also, sometimes, I don’t like when I can’t figure out how to get the formatting of my poems to stay when I post them

so just realize the below post is not EXACTLY 100 PERCENT HOW I WANTED IT.

time to go cry myself to sleep.

(kidding, kidding! everything is actually pretty great here. just using this digital space to reflect. I’m having an amazing time so Mom DON’T WORRY loooove you

and anyone else who might be reading, amor to you as well, she just deserves a special shout out because, well, she’s my mom. if you see her around minnesota you should say hello as she is a pretty cool lady. who I miss. )

sometimes I go out at night

follow the guy wearing the iron maiden t-shirt, he’ll lead us to Parque de Itchimbía. god, this feels creepy. should we ask him where it is. are we sure he’s going to quitofest? a bus driver and a then a taxi driver honks at us as we wait to cross the street. I get stared at. I’m sorry. no, matt, it’s not your fault. yeah but it’s a lot more obvious when you are with me. haha, yeah, that’s true.

what’s true is that you never stop feeling strange and out of place and even if I can occasionally pass more or less as at least “not a gringa” the moment I open my  mouth that fantasy is gone. the strangeness never stops and I imagine I understand a little bit of what it means to move to another country where you don’t know the language or the culture except I’m not doing it to make money to send back to my family so they can eat. Matt’s easy to spot in the crowd later when our group gets a little split up because he’s a half foot taller then everyone else and blonde and blue-eyed  in a sea of black haired black eye makeuped black t-shirted black jeans metal jewelry the entire sub-culture of Quito’s metalheads rockeros seems to be here. didn’t know alice in chains and iron maiden were so popular.

speaking of groups we see the very group we were trying to ditch before, do you know how impossible it is to meet local ecuatorianos if you are in a group of 10 extranjeras? very impossible. oh shit. oh shit. did they see us? how could they not see us? we are the only other gringos here! quick, down, hide. wait, grab the wine! sickly sickly sweet a dollar twenty five for a box we duck through the crowd and crouch behind a car a little past the park entrance. they gave us communion sized cups to drink from, remember we’re in a catholic country now, and those cups are left behind as the rockeros roll up the street in somber drunken smoking pilgrimage, the concert is free after all an annual event. we drink straight from the bag like a giant alcoholic capri sun without the straw. soy bruto! claro, pero es necesario, ¿no? soy bruta tambien. I’m just glad someone else is willing to make the choice to hide behind a car from the other students from our program because we don’t want to be in a group of 10 because then the strangeness becomes even more of a throbbing pain and they talk in english anyway. mateo y anita we took new names because we speak a new language. we took risks because from our respective minority communities neither of us is quite as understood or safe here. you can’t tell at first glance with either of us but the edge of strange, purple sickly green with small sharp pearly teeth, the edge of strange, I felt it before in the states but now my hair is slicked down with it. my skin glimmers pale with it. my tongue drips with it. every sound every buenos dias buenos noches strange strange neon signs scream out flashing around my head and flare flashing out my mouth Didn’t know I could breathe fire STRANGER STRANGER.  I will never fit in here. good thing I got a lot of practice feeling that way back home now this isn’t so much of a shock but strange strange I look forward to my nescafe and queso blanco in the morning.

so we crouch behind a car and drink sweet peach wine and speak gringo accented spanish and watch as the indigenous women with babies strapped to their backs try to sell twenty-five cent cigarettes and chocolates to the river of black t-shirts rolling past the security gates.

night falls.

the view is amazing.

Quito goes on forever into the distance, a pool of spilt orange light settling down between the mountains. the virgin is surreal huge, her stone face staring out over the center of the city. it goes on forever. we can see the other edge of the mountain ridge across from us but not the edge of the city. strange, it seems to go on forever a seething mass of orange and white lights in the darkness and the wind is biting up here. now is the time to share the american spirit cigarette I smuggled in nestled in my hair behind my ear like a bird’s egg nestled in it’s nest because with a view like this who can resist? time to burn some lung cells in sacrifice to the mountain gods around us. the smoke curls upward and I send prayers with it.

oh shit oh shit my eyes grow wide as a troop of police tramp up the steps fully outfitted with grey camo dogs bullet proof vests. we are not supposed to have cigarettes in here. quick give it to me he curls it inside his palm but doesn’t put it out american spirits are precious, organic you know? part of the new food movement right. here comes the policía. big dogs scare me.

oh wait. the cop is smoking too.

oh. strange.

isn’t the view beautiful?

follow the rockeros down off the mountain.

later. now a group of four we desperately try to find a bar or dance club outside of mariscal sucre, gringolandia. gringo-land. nothing is open nothing is open 10 is early here. oh well I guess back to mariscal at least we know of a place with an open bar that comes with the cover charge. no big flashy windows or lights or people handing out pamphlets with promotions that’s a good sign that we won’t be dancing with a bunch of french or swiss or american tourists. keep your eyes open. vodka y naranjilla, cuba libre, whisky o aguardiente. ¿que? he said, vodka y naranjilla, cuba libre, whisky o aguardiente. what? VODKA Y NARANJILLA, CUBA LIBRE O – oh! vodka then. I can’t drink rum. the music is pounding. and the place is empty. good thing there’s a free bar, eh?

time to pass the time.

oh strange strange you just have to wait an hour and then people pour in from the outside and you can barely breathe. we. are. the. only. gringos. here. yes! goal met, right? high five. but strange strange you may say you can’t drink rum but when the noise is so loud and you might ask for a vodka but between your accent and the merengue beats you get handed a cuba libre instead. free cuba. free the idea of freedom from ideological reins well that’s a hefty goal guess a drink wouldn’t be so bad. soon after the rum and the vodka and the one shot of whisky you knew you probably shouldn’t have taken your mind is wiped clean and then there is nothing but the rum and the vodka and the one shot of whiskey you shouldn’t have taken and the merengue beat. strange strange no one has asked us to dance this is a local place for sure and we are strangers and we dance amongst ourselves and I

cease to care.

I start to care again when I know I have drank too much. during the taxi ride my head starts to swim. strange how I get a flash of understanding that sometimes you want to feel as physically wretched as you do on the inside and sometimes that is why people drink. not me I didn’t want this at all it was just that one shot of whiskey I shouldn’t have taken! and my cheeks flush with my own stupidity. thank god for the caring cool hands on my neck they know as they have been here before. you don’t drink much, do you Ellen smiles sympathetically as Mateo gives directions to the taxista and Trish rifles through American coins yes I am a late bloomer for sure. but I have been to worst places. one shot too many can’t bring me back there to deserts of grief and I went through that all without a single chemical in my body and a 4.2 GPA my sophomore year forty years of wandering equals four years of high school no I have been through worse a little nausea probably does me good. each day that takes me away from the desert means the lines of my face are outlined by something other then the stinging sand and I’m growing bigger then any one of my ghosts they will live in me but not define me,    now

isn’t that view beautiful?

it almost deserves a cigarette.

ZOOM BACK OUT TO A META LEVEL hold on now kids and why should I tell all of you this? to tarnish an image you might have had? to reaffirm a sneaking suspicion? to drop something into your lap more then the typical study abroad blog. that my hands have never been stained by ash or smoke or liquor. or that now when they grasp a pen or a cell phone it’s a fifty fifty chance what language is going to come out of them. that I can’t dance, well I can. I’ll rip off all my performative masks for you because there is never a lack! there’s always another one underneath. I’m performing right now, just for you. if you think you walk around showing real flesh and blood take another look because                                                                                     we just become mirrors of each other.

the tools of creating homogeneity social control foucault whatever mirrors and that’s why I left. no one here to mirror me because I am STRANGE STRANGE here I am a stranger to myself!

I have a Nieztche essay to read. In Spanish. I fully know I will fail to understand it because I read the first paragraph and I have no idea what it is about. at least the second article I understood but I keep wondering (if we’re talking about euro-centrisim I’d like to see someone else cited besides Derrida Lyotard Foucault etc.) if this is really the first time I’ve known I’m going to fail. I know I’m going to fail, and then cheat,  because I will find it online to read in English. hm.      hm.

strange.

strange.

isn’t that view beautiful?

it almost deserves a cigarette.

okay now the post I wrote a few days ago

I just waited five minutes for my browser to let me type here. Fast internet is a priviledge. Remember this, my beloved readers. Remember.

Anyway.

I’ve been a bit busy lately because finally all the other students have arrived. Finally, there are others who respond to me in Spanish when I talk to them in Spanish! Fantastico, others who don’t think it’s crazy I’m staying a year because they are too. Oh glory, I am now not the eccentric but lovable artsy one who strangely talks about eating dumpstering food, bikes and local Minneapolis artists, but part of a small MSID program eccentric but lovable sub-culture that talks about dumpstering food, bikes and local Minneapolis artists! I can’t tell you how much more comfortable I feel. I like everyone in my program but now I feel much more understood.

We went on a two day orientation trip to San Miguel de los Bancos, a small town about 2 and a half hours of Quito. The trip was prefaced by a desclaimer by our academic coordinator (in spanish), ¨Now, I know you all came here to study poverty, so you may wonder why our hotel will be somewhat luxurious…¨

It wasn’t five stars by any means but it was extremely nice with a beautiful view of the local cloud forest. Food definitely came artistically arranged on plates twice as big as the portions. Hot water was at our command and there was a pool.

During the orientation we definitely went through a couple theater based excercises (Now, walk around the space at a comfortable speed…make eye contact…) that I knew. It made me so happy…very comfortable. Like yesterday when I heard the DUN DUN of Law and Order and ran into my host mom’s room to watch with her, like I watch Law and Order with my real mom (hi Mom! I miss you and watching Law and Order together.) My spanish has already improved immensely in one week due to the fact that I’M ACTUALLY HAVING CONVERSATIONS and this is comforting as well. I’m not terribly homesick by any means but it is nice to experience some signifiers whose signified I know well (there’s a bone for any CSCL people who may be reading.)

So, Los Baños. By far the most international place I have been in Ecuador thus far. I think my favorite part was being able to hang out with a New Yorker, a woman from Ireland, a couple from Australia, a couple Israelis and a hugely entertaining imp of an Ecuatorian named Robertito. Think about 5 feet tall, skinny with an insanely huge cloud of curly hair and a constant performance of improvised clowning. Other then that, mountain biking through the mountains was amazing, hiking through the rainforest was amazing. You feel so incredibly humbled. These huge soaring walls of earth and green crowned by mist, that small curling fern or four foot long leaf, rivers and waterfalls, they have all been around much longer then you. Seeing plants that existed when the dinosaurs did, that MOVE when you touch them, spiders easily bigger then the span of my hand, chittering monkeys clambering over your head and searching through your pockets….the incredible diversity of this country is slowly starting to become apparent. Multiple times and epochs exist at once here. It is humbling.

I think I wrote some poems about Los Baños that I will upload later….trying to upload the 140 some photos I took and so far the past hour has uploaded…22. I did manage to upload some from Atacames (the beach), so if you’re interesting in seeing Barney chilling next to some fruit stands and a hostel balcony view of the long string of bars on the beach head over to http://picasaweb.google.com/annakunin. I will continue to upload photos as the days pass but I feel guilty and also unproductive and also unappreciative of the experience if I pasa too much tiempo on the computador.

Otherwise, my classes have started and I am in love. With my professor’s demeanor, that is. Here there are no qualms about being passionate about your point of view. I feel like many scholars in the Estados Unidos and the view of scholarship in general is one of…well, dryness. (Of course, this doesn’t apply to any of the professors I have connected with at the U…just in case anyone may be reading. If I didn’t hate emoticons I would put a smiley face at this juncture. I am very conscious of who may be reading today.) Anyway, I find in the states there is often a void of apparent passion, the fear of letting emotions seep into your research. Present your facts but don’t get too sentimental. Here, they stomp their feet and wave their hands and encourage you to debate them. I love it.

However, at the same time I have in the back of my mind Agosto Boal’s idea of the joker as the ideal teacher, or rather, mediator. Some students have already reacted negatively to the outward passion of our professors and that means doors have been closed. They can be opened again but the idea of a joker as an ambiguous, changing, open figure leaves these doors open from the start, or at least this is the idea. While my professors have encouraged us to ask questions and question them, I see many students will not because they are turned off, so to speak, by the strong stance. I am all for strong stances, but if I intend to be in a position of an educator in my future, I think there is a time and a place. In order to truly invite discussion and debate, the ¨leader¨ of the session must tread a softer path….there is a power being behind the podium and I don’t want to shut anyone down in any future workshops or classes I may lead.

Uy. Already thinking ahead to the next Pedagogy and Theater of the Oppressed Conference in Toronto next year in June. Should probably start looking for grants so I can go. The one in Minneapolis taught me such an incredible amount in just a week, that I feel I have been applying almost constantly here. I am almost painfully aware of each time someone says something is ¨weird¨ or ¨bizarre.¨ The implied assumption that our, meaning privliged American way of life, is universal and natural and therefore if people sell things on the bus and the bus doesn’t have scheduled stops and there is cow intenstines or chicken necks in the soup, if dogs live on roofs and aren’t spayed, if children in the street try to sell you 10 cent gum, if juice is made out of every fruit imaginable and served at almost every meal, it’s weird, right? It’s strange.

My god! It seems some people are content to study international development and read about social change in books and even do their best at internships but can’t extend that consciousness to a personal level. It’s like one of my professors told us today…most people are satisifed with wanting to better the system, instead of realizing the system itself is inherently injust and needs more fundamental changes…(she was talking about capitalism which I loved because it isn’t often you find out and out Marxist rhetoric in huge lecture classes at the U but again, another point that I could tell unsettled some people.)

I know shouldn’t be impatient or annoyed. While I believe community is essential to create lasting social change this sort of conscioussness-raising does take place at a highly personal level and pace. I have bitten my lip and am trying to play the Joker.

Well I am off to do homework and hope all is well in the States.

And now back to our regularly scheduled programming

well, just kidding. I wrote a long blog post but it failed to upload and it is on the family computer upstairs…don’t want to wake them up.

sooo sorry.

tomorrow.

tales from los baños postponed due to a technical diffuculty with an at-gunpoint mugging

okay, before everyone flips out, all 5.342 of my readers, I AM OKAY

perfectly perfectly healthy. not a scratch on me and all I lost was 15 bucks and my cellphone. here’s the story and I’m only telling it once and I’m telling it here, so here goes

we had just gotten back from our trip and a friend and I who live about two blocks from each other in the same neighborhood were walking to a bus stop to meet up with some friends to get some dessert. it was about 8 at night, on a well-lit street in our quiet tranquil neighborhood. our only mistake was that we were engrossed in conversation as that night I had finally told my host parents I’m Jewish (slipped it into a conversation about los banos, as there were tons of israeli’s there…ended up having a great conversation – all in Spanish! – but that will wait for another post.) a car pulled up a couple yards in front of us and some people got out, seeming like they were trying to get the back doors open.

as we got closer the man turned around and pointed a pistol some sort of black hand gun at me and ashley, saying “te mata, te mata, voy a matarte. dame su telefono etc.” (I’m going to kill you, give me your cell phone.) as soon as I saw the gun I was handing over my cell phone, before he was even really talking. as soon as I handed over my cellphone he asked for my money, another man and woman just stood watching. looking bored. I took my money out of my moleskin notebook – retained the notebook and the purse!- and handed it over while starting to walk backwards. I was a few feet away when I realized my friend was just standing there in fear and they had grabbed her entire purse. I said her name and walked back, grabbed her hand, and we talked away. the people got in the car and sped off.

it was extremely surreal. my mind was very numb and calm the entire time. I feel like I did pretty much all the right things. if they had tried to get us to get into their car I would have fought like a crazy woman but I knew all they really wanted was the material things we had and as soon as I handed it over I was getting out of there. I felt like it was a television program. It was so sudden and so….god just surreal! I’ve never seen a gun before. I’m not even entirely sure if it was a real gun. it made the clicking noise I wasn’t taking any chances.

I feel like I’m handling it a lot better then some other people. I don’t feel shocked or surprised, I was taught from a young age to trust no one but myself and to always fight for my life but not for my material belongings. thanks mom! no, really. all those lessons I found annoying through my life have definitely come in handy! I feel a little numb and was definitely shaking afterwards but I don’t feel like a victim by any means. honestly, everyone I’ve talked to I feel like has wanted me to act more like a victim but I just don’t feel like it. I feel stronger if anything else. a dangerous situation has finally occurred (I knew it would someday) and I handled it.

anyway that is why my stories and photos from los banos have to wait, although it was an excellent, excellent time! mountain bikes were rode through actual mountains, waterfalls were swum under and climbed over and monkeys have sat upon my head. more soon.

love to all.

coffee y toffee (R), 24 horas

I try to tend and avoid coffee shops that have a registered trademark symbol after their name.

the house music is driving me crazy, it´s all in English, and when I talk to the other girls in spanish they respond in English. IN ENGLISH.

I didn´t come all this way, leaving all the people I love and hold dear, to hold conversations in ENGLISH.

okay now that my kvetching is over.

this city is completely empty on sunday’s. it’s not that we’re the only people here that are gringas, we are the only people here. I know there is an extremely small population of Ecuadorian jews, I am going to try and seek them out. It would be interesting to see my own culture refracted through another.

that being said, I’m trying to write my essay on ¨la mujer y sociedad’ by hand. if my internship is in the jungle I better get used to living without technology. however, I think my topic…trying to explain the origins of the mind body divide in Englightenment philsophy and its repurcussions on western modern  conception of gender, leading to the domination of women by men through a cultural-historical process of socialization, is maybe a tad too sophisticated for my abilities in spanish.

I. hate. eurotrash. house. music.

I should really be working on my paper.

why oh why can’t the internetz be eazy

because I’m not in the United States anymore!!!

took a whole afternoon, and I do mean a whole afternoon, to manage to upload 5, and I mean 5, photos to flickr. (see right, click link)

currently I have about 260 on my laptop

auuughhh

also I find this font hard to read on my page but can’t currently change the theme due to similar slow interwebz problemz.

anyway, not much to update with as I have spent most of the week in bed. I have three more days of school…tues wed thurs…and then ANOTHER week off before my “semester” really starts. Where to go? Is the question of the day.

Followed immediately by,

where is a second hand bookstore? (quest to find one via the webznet: FAIL)

why is going to the shopping mall here so incredibly intimidating? (quest to buy second pair of jeans as I foolishly brought only one, thinking myself a savvy light packer: FAIL)

how am I handling knowing feeling I walk down the street and everyone, everyONE, EVERYONE is thinking, look, there goes a gringa! SHE’S NOT FROM HERE. (quest to fit in with local population, banking on “strong” nose and dark hair coloring to make me not stand out quite as much but even if I can get by on looks the minute I open my mouth it’s obvious I have an extremely tenuous grasp on Spanish, perhaps that of a prodigious 6 year old: FAIL)

am I full and satisfied after a typical ecuatorian breakfast of nescafe coffee, fruit, bread and a little bit of fresh cheese? (quest to learn how to eat like an ecuatorian, which in this house essentially means bread and coffee for breakfast and dinner with a huge lunch in between: SUCCESS!!!!!!)

woooooooooooooooo

p.s. to those who weren’t around when I used to have a xanga…ahh, early high school.

sometimes I write posts that make use of something called “hyperbole”. I often use this to what I find to be a comic effect, perhaps utilizing what could be called, “hyperbolic humor.” This means while I may write that I can speak at the level of a 6 year old, I am being hyperbolic. I’m sure it’s much more along the lines of a 4 year old.

just kidding. if they grew up with spanish they both speak better then me, although I doubt they are using their Spanish to stiltedly talk about SISTEMAS DE OPRESION (systems of oppression.)

okay I’m done.

EDIT: No I’m not.

Flickr say I have used 20% of my storage this month! For FIVE photos! out of TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY.

Seeking solutions. Help?

Hello all. You might have heard a rumor I had swine flu. Before you read the following post, written before a definitive diagnosis that I DON’T HAVE SWINE FLU, remember…I don’t have swine flu!

—————————–

To Be (infected with swine flu) or Not To Be (infected with swine flu)

Well, I’m back from the beach (more on that later.) 8 hour bus ride there and back…for five dollars for the ticket, I’m not complaining.

The current news is that I am sick; the question is, with what. Regular influenza, or influenza of the SWINE?!?!?!?!?!?!??!

During the bus ride back, I was beset with chills, headache, swollen lymph nodes, sore throat, fever, etc…..it was not a fun bus ride. I came back, rested for a day, and when the symptoms had not abated and I had developed a cough my host mother took me to a hospital. The doctor examined me and declared I was a suspect of swine flu – no other test was done to confirm this, because I guess it is government policy if you have a certain set of symptoms for over 48 hours you get treated like you have it whether you do or not. I got Tamiflu (the medicine for flu of the pig) right away and was sentenced to 7 days in quarantine.

I took the meds and immediately started to feel better.

However

Final Diagnosis issssssssssss…..

REGULAR FLU!!!!

Woooooooo.

I still feel like E.T…..whenever my host mom or Lourdes comes in they’re wearing masks…..Overall, right now I just feel tired with a mild headache and cough that I’m sure will abate soon.

And now, TO THE BEACH.

Atacames

Atacames beach is one of the hot spot vacation places for the Ecuadorian population…I believe my friends and I were the only, and I mean the ONLY, gringas there. Here is the set up of Atacames, each layer outstretching for the length of the beach:

-Ocean.

-Sand.

-Tents with Chairs available for rent, Ceviche huts (avoided for health reasons).

-Bit more sand.

-Bars, more like huts open to the elements, blasting music seemingly 24/7…mostly salsa/merengue/cumbia etc., but including such choice American songs as “You’re the One that I Want” from Grease and “Hammertime” from MC Hammer, disco lights, small dance floors.

-Stands selling multiple kinds of jewelry, things made from shells and coconuts, a lot of Che Guevera and (who’s that rasta guy) paraphernalia, leather bracelets, sundresses, pipes etc.

-Tiiiiinnny little sidewalk, covered with people.

-Tiiinnny little street, covered with cars.

-Stands selling every conceivable type of fruit, batidos (milkshakes), etc.

-Restaurants. Mostly seafood, occasionally pizza.

I’m sure there was an actual town behind this parfait, as the last day we retreated into it to find a panderia to buy some bread for the ride back, but I would say 90% of the people who come never venture deeper then 150 yards into the town.

To me, Atacames seemed impossible….the noise and the lights and the movement and everything never stopped. New York may be the city that never sleeps, but it’s big enough you kind find places that have some lull. Atacames is small enough that there is no escape. I don’t know how I slept….I guess the different music blasting from all the different bars right next to each other, the rumble of the huge crowd in the street, car alarms, sounds of the ocean, people selling things, the sizzling of cooking food, it all cancelled each other out to the kind of white noise I needed to sleep.

There were mostly clouds, for which I am grateful, because on the coast the sun is so powerful it cooks your flesh straight through the cloud cover anyway. You’ll be lying on the beach, eyes closed, feeling the heat and swearing that when you open your eyes the sun will be blaring down; but no, the sky was all grey.  I didn’t get sunburned, thank god, just a little tender on my shoulders, although I don’t know what would have happened if it was sunny. Probably roasted up like a pig.

Ahh! I’ve circled back the beginning topic. I’ll write more later.

Can all my readers read this size font with ease? Yes? Yes? Bien.

I’m going to the beach tomorrow…5 hour bus ride to the coast, 5 dollars for the ticket. I’m exciting to rent a boogie board and boogie it up in waves that don’t freeze me to the bone, to see the pacific ocean from a completely different latitude, to eat a lot of FRESH FISH!!

My spanish is improving rapidly, if not my ability to communicate my own wishes then at least my ability to understand others. What I love about this culture is that it is a PERFORMATIVE culture….everyone tells stories and waves their hands around and acts out all the parts, even my host padre, who is at other times somewhat formal. I can´t wait to meet some local theater folk and see what they are like…I am the only creative type in my program (everyone is great, but so far all political science or economics or buisness majors) and so I kind of stick out at times. I miss having people I feel comfortable being foolish and acting out the clown with, who take performative theory seriously, etc. etc. etc.

But the stories! Lourdes, who I mentioned earlier, has truly an incredible story. One thing about television here is that shows that are popular with kids in the states seem to be popular with…everyone…here…think Spongebob, Pokemon, etc. (Simpsons as well! My host mom told me the government actually banned the show some months earlier under the justification that it was bad for children, and the people protested so much they brought it back.) Anyway, I thought it was kind of odd until Santiago, my host brother, and I managed to exchange some ¨Isn´t this kind of quaint¨ glances as Lourdes and my mami watched Pokemon….but one of the other reasons I think Lourdes enjoys kid´s shows and the Jonas Brothers and revistas de celebrities so much is that she never had a childhood….she was telling me how her mother was always sick, her father abandoned her family, she was given her newborn brother to raise at the age of ten, mother died, couldn’t go to school….she is the sweetest person I know here and I find it truly incredible that she managed to come into Quito and create a life for herself that she truly enjoys. She turns 18 in November.

I won´t be updating until Sunday when I come back from the beach, so expect more prose poetry then. I hope when my mind has fully adjusted I’ll be able to post more significant ponderings then what-did-I-do-today.

A Flickr link is soon to follow. I´ve managed to upload some photos. Not all because I felt bad spending so much time on the computer, but enough to prove I made it here.

FALSE ALARM: after waiting several minutes for my photos to upload it didn’t go through…I have managed to find a computer I can upload my photos onto in the first place, and made a flickr account, so I´m several steps closer. The problem is energy is more expensive here and I feel guilty leaving the computer on so long just to try and upload photos. When I’m writing my next essay I’ll try again. Or, anyone have any tips of how to speed up the uploading process?

Someone asked me about quotidian life in Ecuador and I really can’t say that I know that yet. It’s only been one week but it’s been a very…dense…week to say in the least. I don’t know if I could describe what is exactly different yet, except for extremely obvious things like mountains…(speaking of which, still trying to figure out how to get my photos on this old lap top, a flickr link will come soon.)

So I thought I would interest you all with what everyday life things have established a pattern thus far:

Breakfast: Nescafe coffee. Jugo de mora, naranjilla, tomate, etc. (blackberry, fruit we don’t have in the states, orange.) Pan. (Bread – think rolls and croissants instead of loafs.) Fruta, muy fresca. (Fruit, very fresh. Papaya, pineapple, melon, etc.) Occasionally an egg.

Lunch:  This is the basic construction of a plato tipico here, with some variables thrown in: Arroz. (Rice.) Un tipo de carne. (A type of meat.) Platanos. (Plaintains, boiled or fried.)

Dinner: Repeat above.

Pets: A golden retriever (not spayed) named Samuel, a smallish mop of fur perhaps a shishitzu named Muneca (doll), a cat whose name I don’t remember who doesn’t like me. The dogs LOVE me. They are slowly changing my mind about dogs…the whole unconditional love no matter who you are thing is helping out through these first lonely moments. The golden retriever is a beautiful dog, truly golden, and whenever I walk past practically begs me with his eyes and tail to come play with him (he lives outside.) Muneca is a ball of greasy black shaggy fur that likes to fall asleep on my lap as I try to understand spanish TV cop shows. The cat is about the size of my thumb with eyes that take up half her little face but she avoids me mostly. Still like cats better, but definitely seeing the appeal of dogs….they have made me feel so much less lonely, so much more loved.

Really wish I could post photos. Soon soon soon. Internet is fizzing in and out, so hasta luego.