The Poetry Lesson

Maybe it's the clear rhythm of the twelve-hours-of-light, twelve-hours-of-dark that's been influencing me, but I’m seeing poetry all over the place these days. There’s the obvious, a girl, another gringo, in my lit class, telling me that she loved to write poetry about wolves as she adjusted her highwaters and socks with kittens on them. There’s the poems my Spanish intensive came up with, after being told to write odes to exotic fruits (you should look them up if you don't know what they are, which you probably won’t, they are very weird. A translation might also be helpful):

Ode al Pepino Dulce

Oh, pepino dulce, con sul peil delicada

Te quiría aquí en mi ensalada

Con tús rayos de morada

A tú mi vida es dedicada

Ode al Taxo

Mi taxo pequeño que no es tan duro

Cuando lo abro dónde es mi jugo?

Con tantos semillas es dificil a comer

Y es tan acidisimo para darme placer.

There’s also more subtle poetry things going on. On Friday, Malcolm and I went to a birthday party of a cousin/grandchild/young relative named Manuela. She was turning 9. As soon as I saw the nine candles on the cake, I remembered the poem we had to memorize in 3^rd grade:

Nine is fine, without a doubt,

A wonderful place to be.

Of course, I’ve said that too before,

At seven, and six, and four, and three.

But nine is really fine.

Me and all these friends of mine

We walk all over the neighborhood,

yes, our parents said we could

we’re not babies anymore.

Were’s old enough to know the score

Now that we’re nine.

Most days on my bus route, I go past the giant statue of Jose Marti, who is a local hero. And he calms me down too, when ever I see his face on a poster on a bus. Like today, when I didn't get off at the right stop, and the bus kept going into South Quito which is very far away and inaccessible and definitely the wrong place to go. We were in the tunnel that separates the two poles of the city, me hyperventilating, standing behind the driver, wondering weather it would be better to fling myself to death or sure mugging in the tunnel, or wait it out. Behind the driver, with the rosaries and the tramp-stamp style stickers, was a newpaper cut out of Jose Marti.

· “Yo soy un hombre sincero

De donde crece la palma

y antes de morirme quire

echar mis versos de alma”

I stayed on the bus. I kept breathing. I got off, crossed the bridge over the highway, found a taxi, gave directions.

And then there’s the singing poetry stuff that we like. Chanting Misfits lyrics with ñaño over breakfast, Jamie’s Ipod with its endless new N.E.R.D. songs. Between classes today, when all the preppie kids where making angry eyes at us and making us feel horrible, Jamison and Iggy and I chanted the words to “I Will Survive” as Iggy slapped some chords. I don’t know why, but I know all the verses to that song.

And then Bob Dylan. Blood on the Tracks is the only thing that has any sort of meaning. Maybe I won’t be having a Mountain Goats album this winter, maybe it’ll be just his stories and harmonica.

High and Dry, Sunny and Polluted

Tomorrow is the first day of school! I don’t have a very good idea of what classes I am taking, but I have several I am going to go to tomorrow and see what they are like. The first to try is Rural Sociology, at 8 am! This is resulting in an early wake up, and the cause of me not finishing Memoirs of a Geisha which was pretty hard to understand anyway, because it was a mixture of Spanish and Japanese and very dark.

Yesterday we had orientation with all the other extranjero students at USFQ. It started at 745, so ñaño and I just had grilled cheese and hot chocolate for breakfast, and then ran across Elijido, because his school starts early too. The orientation was. Not nearly as boring as these previous days, mostly because there were new people to watch as they got bored. There were some really interesting talks, including an international relations professor explaining the last ten years of Ecuadorian politics (about every three years, the people gather on this one avenue and oust the president. That’s just how it works). We also had a talk about staying healthy, which included three (3) photos of people holding up roundworms that they had…uh…passed through their digestive systems. And then the guy told us that roundworms only happen to like one in 10,000 people. Then why did you show us three pictures?

After a break, we got a special talk by Special Agent Mike Pearlt. Mike Pearlt is in charge of the US embassy in Quito, and he considers “irresponsible, drunk college students like you” his primary concern. He spoke to us at length about all the crimes that could befall us. I learned about a ton of new crimes, like the “sequester express” where they drive you around in a taxi taking your money, usually after they pop out of the trunk or the “condiment scheme.” I’ll only explain that one in private. Mike Pearlt’s talk was sprinkled with machismo and scary surprises to remind that “we are not in Kansas anymore.” Two of the best: “You know this is the third world when they only have five bullets. I never go out with less than 40.” And “They caught 5 of the 6 perpetrators of the assult. Oh yeah, it was a gang rape.” He just threw in tidbits like that.

Soon after Mike Pearlt had stereotyped and scared everyone, we were released. Most of my group went to lunch with some guide-ish USFQ students and their friends. We went to lunch at a place called “Palacio de Frito” (fried palace) and the specialty was “Fritada completa.” Jacobo and I shared one (he got all the pork, I got all the corn) and it was still more than enough. Walking over to the restaurant, I had a very awkward incounter. One of the people in our group was a 5th year odontologo (dentistry) student from Venezuela. I was chatting with him about moving to quito and stuff like that. Here’s how it went.

Dita: So, what type of dentistry interests you most?

Dentistry Student From Caracas: Umm, aesthetic dentistry.

D: Oh, like braces?

DSFC: yeah, and whitening and stuff

• (first of all, that’s boring as hell, but to each his own)

D: Haha, I used to have braces, but now my teeth are all messed up

DSFC: Why aren’t you wearing your retainer?

D: It broke…

DSFC: Let me look at your teeth.

D: Haha, no, we are walking down the sidewalk of a busy road, I don’t want to.

DSFC: LET ME LOOK AT YOUR TEETH

(D opens mouth)

DSFC: Wow. You have really messed up teeth. Do your gums bleed a lot? You need to get your teeth cleaned.

(Three weeks previously: D has teeth cleaned)

D: I don’t think I would get braces again, its just too much

DSFC: (Eight minute lecture on how braces work, including physiological and pretty graphic terms)

D: Wow, that’s interesting. I study sociology

(Silence for the remainder of the walk, until D runs away to complain about this to her friends)

FIN.

Uh so that was that. Later that night, some buddies came over, and we bought a lot of bread, and gossiped and drank this weird cane liquor called Zhumir. It tastes like “liquid jolly ranchers” ( I don’t think so, I think it just tastes like vodka and flat soda) and everyone here is obsessed with is. It was nice to show my Ecuamami that I have friends. She said a really cute thing about it this morning. I asked if we were too loud and she was like, “No, as soon as Grey’s Anatomy was over and Private Practice came on, I fell right asleep. That show is so boring.” She also said “I like your friends. They speak Spanish in front of me, they seem well read, and none of them smoked in the house.” She has low, but specific requirements.

Today was a pretty simple day. I had volunteered to help file our Visas, so I met up with a program leader and 4 other kids at 10. We each brought five envelopes with visas, passports, and papers like that to some kind of office building that was like a combination DMV and Embassy. Basically sat around, then talked to a pencil pusher for 5 minutes. Went home and had lunch with Ecuamami and Lil. I’m calling her Lil because her name is a dimuinutive. Anyway, she’s the housekeeper, she comes by once a week or so to mop and stuff, and her an Ecuamami’s relationship is very unclear. She ate breakfast and lunch with us, but she did the dishes. But then she gave Ecuamami some money….? She has a daughter, three years old, with Down’s Syndrome, who goes to a special school near here. Also, Ecuamami was getting her bed fixed, and the guy was like “why are there all these marks on your bedframe?” And she was like “the lady who cleans my house, her daughter was biting the bed.”

We went with Lil to the special school, which is sort of like a therapy center. It was really nice and advanced-seeming, and I’m thinking about doing my ICRP there. Also, Lil’s daughter was adorable and sleepy.

After that, I took the bus to this mall/ downtown place, and went ice skating with the Zhumir crew. One of those things you don’t expect to do in Ecuador, but it was only three dollars, great exercise, and really fun. I took the bus the clinic (where Ecuamami works, and Malcolm and his madre live), and just chilled out there for a while, looking around and watching the turtles and fish they have in tanks in their waiting room.

There was a poster on the wall for some sort of appliance, and I read the poster, and it described all my jaw symptoms. I said to Ecuamami, I think I have that (they call it ATM) and she sat me down in the chair, and got a mirror fresh from the sterilizer (no gloves, but we’ll ignore that), and was like, Yeah, you really do have a messed up jaw due to your cross bite, your steep hard palate and your tongue pression. I’ll do acupuncture on you to help your cartilage heal, and we can order you an appliance and that’ll cost 70 dollars here, but only 40 if you get it in the states do you want your other ma to send it to you?

Woah, that was easy. I didn't even have to make an appointment. To thank her, I made dinner (a salad) and kept out of the way while her friend who is getting divorced is discussing legal issues in the living room.

Man, this lady is capable. It makes me happy that I went from one house with a strong woman to another. I’m not sure if that has anything to do with it, but I’ve been feeling very happy lately. I’m not sure if its because I don’t have much to do each day, or the altitude, or maybe I’ve finally gotten to a brain chemistry that doesn't hate itself, but I’ve been feeling calm and strong and not guilty like 80% of every day, which might be a new record. I;ve stopped apologizing for being late, just roll with it. I don’t let myself obsess about saying the wrong thing or in the wrong tone. I let myself worry about it for like 30 seconds, and then let it go. And I’m smiling a lot too, at cute kids on the bus, at the sky, at goofy signs, and friends, and when I think of a great thing to write down.

My hand is starting to hurt. Instead of worrying aobut my risk of chronic carple tunnel, I’ll just take it as a sign that its time to go to bed.

The Consequence of Sounds (That's a Regina Spektor Song)

Monday, August 23, 2010, 530pm

I like to listen to things. Loud things, loud music, sermons and speeches. I like to listen to quiet things, like whispers in front of me, and feet scraping the sidewalk, and sand and water running, and kissing, and wind. I like to listen to smart things, arguments and outlines and really understand them. I like to listen to dumb things, silly things and giggles and an exhalation through the nose with a smile. I like the sounds I can make, my fingernails and feet tapping, my joints cracking, a finger searching for an itch in an ear, a scratch of the back. I like it when others talk to me, with eye contact and sentances, or just call out my name from across the room. I like to not understand what I hear and be content with that. I like rhythmic music, random sounds, screeching of harmonicas and organs and the calm guide of the bass. I like to listen to horn sections and cellos. I like to hear other people talk nicely to each other. I like to hear myself typing quickly. I like to hear high heels hit wooden floors. I like to have the hiccups. I like the sound of my own breath, when I’m swimming or falling asleep or running. I like to hear animals like cats and dogs ask for what they want, or little guinea pigs and mice burrow in their homes. I like to hear food cooking and paper folding. I like to hear music that I recognize. An airplane overhead makes me feel thrilled. I like to hear doors and windows opening and gates locking shut. I like to hear children running

Rul Long Update

Its Sunday afternoon and I’m just chillin out at home. I have a horrible hang nail on my left pinkie, so any As, Qs and Zs I type really hurt. Mostly As actually. Man, the left pinky it not very used in typing.

ANYWAY, I know I haven’t updated el blog for a while, so I thought I’d talk about how orientation week went, because that’s what I’ve been doing this week. Here’s the general schedule of how the last five days or so went.

545 am. Wake up needing to pee from overhydration and needing to blow nose from cold. It is already light out. Crawl back into bed and hum Bob Dylan songs to self until fall back asleep

630. Wake up to dinky alarm on dinky cell phone

635. Take semi-warm shower. Do not wash hair. This seems to be socially acceptable. Scrub face to remove remnants of daily sunscreen application.

645 Dress self. I’m constantly torn in my clothes choices between the preppy, bright colors and clean fashions everyone at USFQ seems to favor, the bland, loose style of your average person on the street, or my own choices. Usually, no side wins and I end up in non-matching, but very warm clothes.

700. Make bed. My bed is so large (some sort of irregular queen sized thing) that it doesn’t actually have sheets, just these large pieces of soft printed cotton. I think it's a pretty good idea for cheap sheets. Also, I’ve got to arrange the three woolen blankets and the comforter over my giant bed.

705 Eat breakfast. Breakfast always has coffee. This is the joke about coffee in the house: J says coffee is for the week. P and Dita say coffee is for the strong and mature. HAHA HAHAHH we tell this joke every day. Breakfast also always included jugo, fruit and water thrown in a blender. Sort of like a thin, foamy smoothie. Some of it is delicious, sometimes it tastes like thick Tang (stay away from jugo de naranjilla). J either comes to the table in a black long sleeved Tshirt for a ‘90s metal band, or his uniform for physical therapy school, celeste blue scrubs. On those days, his mom braids his hair for him. P always makes breakfast wearing torquoise track pants, water shoes for children, and a T shirt for the Galapagos with a red chopstick in her hair. During breakfast, P will say contracictory and confusing things like “eat more bread Dita,” and “I only want to eat half a roll today. I don’t want to get fat. Its easy to get fat when you eat bread.”

725. Remind P that I have to leave by 730. She begins twenty minutes of whatever, dressing or whatever, and I begin 20 minutes of filling waterbottles, taking medicine, feeling bad about my clothes, etc.

745. Leave house. Either walk alone about 10 blocks, or have P walk with me. When we walk together, we walk through the park instead of around it. While we do this, she warns me of the dangers of the park, including muggers, rapists, and people who will hand you drugged pieces of paper.

750. Arrive at bus station. Kiss P goodbye, pay 25cents to enter raised bus station in the center of the road. Take bus 30 minutes to another bus station. This bus goes down the Avenida 6 de Deciembre, the day of Quito’s independane. It makes stops at its terminals about every four blocks. The stations are cool because they are just named after their street intersections, but they have these cool icons for each station, like the Jipijapa stop is a hat, the Eloy Alfaro stop is a profile of Eloy Alfaro, the Casa de Cultura stop (that’s mine) is the Janis faces.

8:10. Arrive at Rio Coca bus station, where most bus lines begin and end. Leave Ecovia area through a turnstyle, enter the other station. I’m not sure what it’s called, we just call it “the place with the green buses.” Run up to bus with a sign for Cumbayá, hop on and grab a seat.

8:15-845. Giant tour bus making hair pin turns on mountainous highways with oncoming traffic. Rare application of breaks or appreciation for traffic control devices. Nice view of the city.

845. Arrive in Cumbayá. Run across a street, past a bank. Arrive at San Francisco.

850. Enter Spanish class 20 minutes late. Deep look of shame. Our teacher is an ex-pat from Cuba, and she is really into talking about how much she freaking hates Cuba. But she’s lived in Ecuador for 15 years, so she’s great at teaching things specific to Ecuador and Quito. Our class is a combination of grammar drills and worksheets, short readings, interactive stuff, and miserable discussions like one after reading about Sor Juana: “Are men the cause of women’s problems?” aka “are you a feminist?”

1030. break from class. Stand on patio and talk like middle shcoolers for half and hour. Drink cold bottle of tea madre has given me.

1100-1230. More Spanish class. Learn a few things.

1230- 1300 (wow look at me using military time!) Line up in front of the school’s cafeteria, file in to get lunch. Realize that this is the third world when your request for more soup is denided. Eat lunch with 7 year olds in an English language camp. Trade meat for soup.

1300-1400. Free time. Walk to nearby gringo-oriented stores, take a nap on the grass, gossip, etc.

1400-1630. THE MOST BORING THING POSSIBLE. We all sit in an auditorium and listen to power points about things we are not allowed to do. And things we were supposed to do and forgot to, or need to pay a lot for now. Draw a lot. Annoy Jamie. Constantly be both very thirsty and needing to pee.

1630. Its around this time that everyone starts go do crazy. People start muttering, tapping feet rhythmically, or just standing up randomly. There is so much bordome in the room. Can’t really describe this, but its horrible.

1645. Bus back to Rio Coca. Usually we create a gringo swarm and talk loudly across the isles about how the racist country is. Well, some boys do that. I talk about shopping or waking up early or how is your digestive system doing?. Or I sit quietly.

1715 (that’s 5:15 if you are starting to get lost). Arrive at Rio Coca. Take other bus, with less gringos, still having fun.

1730. Feel jealous when all my friends get off the bus because they live less far away

1745. Arrive at my parque, El Ejido (its from Arabic, no idea what it means.) Walk home, doing small errands, like buying gum from this indigeneous lady on the sidewalk, or trying to put ten dollars on my cell phone but giving the guy at the store the wrong number, so some stranger has ten dollars and I paid 15$ to get only 5$ of credit.

1800. Get home. Unlock doors successfully. Feed cat. Drink a lot of water. Crave sugar.

ALTERNATE EVENING: take bus home with Malcolm to either of our houses. Sit around tiredly and are force fed reheated food.

1830. P gets home. Magically produces some sort of casarrole thing that I had no idea was around. The refrigerator looked almost empty, but now there’s a salad! And jello! And chicken! She puts food on a plate, and I think its for her, because she was just talking about how hungry she was, but the she is like “no, this is for you.” VERY AWKWARD. Eat in semi-silence and semi-dark. Oh, its already pitch dark outside.

1900. Drink coffee in P’s bed, watch TV. Our favorite programs are Grey’s Anatomy, Will and Grace, and Discovery Channel documentaries about manufacturing or natural disasters. She is a woman after my own heart.

2230. Wake self up as a loud commercial comes on. Kiss P goodnight, put dishes in sink. They will be magically done by the kitchen fairie soon. Floss, brush teeth. Drink half a liter of water. Do not wash face because the water is just too damn cold. Put on hoodie, long underwear and socks. Write or read. Listen to Wilco. Sleep, waking up gasping as my dreams integrate the lack of oxygen.

Awkward and Uncomfortable are the same word

Sunday, August 15, 2010, 11 am

Man, its really a good thing that I was already an anxious, loud, awkward, observant, socially active, angry, inappropriate person before I came here, because I certainly am exhibiting those traits now. Sometimes it surprises me when I refer to a man with female pronouns or trip on the sidewalk or wear a shirt with a giant stain or pour sauce all over my shoes, but then I realize: I’ve been this crazy my entire life. Who cares if I’m doing it in Spanish, in front of 25 of my peers and 1.5 million strangers watching me from the windows of their bus? It’s completely fine to be the strange person in the room, the looked at one on the bus, the only kid asking questions or staying silent. I’m not screaming in the middle of the road or anything, but I am fighting the urge to just stick with my gringoschool buddies, to dress perfectly and not crack jokes. I’m angry and dirty and the stains show through any tank-top sweater combo I can fit around my belly.

I don't feel liberated, but I feel strong. I feel like pushing something heavy for a long time. I’ll need to massage my shoulders after a day of that, but that seems a good trade off, getting to understand how my pain works, while I work to make things better.

Dinner with Spaniards

written last night at 1130 pm





Oh my god I have just left the worst event of my life. Seriously, this cena was horrible. Pili said that her friends from Spain were coming, that they were very cool vegitarians, that it was going to be great. I’ve been feeling sick all day, chills and chattering during the orientatcion so much that Jamison gave me his jacket, almost falling alspeein in class, runny nose like way bad. So, once Malcolm and I got home, we ate some soup and rice that was good, but, like, we don’t want to each too much. They just feed us and then I feel fat. Also, sick.



So anyway, we ate, then watched some MTV while I snuffled and snorted. It was nice to lie down on the bed, though. So, Malcolm’s ma and Diego arrived, and we sat around awkwardly with them. I was like thrashing on the futon in pain, and that’s when I began do develop the theory that Diego is crazy. I think he has a mental illness or something. He told me that Malcolm could give me some energy through an ancient healing practice. Then he put malcolm’s hands on mine, in that way that I have massaged everybody’s hands. You know, the place between the thumb and first finger. So that was awkward, touching someones hand.



We just kind of sat around in silence for like three hours. Diego played online chess. My mami gave me arnica oil under the tongue (just like you, Ma!), Malcolm, the bio major, insisited I take ibuprophon, Diego would jump in and say stuff about migranes and energy fields, and the grandma just told me to not pay attention to the pain. The combination of this worked, and now my horrible head ache is gone. The dizziness, stuffy nose, and stomach pain, not so much, but we can't have it all, now can we.



Anyway, these people are really weird, once they finally arrive at 915, after saying they would come at 8. I know its European and all, but that’s a little much. They didn't even call! We just sat around and read this book about Pre-Colombian civilization and I febally asked my mami if she needed help about 45 thousand times. She did let Malcolm cut up some apples, though. That was good. So the people arrived, a husband and wife, and refuse to sit at the table, even though pilar is like “my mom should have eaten at 830, she has diabetes!” which is a total lie. Instead they sit around in silence in the living room. Round bouts 945, it is deemed appropriate to dine. It was totally awkard because the man is a very strict vegetarian and is really negative. Diego was like “this tofu is way not as good as steak.” And the man was like “How can you say that!?! Tofu is just as good as steak and better for the environment and animals. If you don’t say tofu is better you are wrong.” This is roughly translated through a pseudophedrine haze. Also, he eats fish, so I don't know what’s his problem. Everybody’s trying.



Immediately after eating the excellent miso soup concocted by yours truly, the woman abruptly got up and grabbed her purse. I thought she just had her period, no big deal, but then she left the house. Also, I don't know her name because she never told it to me. Anyway, we just carried on with her gone and this empty place setting, like she had up and died or something. Conversation lurched and stilled, a broken-down bus trying to get up a hill, a constant sensation of falling, but not really moving forward or backward. Wow, look at me with my similies. Actually, that’s not a very creative similie because that happened like twice today and it was totally scary.



After about half an hour of Malcolm explaining the belief system of the Mormons (he’s from Utah), the woman returned with a person who I first thought to be a semi-attractive 22 year old female, but turned out to be their twelve year old son. Again, no name, because the only introduction I got was a moment of petrified eye contact, and then he tried to kiss my cheek like he was taught but he sort of missed and ended up on the lower jaw. Also, this whole time I was having that thing where you have a zit on your face and you pick at it, and then it starts to bleed and it keeps bleeding on and off and random times. Anyway, so he basically kissed the bloody-zit area, which immedietley began to bleed due to the jostle. And then the blood started to soak through the napkin I pressed to my face, and I had to go to the bathroom….



Oh, also, I forgot to mention that Ecuadorians are very into dramatic music. On a bus, you’ll hear a love song pleading for redemption, a store will play Pachabal’s Canon, even Pilar puts on piano-room style stuff while she cooks breakfast. So, first we were listening to some argentian mucic, and that was nice, but then Pilar put on like, “Simon and Garfunkle’s Greatest Hits” or something like that. So, while we were discussing the genetic engineering experiments of the Nazis, Garfunkle was crooning in the awkward song where he just like screams “I love you” in a high pitched voice for a while. So that contrast was funny. Luckily, Malcolm was sitting across the table, and I think (hope) he’s gotten used to my reaction when I’m in situations I can’t control: I laugh. Or I panic and can’t breathe, but that;s another story. Yesterday, when I was at his house, and his Ecuamami made me read a bible passage off a coaster that had a lot of words I didn't know, and I looked up and I saw a plate with a picture of the pope on the wall, I just started laughing. I also typed ridiculously run on sentances, and when I do that, I laugh then too.



Luckily, even without having any wine that everyone else was having (except for the vegatarian man, who managed to both act superior about his non-drinking, and insult South American wine), I was easily the most drugged person at the table, so they took it easy on me. We ate these awesome guavabara pasteries. Then, Pilar brought out a fruitcake that the horrible guests had brought. I’ve always avoided fruitcake since I saw a man in an Indian restaurnant sneeze on one before he served it to me while I was in 4th grade. But Pilar told me to cut it up for everyone, so I took a deep breath (a very loud one through my nose) and started to slice. It was like a sponge made of foam. It was that green foam that you stick fake flowers in. It was processed flour and preservatives and artifical lemon frosting. And then there were the flecks. The cake was weird, but the flecks, like the connective tissue of a pig, meaty and un-chewable, dark green, and slightly cubic. I was offered three slices, two cups of tea, more potatoes, and Diego’s energy healing method again. Finally, Pilar made secret-lady eye contact with me, and told me I could go to bed. I did a round of kissing. I missed Diego;s cheek and got the brow line, I’m sure he was flattered. The vegetarian man stood up, which you usually don’t need to do, and forcefully kissed both cheeks. Yes, I get it, Spanish isn’t Castellano. No need to rub your weird face on mine any extra. And then that 12 year old, whose mother still prepared him a plate, like kissing a kid you babysit goodnight. And Malcolm, my new best friend by blood, who I ride the bus with and cough at and spend hours a day sitting next to, in comfortable, unestablished silence.



So yeah, that’s it for today. Funny things have happened, but I’ve got to go wash my face in the shower (it's the only place they have hot water) and crawl under my blankets. We’ll see if I go to school tomorrow. This fever better break. But the QUITO FEVER never will!!!



Love you all.

First Day

Its afternoon naptime in day 1 on Study Abroad. Jimmy is playing very loud metal music, wich is very melodic and comforting. Pilar is making fun of it by screeching, which is not.

I thought I'd tell you more about my host family, because I didn’t do so well on that last time ( I wrote that last entry right after I got to the house, but I didn't post it until….well, whatever time I posted it.) They are a very medical family. The grandmother, the host of Malcolm was the second woman dentist in Quito, she was the only woman in her class. She is a dental surgeon. Pilar is also a dentist, but for children. Her brother (that’s who Roberto is!), is a medical economist, and I’ll definitely be taking to him about that stuff. Jimmy is in his last year of physical therapy school. He exhibits this mostly by massaging people and muttering, after we say hello to someone with a bent spine “His scoliosis is terrible. He needs treatment.” Very easy to get along with. They are very friendly, but very comfortable with silence. They are also both fluent in English (jimmy’s father is American), but they are awesome about not using it, unless I ask specifically what a word means and they can’t really describe it in Spanish. They also are great about not correcting my grammar unless I stutter over a verb for like 35 hours. I’m understanding a lot of what people thing. Vocab is awesome, grammar not so easy. Whatever, It'll come.

Its been a nice day. I woke up really early and freaked out that everyone had left the house because I had woken up so late. I ran into the living room to find the sun had not yet risen. I cleaned my room compulsively. Slept for another two hours. LOL! For breakfast, Jimmy’s best friend Kiki came over (he has another name), and Pilar’s friend J-something and her son Yefferson. Yefferson was like the crankiest kid I have ever seen. He was at the birthday party they had had there yesterday, but he didn't get to have any geletin because his teeth hurt. His ma brought him over so he could have the missing jeletin and have his teeth examined. He just was eating this jello-cup-thing and crying. We would try to talk or play with him and he would just like moan at you. When pilar opened up his mouth, I could see why. He had lost one of his teeth, normal for a 4 year old, but the hole had gotten totally infected, and the infection had spread to his tongue, which was coated nastily.

We ate violently salty scrambled eggs, some bread from the bakery downstairs, filled with what might have been cheese, coffee, and this pulpy juice made from a fruit called the “tree tomato” which looks like a giant crusty grape. It tastes like a salty, melon-tomato. (that was for you, Zak, as far as the breakfast foods go. They sell yogurt downstairs too! So I can get my yogurt on (but not FAGE ) It was a great breakfast, very relaxed, paper napkins, Yeferson pouting and throwing this old cake all over the floor. I understoon a bunch of what people were saying. At one point, we (or they, I was just looking back and forth like I was at a tennis match, mouth slightly agape. You know, the Dana look) were talking about teachers being jerks and hitting your hands with rulers and stuff like that, and Kiki said “that’s why we wear black.” Which I thought was insightful and meaningful. Its ok if you disagree.

Then we waited around for a while. It was awkward for me, everyone else was ok. We started walking, and we walked to this sweet museum called the Antiguo Hospital Militar. It used to be an old military hospital, as you could probably guess. It's a huge, castle sort of building on top of a hill.

• OH SIDE NOTE. Damn there are a lot of hills. There are like three streets that are not on hills and they are highways I think. San Francisco like
It had a big exhibit in the Contemorary Art center celebrating the bicentennial of the Quiteño revolucion, which happened in 1809. I’m not sure if the whole museum is contemporary art or just that part, but it is a really beautiful building, very light and bright, but made of very old stone, gothic arches and all. Also, the exhibit we saw was about history, but there were some photographs from Mexico in the ‘30s in the lobby. Also, it only cost 50 cents per person on weekends, 2$ on weekdays.

It was really cool to go to an museum exhibit in Spanish. I learned a lot of words, all of which I have forgotten. But it really made me appreciate the design of exhibits, because I still got a lot out of pictures, dioramas and interactive parts. Also, between parts of the exhibit, you got to walk on these out door elevated terraces, like around the walls of the castle, so that was sweet. The exhibit clearly had a lot of money, because there were two movies that were part of it, each having 5 huge screens that had different images on them at all times. VERY CONFUSING. Also, to make it more “real” they had animated the pictures of all these old Spanish generals, so Quiroga’s mouth would move awkwardly and his eyebrows would go up and down as he discussed his desire for freedom from the Audencia. Weird.

We walked up another hill to this giant cathedral, I think it is called the basilica. Alters, weird plastic dolls of saints, beautiful stained glass. Instead of gargoyles, they have animals of the Amazon, like tapirs, monkeys, and lizards. And armadillos!

Ate a “mora” popsicle. I am told “mora” is raspberry, and it was purple, but it sort of tasted like grapes. Hmmm. We walked home and I took a nap. I don't know for how long, because I don’t have any type of clock or anything.

When I got up, Pilar’s friend, C-something was there with her exchange student, Neal. It was really awkward, because Pilar told me that Neal went to Georgetown University, so I was like “How do you like DC?!?” and he was like “I live in Oregon.” Anyway, we had stir fried veggies, green beans, pasta, some chicken, and some giant home made French fried potato things. Instead of catchup, they use tomato paste and mayonase that they squeeze out of these packet things with caps. Sort of like a square tube. Also, soy sauce is super-rare there, Pilar says she really dishes out for Kikkomen. Basically, we sat around and talked about drinking. Neal is really into drinking, and describe “La bomba de carro irlandesa” y “la bomba de sake.” Everyone else sort of alternated between drinking stories of their own and sharing looks about Neal’s self professed alcoholism. We ate geletin after the meal, and it was really horrible. Jimmy thought so too, and stabbed the geletin with a spoon repeatedly.

After lunch, the ladies wanted to talk, so we went into Pilar’s room, me awkwardly sideways on the bed, and watched about three hours of My Name is Earl, which is really funny by the way. Its like True Blood, but funny. It was also weird because all three of us are fluent in English, and the show was in English, but whenever we talked, it was always in Spanish. It was nice to be in a place where people take immersion seriously. That sounds totally pretentious, but its different here. Normally, everyone in Spanish class is speaking English as soon as the teacher turns his back, but here it makes sense to speak in Spanish. It makes sense, culturally, respectfully, easily, to speak Spanish. That’s good.



Neal+ his madre left. He gave jimmy his number and didn’t even ask if I had a cellphone, which made me feel like a lame little kid, but that’s sort of what I am here. Then I wateched some TV, felt lonely. As I was typing some of this, this weird neighbor lady came by and brought us a lot of food. Apparently she stops by every day, and Pilar never knows what to say to her. So I ate a quarter avacado and some salsa for dinner. That’s all I wanted. Then, I watched “Who Wants To Be a Millionaire,” The Ecuador Edition. They only win 50,000 dollars. This seems false advertising. Also, the Simpsons is equally funny in Spanish.

In summation: I write too much, I’m learning a lot, it’s freezing here, the food is great, I love my host family, school is totally unknown.

And I still don’t have my backpack. Be sure to pack shirts and a toothbrush in each bag you check when traveling abroad.

First Time This Blog is Actually Informative

I wrote this on the night I first arrived, at like 3 in the morning. No promises for coherency.

Guess who loves her host family? This guy! I am successfully in Quito, in my own room at my house! This is so awesome!

Leaving the US was hard. Saying goodbye to Zak, Ma and Lest especially. I love them each so much, and so individually, that its hard to not have them be a huge part of my life. But that’s growing up kind of stuff.

The last day was nice, too. I woke up early and took a walk with mom, despite the monsterous blisters on both heels. Went to Mark’s Kitchen for breakfast, and ate a lot of carbohydrates.

The airplanes were boring. I didn’t really bring a book or anything, so I mostly puzzled over the “Gentle” Soduku from three different “American Spirit” magazines, only half completing each one.

In Miami, I met all the other K kids. We were loud and sat in a circle, taking about sharing toothbrushes and other savory topics. It was good to see people again, a group of kids similar to me. Flight to Quito was boring, slept a lot, ate some nasty pasta, half-watched this horrible kids movie called, like, “Taming Your Pet Dragon.” Also, then The Office was on, and it was the one about Pam having the baby, which I thought was kind of weird to show on an airplane. We flew over Quito twice because there were other planes ahead of us to land, and, man, is it beautiful. Its in a valley but has ridges itself. There are other orientative features that I have been told of, but I have forgotten all of that information.

Waited to get off plane. Waited for immigrations. Could not find hiking backpack. Waited with Sarvie and Melba to file claims. Waited for Customs (they just put my bag through an x-ray. Unsure of purpose).

Then! I met my family. My mother is named Pilar, and she is short and about 45 or 50. I liked her immedietley when she bought a pack of gum from a begger/selling stuff lady in the parking lot. Her son (??) Roberto drove Malcolm and his host mom, Pilar’s mother, to their house, along with me and Pilar and somebody’s granddaughter named Manuela. She is turning 9 on Tuesday and Malcolm and I are invited to the party.

I live in an apartment on the second floor. The first floor is a bakery, and this is awesome. The apartment is very big. There is a kitchen, diningroom/main room with a computer, a living room with a futon, a bathroom, and three bedrooms.

The house is very friendly and decorated with masks, posters, and sculptures, ranging from totally tacky angel figures to sweet indigenous stuff. There’s a Bob Marley poster in the bathroom, and my bed faces a wall-sized blow up of a picture of the earth from space. Peeling, the flowered wallpaper is visible below.

Pilar lives here with her son (??) Jimmy. He is 22 and a metalhead. I like him already. He has a drumset in his room. Pilar showed me her room (it has a hand drawn poster saying “Peace!!” on the door), and told me that I am welcome to chill out on her bed and watch TV. This rules. We are going to eat breakfast at 10 and then walk around and figure things out.

Also, they have a water filter. This rules.

Soon

Its almost happening. In 15 hours, I'll be getting on the plane to Miami. I've said goodbye to my best friends, my neighbors, my boo, my grandparents. Lester and Ma are downstairs watching Blue Crush, but we've been snuggling all evening. I've eaten a lot of excellent blueberry cake (Thanks, Jeana!) and bread pudding (thanks, stale bread!).

My room is cleaner than its been in months, and my mom's room is filled with everything that used to be in my room. A big suitcase, a hiking backpack, and then like 47 mismatched socks and some calamine lotion.

Plan for tomorrow: wake up early, go exercise. Eat breakfast. Return home, frantically pack and clean. Medicate self. Provide Celeste an escape from emotional Dana at a friend's house. Drive to airport. Weep. Check bags. Re-divide access wait in suitcase. Go to Miami. See K people (only Hannah that I'm sure of). Fly to Quito, maybe given dinner. Meet host family. Be non impressive and collapse from exhaustion.

I can't wait! So citin!

Sojourner Truth

Well, that promised post clearly did not happen. Things just got too crazy. Things have been crazy in general lately. If I'm not spending repulsive amounts of money on calamine lotion and quick dry tank-tops (but now that I think about it, I haven't acutally bought either of those things), I'm hyperventilating/weeping/ flying into a rage. Its less in control than I'd like, but I suppose its just one of those things.

One thing that's really keeping me going is the idea of settling in. Most of the time, when I travel, its totally out of my suitcase. I'm constantly changing locations, lugging a duffle bag down broken sidewalks, and its always raining or so cold. But in Ecuador, I'll drag my big brown suitcase and hiking backpack to my host family's car or a bus, drag it to my room, and never have to pick it up again. I'm bringing the backpack for side trips and stuff like that, but the suitcase is on its last legs anyway, and it'll be so nice just to stick it in a corner or under the bed and not have to worry about constantly keeping things folded and my muddy shoes away from that one clean shirt. Also, laundry will be nice. Also, there will probably be a maid.

Another aspect that's not bad at all has been saying goodbye to people. That sounds sad, but its not really. Not usually. Because I'm away so much, and most of my friends lead equally fantastically active lives, its hard to cross paths very often. However, I pull the south america card hardcore, and people bend to my wishes. And by that I mean we go out to dinner or play trivial persuit in the sun, or just lay around and talk. I've gotten to a lot of the people I value the most in the world, people I grew up with who made me who I am, in the last few weeks, and that has really been a blessing.

I just used "blessing." and the other day I mentioned "mercy." Maybe fitting in in this Catholic country won't be so hard.

Also, packing rules. Me and my mom sit around in her air conditioned bedroom folding things, cramming non-dense clothes under more dense things, and discussing my waist size. "This is so flattering!" she says of a dress I am unsure about bringing, "I wish green made my thighs look so good!" It's flattering, and it helps us spend time together without communally freaking out about how I will be leaving her motherly nurturing so soon.

And it is really soon. In 48 hours soon. In two nights, I'll be going to sleep in a new bed.

Sometimes, I get really worried about what its going to be like, and almost whenever that happens, I start to beat myself up for being wussie about it. Look at all those day laborers, those Rwandan refugees, that guy who walked from Siberia to southern China. Think about the Native Americans, the Pilgrims, THE JEWS YOUR OWN PEOPLE. Once I get to THE JEWS MY OWN PEOPLE FOR GOD'S SAKE, the anxiety can finally find a place to rest. Once I stop considering people who move, immigrants, migrants, emmigrants, whatever, to be on this plane above myself, full of honor and bravery and strength I could never possess, I stop feeling so guilty and so scared. Lester talked to me about it, and what she said was right: that moving and entering a new space is pretty much the hardest thing a human can do while still remaining on the planet. Its scary because its disturbing, to enter someplace new and unfamiliar, with only your own soul, and your own little pod of a self to guide you. That's why people hang on to language, and traditions, and live in little El Salvador until their children are begging them to leave. How could you not resist the safety of what you know when you are surrounded by what you have never seen before? Its hard to depend so much on what's driving you from the inside when what's moving you from the outside is so unfamiliar.

When I start thinking this way, I think about the people we called at the phone bank who said that all immigrants are bad for coming here, and that they all should go back. I used to think that was just hatred, and I still think its ignorance, but now I'm starting to think that maybe they are just as scared of the unfamiliar. Maybe, they are just anxious for a future they aren't sure of, that they don't know they could understand. And being scared of the future, well, that's something I can totally understand.

I am going to write a post today. I promise.

Keep on Chuggin

Well, SOMEBODY has been not keeping up her blog very well! Tut tut.

To rectify. Its been almost great getting ready to go, now that we have passed the two-weeks mark, and are entering the single digits. I went to CVS and bought an unconscionable amount of toiletries, I opened a savings account, and gave away the first of many bags of "old crap once considered to be valuable/fashionable" to the thrift store.

HERE ARE SOME ANECDOTES FROM MY AWESOME LIFE!!!

Went to the Mac store in Bethesda to get my laptop a new disc drive, watched my mother convert as she picked up an ipad and turned it 90 degrees, back and forth, gasping at every rotation.

I went to a Bowie Baysox game with Jordan, and it was awesome. I love the Bowie Baysox, all of the three times I have seen them. The first time, I went with my summer camp and started crying. The second time was for a birthday party, maybe. And this time, big girl Dita made it all the way to the end of the 7th inning! I love those 7 dollar tickets! Also, they get some points for having a Rita's stand there, but all the flavors were nasty.

I made the best dinner ever on Tuesday. maybe Monday. Whatever. Anyway, it was tofu cubes rolled in a beaten egg and flour, fried, mixed with fried onions, sliced Brussels sprouts, mushrooms, and steamed broccoli. Pour a lil teriyaki marinade over dat jaunt. No carbohydrates needed in this delicious and nutricious dinner! I am martha stewart! This was confirmed when I fried some bananas in brown sugar and butter for dessert.

Whenever I start typing "fried," I type "friend" instead. Dyslexia or a food obsession? You be the judge.

Hung out with Terry and took him to the pool, which he liked. Fed him "Chick'n grillers" veggie burgers, which he did not, with total good sense.

Walked into Mount Pleasant with Zak after the slurpies at 7-11 looked like diaherreah, searching for a frozen beverage. We made it into a Salvadorian restaurant advertising cheap horchata, egged on by a cute pubescent boy saying "this restaurant is great!" As soon as we entered, he ran to the main waitress and began refering to her as "mom." Nepotism in action.

Anyway, we were totally happy, until they told us they were out of horchata. We ordered pupusas, and then the juke box came on. so loud. we were yelling to hear across the table, and then the obese waitress in a shirt whose back was entirely black lace started dancing, and a guy came in trying to sell flowers. It only cost 5 dollars! I would definitely return.

Ate pron-equivalent cupcakes at Georgetown Cupcakes, oddly located in Bethesda. I will not make any comment about the new! reality show called "DC Cupcakes" featuring two nice-looking, 30-something sisters. Sisters! with cupcakes! Sounds like me and Celeste, except we were both in grade school and have food-baby stomachs full of icing and flour paste sticking out of our thrift store t-shirts. Not to dis Celeste, she is off enjoying nature and freedom with Quakers from the tri-state area.

I also did two important/emotional/actually interesting things that I think belong in another entry, because this is full of drivel, and also getting pretty long.

But as a little teaser, I'll tell you the name of the two events, which I will inevitable call the next entry:
-The PhoneBank Party
-The Free Clinic.

Doesn't my life sound scintillating?!?!?!

I'll be back, I promise,
Dita.