Ayampe and the Amazing Beach Bums

Alllllllllriiiight, so last time I wrote, I wrote about Montañita. It is time to update again! Woohoo! Listen, for those of you so excited that you can’t keep your socks on… TAKE YOUR SOCKS OFF! I hear that it is supposed to be 82º in southeast Idaho today, so I don’t know why the heck you would have socks on anyway. Sheesh.

So after Montañita, I waited a couple weekends before going to the beach again. In the meantime, I went to La Carolina where we helped with La Opción de Vida. I am beginning to really enjoy the boys. Marcello especially is a cute kid. He is only twelve, or something like that, and he comes into the center a little later than most kids and sees me and immediately gives me a hug.

There is this other little kid that is a friend of Marcello’s and Vanessa and Carla and I were playing along with him one day as he was trying to creep us out with scary animal sounds and pretending like he was crying and such. We dished it right back. The only problem was that I was barking so ferociously into the air that my voice got hurt. It just kinda went raw, really, but then that night we went out to Ladies Night and I had a good amount of alcohol and a couple of cigarettes, which is a normal consequence of drinking alcohol in my case. So… the alcohol and cigarettes weren’t too good for a voice that was already a little raw.

But no matter! I got to dance the night away! And by that I mean I was home no later than 1:00 in the morning. Ladies Night tends to not be a really late one, since the party starts at 8:00pm, so four hours of drinks and intense dancing and we’re ready to split.

So I woke up the next morning with no hangover, but with a hurting throat that then traveled a little way into my sinuses. That’s what I get for smoking, right? Luckily I had no school because the University closed down for the holiday at noon and I don’t have class on Thursdays until noon-thirty, which is a weird way of saying 12:30pm. And for those of you thinking, darn, she is such a lazy girl with no class until after noon, you can go ahead and keep that to yourselves, because on Mondays and Wednesdays I have class at 7:00am. EAT IT! Okay, I would prefer if you would do an evaluation of whatever it is first to make sure that it is edible. I don’t want anyone dying on me. But then, EAT IT!

Oh, and we signed up for classes and I have 8:30 classes every day next semester, but I’m not foreseeing any problems with that after doing quite well with 7:00am. I feel like I might enjoy getting things done early in the day.

But back to my story, the Thursday after that Ladies Night, Vanessa called me up and said her plans for the weekend had changed, so we should go to Ayampe! For those that do not remember, Charlotte and I went to Ayampe on our way down the coast and into Perú. It is this amazing place on or near an ecological reserve and all the people that hang out there are just the chillest people in the whole wide world. Beach bums, but in a cooler way.

So I had been telling Vanessa about this place for a while and she was excited to go! We went first to the bus station on Colón, but amazingly they had no tickets. Apparently we weren’t the only ones wanting to leave Quito for the three-day weekend. So we went to the Terminal Terrestre, bought tickets, and then split up to meet there later.

When I got home and started to pack, however, I had this half really anxious and insecure feeling, and half really painful stomach ache. As some of you may know, I tend to be pretty damn insecure at times. It can actually be quite paralyzing. I think since I have gotten to Ecuador it has greatly improved, but I don’t know that for sure. Anyway, I was feeling hermit-like thanks to that certain character flaw, but I was also lying on the floor trying to get my tummy to stop turning funny. So I called Vanessa and told her that if she could get anyone else to take the ticket and go with her, that I would give them the ticket or I would buy her ticket from her, or I could just suck it up and go. Luckily, she couldn’t find anyone else and I made myself go.

We took an overnight bus to Puerto Lopez, where we would have to catch another bus to Ayampe. We got to Puerto Lopez somewhere around 5:30 or 6:00 in the morning, after a frustrating bus ride that included several long stops in who knows the hell where. We would stop at a restaurant at like 2:00 in the morning and people would get off and the driver and assistant would just disappear. And I had so wanted to sleep, so I used the meditation track I have on my iPod designed especially for sleep. I was in this perfectly comfortable place in my mind, the track had stopped and I was just on the edge of being fully asleep when the guy behind me caught my hair in his grip on my seat as he was trying to get up out of his seat. He ripped it back (albeit accidentally), and I was dragged instantly out of whatever mental state I had been in. I couldn’t even keep my eyes closed for more than a minute the entire rest of the ride.

So frustrated, we arrived in Puerto Lopez before the sun was up. None of the coastal buses were running yet, so we would have to wait until they did start up for the day. We got our breakfast from a bread shop across from where the bus parked. There was music simply BLARING from some sort of speakers right next to the bread shop. The speakers were about a decibel shy of blowing out, but apparently that terrible music so loud and so early was good for business.

We asked what our options for getting to Ayampe were and the man working at the bread shop told us we could take the bus that would start maybe sometime in the next hour, or we could take a moto-taxi. We stopped the next moto-taxi and asked him how much it would cost. $5 to get there, where it might have cost us plenty more time and maybe $1.50 to go by bus. With the blaring music assaulting our ears with accordion and drum machine sounds behind us, we chose the moto-taxi.

For $5, we had much more fun than we would have had on a bus. First of all, the driver was focused on the road, meaning he couldn’t try to flirt with us and there were no other men to do that. Plus, there was fresh air, no waiting, and we were in a bit of suspense, as the moto-taxi was basically a three-wheeler (a motorcycle front with a little buggy with two wheels on the back) and felt as though it could probably tip over on the road that was freshly sprinkled with rain. So it was like a suspense movie. Would we catch a turn poorly and have wheels spill out from under us at any moment?

When we finally got to our destination (a fantastic hostal called Finca Punta Ayampe), Ishmael came out of his room, barefoot and rubbing his chest sleepily, and led us to a room where we could stay. The kitchen wasn’t open and no one else was awake in the whole place. When I say Beach bum, I really mean bum. The kitchen never opens before 7:30 and usually it is later than 7:30, even though the best waves are usually in the early morning.

So we had intended to take a nap right there in our rooms, but instead we snuck down and slept in the hammocks that the place has hanging everywhere. I love Finca Punta Ayampe because it is just like a big tree house. The downstairs is paved and has a couple of rooms that are just kind of separately built, but it is mostly all open. They have a tree growing up into the upper part and there is a sign by the stairs that go up to the main livingroom/dining room/kitchen area that asks you to take off your shoes before ascending. Forget the United States regulations of no shirt, no shoes, no service. Ishmael worked without a shirt on, generally, and most of the men that walked around were only wearing board shorts. They ASKED that you take off your shoes.

So we curled up in hammocks and slept for about three hours. When I woke up, I discovered that I had been covered with a blanket and that Vanessa had already gone upstairs. Ishmael told me that I was shivering very noticeably (quite weird since I could barely sit at any time during the day without sweating- the beach here is pretty hot and humid) and so had brought me a blanket while I slept. Vanessa had gone to shower and was already in beach clothes, but it was raining! It rained almost all day, but she went out while it was kinda clear to walk on the beach. I stayed in the hostal and read my book (Travels with Charley by John Steinbeck) after taking a hot shower.

I was so glad to be back there! I love that place. Everyone is just so chilled out. The staff recognized me, of course, and everyone spoke two or three or four languages. We just stayed in mostly on Friday, since it was rainy most of the day. On Saturday it was less rainy, but still a little. But by the end of the day, we went out and lay in the sun for just a little while. As we were out there, Lula, this beautiful little girl that spoke French and Spanish and seemed to be enchanted by us, invited us to a demasca, or something like that. It was a sweat lodge, where we went through four different vueltas to give praise to the earth. There was Earth, Water, Fire or Power, and Wind. We showed up late, so we did not get to be a part of the Earth round, but we knelt inside of the sweat lodge for the other three.

They had a large bonfire outside the door of this lodge. Inside the fire they had placed at least 28 good-sized rocks. Each new vuelta of this process would require 7 new rocks, which they called little grandmas. The man tending the fire would reach them in with a shovel, at which point the keeper of the rock pit would pick them up using what looked like small deer antlers and put them in the pit. There was a woman that would put some sort of herb/incense on the rocks. It would smolder and then light on fire, sending delicious smoke swirling into the lodge.

Once there were seven rocks in the pit, they would ask that the door be closed, making it dark enough that we could not see anyone in the lodge. We were all kneeling or sitting cross-legged in the mud that was the floor. The leader of the ceremony would say a good amount about the power of the vuelta, saying how water was what kept us alive and everything around us, how we were grown in the water of our mothers’ wombs, and how we were now recognizing how important it was for us. He would continue putting a little more water on the rocks, filling the whole place with steam so hot that by the time he got to the end of the bucket, I couldn’t breathe without putting my head down where there was less heat and moisture. Then there would be singing with drums and a tamborine, sometimes in Quichua, sometimes in Spanish, and maybe even some in other Indigenous languages.

During the third vuelta, we sprawled out on the ground. It was so hot that the sweat was pouring off of us from everywhere. It was so cleansing. We didn’t care that the floor was nothing but mud, we were hugging it and soaking in its coolness.

Once we finished the fourth vuelta, we cooled off for a couple of minutes and then crawled out in a counter-clockwise order, but crawling out clockwise. Very specific order. Once we got out, we hugged everyone in the line and then drank some watermelon juice to rehydrate. It was amazing. I felt so close to everyone for some reason. Vanessa and I went to our room to take showers. At first we just took a shower together with clothes on to get some of the mud off. Then Vanessa took a real shower and Lula joined me with our clothes on in the shower again to get all un-muddied. She left with her parents and I got cleaned up, before Vanessa and I went to get some dinner.

We were in a new room the second night because someone had a reservation for the room we had been in. They never showed up, but Vanessa and I didn’t mind sharing the double bed. We never really got under the sheets anyway. It was too hot.

The next morning dawned clear and sunny! On our last day there, we got to lay out in the sun a bunch. I was VERY, VERY CAREFUL with the scunscreen, but Vanessa seemed to think that she was somehow immune to the sun, no matter how much I warned her to put on the scunscreen. I know, some of you are thinking, Emily, you spelled sunscreen wrong. I tell you, NO I DIDN’T! I pronounce it scunscreen for some reason, hence why I spell it that way. Chill, dudes.  Just chill.

So, Vanessa got really, really burnt. I don’t think she was willing to admit it, but by the time we got on the bus that night, she was pretty miserable. I felt bad for her. I was so careful with the scunscreen, but even still I got burnt. I went out on the boogie-board with some of my weaker lotion on, so my shoulders and lower back got burnt. Other than that, I just got a pleasant spray of color, which has now fully faded. Oh well. Vanessa even didn’t go to school the next morning, though she said she was sick with something else. I have experienced sickness due to bad burns before, so I have the feeling she had something of that going on.

Alright, so this is me, about to sign out. Sorry, I have zero photos for you. I’m not entirely sure if I mentioned this before or not, but I was robbed again just as the first cycle ended, so I don’t have a camera anymore. Any of the photos I have are thanks to other people from now on. I’ll write more later about John and my experience being robbed the second time, but that should wait for a number of reasons, the most important being that it is about time for me to go back home so I can practice a presentation that I have for tomorrow in my Econ class!

So, that is about all I have to say for now. Tomorrow I present my project in our Global Ethics class. Thanks, dad, for coming through for me with the money I needed to borrow. I really appreciate it and sorry that I didn’t arrange things more ahead of time.

So anyway, I have two more weeks of school and then finals week. Then we are headed to the beach. John's gf Breena will be here by then, which I am excited for. She seems kinda freakin cool. :)

That is all I have for now! Love you everyone and I look forward to seeing y’all in a little less than a month!

Emily K

Montañita!

Good morning! Okay, for those of you reading this at night, Good evening! Alright, fine, and those of you reading this not in the morning and sometime before 6:30 PM, Good afternoon. And for anyone reading this between midnight and 5AM, you’re a pain, get a life. Okay, I take that back. Mostly. But maybe you ought to go to sleep either way.

So my parents are on some sort of sailing cruise in the Caribbean right now. I know, weird, right? I don’t even know the whole story. In fact, my dad told me less than a week before they left! He swears he told me before, but I think I would have remembered being outrageously jealous that they chartered some sort of sailing cruise with a bunch of friends and relatives.

I just hope they are taking mega pictures. I told them that champagne was off-limits. I don’t want any new siblings and I don’t think drunken sea-sickness would be very much fun. Plus, I haven’t been with my family in about a year, so it would be nice to see their faces again. No falling over the railing of a sailboat in the middle of the Caribbean! At least not until I come home.

I got a package from my amazing friend Vincent the other day. Included in the box among the marshmallows, girl scout cookies, LifeSaver gummies, popcorn and peanut-butter-chocolate chips was a note that made me feel like someone back home really did love and miss me. Thanks, Vin.

I definitely do, however, need to comment on what it took to get this package. Along with the process that I am sure was hard enough to SEND it, picking it up was the stupidest thing I have ever done. First of all, a paper showed up at our house saying that I had a package at the post office that was partway across the city. I needed to bring two copies of my passport and I had heard some money too. Once getting there, I had to sign 3-4 times at different steps in the process, pay three different people taxes, processing fees, and copying fees (albeit only $2.50 in total), and have the contents of the package examined and rummaged through. At first I thought it was going to be just a slight pain in the arse, but as each new step of the process presented itself, I rolled my eyes deeper into my head. It was as follows, to the best of my memory:

1. Stand in line
2. Sign a paper and hand in my passport copies at station #1
3. Pay at station #1
4. Receive a number from station #1 so I could wait for station #2 to become available
5. Wait in the waiting area until station #2 called my name
6. Be led into the back where packages were locked up with padlocks
7. Get package sliced into and examined
8. Wait in station #2 until other customer was finished
9. Sign a paper at station #2
10. Cross the street and pay for a copy of sheet given to me at station #2
11. Hand in copy at station #2
12. Go to the bank to pay processing fee and get original paper signed and stamped
13. Wait at station #3 for worker to retrieve my package
14. Sign and leave passport number at booklet in station #3
15. Leave (running as fast as my legs would take me)

Yup, it was a regular ropes and hoops of fire process. This country… I did that for a package of snacks. Not to say it wasn’t worth it. The popcorn was gourmet, the girl scout cookies were the best I have ever had (I had never even heard of that kind before), the gummies were a life-saver (hehe, LifeSaver gummies were a life-saver, I know, I’m a funny one), and the note has saved my week. I have walked about smiling. Sometimes I read it in the mornings before going to school just because it will make my day so good.

And supposedly another package is coming for me! It’ll be my second. I didn’t know the first one was coming, but I do know about the second. I’m excited about that, but I wonder if it will make it in time. For everyone else, now is about the time to NOT send me anything else. I know you had packages and letters piled up just waiting to be sent to me, but don’t do it! This last package took 2 ½ months to get here. Very literally.

So I will continue to hope that the second package comes.

So after going to the beach with Cassie, the next weekend I had intended to head North, but I had no one to go with me (blast that John and his trip to Perú), so I enlisted in the trip to Montañita, another beach town. But we left a little later than the other folks from Oregon and the East Coast because us Idaho girls wanted to go to a soccer game!

I got to see Liga play Chile. We bought jerseys outside of the stadium and sat in the slightly fancier section. Carla’s Ecuadorian boyfriend Jorge had some sort of fan-club card that got us into the seats, but we realized not long into our time in the stadium that the general section was the place to be. There was smoke and banners and a sea of white in the general section. We had a drum player, but the general section was throwing TP over the fences onto the field, jumping in sync with each other to the team song, and there seemed to be persistent confetti being thrown. They were loud and fun and even a little dangerous. I actually heard that someone went into the section wearing a Chile jersey and was thrown down the stadium stairs and then attacked at the bottom! Liga fans love their team.

As we watched, we noticed that number 21 seemed to really suck! Of course he was a forward, which is a LOT of pressure, but it seemed like every time he was passed the ball, he wouldn’t turn his foot right and end up passing to the other team or missing the ball or something simple like that. I felt like a good number of the members from my high school team could have played better than he did! Not me, of course, but Warnke for sure.

Afterward we were told by Jorge's dad, to whom we had been complaining about 21’s performance, that 21 was actually ranked #3 in the world. He was the star of the team. Shows how much we knew.

It was so fun! I finally got to go to a game, after living in Quito for 8 months. Last semester I was on the mountain Cayambe when my group decided to go to a game. I was so upset! I mean, sure I was on one of the most beautiful mountains in the world, but I didn’t get to be with my friends while they ate chili-dogs in the stadium. No matter. I got to go this semester! It was awesome!

That night Cassie, Charlotte and I headed out for Montañita. We had to go to Guayaquil first, because that was the fastest and pretty much only way to get there. Everyone was leaving the city because it was Semana Santa (Holy Week) and therefore a holiday, so it was hard to get a ticket to anywhere. We tried two different stations before just going to Terminal Terrestre, the main bus-depot of the city. We got on a bus to Guayaquil and arrived there at somewhere around 4:30-5:00 in the morning. The terminal was a mess. Everyone in Guayaquil seemed to be leaving the city too. We found some French people that spoke very minimal Spanish. They asked us how to get to Montañita, so I told Alecsandre to stay with me in line. But after waiting at least 20 minutes to get to the front of the line, I was told that I was supposed to be one window over, even though it clearly said Montañita at this window!

I was so angry! Especially considering that the line to get a ticket to Montañita was going to take at least 2 hours to get through! So I put the most innocent, distressed, but friendly face on that I could muster that early in the morning and went to talk to the man who was guarding the split in the barrier of the line for Montañita where customers who had already gotten their tickets were exiting. He said I could slip in and ask, but I slipped in and as slyly as I could, slipped my way into the confused group of people waiting at the counter. The computer had gone down, so things had stopped. People behind me in the line were getting very angry with a lady who had slipped forward, using the excuse that she had already been there. It got to the point where two police/guards came to help keep the line/mob under control. The people in line were yelling and sighing and pointing fingers, saying he had cut, she had cheated. I knew that there were a number of people looking at me confused and angry that I was where I was, but I tried to act like a confused tourist. After slipping in and edging myself to the position where I could get tickets, I bought seven, trying to make as little hassle as possible for the man at the counter, and slipped out again (three for us girls and four for the Frenchies).

If there is one thing that I have learned from my daddy, I have realized recently that it is the ability to control my emotions at the right times so I can get people to do what I want. I was distressed but nice to the man guarding the exit, so he let me in to ask about tickets. I was a confused tourist to those around me in line, so I didn’t get yelled at. I was hassle-free and all business with the man selling tickets, so he printed 7 tickets without any problem. And I wasn’t making anything up. I was distressed, confused, and just wanted to get the thing done, I have just learned to suppress any other emotions that might come out and delay the process. I didn’t get angry, and I had stood in line as fairly as anyone else in what I thought was the right place before being told that I was supposed to be a window over. I made as little trouble for anyone else as possible, while still getting what I wanted. Thanks, dad. :)

Although, my dad doesn’t always leave anger out of it. He gets his way using frustration when he sees that the system needs changed. People start to listen when someone yells at them in a restaurant or in a store. But, growing up next to that yelling was not always fun. :)

Anyway, we chatted with the Frenchies for a bit while waiting for the bus. They paid me back and we got to know them a little. We were all sitting together on the bus, so they shared their gummy-bears with us. That was nice. They were all bus-drivers from Paris in South America for a month of vacation. Though they didn’t all speak English, Alecsandre made certain to thank me as much as he could, which was really nice of him.

The bus we rode on was amazing! Most buses in South America are “jazzed-up” with curtains that have fringes, all sorts of stickers of women with perfect bodies, and salsa music so loud that the speakers have all long since been blown out. But this bus was entirely different! It was like an airplane. We almost got cold from the air conditioner. The seats were made of that newer comfortable padding that never seems to wear out. It was clean and airy, the windows were huge and there was no blaring music. I was exhausted, but I stayed awake just to enjoy the bus. :)

When we got to Montañita, we parted with the Frenchies, knowing that Montañita was too small to not see them again before we left. We found the hostal that Matt, Megan, James, Max and Kat were staying in, found their room and walked in on them. They were, of course, dead asleep. So we got a room and went out on the beach!

The others slowly joined us as they saw the morning light. The last of them didn’t appear until well after noon. They seemed to have had a fun night the night before.

It was the perfect weekend on the beach. There was so much sun. We laid in it, got a little burnt, swam in the ocean, drank fruity drinks, and ate fun food from the street vendors. I guess at this point I am tired of writing, so I can just wrap things together in a small summary.

First, Matt nearly died in the same way that Charlotte and I nearly died a few short months ago. He and James were out swimming and got caught in a rip tide. Luckily James is a big, buff guy and was able to pull Matt out before they both went under. Matt was fully spooked and had to chill out in his room before he was ready to take on any more of the day.

Second, Charlotte, Carla and I were left to go to sleep early on Saturday night because everyone else went into Montañita and didn’t bother stopping to get us or call us or even take their phones so we could communicate with them. We went to bed at 9:30, even though we all had new dresses on and were ready to go out dancing for the night. That ended up being the only night that the guys were willing to dance. We weren’t there because we didn’t feel comfortable crossing the beach alone (after all, we were looking so hot in our little dresses that who could resist us?). We were quite angry about that. As you might be able to tell, I am letting go of the resentment still.

I hear a child crying right now outside. I don’t know if it is any kind of domestic violence, but it hurts me because I can’t do anything about it. That is someone else’s business and if I were to call the police on something like that, they would do nothing, besides maybe laugh in my face. The police get paid so little here that they really don’t give a shit. Hence why I never reported being robbed either time.

Okay, thirdly about Montañita, the two girls from Idaho wanted to leave in the morning for some reason, so that they could get into Quito before nightfall (doesn’t really make sense to me- I like traveling at night because it doesn’t waste as much of my useable time), but the bus we were going to catch that went straight to Guayaquil left about the time we were asking about it, meaning we had missed it. So it was either leave later in the afternoon or take multiple buses to get to Guayaquil. So I stayed with the other people, while Charlotte and Carla left to make their way back to Quito.

So we got to go hang out with a local family, watch part of a movie and eat fruit. Then we hung out on the beach for just a little longer. I was so frustrated with the other five because it took them so much time and decision-making and dragging of feet to do ANYTHING. But I just chilled out and let it flow.

But then trying to get out of the town and to the bus in time was not very easy. James and Max just wanted to chat for a long time with the IES girls and anyone else that we stopped to say goodbye to. By the time we got to the bus station, it was only a few minutes before the direct bus left, but all the tickets on said bus were sold. We had to take the multiple bus option, going from Montañita to Santa Elena on the first bus and then from Santa Elena to Guayaquil, where we caught a bus home. We arrived in Quito at something like 5:00AM. The next morning we found out that Charlotte and Carla hadn’t even made it into Quito until 2:00 or 3:00AM for some reason, even though they left somewhere around 6 hours earlier than we did.

Let’s see, what else? I really have nothing else to say! Oh yeah, I went to the post office the other day to send some post cards (some of you will be receiving some soon!), and was wondering if the guy was going to be mad that I was going to try and break a ten. I had 6 post cards and when I heard the total of $12, my mouth fell wide open! I couldn’t believe it! Ecuador recently raised all prices on foreign stuff. Sending mail outside of the country and buying non-Ecuadorian-made items in the grocery store has gotten expensive. So I took one back and gave him all of the ten that I had. So when I say “some” of you will be getting post cards, I really mean that way fewer than I had originally intended will be getting post cards. I have something like 20 cards now that I can’t afford to send to you all. I hope no one minds that I am going to bring them home and give them to you personally. Much more economical that way.

This summer I intend to be working as much as I possibly can. I have run out of cash fully and I am eager to have a little bit of fall-back money back in my account. Plus, I intend to make a trip to Moscow to plant a garden, go to a wedding, and show some of my friends Yellowstone National Park! :) I know, crazy that someone would actually want to see the beautiful place that I live in.

The best part? I get to live with my brothers and my mom and dad, who are, most definitely, the coolest people I know. I am legal to drink now, which means that my big bro and I are going to be making a foursome for bar-jumping with our two cousins Nate and Becca! Woohoo!

Good gravy, so we have this new little puppy, who is adorable, but the most poorly-behaved dog I have ever met! I know, she is still just a puppy, but I don’t think she is going to get any better. My mother doesn’t train her and I feel like if I were to kick her to teach her not to bite everyone’s ankles when they come in the house, I think my mom would then kick me. She is obsessed with animals and so I would be just another animal-beater. I can’t stand the dogs that bark non-stop, which is what she does, so I get to the point where I am on the edge of tears because she won’t shut up!! It is the most frustrating thing I have been dealing with lately.

Not that I am counting down the days, but I have one month from Sunday until I come home! I am enjoying my last bit of time here, though. Well, my story ends here for now. I am still several weeks behind, but I will wait to install more later. Have a great weekend!

Emily Kuhl

The End of Spanish, Calvin, and Canoa

I have much to tell! Here is the first installment. I'll be writing again soon!

Since writing last, I finished my Spanish class, which has been a huge relief. Even though there was not very much homework, three hours of class every day is a huge amount. We had to turn in essays about a particular topic, which we had been working on for the whole quarter. My topic was "El Ecuador, su Gobierno, y la Economía en Desarrollo"- "Ecuador, its Government, and its Developing Economy." Obviously, it was written all in Spanish. It was one of the hardest assignments I have done in my life, simply because I did it right this time. On a lot of assignments that are like this, I wait until the week before to do it and end up being satisfied with what comes out, but not fully certain that I had actually investigated all corners of what I was talking about. This one I did right because I did all the research and then started writing. I wrote and researched and researched and wrote as often and as much as I could force myself to. Even so of course I had to do much of the work at the last minute.

Plus, my brother Conner came the week before "finals" week for half-semester classes, meaning that I had to do as much as possible the weekend before he flew in so that I would be able to take time off in class! Luckily, I didn't have to go on the field trip that all the Spanish students went on to Tulipe because our resident director Juan took us there the semester before during our Yunguilla trip. I had time to write then, but found that after a whole weekend of trying to focus on nothing but writing this paper, I only got the history and part of the dollarization finished! I still had so much to do!

But no matter, because Conner's trip was AMAZING. We had such little time because he was only here for Spring Break from UI, which is only a week. He flew in on Sunday night and out Saturday morning, meaning that we only really had 5 days. But what we did in those five days! We had pizza and beer with friends, went to Centro Histórico, chilled out in Baños where we rafted and rode around in a go-kart and bungee-jumped, and then we re-created a photoshoot on top of the Basílica because Daniel lost the photos he took from that. We had also intended to go on the train from Alausí down the Devil's Nose, but apparently it is still out of service from the rain storms earlier this semester. It is said that Ecuador has some of the worst roads around. They lay one strip of cement and call it good. Remember the US? We have an entire season devoted solely to mile-long strips of pristinely-engineered roadway that lasts for far too many years. But can you blame them here? No one in the states really wants to work road construction, but it pays VERY WELL. Here they are paid nothing. Welcome to Ecuador!

Listed below are the URLs to my facebook photo albums of Conner's visit:

(I have removed the links, since they were no longer valid.  I may re-post them in the future.)

The next weekend and week, I was able to pull together my paper for Manuela. I was very proud of it. It ended up being somewhere around 21 pages, although that includes a title page, table of contents page, three pages of sources and some pages with graphs. But it was single-spaced and I am very proud of the work I put into it. It may be all crap, but I like it all the same.

The test for the class didn't go so well. None of us did very well! Not even Krista got an 80% or above and she was definitely ahead of the rest of us in the class! But Enrique passed, which was a very close call. He was happy. We were all pretty darn happy for him. And now he's gone and we miss him.

We had the chance to take a final exam kind of thing after finishing the last level of Spanish that they offer here at La Católica. Krista and Benji both took it and Charlotte and I were considering, but I decided in the end that it was not really worth it. I would have really liked to because our teachers said that the test was very similar to what we might expect for the something or other tests. The ones that certify you to teach or something like that. And so I would have liked to have some kind of experience as to what that test will be like one day, but it was such a long and stupid process! First I had to go buy a special sheet of paper for a dollar from the bank here on campus. Then I had to write a letter of solicitation on that special sheet of paper. Then when I went to hand that solicitation in, the secretary looked at me as though I were dumb and told me I had to go pay for the test first and bring back the receipt. Plus, whatever was I thinking leaving a scribble on that oh-so-important piece of paper?

So I said, screw that. It really isn't worth it. I don't like being busy all the time, so I might as well just take one more thing off of my list of things to do. I just had to laugh at seeing another manifestation of Ecuador's obsession with perfect papers and white-out.

We were finished! It was a great feeling. For the week that followed, everyone else set about traveling. Some people went to the Galápagos, John went to Perú, a lot of people went to the beach. I don't think I did shit, hehe. Actually, I went to the beach one weekend with Cassie. It was going to be more of us, but then some people backed out, which was fine with me. Cassie’s an awesome person, so why would I mind if other people decided to ditch?

Chassie wanted to check out Atacames because she had never seen it before, so we went there first. We had intended to go to Trans Esmeraldas and catch a bus to Atacames whenever the next one appeared. As we were approaching, we saw a bus pulling out and flagged it down, asked if it went to Atacames and if we could get on, and settled into empty seats. The assistant man nodded when we asked if the bus went to Atacames. Then he slipped in a little muttered “Esmeraldas” later, which I assumed meant that we were headed to Atacames, which is in the Esmeraldas province. But at somewhere around midnight, our bus pulled into Esmeraldas the city, and we were left to find a hostal in one of the most dangerous parts of the city! Luckily here there is never a short supply of taxis and I always feel safer in a taxi that has its doors locked. So the nice man in the very legal taxi took us to a nearby hostal that was neither entirely cheap nor perfectly clean. We spent an uneasy night with our sliding door tied shut with bed sheets (which Cassie forgot to remove in the morning! :) )

As a side note, does anyone know if I used neither…nor correctly in the sentence above? It sounds funny and I have too many languages running through my head to tell.

In the morning we caught another locked-doored taxi to the bus-station, where we got on the first bus that would take us to Atacames. For this trip we only had to take one bus, which was rather nice. But as we were sitting with steam escaping from all orifices while the sun beamed in the window of the clanker bus, a man selling water decided we looked like we needed someone to talk to. So he chatted with us, telling us we were beautiful gringas, and despite the fact that we were doing our best to be rude and ignore him, he continued with his one-sided conversation until the bus started leaving the station. Thank goodness we were told we were beautiful though!

Once in Atacames, we (we being me because I thought I knew the way) got lost, but made it to the same place I went with the antiguo group of Idaho. But, instead of staying in the same place we had the last time, which was a little too rich for my blood, we got a place at “The Snail” hostal across the street for $5/person/night. Our shower was pretty cold and the door to the bathroom didn’t actually close, but it was fairly nice anyway. And cold showers in weather that already gives you a shower all day everyday in your own sweat is not necessarily a bad thing. It’s nice to just have water coming from pipes and shower heads, rather than your own clogged pores.

Atacames was okay, to say the most. I knew that Cassie would not like it, but she knew she had to at least try it. She didn’t like it. It was a constant battle to keep from buying things from vendors that passed by. I mean, I knew I needed my 600th woven bracelet, but money just runs low, you know? Plus, we couldn’t go swimming together for fear of losing our possessions. And to leave the other alone on the beach with so many eyes upon them was a pretty bad idea.

We slept a night there and then got up in time to catch a bus that would take us to another bus that would take us to another bus that would take us to Canoa, our next destination. We waited in the hot sun for far too long, but the bus finally came. We made one bus switch well, then got into a little town just as it was getting dark. They had a bus going to Jama, where we could supposedly catch another bus to Canoa. We were told explicitly, after asking explicitly, that we would be able to catch the bus in this little town called Jama to Canoa, so we got on.

But we got into Jama sometime at night. 10:00 PM maybe? I’m not entirely sure, but we were then explicitly told that we could not catch any such bus heading in the Canoa direction until morning. After being lied to for the second time, we then found a hotel room to spend the second night in a wrong location in. We didn’t have to tie the door shut this time, so I suppose that was a plus.

Early the next morning we caught our elusive bus and made it to Canoa pretty early. We got our room in the hostal, which happened to be the same room Cassie and Carla and James had stayed in the weekend before when they had first discovered Canoa, and then headed to the beach. We did so much swimming and so much sun bathing! I did, of course, get burnt, but not too badly. We ate emborrajadas (which are basically bananas and cheese and flour, all deep-fried – the most amazing thing ever!), juicy hamburgers, delightful ceviche, and Cassie even had the most icey-cold and amazing Coke she has ever had!

After hanging out on the beach as much as we could the next day, we took off at night from Bahía on an overnight bus to Quito. But as we were waiting for said bus, the assistant who had been bustling around for no real reason for about an hour, came over to talk to us. Because, of course, all foreigners just want to be probed. No matter, sometimes it turns out fun.

He asked us some questions and along came the question “So, are you sisters, cousins, friends…?” No- I said. We’re lovers. That knocked his feet out from under him. I had wanted to see the reaction and enjoy freedom when he realized that we wouldn’t be interested in him. The former I got. The latter, was quite the opposite.

Immediately he became far more interested in us than he had been. Suddenly because we were girlfriends, that must mean that we were automatically more sexually inclined and open. He was asking us questions, telling us about how he is a writer. Well, I don’t have a job, he said. But guess what? He has a little notebook and he writes things about life in it. This one was sure to go in there.

Then it started to get really weird. He was putting his hand on my knee and staring into my eyes because he thought I was such an interesting person for opening up about something like that. Because I wasn’t ashamed by it. My heart was screaming inside because he just didn’t know what the LGBTQ community of Ecuador and Latin America in general was missing. Though the United States is far from “fair” concerning gay rights (I think it is an issue that can never be fully resolved, much like abortion, because they are topics that get so personal), we are still leaps and bounds ahead of this place. People here have heard of the crazy Americans and their homosexual tendencies, but to actually know a homosexual here is rare. Why? Because admitting something like that here would certainly be the end of one’s life. Maybe not in the sense of being murdered, necessarily, but definitely in the sense of social circles and lifestyle capabilities. If there is one thing that I LOVE about college students in the United States, it is that they are open. The University of Idaho, where I attend, is in no way perfect in the area of Gay-Straight Alliance, but one of the first things you learn when going to UI your freshman year is that vocabulary like “faggot” and sayings like “you’re so gay” are completely and 100% unacceptable. It really isn’t perfect, but it is a community where people are willing to love each other for who they are, not for what their sexual tendencies are.

Sorry, rant. But it doesn’t end there. One of the most irritating things that the man said to me while he refused to take our one-word answers and obvious gazes in other directions, was when he asked a hypothetical question. Say if she (Cassie) were to give you (that’s me!) a present for your birthday. And what if that present were sex for one night with any of your friends. Would you like that present? WTF? I am so frustrated with people who think that anyone who is not straight is automatically everything sexual, like their lives are entirely ruled by sexual acts and nothing else. No one needs to be a slut to know whether they are attracted to men or women. But why expose yourself to the harsh criticism that society will lay on you by coming out when there really is no tangible proof yet that you might have a non-straight leaning? But when Shirley decides she is ready to have sex with Rachel, everyone knows and therefore this couple is sexually deviant in some way.

I hate to break it to the public, but sex goes on amongst unmarried men and women all the time. Just as it goes on amongst gay men and lesbian women. Wake up. When I was younger I didn’t know how I felt regarding homosexuality. I was raised in a more conservative, church-going community that cast a disapproving look on all who dared to not be straight. My parents were fairly religious and I assumed that they held the same decision. When I asked my dad what his thoughts were on homosexuality, he told me something I have never forgotten and it is one of the wisest things I have ever heard. He said, you know, I was a part of my church and I was raised very conservatively and I guess I held that same opinion for a while, but when it came down to it, I had a very close and personal choice that might change me forever. I had to admit to myself that it was most certainly possible that any son of mine in the future might tell me he is gay one day. And what would I do then? I’d love him.

My dad is one of the wisest men I know and I got this from him: I don’t care if my friends are gay or straight. I love them and it is not going to change that. I don’t know how or why someone is attracted to men or attracted to women, but that really is not my business. My business is to love the people around me. I don’t care what or how or why. I accept and I love.

Yep, that was necessary. The whole conversation got me thinking SO MUCH about gay-straight relations, what we have to be thankful for in each other, and how some people can be so closed-minded. So you don’t agree with a non-straight lifestyle? Fine. Keep that to yourself. Some people can be so stupid not to love the people around them for sad and sorry reasons.

Alright, I thought that was something that needed tackling. I don’t mind detouring to tackle things like that. But back to the story, that was pretty much the end. :) We got on the bus, which was cold as ice with the AC blaring the whole way!, and made our way back to Quito all through the night.

I think I will take a break here. Happy reading, Happy Cinco de Mayo, and Happy Tuesday!

Love you all!

Emily

La Amazonía

Sooo… about the Amazon…

As a part of the direct exchange that I am in, our resident director takes us to some place where we can learn a little more about the culture and how things can be done differently here in comparison to what we have always seen. Last semester we went to a little town called Yunguilla, where we helped in the organic garden, at the wood shed, in the cheese and marmalade production houses, and with our individual families. It was fun. Just thinking about it makes me miss my guys from last semester!

But this semester our trip was to the Amazon, where we were to take part in several indigenous things. The Orient of the country is an interesting place. Very different from the rest of the country. We were in Loreto, where the main headquarters of an indigenous organization is.

This was, of course, the day after we arrived back in Quito, so Lars, Charlotte and I were still a little bit exhausted to still be on the move, but it was fun too.  It felt like walking into a room full of people and doing a totally deserved double fist pump.  I felt cool.

I guess the overall problem on this trip to the Amazon for everyone was that we felt like we were being treated like kings, where instead all we wanted was to live in the indigenous communities and watch. There is nothing like feeling as though you are in a zoo to make you feel uncomfortable.

The first night we spent at the main place overlooking a river. I was in the boys room because there were only four beds in the girls room and we were five girls. I don’t think Juan liked that I was sleeping in the same room as the guys very much, but they are both good guys and have girls back home, so I was very comfortable. I guess that is what growing up with two brothers does to a person. The best part about it was that John had brought his guitar and loved to play it in the dark at night, meaning that Lars and I got serenaded to sleep. I haven’t gone to sleep quite so nicely since.

We got to participate in a sexual health workshop for the indigenous women the next day, which was very entertaining. The women were all tiny and giggling as if they were in middle school. At one point Lars was asked to demonstrate how to use a condom and then was not believed when he said he didn’t know how. Somehow it couldn’t be possible in the women’s minds that he was a virgin!

We also got to see the Casa de Parto, or child birth house. That was VERY neat. The women in indigenous communities give birth kneeling in a method of vertical birth. The doctors that have set up this house are trying to integrate the old methods with the new methods. They have everything set up for the traditional way of having a baby, complete with medicinal plants and everything, but then they have the more modern medical supplies, just in case something goes wrong. It’s like a supplement, a way of complementing what the women have been doing for centuries. Very cool.

We even got to see videos of births! Bleh!

Two communities took us in, both of which provided us with tents to sleep in by the river. Since we were an odd number of girls but Lars had his single tent, John and I shared a tent, which turned out to be fun again, since he used his guitar for some ridiculously silly slightly hillbilly rap. We cleaned off each night by swimming in the glorious rivers. Nice and cold and SO refreshing after full days of nothing but wet heat.

We got to see a Shaman healing process, de-kernel some corn, get bitten by chiggers and mosquitoes galore, see a tarantula (which actually ended up crawling up John’s leg while he wasn’t watching), step in such fine mud that we wanted to take it home, learn about all the medicinal plants that were growing wild in the forest, and eat off of banana leaves with our hands. For those that were very new to the country, this last part was probably a bad idea. After all, it has taken me seven months of being here and my system still isn’t exactly stable.

It was a good week. I was dreading the end of it, because that meant that it was all the closer to the day that Lars left, which was a sad day indeed. I don’t have any of my boys now! Although John is a pretty darn good substitute. But once we came back to Quito, I had been going for almost a month straight without sitting still. I slept and slept and tried to get some things done before my brother Daniel came. Not that I was not glad to see him (it was actually a complete KICK IN THE PANTS, if you will, to have him here) but the timing was mighty off, as my little brother’s timing will be coming up here in a couple of days. I was trying to get ready for Dan to come AND get ready for school to start at the same time. I couldn’t focus on both, but I really had no choice!

Dan’s visit was AMAZING. We went camping, visited the Basílica, got to talk for hours, and hang out in the city of Quito. We took so many pictures that were going to turn out fantastic, but by accident Daniel reformatted his memory card in his camera and lost not only all the pictures from the week, but also photos he had had for over a year. I know that it must have been horrible for him, because it upset me so much, even if I pretended like it was no big deal. I have some on my camera from the TelefériQo, but nothing else. It pained me deeply, but I didn’t want Dan to feel any worse than he already did.

Dan and Lars left on the same flight to Houston on the Wednesday after school started. I was so sad to see them both go. But I had classes to keep up with already. That was my first morning of Econ, since I had been a numbskull when signing up for classes by using the codes for the Econ class from the last semester. So when I got to the right building, the secretaries told me there was no such class as what I had signed up for and so I didn’t have a class. But I added the real Econ class and started that Wednesday. By Thursday afternoon, all of the girls who were going to take History of Women had dropped the class without really letting me in on their actions, so I had to drop too, since there were no longer enough people signed up for the class to keep it open. So I signed up for Italian instead. A great choice.

Really not much has happened since then. I stayed home for Carnaval and have been somewhat of a hermit, just because things are up and down and I am settling in again. I have a great teacher for Spanish. I had her for the first part of last semester and she speaks SO fast, but is still easy to understand. She keeps us going non-top and will stop the regular lesson just to teach us something that we ask about.

At the same time, she is tough. Manuela expects a lot from her students and of the five of us in the class, it is possible that two are not going to pass, although that isn’t really her fault. We have research papers to write. Last semester, many of the papers were 15-20 pages long, single-spaced (although they were also done in pairs or small groups). We got to choose our topics and I think the topics we have are pretty diverse. Benji, the young man from Sweden, is doing his about trade systems between Ecuador and Sweden, an idea that he was already researching because of a business adventure anyway. Krista, the young lady from Slovakia, is writing about nutrition and nutrition programs for kids in Ecuador. Enrique, from New York, is researching the Cofán and other indigenous tribes of Ecuador. Charlotte, my traveling partner from Idaho in Peru, chose to write about the oil companies and their influence in the country. And I am writing about the governmental influence in Ecuador’s economy. So far, mine is going VERY slowly. I just want it to grow, but I keep getting stuck. And now I have two weeks left and I am a little nervous about it.

As far as Econ, it is going well, but the first test was a major failure, although I still don’t know how badly yet. Luckily, I have been told that everyone did poorly and the first thing the prof said when he came in was, “Hey guys, what happened?” We’ve started in on the Calculus part, which makes me nervous, but I really enjoy it. I had forgotten how much I like the rules and order of math. But I have days where the prof is easy to understand and other days where I just can’t latch on to what he is saying. Those days are scary.  And to be honest, they're mostly scary because of how strongly I feel the anxiety.

Italian is amazing! I have a great prof and the class is all Ecuadorians and me! Plus, all the Ecuadorians are from the same program, which is ministry studies, so all the guys come every day dressed all sharply and they are uber-polite and uber-punctual. The prof talks only in Italian, but it is fairly easy to pick up her meaning. Well, no. But it does not feel quite as foreign as hearing anything but English for the first time. It is a little more like English than I was expecting. I guess I just didn’t think about how much we get from Italian. It’s pretty cool.

I have not done a whole lot other than focus on school for now. I have been wanting to go to Ladies’ Night in the Mariscal, but every Thursday morning we owe a section of our research papers and I’m not really good at working ahead, meaning that every Wednesday night I am at this computer, trying to get something more typed up.

As for volunteer jobs this semester, I am doing La Opción de Vida in La Carolina again and also translating for the Chamber of Industry and Commerce of Ecuador and Great Britain. Before you get too impressed, it is on the computer with written documents, not spoken, and it is Spanish to English, which is MUCH easier than going in the other direction. I am currently writing from inside of the building called Edificio España, where I do this translation. I kinda feel like it is cheating sometimes that I am using it for my volunteer work when it is a company that doesn't necessarily clean up, you might say. Here I am not helping kids that live on the streets of Quito, nor am I picking up trash, nor helping kids with their homework. Instead the people around me wear suits and ties and work on computers that are not from the very early nineties.

It is, however, very interesting and maybe even important, in my opinion. I was translating into English some of the interviews, stories and information that the Chamber of Industry and Commerce of Ecuador and Great Britain puts together to promote commerce in the two countries and between them. I like that because it doesn't just fix the problems, like the great programs like Niños de la Calle (street kids).  Niños de la Calle helps keep the kids alive, keep them in school, keep them off drugs, and maybe bring them to the church, all of which are great things.  But I do love working at a higher level just because it is an inspirational movement--it's more than just covering the basics. 

I enjoy both. They are different and they take up a lot of time, something I never really seem to have enough of, but I like them both a lot.

Let’s see… friends? Doing okay on those. Sometimes I feel lonely. The new people around me are just so different from last semester’s group. I don’t want to grade them down, but by the end of last semester I was SO comfortable with the old group of us that it is just weird to be so distant from people again. I guess you could say I loved the old group, I felt a lot of love for all of them. I’m trying to work on building that love for the new group too.

As far as males go, they don’t, something I’m fine with. There was one opportunity for something, but that fell through. I didn’t want to start any kind of relationship anyway, since whoever the person might have been will be going back to his own corner of the world when I go back to mine. So I enjoy John, who happens to be male, but he could just as easily be a female and it wouldn’t affect my enjoyment of his company.

I just sent in an application today for an apartment back in Moscow! Well, actually a house, which is REALLY cool. I hope we get the one we want. Somewhat expensive, but it’ll be SO cool. And the two girls I am going to live with are really chill people. No, I take that back. Kate Pleat is totally WIRED all the time and bounces around like a puppy, but she is a swimmer and has promised to teach me some strokes, something I know nothing about. But she is chill in the sense that she is nowhere near dramatic sorority-like. And Lars’s girlfriend, Anna, is the other roommate-to-be and she is super-chill in the definitely NOT wired sense. She’d have to be chill to date Lars, who can be strange at times.

Let’s see… What else? I am thinking of maybe going to Baños this weekend or at least SOMEWHERE. I am tired of being in the city. I am so thrilled my baby brother is coming!

Hey, shout-out to everyone! Not that I am counting, but I have just a little under three months left here! I am making the most of my time, because I know that as soon as it is over, I am going to be sad to leave. I miss home, yeah, but home’ll still be there. Well, I hope. Seeing as how the Middle East is developing long-range missiles that could destroy quite a bit of the United States, and the entire world is diving into a recession so great that it is getting ever nearer to the Great Depression, who knows? How negative. : )

So, final instructions for this post… for those who made it through this post and are still reading, do me the favor of leaving me a comment. I kinda wanted to see of anyone actually reads my blog and if so, how many. Even if you are not a part of blogger, you can leave a comment with or without your name. Tell me you loved my classic writing style, tell me I sucked, tell me I have something green in my teeth or maybe tell me your life story. The last book you read. What you think of Obama. Your biggest regret in life. Anything goes, I just want to hear from you. Love you all. Thanks for reading and for all the support!

Emily

New Postings- Instructions!

So because the task of writing about vacation was so huge and daunting, it is just now being posted. I am so happy to be finished with it! So below I posted them in chronological order as the story goes, although to viewers, the first part is at the bottom of the list. But, unless you are very much dull, I think you can figure out how it is put together. Read the one that has a "1" on it first, "2" second, and so-on.

As for pictures, I don't want to have time. Sorry. But I will put the addresses below in order to my facebook albums because I have uploaded them there, simply because the facebook upload is about 7,000 times easier. There are nine albums of 60 photos each just from Peru, but there are some great photos in there, so browse at your leisure:

*All of the links that were originally put here no longer exist, since I deleted my account.  Some day I may put them back up.*

The final note: I have two more topics to write on to get caught up on the blog. It has been a busy month and a half. I need to write about the Amazon trip Idaho took and my time back in Quito, including my bro-hair's visit and school since it has started. I'm not going to write for a while though. I have no ganas to do that. I hope to do it soon so I don't fall so far behind anymore, but be patient, because my writingness gets REALLY exhausted when I'm talking about myself- hence my choice of fiction over non-fiction. Check back soon, I guess! This is me sending out love to everyone, and just so you know, while you are in the frozen temps of Idaho and various other places, I'm sitting in an open-air cafe! Pobrecitos! :D

Peru Installment 4

We got up mighty early. Earlier than I would have liked. But the hike was beautiful. The steps up the steep trail were just carved out of the mountain-side. And we felt like we were REALLY DOING SOMETHING. Every tourist there does the bus-ride, the same old stuff every time, but we hiked it! We had wanted to do the whole Inca Trail, but missed the deadline. But this made up for it! We felt loose and broken-in by the time we got to the entrance, where we got our passports stamped (mine for a second time in a little over a year).

Within the first 20 minutes of being in the park, I saw far more than I did the whole time I was there a year ago. When we had come the year before, I had been miserably sick and the weather was foggy, cold, rainy, you name it. It was clear when we got there this time. Well, okay, not at first. But within ten minutes of getting in, I could see everything.

We decided to split up (I was feeling grouchy, which happens about once a month, sadly) and meet up later, so we all teetered off. I headed in the direction of the ancient Inca Bridge, which was a small hike (and I would say not really worth it, but I liked it). I was completely surprised when I saw both Lars and Charlotte already there, both arriving separately and independently! We had all gone the same way. I was finally not feeling so grouchy and mean anymore and we spent the rest of the day together, looking over every bit and piece of the ruins, although we had missed our chance to climb Hyuanapicchu, the mountain that is seen in the background of the most famous photos.

We didn’t have a guide like most of the other groups had, but I had a guidebook to Peru that would tell us enough of what we needed. We saw everything in that park and had a blast doing it. I was even able to get Lars to pose for a picture or two, which is a nearly impossible task to achieve.

We took the bus down (I know, horrible, but Charlotte's knee was hurting her) and showered and chilled out with one of the talking parrots. The next morning we caught our train back to Ollantaytambo, another large set of ruins, which I chose to not go into this time, seeing as how the price was exorbitantly high. I hung out in an internet café checking email until Lars and Charlotte were finished, at which point we took off in a taxi that happened to be going back to Cusco. The couple and their daughter that took us were perfectly polite people, asking us where we would like to be dropped off when we got back to the city.

We managed to find Charlotte a hotel room and then Lars and I took off to find our way to Cai Cay! Charlotte had plans to explore the city while we were away.

We took a cab out to Cai Cay, where we were welcomed with open arms. I got to sleep out in the loft with the boys, which was fun for me since I sleep on the floor that I had helped build the year before. There were very few boys on the trip, but they were great and quite funny. And the work that they had done was AMAZING. I know that they didn't think they had done much, but it was because they were so close to it and couldn't see the improvements. They had worked wonders!

The next morning we got to work with the team on laying rock for a patio (a frustrating task because it supposedly had to be perfect for something that they knew was not even going to look anywhere near perfect once the cement was poured). Partway through the day Lars started to get sick, getting even to the point where he had to go lie down and sleep it off, though he threw up violently several times. I tried to mother him, but darnit, the man just wouldn’t let me! :) I left him alone and by evening he felt a little better, but by the time dinner was finished, I was throwing up violently into the grass as well. It felt stupid, because here we were having lived in South America for six months and in front of a bunch of weak-stomached Americans, we were the only ones throwing up.

We slept another night (I, by the way, was sleeping with every bit of clothing I had brought with me on and without more than a poncho for a blanket in the cold Peruvian night air) and were able to catch a ride back into Cusco with the team, as they were to fly out that afternoon as well. We wearily and weakly said our goodbyes, walking away missing what we were leaving behind.

When we made it to the hotel where we had left Charlotte, we really didn’t expect what we were to find. Charlotte had just started getting sick that morning, also violently throwing up. Apparently we had eaten something all together that was bad for our systems. The weird thing was that we had not seen each other for two days and when we had eaten together, we had not eaten the same thing. But for some reason we were all getting sick at slightly different times but with the same symptoms. Lars was a perfect sweetheart, going out into the city and getting us a good supply of water, crackers, bread, and yogurt for our 21 hour bus ride that we were about to start back to Lima. You can trust me when I say that we were not looking forward to the ride, but we had seats right in the front, which was AWESOME.

When we got to the bus station that we felt like we had just left, we were informed that there were mining strikes up and down Peru, meaning that there was no bus yet to take us back to Lima. We had planned that bus so that we would make it on time to the airport in Lima for our flight back to Piura (the town from hell). So they were telling us that we should come back in four hours and maybe there would be a bus. Well, we had nowhere to go, we were ridiculously sick, and we needed to get back to Lima in a hurry.

So we laid around in the bus station for an hour and a half, at which point a bus showed! We asked and asked and asked and no one seemed to know if we could get on it or not. Then all of a sudden the people who had tickets for the 4pm bus were the ones who could get on the bus, while those of us who had already been waiting from the 2pm bus were going to wait some more. I think that finally enough people yelled at them saying how stupid of an idea that was, that they finally let the 2pm’ers on the bus. But since the majority of us had someplace to go, only us orphans that had hung around the station for nearly two hours were the ones still around to get on. So we were made to wait anyway, but finally got out of the station at 5pm, which we thought would be early enough to make it to Lima in time for the flight, although it was looking tight.

The buses all bore painted letters on the front saying things like “long live the miner’s strikes” and such. Unfortunately we sat next to a couple who seemed to think that campesinos and mine-workers had no real right to ask for good working conditions. They were from England, if I remember correctly, and they were saying “It’s always about the f*ing miners. What about the people who have to travel?” Although I feigned understanding, I was inside screaming their ignorance.  Yes, poor tourists indeed, who are paid well enough to get to take vacations.

Lars sat in the frontest seat that we had, next to two little kids, both of which happened to get pretty motion/altitude sick during the ride and were throwing up violently enough that I felt the need to put in my headphones to keep what little was in my stomach where it was. But we all did well. No throwing up. Lars spent the entirety of the time that he and the little kids were awake playing card games, learning hand games and talking about the thorn he had shoved in his ear. We tried to catch it on film but had no luck with that.

Alright, I’m bored of talking about the trip. Time to talk about something else. This is Emily hour with your host…. Emily. Have you ever wondered where babies come from? Not me. Actually, I have always wondered where Jelly beans come from. Especially Jelly Bellys. I mean, first of all, where on earth do they get the flavor from inside of the bean? The popcorn ones are so amazing to me. I mean, I hate them, but that doesn’t stop them from being amazing. I hate them because it is a jelly bean that is buttery and salty, which doesn’t make sense to me, nor is it at all appetizing. If I am going to eat something that is buttery and salty, I want popcorn in the way popcorn was MEANT TO BE, not encapsuled in something that should be sweet.

Regardless, it is amazing that this little bean can make me feel like I just ate a bowlful of theater grade popcorn. I once bought one of those packs of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Bean (which, for those of you twerps who don’t know, is from Harry Potter and are magically flavored) and I was SO IMPRESSED! Not that I liked eating grass or dirt, but sinking your teeth into a dirt bean was almost EXACTLY like getting a nose full of dirt kicked in your face. Not necessarily pleasing, but AWESOME nonetheless! It filled my nose, made me sneeze, I tell you, it really was magical.

Okay, back to Peru. When we got to Lima, Charlotte and I shoved ourselves dirty and weak into a cab to get our arses to the airport. We said goodbye to Lars, who went walking to find a bus to Loja or Cuenca (both of which are back here in Ecuador again). We caught our plane just fine, although had we been any later we would have been running to the gate.

When we got to Piura in the afternoon, we headed innocently to a bus terminal hoping to get a ticket to Loja or Cuenca, only to learn that no one in the whole city was selling tickets because of the strikes. We even went so far as to check a very sketch establishment that had a nasty dirty waiting room, complete with urine smells, a tent with people living in it, and a chicken squawking somewhere in a corner.

Bleh, so once again we were stuck in Piura with nothing to do. We got a room with the hopes that the roads would open up the next morning, but with no guarantee. We washed a little bit of clothing and then slept together in a double bed, since EVERYONE was stuck in Piura and the hotel had no more rooms other than a matrimonial. Oh, and all this time before we went to bed, we were trying to get hold of Lars, because we knew that if we could not get anywhere in the country due to the strikes, we highly doubted he’d even be able to get out of Lima on a bus.

In the morning we got up somewhat early and were ready to go before 9:00, only to arrive at the station and learn that there would be no bus until at least 7:00 that night. We had another 10 hour wait, sitting without food but with all we had with us in a bus station that was mostly just HOT. But there was a beautiful dog. I’ll post a picture.

When we finally got on the bus, we had had nothing to eat but fruit, bread, yogurt and crackers for more than 24 hours. We slept all the way to Loja, except for the twenty minutes that we spent getting back into Ecuador at the border. By the time we got to Loja, we didn’t feel like looking around. We got straight onto the next bus to Cuenca, where we were scheduled to meet up with Lars. We found him, got a room in the middle of the city that was very nice, and finally got some rest and some food.

Turns out that Lars had been stuck in Lima with no way to get out and had to buy ANOTHER last minute ticket (he had had to buy one on the way down to Lima for one reason or another) to Piura, at which point he was in the same town we were at the same time we were, but his phone was dead. So he wrangled a taxi to get him to take him to the strike line, where he got out and banged on bus windows until one let him in at least to sleep. They thought he was going to attack the bus with a gun at first, but they let him in. The strike line broke some hours later, but somewhere along the way, his whole bus was forced to get out of the bus in the middle of the night and clear the road of boulders the size of I don’t know what for a couple of hours to keep going.

He apparently made it into Cuenca sometime near the middle of the night, at which point he and three other people went to a hostal owned by the bus driver’s brother to get rooms. Apparently it was seedy and in the middle of the night one of the girl’s awoke to find the hostal owner’s son lifting up her sheets to get into the bed with her. She asked what the hell he was doing and he responded, “Quiero estar contigo,” or “I want to be with you.” She asked how old he was and he said 18 (she must have been 22-24-26ish) She was so freaked out that she went to sleep in the room of the Canadian couple that had come with them. In the morning Lars went with her to help translate and tell the owners what had happened. They basically called her a liar, saying that the boy had been in the room with his mother the whole night. Plus, they found out he was only 16 years old, not 18.

I have two questions… first of all, why would they lie about something like that? What could they possibly gain from telling a lie like that, other than MAYBE a free night stay? The hostal couldn’t have been more than $10 per night anyway. Secondly, what did this 16 year old boy possibly think was going to happen once he got to that girl’s room? Like, hey, I want to be with you and she just says, well thank god, it’s about time, get in here? Really? Needless to say, they all paid their bills and went to look for a new place to stay, and sometime later we met up with Lars.

Cuenca was a beautiful city! We didn’t have much time there, but we got to see the overview, LOTS of churches, and the orchidearia, which was AWESOME enough just by itself. A complex just to raise orchids. What is better?

We bought a ticket for something like 8:00 at night, which was a great thing, seeing as how they were going to let buses through until 10:00 because the roads into Quito were going to be closed because of mining strikes here in Quito! We were amazed! The strikes were all through Peru AND in Ecuador! We made it onto the bus and slept as well as we could until Quito. The bus pulled into Quito somewhere around six in the morning, at which point we hiked into the Mariscal, ate some breakfast, drank a LOT of coffee, and went to our meeting at PUCE with the new students for the semester at 8:00, smelling like three-week-old clothing and sporting bags under our eyes so intense that the length and activities of our trip were apparent. We were home.

Peru Installment 3

Two nights later we left Guayaquil, feeling as though we had seen enough. Great city, but big just like Quito. We caught a bus as far into Peru as possible (where, at the crossing, we were scammed without knowing it by the money-changers, who dared to lie to me even though I had discovered their trick and asked about it), which was to Tumbes, where we were shepherded onto a van-pool in the middle of the night to Piura. Even though our flight was very early in the morning, we had to have some sleep, so we took a room in Piura, which is a city we now know as the city we just couldn’t leave.

The morning after a rough and gross night sleep in a weird room, we got up very early to make our way to the airport, where we were only to find that our flight had been cancelled and they had tried to call, but were not able to reach us. Duh, we had given them our cell number, which had stopped working at the border. There was a long line of people waiting to get answered, including a man who had to be in Lima for an appointment with the US Embassy that day for a visa. He refused to move until they got him to Lima, which was completely unfair to the staff that was dealing with so many upset people. We felt horrible because we could just imagine how much was hanging on that visa, but the man was being unreasonable, asking them to just get the plane in the air, regardless of whether it had mechanical problems or not.

We were told that we would not be able to fly out until the next day, but we managed to convince the lady at the counter that we needed to get to Lima, seeing as how our train tickets in Cusco were already bought and our schedule was so tight. She was nice and got us on the 7:00 flight that night, plus set us up with a free room with free breakfast and lunch while we waited! I know that being a traveling person who gets their plane delayed or cancelled would be terrible, but I must say that it was nice being able to take a hot shower in a very nice room, sleep the day away in comfortable beds after our rotten night sleep in the grungy room from the night before, and get served breakfast by room service. We even had free internet. And we called Landon to tell him that we were not going to be as early as we had hoped, which turned out perfect because he was still out nerding it up at the raptor-raising facility outside Lima.

We finally got on the plane that night and were on our way to Lima. As we went through the airport business of getting off the flight, Chelsea and I discussed what the likelihood was that Landon would be there to meet us. I had told him on the phone that he could meet us if he made it to the airport or we would find a pay phone to call him from once we landed. (The cell phone service we have in Ecuador does not carry across the border, although all a person has to do is buy another chip for the phone, so Landon did that and Chelsea and I were simply without service throughout Peru.) We were SO thrilled to see Landon. We were a little tired and feeling very alone, having not seen anyone else we knew for what seemed like months. We were like giddy school girls, peeking over the crowd to see if we could spot the gringo (who is actually technically an Ecuadorian citizen). We had just decided that he wasn’t there when I spotted him and squeaked excitedly that I had seen him. Chelsea ran to the man in the black felt hat and we had a happy, huggy reunion.

In Lima we found a fairly cool hotel that was $5 per night that for some reason smelled like urine as we went to sleep. Chelsea's bed was not in any way flat. The slant was measurable in definite degrees. But we slept well and in the morning got up and took a cab to a place in the city where the big bus stations were. Lima is a city of 11 million people, so this was quite a trip in the morning.

We decided to go with the double-decker Cruz del Sol bus and got the cheaper tickets in the top and back of the bus. Unfortunately we didn’t know what we were getting into and the ENTIRE trip to Cusco (which, by the way is 21 hours), the door to the bathroom was swinging open and wafting unpleasant smells to wake us up. But to make it worse, the door was specifically designed to stay closed when moving, meaning that one had to use quite a bit of force to open and shut it. So we were woken up persistently by people being unable to figure out how to open it, it being slammed shut loudly, or it swinging wide open because someone had not used enough force to fully close it. It was miserable, but we were able to sleep, although I was definitely affected by the altitude. I kept getting very dizzy and my heart would patter, but it went away by the time we got off the bus.

When we DID get off the bus, we had learned our lesson about getting bus tickets at the last minute, so right away we bought our return tickets, giving me time to figure out where the heck we were and where we should probably head. We found a hostel with a room that had great light, a good bathroom, and a beautiful view, then we headed out to the main plaza to look around the city. The next morning we were scheduled for the train ride to Aguas Calientes, where we would stay for two nights.

The train ride came way too early in the morning, but we were able to make it to the station on time. Unfortunately, the train was delayed in the middle of the tracks for at least an hour, but if my memory serves me correctly it was more like two hours. There had been a mudslide and the mud had to be cleared from the tracks before the train could go any farther. It was thrilling to pass the place where the slide had been because the mud really was unpassable, even after they had been working to clear it for so long. The men were in rubber boots, but I’m pretty sure that they did not keep all that mud out.

We arrived safe and sound into Aguas Calientes, and as we were doing so I thought to myself, hmmm…. The UI Alternative Service Break team could have been here this weekend. But since it was a Sunday afternoon, I didn’t think much of it, since if they had been there, they probably would have gone by then to get back to Cai Cay, a little town outside of Cuzco.

We climbed up the huge hill and crossed the river into the other side of the city. We hiked up the hill at least ¾ of the way to the hot pools, asking every hostel we passed for their price, finally settling for one that was as cheap as we could find, but with a cute little courtyard. We dropped our stuff, washed up a little, and headed back into the town to check it out.

Aguas Calientes is an amazing city because there are no cars. The PeruRail train is the only way in and out of the city (creating a ridiculous monopolizing of the route and stupidly high prices), meaning that each bus that goes from Aguas Calientes up to the Machu Picchu park had to be carted in by train. Everyone walks (there is no other way to do it) and the city is just nestled into this little canyon, crossing the river which is half hot and half cold. There are hot pools and a plaza and a market and a beautiful cobble-stone walkway. The restaurants are right on the street and offer 5x1 Happy Hours and talking parrots. It is a magical place. Touristy, yes, but magical all the same.

We took to an internet café after buying our entrance tickets into the park (we got a discount because we were international students!). As I was emailing, I looked up to see a young man with a bright orange afro. It couldn’t be Owen. Owen lived in the same building as my brother Dan during Dan’s sophomore year and was often mistaken for him because of the red afro, although other than the hair they really look nothing alike. I was so freaked out that I went to chat with Landon, who had also lived with the two and was pretty good friends with the afro Owen. I said, “Landon, that guy looks freakishly like Owen.” His response was that he knew, he had seen him, but I insisted that it was so much of a resemblance that it was creeping me out. Landon looked closer, got up from his seat, kept getting closer while staring at this man until he was only a few feet from him. “Owen?” “Oh my god, Landon!” The two had no idea that they were in the same country, much less the same city. We had just stumbled across the UI ASB group!

I got to see Owen and my friend Chad and they said Christina was coming. As soon as I saw her, I ran to her in the street, where she promptly screamed bewildered and hugged me. She had been telling her team that she just knew someone she loved was in the town, that she could feel it. They had all thought she was crazy.

It turned out that they had to catch the train back to Cusco and then a bus back to Cai Cay at 6:00, so we chatted for a while and then said goodbye, although I headed straight for the station after we had eaten dinner to say goodbye to them again. I’m glad I did because Greg, who had been with the team I went with the Peru the year before for ASB, was with the group, though we hadn’t seen them, and because he had gotten his bag stolen with EVERYTHING in it, he had to get back to Lima to apply for an emergency passport to leave the country. So I would not have seen him because he would have left early before Landon and I headed to Cai Cay. It was great to see them. I felt like the veteran because I knew where everything was.

We shopped for a while, went to the hot pools (which were GROSS just like I had heard they were), and then headed to bed, since we had intended to hike our way up to the park the next morning.

Peru Installment 2

I took a break since writing last in order to hang out more with my brother and start school. We started last Monday the 2nd of February and I now have a definite schedule to report. Mondays are my big days: Economics from 7:00-8:40AM, Spanish from 9:00-12:15, Italian at 12:30-1:30 and Global Ethics at 2:00-5:00. It is going to be mad busy, but I know I can do it. I only have Econ on Mondays and Wednesdays and Global Ethics is only one day out of the week.

Back to the story of our viaje. We got up somewhat early the next morning, not really being rested because our bug nets were only a way to keep them from biting us, and in no way a way to keep them out of our ears and faces. It was muggy and hot and the river smelled a little. Oh yeah, and this was the vividly green river that ran just out our door. But we got to see a land iguana, which definitely made Chelsea happy. But our hostess was nowhere to be seen and the gate was locked to where the main office was, so we left $10 in the room, tied a note to the key saying that the money was in the room, and threw it over the fence. We had to leave.

We were able to catch a bus that would take us to Santa Elena, a town where we were intending to stop to see the “Hugging Lovers.” This sight is an archaeological collection of various things, but the main attraction is the pair of 80,000 year-old skeletons discovered in a loving embrace. I’m not sure if it was the history of it or the fact that I am nothing but a fat SAP, but I had to see it.

When we got on the bus, we discovered that it was completely full. All the seats in the back were taken, as well as all the standing room, meaning that there was only room in the front of the bus before the partition. The assistant so kindly set up my very own princess cushion next to the driver and on top of that big bump in the bus where the engine is. Chelsea was told to sit in the windshield on the small lip where various knick-knacks appeared to have been collecting over the years. Oh the things that would make lawsuits in the United States.

My legs were right next to the chubby, dirty right hand of the bus driver, who was somewhere around 30-40 years old, sporting a bushy mustache but no beard, 200-250 pounds, and not in the slightest bit attractive. At first I thought he was just a nice old guy, interested in who this little American girls. He turned on the shitty salsa music that can be bought for less than a blank CD would cost in the States. Occasionally the assistant would tell him to dance, just so he could laugh at our reactions. It was like watching Jaba the Hut dance in an I-never-took-lessons kind of way. But, lest we forget, this was all while the man was driving and whilst Chelsea sat in the windshield and I on the engine box.

But then the guy started getting weird (although luckily not before I got a picture with him, which should be here on my blog somewhere). He just wanted to know my name, where I was from, and then the third question that ALWAYS follows those two requests for information, “tienes novio?” “Do you have a boyfriend?” I really don’t mean to be harsh, I know that you can find the beautiful in everyone, no matter how much their outer-shell does not conform to the common concept of beauty, but I must say that I really do not understand where men like this come from. I don’t know how he pictured the flirting playing out. Why would two pretty (if I do say so myself) young American girls with everything going for them go for a middle-age, rotund, dirty bus driver who can't even dance? I know, it sounds harsh, but I refuse to hold it in until I can get some kind of an answer.

So for the full hour and a half trip to Santa Elena, I was subjected to loud crappy salsa music and bad dancing, plus the advances of a man I found slightly revolting. He even went so far as to say that he could drop off all the people in the bus and Chelsea, the assistant, he and I could continue all the way to Peru and then tell me that I couldn’t leave in June until he and I had gotten married. Only after we were married could I go home. He touched me on the leg and persistently tried to catch my fancy by doing the Jaba the Hut jiggle. Eventually I pretended to be asleep to avoid said dancing spells and having to talk to him (which brought the unpleasant experience of his breath in my face).

Santa Elena could not come soon enough for me. I was ready to get out of there! We were dropped at a stop, not having any idea of where we were or how to get to where we were going. We walked in the intense heat and sun for a while before wisely deciding to get a Coke and look for directions on how we should get to where we were going. As we were walking past what looked like a little old carpenter’s shop, where the little old carpenter was sitting, I thought the 70-80 year old man was so cute! He was missing most of his teeth and the wrinkles on his face told me that he had been through a lot, but smiled the whole time. So I smiled back, which turned out to be a mistake. We walked away from catcalls.

Once we did find where we were going, we were severely disappointed to find that, like most museums around Ecuador, it was closed that day, seeing as how it was a Monday and Mondays are the generally accepted staff’s-day-off day. I was so upset I nearly cried, so instead we walked the long walk to the bus station, where we caught a bus to Guayaquil.

As we got into Guayaquil, which is, by the way, the big port town on the southern coast of Ecuador, I thought things were ugly and dry and I was not looking forward to the stay we would have in the city. Once we got to the bus station, we were given a small taste of the city that we were about to see. The station was nicer than any we had ever been in! They had air-conditioning and stores. It was almost like a mall. Very clean and well-kept.

Our taxi ride into the city to a hotel called Hotel Sanders showed us a little more of the city. There were people everywhere. It seemed that the people of Guayaquil enjoyed being out on the streets far more than the people of Quito do. Our hotel appeared very fancy down at the desk, but the price was good and the rooms were very simple. We dropped our stuff, changed into some more comfortable clothing (Guayaquil seems to be just one big pot of steaming people), and went out to take a look at the city. It was so big! And so clean! But there was a very immediate difference from being in Quito (other than the blazing, muggy heat). The catcalls were almost unbearable. At one point during our stay, we accidentally walked through a group of 6-8 men, who proceeded to make kissing noises in our ears and say the only English words they knew- “hey” and “sexy.”

The beds were so comfortable and we were able to do laundry, although as I was washing my clothes in the sink I looked up and realized that there was a sign just to the left of the mirror asking guests to please not do their laundry in the sink! We did it anyway, and what a good thing we did. We were getting pretty smelly.

We drank coffee, saw parks, held hands with statues, and even got to be in some wedding photos! Okay, so we were background and not supposed to be there, but we’re still little blobs in pictures that two people are going to keep for the rest of their lives.

There was one park in the middle of the city that was known for its land iguanas. For some reason, it was their haven in the middle of the city and there were hundreds of them! We thought there were only twenty or so, as we could only see some here and there on the ground, but then we looked up at the trees and realized that they were lounging in the sun on nearly every branch and in any crevice of the trees! We even got to see two males fighting over the territory of one tree and the female that was basking. Those females. The smaller of the males was actually way more aggressive, probably because he was younger and had more spunk. So he would continually attack the other, biting at his neck and staying in that position as long as possible. But the older iguana never lost it! He nearly fell out of the tree several times, but he never gave up or backed down. I was impressed and rooted him on, all the while covering my head for fear he would fall on it.

Peru Installment 1

Woohoo! It is the first of February. I have a lot to report. Dear almonds, it has been such a busy month! School starts tomorrow and I couldn’t be more unprepared or more excited for it to. I really miss Spanish class. After more than a month without the three hours of practice every morning, my Spanish has severely suffered. I can still string a sentence, but I have not been having much practice on my vocabulary and whatnot. Joy!

So, I am signed up for six classes right now… no way I am keeping all those. I have my Spanish VI, Portuguese II, French I, Meditation in Movement, The History of Women and Economics. I had a terrible Portuguese class last semester, so if I have the same teacher in level 2 this cycle, there is no way I am staying in that class, so I would take French instead. If Portuguese turns out to be okay, I will continue with that and give it priority, since I can take French back in Moscow. But if it does not, I would love to start on French, since that is the next language on my list. My list has to be conquered!

The Economics class would be perfect, if it would transfer over as either 201, 202, or 272. If I could get it for 272, that would be great! It would be REALLY hard to work in Econ in Spanish, but I have this minor that I have not even started on! I need to dig in.

So, since I last wrote, there are things that have happened that MUST be chronicled! I wrote on the first day of the year, posting a re-cap of everything for about two months. On the night of the first, Chelsea and I had tickets on a bus from Quito to Manta. This was an overnight bus and cost $10.

Let me tell you, that afternoon and evening before, I reviewed what I was packing at least 8 times, loading my water bottle with good water, packing tea bags for some relaxing cups along the way. I was checking over our schedule to make sure we had everything arranged, making last minute adjustments, and mostly just stressing about being on the road for so many days.

Chelsea and I met at the bus station at 10:00ish. I was there way early because I was nervous about our tickets. When her family finally pulled up to drop her off, Chelsea tried on my Pumas to make sure they would fit her for the trip, and we said goodbye to her host family. We sat on the steps of the bus station and watched as an old bus pulled into the station. What if we had to be on that bus! It was dirty and smelly and would not be comfortable.

Luckily, another bus pulled in and we climbed on that one. They were going to the same place, but one was for ten minutes earlier. Some people were kicked off the nice, new one to sit on the old one. I had moved up from my assigned seat since no one was sitting next to Chelsea and then someone moved into my old seat. That girl got in a little trouble with the stewardess, so we just kept our eyes down, pretending to be asleep. It worked!

The seats were fairly uncomfy for me, though apparently not for Chelsea. What was the trick for her? After being on a bus for SO long this last month, I have learned that the window seat is the very best because there is always something on your side that you can lean on. Plus, no one is bumping into you from the aisle. So Chelsea slept and I pretended to sleep.

7:00 AM dawned on Manta, a dirty little town that has a stupid US military base. Sorry for all those that enjoy war and the idea of killing other people to resolve conflict, but I find US presence on the shores of Ecuador as disrespectful and assuming. I refuse to be angry at troops, because they only have good in mind, but I refuse to fall into the stupid, “Support Our Troops” trap that calls for war through a false pretense of supporting the men who are willing to die in an effort to “uphold our country’s values.” I support everything about the troops. What I don’t support is the bureaucratic use of troops in a manner of conflict that is uncivilized and out-dated. Does anyone see a shadow of Vietnam in our current conflict? What good came of Vietnam? And what are the people doing to stop this idiocy? I’m included in that. Here I sit, criticizing without providing a solution. I am as bad as anyone. Rant over.

So Manta was a little boring at 7 in the morning on a Friday. The harbor was buzzing, full of men, whose greasy eyes were on us as we looked around. But seeing no reason to stay around, we took a bus to Puerto Lopez, where we could catch a bus to Ayampe, a tiny little one dirt road town where there were multiple hostels for surfer-bums to hang out. The bus was hot and walking was hot, so we stopped and Chelsea had a beer while I sucked on a Coca-Cola. We walked barefoot through the tiny little store/bar by the road and hung in the hammock while we cooled down.

The hostel we had planned to stay at (Finca Punta Ayampe) was at the very end of the dirt road. We walked for what seemed like so long, wanting to stop at every hostel we passed so we wouldn’t have to keep walking, but we persisted and were rewarded. Finca Punta Ayampe was the coolest place we had ever seen! There was a sign to the Recepción, but the bottom floor was open-air with tents set up and a beautiful staircase that said to take off shoes before climbing. When we got to the main floor, we were greeted in such a chill manner that we had no idea who was a guest and who was a hotel worker. The place was like a grown-up’s tree house, with hammocks and bean bags and couches everywhere and stairs to the upstairs rooms (where we would stay) and a deck that looked out to the beautiful and impressively clean beach. We left our bags in our rooms and were introduced to the other guests, which was the part that told us we wanted to hang out here for the rest of our lives. We chilled out in the sunshine on the deck and then took at four hour nap in our room! We were exhausted, but in no way upset at having slept that long. We were tired.

We discovered cockroaches in the bathroom that first night. In fact, one crawled up into the faucet head and then never really appeared again, making it a little creepy to lean our heads into the sink to get water to rinse our teeth after brushing them. We slept well and were up the next day in time to have breakfast and head to the beach.

The waves were phenomenal. I still remember better ones in Costa Rica, but I realize at this point in my life that I might only remember those as being so big because I was smaller. We played for a while in the waves and then came back into shore to read and lay in the sunshine. I hate that I did, but I got majorly burnt on the front. I peeled for at least two weeks, but it was an accident because the old sunscreen I had been using was just crap. I threw it away before I came back, but that was my test for it. And it failed the test!

We went back into the water to wash off the sand. I was playing out in the waves and Chelsea was a little farther in shore. Suddenly she realized she couldn’t get back into shore. Neither could I. The rip tide was taking us out and to the right. I had heard before that if this situation comes about, I should swim parallel to the shore. But if I swam to the right, there were sharp gatherings of rocks where I would have been dashed to pieces. If I swam the other way, I would just be fighting the same rip tide and tiring myself out. Chelsea was crying out and I was fighting to get back into shore. At one point, I was under the water, not able to breathe, thinking this could be the end. I was trying to stay calm so that Chelsea would not panic, but inside, I was screaming. I was fighting with everything I had, trying to use the waves to help.

Luckily, a couple of newly-married Dutch surfers who were staying at the same hotel with us were watching and instructed us to swim parallel, even if it meant towards the rocks. As soon as I did this, the rip eased up and I moved in toward the shore. Chelsea was still trying to fight the tide out of instinct, but slowly she moved in as well. She still cried out and I assured her that I would not leave her, holding out my hand and pulling her in while I had good footing. We walked back in-shore, shaking and affected greatly by what had happened. We were a little embarrassed that we had lost control and had to be instructed on how to get back in, but just thankful that the couple had been there and watching out for us.

With our nerves having taken such a hard hit, we headed back to the hostel and into town for some lunch and water. We wouldn’t go back into the ocean, being thoroughly shaken, but we still enjoyed the rest of the day, talking to some Irish, British, and German chaps at the restaurant we ate at.

Later that night as we were getting ready for bed, we saw a cockroach on the wall of the shower and I said, as I opened my toiletry bag, “I just hope there isn’t one in my bag.” My scream (which the entire hostel heard) told of the shattered hope. Our battle to get it out of the bag and then out of the room was also heard, as we laughed and gave out frightened cries. We finally conquered, getting it to crawl out the window.

The next morning after breakfast we climbed the steep hill to catch a bus to Montañita, another surfer hangout, but this time more geared at the night-life and commercial enjoyment of the beach. I personally enjoyed Ayampe 10x more, but everyone has his or her own preferences. In Montañita, we met up with Jipijapa, a friend from Quito. He was to be teaching us to surf, but with my sunburn, Chelsea's fragile knee, our new fear of the ocean, and Jipijapa’s new tattoo of some sort of wizard, it seemed to be the last thing that we could accomplish. Plus, Jipijapa said he was going to change his shoes and then never returned!

So, instead, Chelsea and I found a disgusting $5 per night per person hotel, we stashed our stuff in an awful room full of used beer bottles, bugs, and cigarette butts that smelled of paving oil. This was not to be our room, but our room was full still of passed-out Argentinians. So we were given the key to this cheaper room (it had a shared bathroom) and were allowed to store our stuff there while out on the beach.

We rented beach chairs and relaxed on the beach for the majority of the afternoon, being visited by Jipijapa and his drug-dealer friend Floyd with the nice set of abs. Eventually Jipijapa said he needed to use the restroom, disappearing and once again not returning. Then Floyd excused himself for the same reason and didn’t return either. We retired, found dinner, drank liquor with scorpions at the bottom of the bottle, and hung out. I got sick for the second time in a month that night and walked around like a zombie. By the time we got to sleep, it really didn’t matter what the room smelled like or what kind of bugs were crawling around in it.