This weekend, I went to the mountain-hippie-hotsprings town called Baños. By myself. I had a great time. Some pikturz:

this is what was in my backpack

delicious breakfast, a mess of eggs.

bike ride! get ready for lots of scenery photos

I stopped at a tarabita which is a tourist trap combined with a janky cable car-arrangement.

 

that bag is full of fried pork skins cut into sheets. YUMMMno

wadafal

l

hahah ORAL. Nah this is actually for if there was a volcanic eruption and people needed to take shelter. 

see how the vegetation is changing? I was riding downhill into the jungle. I didn't make it or anything, but it was changing as I went down in altitude. 

self timer to show my joy. 

Cable cars, one thing you should not DIY

sitting by a beautiful river

with ice cream

took a truck ride back up the mountain:

and I did some other stuff that day, too, but there was a lot of this.

 

Love from the Andes,

Dana

19th Nervous Breakdown

In direct opposition to the crappy job of blogging I've been doing, here's what happened this weekend. 

Friday Night

• did nothing.


• Called a couple people, they didn't anser


• watched Almost Famous and thought about that for a while


• Host mamita was like "hey do you want to go to the jungle with my son ok cool"


• Made the moral decision not to go to my work thing on Saturday


• Packed furiously


• Finished Almost Famous. 

Saturday 

• Woke up around 5, packed and ate breakfast furiously


• said goodbye to host 'rents who are going to the beach and bringing 6 packages of ham, 3 boxes of tea, and 4 of canneloni. I do not wonder anymore. 


• Found out Diego wasn't coming till around 8, so I slept for a while. 


• Woke up to find Diego in my room ruffling around in his CD collection. He's like come on and Im not wearing pants. 


• We go out to the car and meet the other people with whom we are going to Tena. His ma told me that "Diego, his girlfriend and some other friends" were going. Most of the times I've hung with Diego, we were drinking moonshine on a street corner and listening to punk music, so I was expecting some pretty cool friends. I mean, I'd even shaved my legs for this. At the car, I find his girlfriend, Lora, and a 45 year old man with atheletic socks up to his knee caps. They are listening to Fiona Apple. Originally, I thought he was a bachelor looking for a foreign bride to deflower (uh hem) in some kind of feux indigenous ceremony preformed by bored Schwar teenagers in coconut bras, but it turned out he was just Lora's dad. 


• We drove for many (4) hours and through many (like 5.5) climate zones. 


• Around f10 30 we stopped in Baeza and got trout. I really really love trout around here. It's all either fished by people, like with a pole and worms, that old school , or grown by industrious people in square ponds near rivers. I like both those things, and I like trout. Fried trout, french fried, onion salad, and strawberry juice.


• Oh, also, this is when Pablo began his spree of paying for things. He just got up in the middle of lunch with his mouth full of bread and went to the counter to pay for all of our lunches. I hadn't figured out that he was Lore's dad yet, so this made the sugar-daddy possibility higher. 


• We made it to Tena by about noon, and drove around in the pouring rain for about an hour looking for a hotel. We found called the Pumarosa which I highly recommend. I was still in my double-date mindset and was worried that Pablo (the father) and I were going to share a room and he was going to liquor me up or something, but we each got our own rooms. Can I just expound on how wonderful it is to have one's own hotel room? I'm no Virginia Wolfe here, I just love being able to take up the whole closet and not have to ration towels. Also, not being in an arranged marriage to your friend's friend's dad is good. 


• We got back in the car and drove about half an hour to Misagualli (miss-ah-guay-YEE). This place is great. We only walked through the main town part, but it seemed very sleepy and beachy and nice. We walked to the pier and looked at the Napo River, and they all bought tamarindo and coco juice from this very gregarious vendor who took a long time in getting them change and then refilled the cups when he finally got back. I was terrified about getting sick from water, but really thirsty.


•  River playtime! It was a big wide river with a sandy beach and a strong current but not too many rocks. Pablo rented us inner tubes and I went again and again up to the small rapids and bounced down to the beach. There are some things in life that make me endlessly happy, and rivers and inner tubes are two of those things. Some other's include strong walking bass lines, the flavor of Thai curry, public transportation, and mountains.
  
• Anyway, we played in the river for a long time. It was kind of awkward socially because Diego and Lore were holding hands and cuddling, and Pablo and I were not holding hands and not cuddling and he was wearing something between a speedo and jammers that said "No Diving" on the butt and didn't have any hair on his thighs except for this one ring. 


• The inner-tube-renter took his dog on his belly while he rafted down the rapids. Apparantely he's been featured on TV for this stunt.


• There are a lot of monkeys just running free on this beach and they stole someone's deet and this was a huge deal.


• My thirst overtook me and I went to the coco juice guy and he said "oh I knew when you first came here that you were thirsty, I'm glad you came back, I hate the feeling of being dehyrated. I'm glad a single pretty girl like you is enjoying my beautiful beach." That was nice. 


• We went to a hut and ate maita, which is fish (they call it talapia but I don't think its talapia) cooked over a fire in banana leaves. SO GOOD. but I was feeling nervous about that coco so I just had some boiled yuca, also SO GOOD.


• Here's what Pablo ate in the course of about 40 minutes

1. Maito, the whole fish


2. About an arm's lenght of boiled yuca


3. onion salas


4. two glasses of cold guayuca tea


5. a choco con queso (a giant corn on the cob smothered in mayonaisse and shredded cheese


6. An ice cream bar (he was carrying around the choclo and ice cream at the same time and looking like a pig)


7. Three grilled worms on a skewer


8. a quesadilla/pupusa like thing 


9. another jugo de coco.

• During this time we mostly followed Pablo around watching him eat. 


• We got back in the car and drove to this area called Las Sogas which means Rope Swings. It was another bank of the same river filled with people playing including two youth soccer teams who immidieley stripped down to their  little-kid underwear and began fighting in the water, a father and son who shampooed each other's hair, four people with cerebal palsy of varying degrees, and two kids who were throwing rocks at each other until one hit the other in the forehead and he passed out. 


• We jumped off this ledge a lot. 


• Went home, read Los Vagabundos de Dharma (oh man Beat is so good in Spanish) and fell asleep.


• Went to this pizza place called Bella Selva and everyone got kind of freaked out at me for just ordering a pizza with onions and mushrooms and no meat or fruit or corn. It's pretty normal, guys.


• We crossed the bridge to this coctail place and ordered huge caloric beverages. Lore and I had "Ron Coco" which was like a spiked milkshake and could sustain a family of five. Diego had this giant maracuya thing with a lot of fruit. Pablo had a single shot of tequila which they brought with about ten lime slices and a whole ramekin of salt, worrying us that he had accidentally purchased an entire bottle. No, he just enjoyed his condiments, forming a cocaine-neat line of salt on his thumb and slurping it off, gnawing on lime slices before neatly sipping his tequila in four or so minishots as we slurped on our Ron Cocos. 


• Pablo had been paying for everything so far besides the ice cream, so I whispered to Diego and Lore that I would buy us the drinks. WHOOPS i only brought a 5 not a 20. I threw that in but my chivalry was denied.


• Slept. Naked, the benefit of the solo hotel room. 

Sunday. I'm going to cease the bullet points so I don't feel like I have training-wheels on. Woke up, read some more, jittered around, paid for the hotel before Pablo beat me to it. We went to this gringo-oriented place on the malecon for breakfast. I had fried eggs and real coffee and tomate de arbol juice and read The New Yorker which is my idea of best. After breakfast, we went back to the hotel and got suggestions of what to do from the owner.  Pablo searched for his room key for 30 minutes before we found it in his room.

We drove 30 minutes on the highway, than 40 minutes on this dirt road to finally abanon the car in a ditch. We were searching for this hotel Hakuna Matatta and the beauitful beach there about. We made it to Hakuna Matata and found their beach guarded by an Irish man with very poor spanish. Due to Diego and I speaking english, we found out that the beach was 3 k up the path through this community. The community had been "in fiestas" and we had to ask thier permission.

So we continued up this cobbelstone and mud road for a while longer. We hear the community before we see it. It's the Spice Girls, its a techno remix, but I love bass lines and I remember them. As we get closer, it switches to another Kareoke hit of the 90s, that A Little Bit of Monica song that that rapper sang in the Macy's Day Parade.

We see the houses by the time "I'm Blue Daba Dee Daba Die" starts up. They are small board-based houses a little off the ground as they need to be. There are yards with flowers and corn. There are clothelines and chairs and porches. There are people near their houses, and on the other side of the futball field that is the middle of the town, there is the pavillion with the music where people are drinking. 

It's like a Kurt Vonnegut scene: four tourists in water shoes standing on the edge of a beaten field while 10 men and one woman pregnant with hepatitis dance in drizzle and smack empty liquor bottles together. We don't move until they approach us and they do, four of the men and the woman and they all shake hands and don't let Lore and I go for longer than they should. I haven't smelled breath that fermented since I don't want to tell you, I haven't seen eyes that yellow since a client at the homeless services organization was a week from dead. They are celebrating the graduation, they tell us, of the kids from school. They graduated on Friday. The man who won't let go of my hand keeps asking me if I'm a señorita or a señor. I guess it's cool that even drunk people see that I'm queer?

The woman asks us for a dollar to use the river and Pablo pulls out tens and twentys in a mess from his mesh short pocket and I want to dive at him NO! Currency is capitalism and there is nothing more alluring than spending when you're spent yourself. Money might make it better, but it will only turn her yellow eyes green until she finally falls asleep. There are four of us only, so she technically owes us a dollar. We straggle to her house which seems to have some sort of store attached and she offers Lore a dollar of yoghurt as change. Lore and Pablo insist that they don't teach change, for which a young man mouths "gracias" a them. We shoo off the hand-shakers and cross the field to an audience of drunken, hungover, and children's eyes.

Here's the river

Some drunk folks by the giant rock in the river.

We play in the river for a while, I think big thoughts and am glad I know how to swim. It starts to thunder and lightining, so we walk back through the town in the pouring rain. Pablo wants to practice his english so we finally have something to talk about. He tells me the plot of The Fifth Element: "There is a girl, a very pretty girl. I do not know her name living out of the movie. There are aliens and they want this girl because she knows things. It is very full fantasy and I like that. He is still wearing his speedo. 

We drive back to the hotel shivery and soaking. They appeared to have no check-out time and we take advantage of this and the respectably hot water and shower ourselves. On the road, we drive to Archidona to eat more maito, more yuca, more onion salad, and more guayusa. We fill up the car and it only costs 15 dollars and gas is $1.50 a gallon.

On the way home, we get stopped because they are doing construction and the road is only one-way for a while. At the stop, a woman is selling the guayusa leaves for a whole necklace of folded leaves for a dollar. She's also sleeing fresh damp cinnamon bark and some kind of fruit that smells like rotting meat. Further on, we stop to buy mushrooms from one of the many stalls along the highway. We go into the green houses to watch her cut the six pounds. 

We drive home and I am DJ and I choose all dreamy, trippy stuff. We make it to Quito, drop Pablo off at his apartment and get back to Cumbaya. 

So that was pretty fun. 

Also, we listened endlessly to The Rolling Stones on that long dirt road, so that's the title of this post. Also, I introduced them to The Dodos and Fleet Foxes and they were impressed. This is the first time someone has been impressed with my taste in music since tenth grade or Ryan Douglass

MORE ADVENTURES

Here's Elsa, part of the El Cisne family. She has some sort of mental illness or disorder so she is pretty reclusive and impaired, but she is cleaning yuca for lunch.
After lunch we went to a river and played on the rocks

Rocks! river! tree! cows! boys who were flirting with me aggressively despite being 15 years old!
If you look close, the leaves look like pot leaves. OF COURSE pilar took a picture to show what a good time I was having in ecuador "Soy la virgen del la hierba!"

Little cousins playing video games in the house....

Which I realized was a little more natural than I had thought, storing the head of the pig we ate last night in a bedroom. YUM!

Pili and Dita's Excellent Adventure PART II

More Photo-a-day! Here, we have the first part of me and Pilar's trip to El Cisne towards the west of Quito. This was my first or second weekend in Quito after orientation so I had no idea what was going on, ever. I just nodded and followed Pilar, who sometimes dragged me down a road literally. The first picture is the beginning of our trip. We were looking for the Laquisha (ghetto girl name) bus but only the Mitad del Mundo bus would come by. Like 35 of them in a row. Pilar was getting mad so I took a picture of it.

Next photo is of the treasured drink of Ecuador, Avena. Avena is made my soaking oats in water or milk or either of those with fruit and sugar in them for a few days. After that, you put it in a blender until it is a thick grey paste. After that, you add more sugar. It is great for kids! Also, for the first month or so, I was confused when people would call avena "quacker." After seeing it written down, I now understand: Quaker oats. Anyway, here is an avena cart sold by the polish nurse-bear, perhaps named Avena. Let's all get a cup from the disabled guy selling it outside the bus window?

After arriving to El Cisne, we actually settled down the the ceremony celebrating 60 years of marriage of a couple that were presumably more than 60 years old. The ceremony was pretty sweet, except one of the daughters gave a speech about how proud she was of her parents but also some how connecting this to gay marriage being wrong. But my gay-dar was honking Sra. Olivia. I gotta tell you.

After that, we ate huge quantities of meat and drank heavily. Remember that time when I semi-passed out on a balcony? Yeah, that happened. This is Pilar and my cousin Bolo drinking shots of cane liquor at about 5 pm. Bolo was extremely nice and friendly and I felt enormous pressure from my family to sleep with and possibly marry him. I did not bend to thier expectations but it was still eye-openingly awkward.

Oh next up is the little cousin Diego who is totally strange. He made me promise to put this picture up on the internet and I told him I would and put that off for 6 months. disculpame Diego!

The next morning, unbelievably hung over, Pilar and I decided to take a walk in the jungle for a while. because nothing clears up chucaqui like dense vegetation. Here's Pilar in her natural environment

houses are often built off the ground so that there's less humidity and bugs and animals getting in. Example A:

Back at the house, here's Tia Laura making lunch outside in the open fire.
And here's me outbehind the house at the beginning of the forest.
I'm going to start a new entry because my formatting is messed up

Galapagos Jan 31

I woke up very early that day to help Jacob with his project which is counting sea lions on a particular beach. Only problem: Jacob kept sleeping, leaving me sitting on the steps waiting for him. It was fine, though, because I had a nice conversation with the owner of the hotel about things you need to do to own a tourist operation successfully.

Once the day officially started, we did a lot of touring and seeing sights. We went to the highlands to a crater lake called Lago Junco. It was very misty and foggy and we could barely see anything until all of a sudden the fog cleared and there was this giant round hole that looked like something out of middle earth. Actually, most things in the Galapagos look like things from fantasy novels, expect many references in the coming entries.

After that, we went to a turtle breeding station. Turtles are so slow and cute when they walk! Their bodies are just not designed for fast movement. We learned about the different verities of turtle on each island and how they developed.

We took a long, hot hike through desert like craggy trees to this gorgeous beach. It looked like some sort of Caribbean fantasy, flour sand, clear sky, turquoise waves. We ate horrible, huge quantities of fried rice that was what was for lunch every day. Now I understand the bio kids complaints. We swam and played and lay in the sun in that beautiful locale. And then walked the hot walk back. Some unmentioned friends did not want to put on their shoes and tried to run 3k back on volcanic rock barefoot. There was a lot of screaming.

On the way back, we passed a hill with wind turbines. It’s a good idea because there is a lot of wind there. Back in town, we had hours to kill. Stew, Iggy, Jamie and I hung around for a while eating ice cream and looking at the sea lions. It's sort of ridiculous how the sea lions act there. There is this playground by the beach and they just lie around on the benches and in patches of shade. They barely notice if you get close, until you get too close and then they snap and bark at you. Beyond the playground there's a beach where endless sea lions lie and cuddle like bums. There is a constant low-level of movement, adjusting and twitching and snuggling closer. It’s adorable and alien.

We found Natalie and she bought us milkshakes and we talked about if English is better than Spanish. No conclusion was reached. We ate dinner, walked around the sleepy beach town, sat on the roof of our hotel and talked about the stars and space and constellations. We also had a discussion about breast milk which would become a prominent theme in the coming days.

Highlight: sea lion viewing, beach appreciation.

I´m baaaaack

Written last night.

Hey there, long time no see! Sorry I was absent for a while, I just happened to be in the Galapagos Islands for six days. You know, no big deal. We left Sunday morning and just got back a few hours ago. My absolutely filthy clothes are currently at a laundromat, I've got a blister the size of a football on my baby toe and I've gotten so tan I would.....still feel guilty about calling myself "not white." I stick to my guns no matter how much sun exposure I've gotten.

I absolutely promise that I'll give you more details about what happened. this is partially because I am academically required to write an 8 page reflection about the experience and also because I love my blog readaaaas (holla at my gurls) and also because I feel a little dip in the panic level when my fingers are touching the keyboard.

But I will give you a little teaser, saying that highlights of the trip included: A volcanic crater, endless fried rice, antibiotics, a possible allergy to corn, a pufferfish sighting, obscene statues of turtles, too much rain, many many ice cream bars, a complicated pants exchange, fighting homophobia, riffs from rap songs, rotten breastmilk and boxed wine.

Additionally, I would like to point out that it is the 6th. And what is 20 minus 6? It is 14. So leaving on the 20th, I have 14 days left here. And what is 14 days? Two weeks. Two weeks on vacation in Ecuador is a lot, but two weeks to write ten pages, arrange meetings, pack, cry, eat arepas, make lists and plans and promises I can't keep is tiny. My blister is bigger than two weeks. My backpack can hold two weeks in the little pocket. I walk at least a month and a half on the way to the store at the corner. So there's the job of fitting my life into these impossibly tiny folds that I make in the paper of my days, and in the stupidly simple bits and bites of this blog, and in the seconds of eyecontact and understanding speech and doing-it-right that push me through the hours. So two weeks is tiny, flimsy, wears down its resolve with each hour. I haven't learned how to manage myself in the face of two weeks.

Hay que gozar la vida, I guess I'll take a nap.

Happenin's

Written Tuesday Night

I'm sleepy all the time. Its 10:07 and I wish I had gone to sleep hours ago. Seven thirty would have been good, or at 9 after the Big Bang Theory.

Maybe instead of talking about that semi-good sitcom, I should tell you about my life in a foreign country. Sounds good.

Saturday, I went on adventure with my friend Stewart. We took the TeleferiQuo, a big fancy gondola system up the mountain Pichincha that creats the Western wall of Quito. Pichincha is semi-active and there was a huge ash eruption maybe ten or twenty years ago. Its not dangerous, just thrilling. Anyway, we went up to the top and started looking for horses to ride through this beautiful paramo that lies at the top. After walking uphill for an hour or so, we found no horses to rent, so we kept walking another two hours. This is not a tourist activity, you're at over 4000 meters and the altitude made even Stew and I take frequent breaks so that we could "appreciate the beautiful scenery that surrounds us."

Our goal was this giant rocky crag of black volcanic stone that we were calling Nono because we thought that was the name. It's not, though, Nono is the name of a suburb to the south of Quito. So we walk along, calling out to Nono, our nononovia. Once we reach Nono, there is heavy evidence of landslides, the black rocks look even bigger and scarier than they did from far away. We say Nono more; the oxygen is thin and we are hungry. We tromp down singing every song we can remember the words to. As we near the bottom, maybe 1000 meters away, we find the horses. They look very gallant with thier saddals and woven blankets against the mountain and sky but look pretty underfead and tired. However, there are llamas that you can take unlimited pictures with if you pay 50 cents. You can also wear a cowboy hat and a poncho. Stewart takes advantage of this deal and I almost feel like I'm betraying a secret to tell you how happy he was. Not that he was embarassed to be happy, its that it was an embarassment of riches. The pictures on my camera better come out well because they really restored my faith in the natural world and the bond between man and animals.

Sunday, I mostly just slept. Acually, I watched an entire season of The Big Bang Theory, but let's not talk about that. Monday, i didn't go to work. Rather, I worked on my paper for my ICRP and took a shower at abuelas because our house did not have water because the neighbors were not paying the water bills. Good job, neighbors.

Today, I was back at work in Puembo. it was a day that really broke the routine, in a way that was not particularly pleasant. Firstly, we went to a local high school to attend to the students. The Duk and I loaded up an offical Ministry of Public Health backpack with medicine and forms and walked ten or so blocks to the school. As soon as we turned the corner, I remembered why we mark the box "Rural" when tehy ask on forms. A block away from the center of town there are fields of corn and barley and onion. Pichincha is to the West and you could see the snowy tops of Cotopaxi and Antisana if it were to be clear. The roads are grey brick with straw in the cracks. A horse passes us, then a John Deere tractor. The houses are brick and mud. Its obvious that we are in the mountains. Not very high, and quite close to a giant city, but in the Sierra without a doubt.

There are some parts of this rural world that remind you of the poverty. Its customary to dress in many, many layers of clothes, four or five shirts and sweaters, pants under pants. And people wear these without worry for stains or marks or rips. They are patched and repaired and worn forever. And that in itself is not a sign of poverty, its a choice of consumption and wardrobe, but its does effect how people view you. Before spending time up here, I would have almost automatically judged someone for wearing stained clothes. Now I think twice about it and understand that rules of looking good, looking solid, looking and feeling healthy here are different than those I am used to.

Anyway, we got to the school and it was a relajo. They had set up this giant tent for us in the middle of the basketball court with a gurney, table, and some benches. We basically had to set the whole thing up with 400 high schoolers wandering around, asking questions, touching stuff, and trying to get out of class. Originally, about 70 kids lined up, all claiming to be sick. The Odontologist and I walked around, interrogating each one "how long have you had the cough?" "Does it hurt when you swallow" "How loud is the snoring" and sending kids who were obviously not sick back to class.

After a while, the Leci showed up with the many, many things we had forgot: the sharps bottle for tounge depressors, a trashbag, thermometers, and much, much more Ibuprofen.

Because there's not much you can do when you have a cold or a fever or even the flu really. You can throw up and feel hot and drink tea and soup for a few days, and sleep a lot. I am sure people here understand that for the most part, but part of my job is interacting with the people that do not. Today, for example, I spoke to five partents who were frantic and pleading with worry about their children that had sore throats and fevers. Strep is horrible and so is tonsilitis and H1N1 is a risk, but for the majority of those fevers you just have to lie there and be miserable. Once we give out the appointments for the day, there's no fitting anybody else in unless its a heavy-bleeding emergency. On one hand, I feel horrible telling partents to take thier kids home, let them lie down, give them water and juice and tea, and wait a few days. On the other hand, I feel that its not my place to tell them how to deal with children I don't have. On my newly-created third hand, shouldn't they know how to deal with a fever already?

So there's been a lot of that lately, a lot of sick-eyed kids and parents that grab your arm and plead and beg for the appointment with the magic doctor that will give the magic pills (avialiable over the counter at ten cents a pop) that will take the evil away.

Enough judgement and poor interpretation of cultural values. Time to sleep

This! Is! RURAL HEALTH!!!!!!

Today in Puembo, everybody's expectations ran into each other. Chocarse, if you would. We were set to go out to the community to do something no one thought to call outreach. I got to the clinic at what I thought was late by 820 to find the Doc and Leci calmly treating fevers and bronquitis that every person seems to have. After three or four complete patient work ups, we gathered up our stuff: two coolers of vaccines (Hep B for the 6th graders, influenza for the old people); a sharps deposit box (really a 5-liter water bottle with the lable wripped off); some trash bags; a metal can full of cotton; and some anticeptic jel.

The Leci wanted to take a taxi because none of us really had any idea where the old folks' home was, but the Duk (that's what Leci calls the Doctor) insisted on driving her new Nissan. Within two kilometers we were on dirt road and the Duk was cursing her luck and lack of fourwheel drive. We drove around back roads for a while looking for something red, I didn't know the word. Eventually we stopped at a cross intersection and the Duk decided to turn around. Not looking behind her, reversing fast, she slammed the car into this large rock and scraped up her bumper. So then she turned hopped out of the car and put on the emergency break but didn't put the car in park, so it rolled back farther into the rock. She shrieked. Leci muttered about the taxi again. Duk tried to get into the car and drive away, but the key wouldn't turn. I thought to her "slam the break pedal and jerk the wheel to the left" but ended up articulating something like "you must be pushing the part on the floor for the breaking and flipping the tire." Obviously I was not understood and Duk kept impressing us with her lack of driving and car managmente skills.

Leci decided to walk to the nearest civilization, a high school called Colegio Israel which had everyhting plastered in Israeli flags. I tagged along as we searched for the secretary who searched for the pricipal who referered us to a teacher who knew a lot about cars. The principal, the teacher, a gardner with Down's syndrome, Leci and I all got into the principal's car and drove the 500 meteres to the stuck doctors. The teacher got in the car, slammed the break pedal, jerked the wheel, and started the car. I told you so.

With much embarassment and silent machismo, we got directions to the asilo. We got lost a few more times, and the Leci got out and ran in one direction to see if we were going the right way, but we got there.

The asilo housed about 9 old people most of whom wanted to sleep. We sat around in a room filled with exercise equiptment and fishtanks. I filled the syringes, the Duk and the Leci gave the shots, the Duk's sister who is also a Duk filled out the paper work. The dentist, who materalized as soon as we entered as the asilo talked about teh importantce of denture care.

After that completley-not-worth-the-trouble trip, we all hoped our next stop at the school would be better. We vaccinated the fourteen kids in sexto curso, me on the syringe-filling again. The Duks went to the first grade and gave a lecture about washing your hands, brushing your teeth, and "not sticking anything into any orifice of your body. It will get stuck."

The Leci went into the computer room to figure something out, so I sat by myself in high noon on a basketball court. Toasty. After about fourty minutes, she came out and told me to come with her to the fourth grade where she gave a similar health class lecture, relying heavily on the scaring power of the "filth underneath your fingernails" and its power to move all over your body. Also referenced was the love one feels for ones family, and how one could kill ones family if one does not wash ones hands.

Leci and SistaDuk seemed to think it would be cool for me to give the next lecture, to kids in about 2nd grade. I was not so in to the idea, but I was looking forward to actually speaking something. I also felt pretty good about it because in SPANISH 205 I actually did just this, talk to second graders in spanish about washing thier hands.

We pulled out around one pm, holding the giant bottle of needles behind my back so that the first graders going out for recess wouldn't be scared of gringas and doctors for the rest of ther lives. The Duks had to go to Yaruquí for a meeting, so the Leci and I walked a ways down to the Y intersection that begins the town of Puembo. The bus driver did charge us pasaje, but he did say "who's safe from AIDS today, doc?" and let us sit with our coolers in the front of the bus, which was both caring and funny.

Leci and I did paperwork for a while, then ate at Doña Marci's, where we had fried rice with hot dogs, easily the worst additon I have seen to that dish.

We walked with Doña Marci and her 10 yeah old daugher (the one I played teaching-English with) to the high school. On the way there, we commened about how the daughter is starting to grow breasts and how her nipples are visible through her shirt. Ok, honestly. The daughter responded that she didn't care. Ok, bravery.

Doña was a total jerk about the vaccines to the kids, saying this was punishment that they didn't do ther homework, brining the bottle of used needles on purpose past several classrooms "to put the fear in them." This seems to be pretty de regur, however. The teacher at the other school said that we should put the shots in thier eyes or butts. This seems unnecessarily cruel to me, and I know it would have made me cry and hyperventilate at their age, but I guess these kids are tougher.

BIG ADVENTURES LOTS OF STUFF HAS HAPPENED

So I'm tired today. Deep tired, tired despite sleep. I'm in my bed in yesterday's shirt and the very idea of putting on clothes makes me cringe. All I want to do today is eat macaroni and cheese and watch Two And A Half Men.

What made me so tired? I guess I'll have to tell you, dear blog readers.

I went on the adventure. The adventure that sounds rediculous, the one your mother would tell me not to go on. Or, knowing my mother (plural, actually, Ecuamadre and USAmadre would both are pretty into leaping into things feet first), she'd probably just tell me to bring along clean socks and more cash.

I woke up at 8 feeling hellish. That last entry, where I said I couldn't sleep? that was the beginning of 5 hours of the kind of non-sleeping bed-laying tossing-turning re-reading praying-to-god night that you hope comes once a year. Woke up at Frenchie's call, ran around the house throwing things into my purse. Met at Coffee Tree, rode to the North Terminal, talking about factory farming and political freedoms. The taxi was only 5 bucks which was astonishing. I promise I'm not going to tell you the price of every single taxi I took, just the majority.

On the bus, I discovered he's a SOMTHING AWFUL brethren (hear that ZACH?) and takes pictures obsessively out the bus window. We discussed the lack of safety of traveling with strangers you meet in the airport, showed each other our Driver's Licenses to proove our legit-ness.

Otavalo's a really beautiful market, really beautiful. I got bargained into buying these embroidered pillow covers so hopefully when you all see my house you will notice how mature and classy I am because I have nicely decorated throw pillows. Do not steal these pillow cases, spill anything on them or vomit near them. Thank you! I also bought grandma a present (al fin!), alpaca-themed leg warmers (get ready from some rockin presents, ladies of Kalamazoo) and a new T shirt because I had only bought one shirt and it had become clear that the adventure was going to be a two-day one, no safe return to Quito by crepusculo (look it up, my goofiest Spanish vocab word). Jump, feet don't hit the bottom, keep kicking.

Next stop was the town Iliana, famous for its limpiezas by yachuks. I did this in Otavalo with my program, but I'm always eager to get hit by sticks and rubbed by eggs in a dark room. We took a taxi to the center of town where we were stared at so hard by Quechua people going about thier business. We started walking in a possibly northward direction, hoping to find the magical hide-out of Yachuks. While walking, a pickup pulled up behind us and I saw my friend Javier (MY BUS FRIEND) and his ma and dad. He lept out of the truck and started talking about how happy he was to see me, about 85 times more friendly than I'd ever seen him. Of course I introduced my friend as Frances and not Francois, but Javier just started speaking to him in French, so my idiocy was hidden or at least put to good use. We told Javier that we were looking for limpiezas, and he was like, "Oh I'll take you to my family's yachuk, hop in the back of the truck."

There's few emotions besides thrill you can feel when you are driving straight down a mountain on cobblestone roads with a practical stranger at the wheel and another in the back with you. I guess you could be scared or anxious, but then, I wasn't. I was in the mountains, I knew where (or at least to who) I was going, who I was with. I could carry all I had on my back, over one arm. I could run in the lower altitude, in my sneakers. And I was going to get cured. We all were. I was awake and proud and strong and safe.

They drove us all the Panamericana highway and then we walked to a crumbly house with full out buildings, an outdoor kitchen, latrine, chicken shack. Papa Javier went up to the old lady sweeping the dirtfloor in front of the house, and they jovially yelled at each other in Quechua, negotiating the price. Javier's family is real Otavaleño, both his father and him have long braids that they've never cut. His mother barely spoke spanish and was dressed in the embroidered white blouse, long skirt, and cloth sandals that I never stop thinking are beautiful. Javier offered us his father's chagra (farm plot) house to stay in that night, which was just so kind that I made up an aunt waiting for me in Ibarra to get out of it. We planned on coffee in Quito instead. Jesus, what hospitiality! Would you stop and offer a ride to some nut-job foreigner from your school who you thought asked you out on the bus on the first week of school but really just wanted to hear your genius ideas about architechture theory? Maybe I would, but would I offer them a ride in the back of my truck? Go out of my way for her and her Canadain friend? Javier is a nice guy, that's for sure.

Unfortunately, the Yachuk wasn't there, so we sat in this empty dark room in this family's house for an hour and a half. I took a nap on a bench covered in a blanket that smelled like horse poop. Francois folded his multiple purchases and drank avena drink. After two hours or so, we were all (me, him, the old woman, her kid, her infant grandbaby) were all sitting on this pile of rocks by the highway watching the traffic go by. A stout man in Otavaleño dress got off the bus and dashed accross the highway, holding an armful of plants. The Yachuk had arrived.

The three of us huddled in a tiny dark room, filled with candels, children's chairs, animal hides, and cigarette butts. Francois went first, first getting beaten by dry leaves and rubbed by a candle. Then he stood on a straw mat in his underwear while the yachuk beat him raw with these stinging leaves that leave tiny cuts on your body. The next step was spitting alcohol on the leaves, lighingting the whole thing on fire, waving it out, and then rubbing that on your body. After that came a round of rubbing with raw eggs, then volcanic stones. After, he spit aguardiendte on all parts of you, really cleaing out those cuts. Next, he poured strong rose cologne into a bottle of old tabacco leaves, and then spit that on you. Most of this was acompanied by chain smoking Lark cigarrettes, occasionally taking a mouthful of smoke and blowing it into the crown of your head.

I was next, and he concentrated awfully hard on limpiando my butt-area and near my... sosten. I guess there was sin stored there? (I'm joking)

Shivering and smelly, we go dressed and walked along the highway a ways, found a taxi and went to Cotocachi, a town that seems to only sell leather goods. I bought nothing, Francois bought a bull whip. Useful! We got a long taxi to Ibarra, 20 k away. Wandered around in the rain, found a hostel, ate shwarma, bought a bar of soap, showered, trying to smell less worse. Drank Zhumir. Slept.

Woke up cranky, not hung over. Ate breakfast (eggs and ice cream) at the original helado de paila store. This is a big deal because it was invented in either 1850 or 1880, either way a long time ago. It's made by stiring fruit juice, egg whites and sugar in a large copper bowl on a bed of ice, straw and salt. Its labor intensive, light, sweet and very good. We inquired about going paragliding, and they were about to let us go, but told us the instructor was in Quito and could we do it our selves? No, ma'am, we would die.

Bus back to Quito, nice quiet, ate habas, felt sick, listened to Stefano's excellent Spañol CD. Which I copied from your mom, by the way Stef. Took a taxi back to the Fosch, ate wonderful, Britta-worthy salad and Italian food, parted ways. So strange to spend all your time with a person you really don't know at all but have no reason to not be honest to. Refreshing to have a relationship based on a shared desire for fun/seeing the province of Cotapaxi, not school or work or manipulation. Not that I want all my relationships like that, not that they could be, but it woke me up to how routine my life here in Quito is. I love my routine, it keeps me going, makes me happy, but sometimes rides in pickup trucks can do a lot of good in making your heart go fast and your eyes stay open.

After all that, though, I was eager to retreat back into littleDana. I put on my pajamas, made soup, and watched Friends and Ugly Betty. I can't be awesome all the time. Jimmy was home and he convinced me to come out with him. Going out with J is always an adventure and usally ends the same way. It reminds me of 10th and 11th grade evenings in DTSS (who remembers that acronym? Downtown Silver Spring, DUHHHHHH), wandering around familiar streets, waiting to bump into people you know. I'd usally keep a count and it was rarely less than twelve or fifteen people that I'd met before, plus thier cousins and friends and cute guys from school.

But there, on Fenton and Colesville, at the movie theater and Chik-Fill-A and Barnes and Noble and The AstroTurf, I knew those people, pluse Eric and Elliott who I'd come with, plus we all spoke the same language, and we weren't drinking cane liquor in the sidewalk. I remember meeting a friend-of-a-friend who was literally drinking PURPLE DRANK, cough syrup, vodka and cherry Slurpee. I actually turned and ran away. In Quito, with Jimmy, if there were Slurpees, I'm sure that's be common.

Am I making sense here? What scared me in high school, what was assumed then, is normal and commonplace and completley foreign to me here. I keep my self safe, sure, I turn and run if I need to just like in high school, and I say no to anything holding any of the ingredients of Purple Drank, but it still has the same allure it did when I was 15. Outside, badly dressed, light rain, just turning corners waiting to see old friends. Of course, the are Jimmy's friends and not mine, but it's almost as good to call myself "la gringa" and grin and pretend to understand jokes. It's not that that fun, I've only done it three or four times in five months, but sometimes its what I want to do.

Eventually this one guy with his 8 or so cousins left, and then some guys who I'm pretty sure were about 16 and cokeheads, and it was just me and Jimmy and his friend Lucho. We took a taxi home. They bought more Norteño because they are alcoholic idiots and I went to bed.

Going Home

Written Sunday Night

Hello dear diary

I'm back in Quito and what a day its been. Slept so much, deep insane sleep. Woke up, packed my things, pestered Stefano's ma to take me to the airport. On the way there, we passed the abuela's church which was letting out, so we backed up on the freeway for 200 meters or so. That was exciting. Made it to the airport, met a fellow gringo, a quebequer. We chatted about our careers, traveling in ecuador, other stuff until he got on his plane and I waited around for hours until my flight finally stopped getting delayed. I bought a 3 dollar sanwich the size of my fist and they woudn't even give me pickles for free. Cheapskakes.

Walking from the airplane back in Quito, and even flying over the city, I felt that similar out of breath feeling, the heart racing, the stomach flopping that I felt all the time when I first got here. I realized, deeply cornily, that I've started to associate altitude sickness with being at home, or maybe the other way around. Or I'm not used to the hight after a week in 'quil, or maybe I'm just happy to be back in Quito. I took the Metro home which I know was dangerous, chilled out with Ecuamadre and her friend Rosi, who have a standing date every sunday to watch a movie. They are working through the filmography (bibliography? I dont know the word) of this korean director who makes the most barren, depressing films. I kept running in and out of the room and being like "waht just happened!" and rosi would be like "they just cut off her breast!" "he threw her off the bus!" "the store exploded!"

Went out with my friendies, ate indian food, drank mango lassis. Met new canadian friend, drank coffee, made fun of hannah. Went to my house, watched Flatland (an educational movie about the dimensions). Got them a taxi. Way too much caffine in my body right now, no way sleep is coming soon. I might to go Otavalo tomorrow (gift requests?)

Happy New Year, Gringos!

Written last night at 4 am

First Post of the year, covered in sweat, drank three rum-n-cokes and seven cokes (not kidding), watched hours of Michael Jackson concert video, ate quiche. Happy new year from Guayaquil! Just what you expect out of a new year's celebration.

Stefano and his family were telling me all to just go to sleep and now I understand why: The family party started at 10 pm and was still going strong when grandma and I left. At 3:30 am. And by going strong I mean everyone was watching concert videos, singling along, eating cheese cubes and laughing at this one drunk uncle. It wasn't a very lively party, but definitely social and definitely celebratory and with excellent food. They also had this bartender/servant guy who would refil your drink and give you many napkins very frequently. It was the first time I'd been in the situation where all the party guests were white/mestizo and the server was black, so of course I acted awkward. Also, everyone there was costeño and really wanted me to talk about all the things that are wrong with serranos, so that was sort of awkward.

But the food was excellent, the rice-corn-cheese, quiche, little pieces of beef in spicy gravy. Desserts and appetizers too, and twelve of either grapes or cherries to wish on. I've been so lucky this year, my whole life, but this year's wishes included

-a great SIP

-health and safety for my family

-fun friend stuff

-getting to be a vegetarian again

-writing every day- at least a page in some form

-thanking God for stuff, being mindful, thankful, awake

-working on my mental health

-Keep on exploring, keep on checking in.

Ok so those are more like koans and less wishes, but the grapes tasted just as sweet. We also burnt our effegies of the last year, called simply "año viejos." Stefano and his mom bought Correas, hers made of old clothes stuffed with sawdust, his made of paper machae and wood. I bought a Mr. Potato Head, who we here call Señor Papas. I forgot he was from Toy Story and just remmebered fondly putting his eyeballs by his feet. We burned them in the street outside the urbanizacion, throwing firecrackers and shooting fireworks. Sometimes it got a little intense.

Here's me drinking champaigne while things explode behind me (I'll get that picture to you soon). Even though I missed the experience, i'm definitely glad I wasn't in a big city for new years- it was overwhelming and scary enough to see one set of fireworks go off, I have no idea what I would have done with a street, city full, and all the smoke they produce. See, look at me, already working on my mental health! I also went home early (ha ha almost four am) because I was sleepy, even though most of the people were staying to watch another vidoe. I'm not exactly sleepy, just chemically out of whack and I know that when that hits the only solution is to get by myelf, get in bed, write for a while and then trick myself into thinking I'm sleepy. I think it will work to night.

It's been nice to be here, to see a differnet family, a very different part of the country. Nice to eat so many plantains and see my friend. Nice to be in warmth and to use an air conditioner. Nice. Nice new year to you!

Ok, maybe I am getting sleepy. Nighty Night Blogy Blog.

She moves, oh she moves (who remembers that little kid singing that song it was so hilarious)

No blog entry for a week, tisk tisk. But it´s not like I´ve just been lying on my back listening to Phoenix or reading Stranger articles about this huge cocaine contamination problem in the eastern United States. I´ve been damn busy, what with my family coming, worring about the Reina del Camino accident, reading Mary Karr, hugging mom and sister, watching celeste get odd looks for her blue hair, eating excellent food and lots of other stuff. I´m just putting my facebook stati up here from the last week because I´m not filled with ganas to write. But I´m off to Guayaquil soon (1 hr) so maybe there there will be time for fun writing, helpful writing, SIP planning writing, that sort of stuff

accidentally was on the ecuator at noon on the winter solstice with Ellen Iscoe andCeleste Here'stoyouMrs Robinson . That´s cosmic, yo

LOTS OF STUFF HAS HAPPENED: Baños, bike rides, a salad shaped like a volcano, almost getting secuestered expressed, seeing Hannah, seeing Pilar, seeing 150 Salazars I never met before, excellent cebiche, horrible hot chocolate, run away attempts, too much Trole, love from my family, Dr. Bronners and happy holidays

Because I've been such a bad blogger, I thought I'd play catch up a little and go over some fun/cool/important stuff that has happened since I last updated about my scintillating life. Surprise surpirse, I'm going to make a list, because I am very bad at transititon sentances.

December 2. Went to a poetry reading with Ecuamadre. It was very beautiful, excellent poets from Ecuador, Peru and Colombia. I was proud I could understand everything. Favorite line: "Escribir cambia equilibrio/ dame con mi ultima respiro balance" "Writing changes eqilibrium/ give me, with my last breath, balance." Of course, I tried to write brilliant poetry in Spanish, and of course, it didn't turn out very well. Not like STEFANO here, who wins prizes in his second language. But then I wrote about that, and it turned out ok:

Agredecido

Sometimes

I forget Spanish is beautiful

But when I listen to the consenants

sound out slowly

I can remember

I tell myself

Interpret the night

not as a metaphor

between your slippery

poet paws

Follow the sine wave

with the grip of logic

some day, you'll find your zero

I promise myself

I will trust my fingers

I will memorize my face.

So yeah, that doesn't really come togehter right, but its soemting. Its the first non-essay non-journal non-rap I've written in a few months, so that feels nice.

December 3-5- Fiestas de Quito! This was so fun! There were lots of things I didn't go to, but I'm happy with what I did. I didn't go to a bull fight because Ecuamadre is really against them, and learning more, it does sound pretty gorey and inhumane. They kill the bull really slowly and agonizingly, and I just don't want to be a part of that. Even eating meat here is getting to me. However on the positive side, I did go to the El Disfile de Fraternidad which means The Brotherhood Parade. It was held on Ave Shyris, a huge street at the bottom of Parque Carolina, where the citizens march when (not if) they want to overthrow the government. The parade was huge, probably three or more hours long. People were packed along the street. I was with Aracely, and she bought a tiny stool one of the many stool-vendors was selling so that she could see. There were lots of different dance troupes ranging from special-ed schools to dozens of indigenous cultral groups to giant puppets dancing with each other. At least 15 high school and college marching bands, all heavily featuring cheerleaders in unbelievably short skirts and many xylophone players.

I almost got my camera stolen for like the fourth time- It was in Aracely's pocket, a lady started reaching in. Cely started yelling at her in Spanish, and the lady got all mad that we had caught her. What? We were sort of spooked, so we went into a Pollo Campero, which is very different than in the States. There are only maybe five menu items and it is very expensive. Its not fast food at all really, its like a place your parents take you out to dinner.

After that, we went home and took a nap so that we could go to Ferria Quitumbe. Quitumbe is at the very far south of the city, about an hour and a half by trole. Cely, Melba and I went and the trole was PACKED. Luckily, we hadn't brought anything of value to get stolen, but it was still nuts. Eventually we got to Quitumbe which had been turned into a giant fairground. We wandered around for an hour or so, looking for food, people watching, and enjoying the rarness of being outside at night. I ate cebiche from a food stall and I didn't get diarreah or food poisioning or throw up or even feel sick which is a huge accomplishment. And i can drink the tap water now too!

Anyway, we were waiting around for our favorite band, Calle 13 to come on, but the current band played these horrible Disney-esque songs, so we wandered around, looking at crafts, people playing, just enjoying being in a new place. By 10, Called 13 was playing and it was PACKED. I am not kidding. There were at least 5.000 people there, maybe 10.000. Lots. The show itsef was amazng even if we had to depend on the Jumbo TV Screen things and Cely wished she still had her stool. I've only started listening to Calle 13 here through ñaño, but they really are amazing, very powerful and positive music and a very powerful show. The main guy, the rapper was like "I want all the guys here to give themselves a round of applause, and to respect women and themselves. I want all the women here to give them selves a round of applause, to remember to stick up for yourselves, to never let any one push them around. I want all the homosexuals, the bisexuals, the transexuals, the people who don't even know what they are to give themselves a round of applause because you are fighitng a good fight, to know your self, and to stay strong against society." That's pretty sharp contrast from a country that was iffy about showing Modern Family because there are gay guys in it.

So that was amazing, and then at midnight it was Aracely's birthday. The show was over by 1, and we were thinking of taking a taxi back north, but knew it would cost like 20$. Luckily, the trole was packed and seemed safe, so we spend 50 cents each instead. The trole was packed again, but everyone was jazzed from the show and friendly and cheerful. We went straight to south station and instead of stopping at the stops every kilometer or so, the driver would just ask if anyone wanted to stop there. The stations themselves were closed, so he just opened the doors the the curb, and people jumped out at will. It was one of those times were everyone is working together, feeling united and laughing. We kept yelling "Que vive Quito! Qui vive Calle 13! Que vive el Trole!" and stuff like that. I told a group of high schoolers that it was my friends birthday, and the whole bus sang to Aracely as we shot through Quito at 2 am.

Eventually, we clambered off the bus and fell asleeeeeep. Que Vive Fiestas de Quito!

Domingo 12 de Deciembre- Went to Ibarra with Sarvie, IGGY, Ecuamadre and another exchange student and his mom. That was fun, we went to a lot of the places we went in Otavalo. Additionally, we also took the Ecuador naked picture for the SusHouse 2011 calender! If you don't know what I am talking about, just ignore that last sentance. If you do know what I am talking about, tell me if you want one. Once I upload my pictures, I'll put those up there.

Martes 14- Improv Class preformance! Superfun, pictures to come as well. Additionally, I wrote a rant, we all did, a sort of slam poetry thing.

Here it is:

Si, que cueraso eres. En tu bikini, tus tacos, piernas flacas, uñas con manicure. Esto no me moletsa. Estoy feliz que discubriste tu moda y te sientes bella. Lo que me molesta es como oscilas entre passiva y agression y blandes los dos como bistrui. Eres passiva cuando dejes tu pelado a empujarte, ignorar tu mente, valorar tu cola mas que tu car. Eres passiva cuando pierdas la independencia y sueños para que trabajaste cuando eramos niñas. Y eres competitivo tambien, con cosas que no son partidos: tu cuerpo, tus habitos, tu vida intima, tu novio, tus jenes deseãdor, tu perfume, tu carro, tu pelo, tus vacaciones, tus vacilas, tu cellular......

Quiero ser tu amiga, pero es dificil a no caerme en celos cuando no me dejas espacio a ser quien son. Y quien soy? Con mis muslos gorditos y my voz alta y ni un par de tacones y my closet? Soy mujer, como tu. Tal vez te da verguenza a llamarte una mujer y no una chica o una dama. Pero, para mi, me da fuerza.

Here's the rough English version

Yup, you sure look good in a bikini, your heels, your skinny thighs, your manicure. That doesn't bother me. I'm glad you found your style and you feel pretty. What really gets undermy skin is how you swich from passive to competive and you weild them both with alarming clarity. You're passive when you let guys push you around, push up your body (you know what part I'm talking about) and push down your mind. Passive when you forget the goals and the independance that you worked for when we were kids. And your'e competitive too, with things that aren't games: your body, your habits, your sex life, your boyfriend, your designer jeans, your perfume, your car, your vacations, your phone..

I want to be your friend, but its hard not to fall into jealosy when you don't give me space to be who I am. and who am I? With my thick thighs and loud voice and not a pair of heels in my closet? I'm a woman, just like you. Maybe its shame ful for you to call yourself a woman, and not a lady or a girl. But for me, it gives me strenght.

So the feminism and fun continues in Quito, soon to be augmented by family! I'm so excited!

Tingo Pucará Trip

Last Sunday, I went to visit Tingo Pucará with my Rural Sociology Class. We met by Parque Carolina at 7 am and drove straigt up for three hours. A little exaduration, but we did gain about 1000 meters in altitude by the time all was said and done. We left the province of Pichincha and entered Cotopaxi. We stopped by the side of the road and looked around the Páramo. That translates akwardly to "alpine meadow," those long grasses you see way up in the mountains. It's too cold and nutrient-poor for farming but its perfect for grazing cows, sheep, and goats. The grass, paja, is also really useful for building roofs. You can even burn it if you want to. Its also really humid up there because it is literally in the clouds, so there is alot of condensation which eventually flows down the mountain and forms the rivers of the Andes. How cool!

Our second stop was Guangaje, the capital of the Paroquia (thats sort of like a county). It was market day and there were little tent stands set up all over the central square selling candy, produce, dry goods, clothes, and even llamas and sheep in one corner. Almost everyone there was wearing indigenous clothing witch is very distinctive and beautiful. We went into the church during the children's service, stood in the back, got stared at continuously until we left. The priest spoke in Spanish but all the songs were in Quechua.

Oh yeah Quechua. Its slightly differnt from the Peruvian Quichua, same origin, but the languages developed differently. Sierra Quechua is more standardized than the quite similar Oriental Quechua. Its the largest indigenous language in Ecuador, but there are at least five other major ones. Every day I smack my self on the head for not taking Quechua at USFQ. Future USFQ Anso students! Take Quechua! The grammar is completley foreign, its a slightly tonal language, closer to Chinese than Spanish, but its a huge skill to have here in Ecuador. Or Peru or Colombia, they will understand you there too.

We drove a few more kilometers to the community of Tingo Pucará which means Lookout on the Mountain. The Incas, when they were still around, used the spot for something, but nobody is sure what. There are some foundations and rubble of houses right on the point of the mountain, so they think they used it as a point for lookout or communication with people on equally high mountains or something.

Commnication would sure be hard, beause Tingo Pucará is almost always surrounded by clouds. Serious, freezing, opaque clouds. The visibilty is around ten meters, pretty unsafe to drive. The town has 25 families, and you can't see from one side of town to the other. Really, really cloudy. We sat in the one room school house, in the same style desks we have in our sociology class in Quito and listened to presentations from leaders in the community, the mayor, the leader of the women's group, the facebook page manager (look them up. I'm for serious) They were formal, following a written itinerary, clapping after each presentation. Speakers used a mixture of Spanish and untranslated Quechua. Kids chattered in the echo-y room, sitting on their parent's laps, and no one shushed them. A cell phone rung, silenced. Men are wearing ponchos in dark red, women in bright shawls, several pairs of socks and peticoats, but always with that thin line just above the knee uncovered and windburned.

We got divided into two groups and took a tour of the town. My group went first to the Pucará where it was even colder and even windier. We leared that the paja retains heat and that you can sleep in it if you are stuck outside. Our group of four was accompanied by four very enthusiastic little boys. We were all gasping at the altitude, but they were used to it and went leaping and running around.

After that we went to the community garden. You can grow some things in the paramo, but it takes alot of care and you can't do it on a large scale. The community used to use agrochemicals (is that even a word in english?), but the learned about organic farming and never went back. Our leader, George, said "queremos mejorar la agricultora, nuestra vida, nuestros campos, y nuestros niños...es nuestra trabajo, vengamos de tierra madre y nos da alimentación." Shoot, George. He said "We want to improve our agriculture, our lives, our fields, and our children...This is our work, we come form the mother earth and she gives us food."

We ate lunch in the community room. They town built a stone building to try to start a tourist industry. There isn't really much of that yet, its still getting off the ground, but I bet they will be successful because they are so insanely hard working and dedicated. lunch was tiny potatoes, thin soup, boiling water, and morocho which is like rice pudding with barley that you drink. It was good but would be my downfall (see next post, after I finish vomiting)

After lunch, we took some pictures, said a few things, including singing Jingle Bells (Why? They wanted the norteamericanos to show our culture) and got back on the bus for the rainy ride back.

An amazing experience. Just amazing. How beautiful culture is, the natural world, how people relate to each other and thier environment. How lucky I am to visit a place like that.