue uniformed students descended upon the booth. And, again, the amazing things right in front of their face were completely obscured by the chance to talk to a real live gringo. The ones with more social grace at least asked a few token questions about the machines before they opened the flood gates of inquiry. The younger ones didn't know or care for pretense, they just jumped right in, usually with 12 of them all asking questions at the same time. I'm 26. No i don't know the president. Yes i have a girlfriend. I come from Philadelphia. Philadelphia, yes. Its a big city, near New York city.

One highlight from the whole ordeal was when a group of middle-school girls ran of to grab their english teacher. In a few minutes they returned with said teacher, looking embarrassed, i'm guessing mostly because of the girls' method of retrieval... Do you remember at 5th grade school dances how a group of girls would form a giggling mob, surround one of their friends who liked a particular boy, (sometimes nabbing him too) and then proceed to bring them together, both red-faced and trying to escape? The mob of girls would then stand there excitedly watching the awkwardness unfold, sometimes interjecting on the behalf of their somewhat traumatized friend, and over-reacting to every word and movement? This was exactly like that. Except we were both adults. Surrounded by sixth grade girls, who wanted us to speak in english. And then get married.

The lets-ask-3000-questions game was pretty humorous, but after two days of incessant grilling, its amusement began to dwindle. When it was nearing the point of frustration, i began to exercise deflection, a clever technique i learned from my father. Basically, I started sticking the kids on the bikes and taking pictures of them. And once one had their picture taken they all wanted their picture taken. Deflection successful.

At the end of my first day i and all my luggage were picked up by the architect. We drove in his truck out to his newly acquired city home, he was presently staying in an apartment with his family elsewhere. The architect, who very generously put me up for two nights, as well as had his personal assistant look after me, had only one request: that i water the lawn. More than a fair trade.

As one would expect in an unmoved into house, there wasn't much by way of furniture. In absence of a bed i slept on top of my sleeping bag and used my store of clothes as a blanket.

While watering the lawn, the razor wire surrounding his yard caught my attention. In a country where you can't count on the police, you have razor wire.

The next morning the architect's assistant dutifully picked me up as promised and it was back to the conference. A good amount of what happened on the second day of the conference i already touched on (girl mobs, deflection, etc) so i'll jump right to the end.

I had a lot of time to kill until the architect's assistant would come to pick me up, so i was in no rush to break down the display. Instead i wandered around the building checking things out. With the conference wrapped up, and the crowds lightened, i took the opportunity to get some shots of the space.

After pretty much everyone else was out they let me know it was time to leave. To expedite the process they offered me the help of an employee with a cart. He took the machines as i grabbed everything else. I followed him into a strange back room, large and concrete it seemed a space more appropriate for a warehouse than a hotel. My favorite part was the giant floor elevator, it looked like it could fit two small cars, or one really big elephant.

We put everything on the elevator and i implored them to let me ride it down as well. To my surprise and dismay they said no. My experience there, and in Ecuador too, is that there really aren't laws in the way we think of them. Or, rather, there aren't lawsuits over issues of liability: if you get hurt doing something risky its your own damn fault, so of course you can't sue anyone over it. Maybe its different in the big city, maybe its different if its a white foreigner, maybe they were genuinely concerned for my safety as a fellow human being. I'm not sure, the thing went mighty slow...

We got the machines all the way to the front of the hotel, i told them that i had to wait for a ride, and they were nice enough to let me park in the entrance in an out-of-the-way spot. That spot happened to be in front, and to the side, of the hotel's restaurant. I was tickled when the hotel staff, including one of the restaurant's chefs started coming out to jump on the machines. Of the entire conference it was they who were the most interested in what Maya Pedal was doing- they asked lots of questions about designs, wanted contact information, and inquired into pricing. They understood the machines in a way that the school students, and many Itzapans, didn't. Their intrinsic value was obvious to these self-selected emissaries of the hotel; one of them exclaimed that the water pump would be perfect for his uncle's small farm.

It was these 5 or 6 staff members who really made the whole thing worth it. Seeing their genuine excitement and interest was really uplifting. And not one of them asked me whether i knew Obama.

*i currently don't have a link to the first BBC article, i will post it when i locate it.

Itzapa

2010-03-31T23:27:00.001-06:00

Itzapa was a town with charm all its own. Nowhere in my trip was friendlier, more welcoming, or more wonderful a place. It didn't take very long for it to feel like home, the streets our neighborhood, the local kids our siblings, the tastes, sounds and colors all a part of who we were. I've heard it said that the poorest people on this planet are often the most generous, kind and courteous. This was certainly true of Itzapa, even those who had nothing would invite you to their homes, insist on feeding you, and if you made the mistake of complimenting something in their house they might try to send it home with you.

Decades ago there was a great earthquake, it wreaked havoc on the country as a whole, while some spots were hit harder than others. My understanding is that Itzapa was completely leveled, everything had to be built anew. Supposedly, it was once full of beautiful old wooden homes, rare in a country constructed out of cement and cinder blocks. The lure of cinder block construction is that its quick, relatively cheap and lasts much longer than wood. And so with blocks of gray and truck loads of cement Itzapa was resurrected. And so it has stayed.

Itzapa, and much of the Guatemalan streetscape, is defined by blank windowless walls. On the pedestrian level that's mostly what you see- row after row of long gray-brown walls, banal fortresses completely obscuring whatever beauty might exist inside. The new-urbanist James Howard Kunstler rails against blank windowless walls, provoking that "no amount of xanex" could make such design blunders okay. They are an affront to our humanness, a drain on our souls.

I agree that everyone would probably be happier if they were surrounded by excellent design and beauty, but ultimately he is wrong- community is the trump card. A beautiful living space, like the proverbial icing, is a wonderful benefit, though hardly a necessity. The long dusty corridors, the monotonous gray brown, the lack of vegetation- none of these things compromise the strength of the people, their commitment to one another, and joy in being alive.

As i look back over my photos from Itzapa there are a few worth mentioning:

This truck was one of my favorite parts of the town. It would just drive around for hours announcing things, anything. This truck was the town crier, the community's news source and advertising service. I remember wondering if anybody actually paid attention to it, and then one of my friends told me he was talking to a store clerk who told him to shut up so she could hear it. Question answered.

One day i heard this terrible noise coming from outside, so i walked out to have a look and there was a horse stuck underneath the back of this truck. Who knows how it even got there, it was pretty freaked out and having a hard time getting free. Eventually it wriggled itself out and walked off like nothing happened. Maybe it was embarrassed.

I really liked this image, particularly on this wall. I always found it beautiful, stopping to look at it often. It was disheartening to learn that it was a relic from a propaganda campaign of the oppressive conservative government during their long and brutal civil war. It reads "patriot."

This was one of the many animals that belonged to the kids across the street. The littlest kid, who we called the penguin, was once playing with a kitten, giving it kisses and petting it- next thing you know she's got the kitten's entire head in her mouth. I almost peed my pants when Anneliese told me about it.

Every day the town center was overrun with people playing soccer, chasing dogs, and eating choco-bananas, but mostly it was full of people selling fresh food. Tuesdays and Saturdays were the big market days when LOTS of people came out (like the photo above) but mostly it operated at quarter capacity- still pretty busy. The market was one of my favorite parts of town, everybody would just come and hang out, whether they had any "business" or not- it was just a great excuse to be with people. And maybe buy some tomatoes. (You had to be careful though, if you didn't pick out your own vegetables, some of the vendors would try to sneak rotten and bruised ones in there).

Considering our collective adoration for human-power, these hand-cranked icee makers really caught all of our attention. They'd take a big block of ice and stick it under a big screw with spikes on it. The screw rotated the ice block against an opening with a sharp edge, the shavings would then fall off into the bucket below, add a brightly colored syrup and, voila, icee.

This was one of the most upsetting parts of being in Guatemala. Itzapa was, unfortunately, no exception to the rampant littering and blatant disregard for the shared water sources. There were times when the river in town would run black. It smelled awfully.

Seeing all of the trash kicking around everywhere it would be easy to think of Guatemala as being on par with us for waste, but on closer examination this isn't the case at all. First of all, there's no doubt in my mind that per capita, Guatemalans consume far less than we do- they just don't have the resources to process (i.e. "disappear") all of their trash, so it remains jarringly on display.

Though, it was something else that really struck me about their relationship to waste. Once i went out searching for some scrap to build with, and despite the dorito bags floating down the street there was absolutely nothing usable. I realized that what i was trying to do was what anyone else with any common sense had already done- anything with any value is immediately re-absorbed into the system. An analogy came to me as i stood stupidly looking around at a whole lot of nothing- in the rain forest the soil is actually incredibly nutrient poor- the reason is that the wide array of flora in the forest immediately reabsorbs the nutrients of anything that falls to the forest floor. Everything useful is used.

Ah the internet cafe. Well it was really more of an internet knick-knack shop. The people there sold all kinds of random stuff- fireworks, stickers, canned food, radios, ice cream, creepy baby dolls. The store, i guess it didn't really have a name, we'd just say we were going to the internet lady's. (Apparently she didn't have a name either).

I always got on number three, it was by far the best computer. I spent countless hours there, sometimes up to ten a day- they'd have to throw me out. After a while they started making me food and coffee (Guatemalan coffee consists of one part coffee, four parts milk and three parts sugar). We, well, really, I, was a total internet-junkie. Thirty six thirty sevenths of this blog was written on computer number three at the internet lady's.

This pig was one of my favorite things ever of all time. I love it. I love the pig. There were so many awesome hand painted signs all over the country. This one was actually in Chimaltenango, the next big town over, but whatever, its the greatest thing i've EVER seen.

And in case you didn't notice, it is peeing.

I've included an interactive map of Itzapa, courteous of the technical geniuses of google. You can't pick out Maya Pedal at all, though you can find its street- its the one that on the far left has a cemetery and a big dusty brown soccer field.

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