Dinner with the Spaniards. Written August 19

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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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



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

First Day. Written August 16

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

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

First Time This Blog is Actually Informative! Written August 14

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Also, they have a water filter. This rules.

Sojurner Truth. Written August 12th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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