No Sleep Till Thursday

Its 345 am, my computer charger only sort of works, and I am filled with insomnia and backpain both rare to me. I'm nervous-but-excited for Ecuador. I know that I will get it all once I get there, that things will work out, but there are so many things I need to do to get settled, so many moments and interactions I will need to negotiate. The moment I get off the plane and go through customs won't be that hard, I will just be tired and hating my luggage and clutching my passport. But the moment after that might be hard. I'm not sure if anyone will be at the airport for me. I really should not worry about this, I should be able to land some place and do my own thing, but I've got this vision of thieves seeing that I don't have a hostmama to get me and stealing all my stuff on the sidewalk by the airport and everyone laughing at the lonely gringa. Did you know that I love self pity?

The reason I might not get picked up is Pilar might be busy. I'm not sure of the current situation, but I know that about a week ago, her daughter's fiancee (and father to her grandchildren) had a brain hemmorage. This guy, Santi, is a total saint, a wonderful guy, and the breadwinner for his family. It's scary for numerous reasons; as far as I knew he was in good health and he can't be more than 35. So this is scary beause someone is very sick who no one expected to be very sick, and my mama might not be there to meet me at the airport. She might also be at the hospital or talking care of her daughter and grandsons. I talked to hannah today, though, and she says I can stay at her house that first night I get off the plane before I go to Cumbaya. I really appreciate that, to be able to go to someone I already know and trust. Her mama, Miriam, is another member of the Saints, so I know I'll be well taken care of.

Another moment that I keep rolling over is my travel to and arrival at my house where I'll be staying. Will I go alone or with someone? Who- Jimmy? Hannah? Pilar? If I go alone I'll definitely take a taxi, but if I go with someone I guess we could divide my stuff for the bus...but I've never been there before and I don;t want to wander the streets of Cumbaya with all my stuff. I'll take a taxi. Will I need to act tough? I've got this idea that my dueño will be some Humbert Humbert (LINK) esque fellow who will leave me creepy sexual hints all over the house that I will have to awkwarldy ignore, dumping rose-scented love letters down the toilet and throwing away pink-iced cakes. That could be a little amusing, especially because I;m past the Lolita fashion stage. Or he could be a down right assaulter. But that just doesn't seem likely. I made it clear that I want privacy, silence, and security. I have my own room in a non-high traffic part of the hosue. I have a lock on the door. I'll have my phone on me and Hannah on alert for the police. I can do this. And really, I'm just focusing on this person (the world I'll be using is dueño, which means "owner" but also like "landlord" or "guy from whom I rent") because I'm worried about men in general in Ecuador and how I'll behave around them to keep myself safe. Zak suggested buying pepper spray and I think that's a good idea.

But there's tons of stuff I'm excited for. I'm so excited to see the mountains again, to feel that lightheaded dizzy spin as I lie down. I'm excited to be in public spaces that I love and are so different, like the fruit markets, the grocery store, the pharmacy. I'm so excited to be on a bus again. I took a bus down H St with Michael and it was so great to know how to do it. It was also free because the smarttrip reader was broken, making it the only thing in the US cheaper than in Ecuador. I'm excited to see my favorite parks and little roadside patches of grass with statues. It's going to be so wonderful to recognize things, to remember them and myself and others within them but learn them again in this time and place. i wish I was a photographer so I could capture that feeling of return with images. I'm not, I'll grab it with words. I wil snag it when it finds me because I know what it feels like. It is a combination of many feelings, that sensation of return. It feels like the need to write, firstly, which feels to me like the need to pee but from your fingers. All your carple tunnel muscles ache, but ache to be abused more. My tailbone needs firm contact with something hard, my knees want bend. My head rests on my chin, the perfect posture laptops allow. My arms go weak and my fingers get smart and my sensory percption goes way up. My ears begin to name what goes through them, my eyes search for depth of field. I sniff for clues, I start to drool a little bit. I need to call up every memory linking to anything that's familiar around me while simulatneously suck in all that data for more memory making and more instant and further analysis. It's a combination of entry, processing, and storage and I really love it. For all my vigilance, it;s a very calm sensation for most of my body. I'm being slowly lowered into a pool of blue aloe vera gel and once my head is under my eyes will really open and my lungs will breathe fine. As soon as I reall remember what this place was like, as soon as I really understand where I am at that present second, I'll be with it, so good to go that I'll skip and run to my bus stop or meeting point. When that recognition enevlopes me, I am so strong.

Nearly

I haven't written in a while. I'll put that off to the big ole paper I had to write to finish up the ICRP class, but that's not that good an excuse. Mostly, I've been doing very little and qualifying it as a lot, hoping to squeeze the final drop of toothpaste out of Quito's tube. I didn't approach the Crest with a very good strategy and there's holes in the plastic and I've still got a bad taste in my mouth but at least I'm trying. I'm hoping for no cavities as what I remember from here.

I didn't make huge travel plans, I'm not going to Colombia or the beach or the USA like some people. My sister isn't coming and I'm not going on some epic Oriente adventure with my host family. I'm watching movies and staying up late and talking spanish. I'm trying to learn how to cook all the things I've come to love. I'm on facebook chat a lot, trying to remember slang and how we communicate. I'm missing my mom. I'm eating a lot. I'm not writing every day, I'm not reading, I don't write down how much I spend, I've started taking taxis over buses and eating french fries.

It's ok, I hope, to do all this. To relish the cheapness and the conjugation while I can. To watch 30 Rock with pilar, to wash the dishes. It's ok that I'm not off having the adventure of my life. It's alright to stretch packing over 6 days of folding and rolling. I'm doing ok, I'm saying goodbye, I'm transitioning in that slow, miserable way that I do.

And it's not all going to be boring. On Tuesday (tomorrow! Only one day to slog through!) I'm going to Mindo with Aracely and her sister and cuñado to zipline and eat chocolate and see orchids and on Thursday I'm going to Otavalo to buy monstrous amounts of handicrafts. And friday? Saturday? Breathing deep, packing suitcases, hugging people, feeling anxious outside at night, and getting ready for that too-long layover that will take me home.

Galapagos Feb 3

Thursday! It was still raining! We went to el Muro de Lagrimas (wall of tears) which was appropriate because god was crying. You know, rain. Originally, parts of the Galapagos were used as penal colonies and they made the prisoners build this giant wall of volcanic stones. It was a very impressive wall and even more impressionable because Jeff talked about how much suffering went into the wall. So many prisoners died there, they started with like 3000 and after a few years only 300 were left. Humans do really horrible things to each other. Organized government, especially when it's into punishment rarely ends well for individuals.

We walked a trail along the wall, looked at more of this bizarre thin vegetation. Walked some more along boardwalks saw stately pale flamingos. Their knees are backwards and their throats are flexible tubes. Its amazing they can stand and fly both- their bodies seem designed for neither. Our walk was then along the beach which was beautiful but we were all very sick of the rain and cranky.

In the afternoon we went snorkeling and sightseeing. We went to a place called Tintorearas which is several very small (the size of a house) islands very close to the water level. The whole place looks like it is made of lava dribble castles. We saw boobies and penguins and friggits and sea lions! They were all sitting next to each other and many pictures were taken.

After that we tried to go snorkeling and it was really scary. It might be time to explain the Dana Snorkel Stay Calm method now. Basically, snorkeling involves a lot of things that are scary: being in the water, not having totally free breathing, not being to see clearly, feeling alone, seeing creepy plants, waves, possibility of hitting something, possibility of getting lost, drowning, etc. Basically, I am a fraidy-cat about a lot of thing and snorkeling combines many of them. But I also like water and fish and animals and exploring and I certainly wasn't going to pass up this opportunity. So I tried to look at snorkeling like a meditative, spiritual activity. I worked to slow my breath, audible through the tube. I tried to relax my jaw and shoulders. I kicked evenly and reminded myself bodies float naturally. I let the wave add rhythm. Of course, I still hyperventilated every time I got too close to seaweed and when rocks got too near I almost gave up and sank. But I'm proud of what I did manage.

However, despite my excellent mental control, the snorkeling was pretty bad. The water was deep and cloudy and you couldn't see anything. We tried another spot and that was better but extremely cold and had Dana's enemies, rocks covered in algae, near the surface. I saw a giant ray, though, just chilling out under some sand.

We got out of the water and took a walk to mangroves, another natural environment that I am unreasonably scared of. There was a beautiful bay at the end, though, that reminded me of the dock in Requiem for a Dream. But not horrific and drug addicted. We walked back. There was only van, so half the group stayed behind and drank beer while we waited. Beer is horrible here.

Highlights: lava formations, cute animals! Not dying while snorkeling.

Galapagos Feb 5

Friday! In the morning, we went to the Charles Darwin Research station where we saw many giant tortoises. We learned about how the tortoises and the cactus-trees evolved. As the tortugas' necks grew, the cactus grew taller. That's a simplification of a millions of year’s process, but its simplicity and slowness is what makes it beautiful. We watched a tortuga eating leaves with its pokey jaw, strong tongue. They are pretty stupid, actually, they can't see very well and drop much of their food.

We also saw Lonesome George who is the last of his species on earth. Despite many attempts, including an attractive Swedish evolutionary biologist helping him out (the imperfect of the word is 'masturbaba,' which is endlessly funny), he just isn't into reproducing. Good thing tortugas live like 200 years and George is only 130 or so.

In the afternoon, we went to Tortuga Bay which is a bay that often has many turtles and fish. Unfortunately, it was raining and cold so there was barely any life in the bay. I saw a sea cucumber which looked, honestly, like poop. Also, many marine iguanas which have very defined claws, move hilariously, and leave a little trail in the sand where their tails drag.

In the evening, a bunch of us went out to a bar and did that bar thing. It was overwhelming for me, as usual. I wish I could just relax and enjoy dancing. Jamie and I left and walked around the pier and looked at pre-teen galapagüeño (isn't that a cool word?) kids harass a sea lion. I went to hang out in the boy's room, which was filled with bugs, attracted to the lights. I was so scared that my room would be empty of people and filled with bugs so I slept on their extra bed on top of the covers. No bugs ate me in my sleep.

Highlights: evolution is awesome, I was not eaten by bugs, dinner was really good.

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.

Thinkin Hard

Its 10 am here in Ecuador! I am under my covers like crazy rich uncle Dana eating a banana with peanut butter, God's Gift to Food, and my head itches mercilessly. Just giving you my vital stats, you know.

As this program winds to a close, I'm thinking a whole lot about time and how it's expanding and snapping shut and shrinking in front of my eyes. For example, in late January at some point in my life, my mom and sister came to visit me in Kalamazoo. I was almost completley sure that that was one year ago, but once I really think about it, it's clear that it was two years ago when I was a freshman. They visited me in Hoben, my friends in Trow, we walked around the snowy campus and I skipped out on my caf meals to eat at Saffron and The Strutt. Last year, late January? We were cuddeled up in the sus house, trying to not turn on the heat. Zak had just gone to THAILAND. ( I tried to find your Thailand blog, Zak, and couldn't) I was taking sculputure, statistics, and beginning to gnaw my way through my independant study.

And three years ago? Slogging through twelth grade, knowing I was going to Kalamazoo, a secret warmth to get through physics.

Five years ago? I'd just started reading Cat's Cradle with Zak for the first time, and we all know how much that book means to me.

But no matter how many Januaries and Julies pass, each morning I wake up and slip on my glasses and pray that I haven't peed my pants while sleeping. It's not an issue for me, peeing my pants, it's probably happened five times since being potty trained but it remains something that I am afraid of having happened when I wake up.

With that confession over, I guess I could start actually start making sense here. What I mean to say is that no matter how time stretches and rips and gets tangled up on itself and in my mind, there are some things that stay constant. My anxiety about silly things definitely counts as something that's been there for me forever, and it's probably going to be there until my end. Sometimes, often, its no fun, it holds me back, it keeps me in my room writing furiously or imagining my death via food posioning.

However, the strength of the anxiety does help me remember parts of my life that might have faded otherwise. The churning stomach, the paralyzed brain, tight fists and though loops provide strong, clear points of recognition that might have gotten smoothed over it the physical fear wasn't so strong. And now, in a part of my life that's less riddled with anxiety, I can look back and learn from it.

For example, when I was little, I had this big thing about loosing teeth. I felt so miserable, like a part of me was dying or had abandoned me. I remember being six or seven and loosing a big tooth near the back. This seemed worse than anything, I was crying so hard. My mom, genius that she is, gave me a little potted plant from the drug store to help me feel like life was still going on even though I lost a part of myself.

Yesterday, quietly flipping out about how Ecuador is coming to an end and I'll never travel again and I don't know what I am doing with my life and have no friends, I rewound back to the lost tooth and the little plant. Its the same worry and solution all over again: loosing what is yours, the only thing you can identify and grab onto in the messy world, soothed by the reminder that the universe is larger than your bloody mouth, and that this giantness and variety can be a comfort.

So I keep losing teeth, knocking them out, they fall out while I'm sleeping or in class or at a party. And sometimes they hurt, and sometimes I don't notice until months later, but I always miss them, and I can't resist running my tongue over my bare gums.

But then in my backyard, under my bed, in my notebooks and friendships and heard in my conversations, are a million tiny trees, ferns and bonsais, dying or dead or growing strong, moments that I remember the bigger world around me, stop crying over my teeth, and just chill out and go with it.

So yesterday I lost a tooth and today I found a tree: the sounds people make when they are togehter. I heard in in my house growing up, Ma and her friend having coffee at 8 on a weekend morning. Later as I entrerd the teenager-sleep-forever phase, Ma and Lesters talking artifically loud to wake me up at 11.

"SHOULD WE HAVE FRENCH TOAST, DEAR DAUGHTER WHO DOES NOT SLEEP TILL NOON?"

"WHY PERHAPS WE SHOULD LOVING MOTHER! IF ONLY THERE WAS A THIRD PERSON HERE TO MAKE THE COFFEE!"

"ALAS, YOUR SISTER HAS JOINED THE CONVENT OF HER BEDROOM AND WILL NOT ROUSE HERSELF"

The Sus House bickering and disecting of what happened last night, or the frantic key-board and pages turned as an all-nighter winds down.

And now here, with Pilar and Jimmy, just this morning

"Ma, we have to go!"

"Ok, I just have to find my toothbrush. Did you take my toothbrush?"

"Ma, why on earth would I take your toothbrush?"

"Well, you took my hairbrush yesterday."

"That's different. We both have hair that we need to brush"

"We both have teeth my son. And I am going to brush mine before we leave this house"

My teeth make me cry and my trees make me giggle, and both of them help me remember my complicated, boring, wonderful, thrilling, scary, adventuresome life.

In Guayaquil, Full of Angst

Written Wednesday Night

Its the first time I've been under an air conditioner in months, and its the very end of December. I'm here in Guayaquil in Stefano's grandmother's house, on a fold out couch bed with my backpack next to me on the floor. There's 71% battery, I have stiff legs and a headache. Yesterday morning my mother and my sister left, cought a taxi to the airport, leaving me to lie in the still-paid-for hotel room watching three consecutive episodes of The Big Bang Theory and eating wafer cookies from christmas that had somehow already gone stale.

Hannah's parents took us all out to lunch and I had a chicken salad sandwhich because all I seem to want to do these days is eat various forms of chicken between types of breads. Usually, mayonase should be involved. Aracely came over and immedietley conked out for a two hour nap on my bed, only waking to ask if she could get under the covers.

I lay with the sweet centimeters below my knees in the sun and read Mary Karr's Lit, one of those books that pricks your consciousness, makes you think the way she does, see things with her crossed eyes. I can't wait for some dialogue to come up soon so that I can leave out quotation marks just as she does.

Its wonderful to have somone so smart and well spoken take up temporary residence in your skull, but it can get awkward when her values start sitting down on your own. Anecdote? Of course, so glad you asked.

Much of Karr's memoirs deal with her own and her family's struggles with alcoholism, and Lit is no exception. In The Lair's Club, pages and chapters are sobbed about her mother's heavy drinking coupled with knife-weilding mental illness, as well as her father's reclusive constant alcoholism. There's also aquaintence rape, bigamy, and cancer people get from oil wells. Not a cheerful set of essay prompts. So I read The Liar's Club and I thought, Well damn, my life is a piece of peach pie. She's bareley got a can of cool whip.

I was so stressed out from The Liar's Club, and just from seeing the cover of Viper Rum, her book of poetry, that I decided to skip her second memoir, Cherry and stick to the backs of cerael boxes for my reading. But for christmas in Baños, sitting on a hammock with my sister, my mom passed me Lit with its accolade-slobbered cover and those neat looking fake cuts down the front. There's a lot going on on the cover of that book, it took me a while to recognize Mary Karr, our lady of Perpetual Suffering/Southern Texas. What the heck, nightmares can make you stronger or hold Feudian clues to what's wrong with you.

It's a great book, once you start reading. Each chapter is as strong as an essay and very presentable or discussable, but the book hangs to gether as a story. Of course it does: Its her life. Her marriage and its failure, her child and his raising, her spiritual life and literary success. And her drinking and how she stopped.

So when a person who does have a drinking problem sneaks into your head, a 20 year old having a beer with dinner, and she starts muttering and throwing down adverbs that you haven't heard in months, due mostly having your main conversation partner being a hispanohablante dentist who prefers to watch TV, its easy to get distracted from outside and fold yourself into your ears ad fall into the anxiety hole. And no matter if you're on vacation, no matter if there's eggplant lasagna coming, no matter if you're with your friend you haven't seen for a while, no matter if you've been taking your medicine more constant than you check your facebook, Mary Karr can talk really, really loud.

You're drunk she says. You're drunk and your making a fool of yourself.

I'm not drunk I say. I'm tired. Did you spent 4 hours today in the Quito airport? I think not. I bet you were eating fondue in Maine or something. Or spelling every word correctly. Or praying. Whatever, something cool.

You are a fool, an Immature fool. She says. You should stick to your own language and begin attending self help groups immedietley.

Could you shut up, Mary? I ask as my lasagna arrives. Stefano is approximately 1/2 through his small beer and i judge myself to be at 5/8. Oh shoot, she's right. Out drinking a boy who'se been at college? This could be a bad sign. Or maybe I just have a bigger mouth-capacity than he does. How would that be calculated? Would it make my face look fatter?

Look at this anxiety Says Mary, her hair perfectly stright, bangs that will never happen for me. Why aren't your working on this? You should be in meetings every night!

But I haven't done anything wrong! I jab my fork into my food, which turns out to be at least two thirds cheese. Should I feel guilty for eating such a large amount of cheese? Should I quit while I'm ahead and just give up all dairy, or should I eat this hulk of mozerella, get gas, feel fat, and then learn my lesson later to never ask for lasagna in Ecuador?

Mary doesn't know, and I don't either. But I know that beer, cheese, and fear are a filling but bad-tasting dinner.