70 Hours in the Jungle

About a month ago, I was lucky enough to take a trip to the Amazon Rainforest.  Although I was only in the Amazon for about 70 hours, it was one of the most amazing experiences of my semester.  There, I saw a greater concentration of life than I have ever experienced; Tiputini, the research station we visited, is located in the most biodiverse location in the world!  There were many animals, but more impressive was the plant life abounding everywhere and the myriad of fungus species busy working to decompose the organic material that covered the forest floor. 

So much green!

José, our guide, shows us fungus

Tiputini is run by my university in Ecuador, la Universidad San Francisco de Quito, together with Boston College, and hosts researchers from around the world.  During our visit, there was a team of dragonfly researchers from Spain and two groups of researchers from the US studying various types of monkeys at the station.  Tiputini is located in eastern Ecuador on the Río Tiputini, in the Yasuní Biosphere Reserve and very close to Ecuador’s large Yasuní National Park.  This part of the rainforest is virtually untouched by modern human activity.  The remoteness makes for quite a trip!  Of the four days we spent in the Amazon, two were spent traveling.  From Quito we took a half-hour plane ride to the jungle city of Coca, a two-hour motorized canoe ride down Ecuador’s largest river, the Río Napo, a two-hour bus ride through oil owned land, and finally another two-hour canoe ride down the Río Tiputini to reach the research station.

Rain during our ride down the Río Napo

The long voyage was one of the most interesting parts of the trip because it allowed us to see firsthand the contrast between ‘humanized’ rainforest and rainforest still untouched (although I hesitate to use the word ‘untouched,’ because we certainly have affected all of Earth’s ecosystems with our activity, whether or not we have set foot in them).  The contrast, predictably, was troubling.  Trash in the Río Napo, power lines plunging into the trees, buildings along the river, corn fields and huge facilities in the oil land, and random patches of deforestation were glaringly dissonant chords in the symphony of wonder that the Amazon should have been.  The humans and the oil companies and the power lines do not belong there, and their presence felt wrong to me.  During our long journey to Tiputini, I was unsettled by many questions.  If human presence here was wrong, how did that reflect on my trip?  Did I belong here, even as a temporary visitor?  If human’s audacity to claim the right to warp the land to their benefit here disturbed me, what, then, of my house in Michigan?  What gave me the right to live on and maintain that land?  After all it, too, was once wilderness.  The greatest hypocrisy of all was that to reach our pristine destination, we were using petroleum – the very substance that threatens its existence.

Trash in the Río Napo

A cornfield in the midst of deforest oil land

This hypocrisy highlights the largest threat to the rainforest: our current societal norms.  Even as we talk of “saving the rainforest,” as long as we continue to demand and value oil, the idea of truly saving the rainforest will be nothing more than a daydream.  As nice as environmental ideals sound, in our capitalist society everything boils down to ‘following the money’ (to quote my analytical chemistry professor Dr. Tom Fisher).  Petroleum is Ecuador’s largest, and largest potential, source of income; unless the international community can replace this potential income with aid or we change our society to one which is not oil dependent, oil companies will continue to win drilling rights in the Amazon, new roads will be built, and people will follow.  Destruction will be a side effect of this pattern of events.

A natural gas burn-off

While many people are “concerned” about the rainforest, it is easy to claim concern, recycle a few water bottles, and forget about the issue.  However, when the issue surrounds you on all sides it is impossible to forget.  Unpleasant as it is to write and think about this aspect of the rainforest, it would be wrong not to include it in my blog about the trip because while I was there, these topics were never far from my mind.  Still, I did much more than sit and brood!

Here, for example, I am not brooding.

We spent most of our two days at Tiputini walking through the forest.  The station provided us all with rubber boots to wear.  The boots were very necessary; several times I had to battle mud for possession of mine!  The Amazon is teeming with so much life that I wanted to look in all directions at once; there are interesting organisms wherever you look.  Often, the animals were camouflaged by the abundant plant life, but where eyes fail, ears take over.  Insects, birds, and monkeys graced us with a never-ending chorus that was as comforting as it was loud.

Our group in front of a tree root

In addition to hiking, we also went on a canopy walk and to an observation tower (which was so peaceful I considered never coming down), canoeing on a small lake, and floating down the Río Tiputini.  A few of us donned life jackets and braved swimming in the river; luckily the water was muddy enough to hide any piranhas, caimans, or anacondas that may have been lurking underneath, and I found it quite relaxing to float and listen to the birds.  Before we got in the water, a tapir (a mammal with a nose like an elephant seal) swam across the river just 20 meters in front of our boat!  Our guides told us we were extremely lucky to spot one. 

A small extension to the canopy walk - we wore harnesses!

The view looking out from the observation platform...

...and the view looking down.

Jumping in the Río Tiputini!  I am second from the left.

Other noteworthy creatures we saw included spider, squirrel and howler monkeys; a sloth; toucans and parrots; many different frogs and lizards; bats; endless insects including fire ants, bullet ants (which are extremely poisonous), bright butterflies, and crickets the size of my hand.  Possibly the most exciting sight was the 15ft anaconda we spotted resting on the bank of the river!  It was extremely massive and muscular.  When we turned the boat around to get a closer look, it slithered into the river with a splash and disappeared.

A beetle

Ants - they have a lemony taste.  Yes, you read that right; we ate them!

Anaconda!

There are so many other moments I could describe, but how can I choose between describing the constant feeling of dampness, the ants transporting the dismembered butterfly, the night hike full of gigantic spiders, or something else equally wondrous?  One could live in the rainforest for a year and still see something new and interesting every day.  I hope to go back.

Wolf spider; the body would have fit nicely in the palm of my hand.
 We saw two during our half hour hike.

From the canopy walk, the forest looked endless.

The January issue of National Geographic includes an article about the Tiputini research station and the oil debate that threatens the rainforest!  Here is the link.

Thanks to Megan and Miriam for their wonderful pictures!

A View From Afar

In Quito, people often sing on the busses for money.  Sometimes they bring a cd to back themselves up and sometimes not – regardless, the songs all sound similar and the singing is usually mediocre.  I try not to listen, because I can’t give money to everyone and this saddens me.  However, one Sunday morning, I listened. 

That morning, a boy got on my bus and started to sing.  He was slight; I placed him at 11- or 12-years-old.  He was easily the youngest singer I had seen.  His voice was pure, clear and perfectly on pitch.  The sound made me stop and listen.  Here is what he sang:

“When I went to New York, I went to find my love.  But on the day I got there, the terrorists killed her.  They killed her when they took the Twin Towers.  Now I am In New York alone; I never got to see my love because the terrorists took her away.”

In a matter of seconds my benign interest evaporated, replaced by feelings much stronger and much more surprising.  “How dare he sing about this?”  I found myself thinking, “How dare he sing about something he can’t possibly understand?”  He had no idea what it was like to live through that day.  No idea what it was like to struggle to comprehend the images of raw destruction, hate, and suffering on the television as a nine-year-old child.  He could not possibly understand taste of fear and anger in the air for weeks afterward, with news and heartbreaking stories ever-present on the television, radio, newspapers, and street-corners, and all the adults on edge (trying and failing to hide it).  These events, the people who were lost, and the families who were hurt were real, yet this 12-year-old kid was singing about them on a bus like they were just another fairy tail from times long past, and it offended me.

I was taken aback that this bothered me so much.  I do not consider myself an especially patriotic person.  On the contrary, I often think that people go a little overboard with their love of America.  Yet here I was, feeling such solidarity with my country and it’s history.  I was very surprised to feel so strongly American.

Part of the reason these feelings surprised me is that while living abroad I have had the opportunity to look at the United States from the outside, and I have not always been pleased by what I have seen.  The US embassy in Quito (2 blocks from my house) is a colossal stone block of a building, surrounded by a whole city block’s worth of empty grounds and an enormous, thick, black metal wall.  The US ambassador lives in a giant house, complete with domestic employees, in one of the most opulent neighborhoods of the city.  What kind of messages do these things send?

  

As a person from the United States (I hesitate to overuse the word, ‘American,’ because, as Ecuadorians have reminded me, South Americans consider themselves American too), I am continually judged.  People assume I cannot speak Spanish.  People assume I am easy.  People assume I have an excess of money (I have had people ask me how much money I make, how much money my parents make, how much money my college costs, if my parents pay for college, how much rent is, if my parents are sending me money while I am here…).  I have had to explain to people that not everyone in the United States agrees with the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, nor are all North Americans against immigration.  It is one thing to hear in the US than many people in the greater world see us as loud, rich people from a self-centered country that will do what it pleases to have its way and maintain power in the world, and another to experience it.

As much as these assumptions bother me, I can hardly fault people for believing in them because we have certainly given the world enough reason to believe they're right.  In many ways the US comes across as self centered and elitist.  While obtaining my Ecuadorian visa was hardly more than filling out some symbolic paperwork, Ecuadorians (and people all over the world) go though an arduous, stressful, and expensive process to attain the right to visit the US.  Just to apply for a visa that is seldom awarded, Ecuadorians must pay and present themselves at the embassy for an interview.  My 27-year-old host-aunt was recently turned down for a short-term visa (as we learned when she came home in tears) because she didn't have "strong enough family ties" here in Ecuador - the country where her parents, her son, and all her siblings live.  Why should I have the right to travel where ever my heart desires, when the friends and family that welcome me into their country and culture have little chance of being able to experience mine?

It bothers me that so many in the US have the attitude that the US is the epitome of human society, and that, as was so often proclaimed in the recent presidential debates, the US is without a doubt the best country in the world.  It bothers me that so many feel that we have the right, or even the obligation, to go in and interfere with other governments, economies, cultures, and lives "to improve" them by making them more like us.  What bothers me the most is that, while the majority of citizens who feel this way are genuinely good hearted in those intentions, all too often the motivation of our government and corporations seems to be, not the good of humanity, but the gain of US political and economic interests, and the financial profit of the few at the very top of American society.  An idealist would refute this, a cynic claim this is always the case.  Maybe the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

However, for all the distasteful aspects I see in the United States, living abroad has led me to appreciate many things as well.  A stable political system, ease of international travel, true freedom of speech, female empowerment, LGBT awareness and acceptance – these are all luxuries that I have had the privilege to enjoy as a citizen of the United States, and privileges that I hope never to take for granted again.  There are aspects of US culture that I am not proud of, there are aspects of US culture that disgust me, but I also recognize that it is because I am from the United States that I am able to speak out about these issues, and that my US citizenship gives me the ability to travel and experience the world from another perspective - which is what allowed these issues to come to my attention.

Sometimes we need to be reminded of the value of what we have.  Sandy, my host-mom, recently commented that the US is lucky not to have poverty.  I struck her down immediately - there are plenty of people in the US that struggle to get by, sometimes without adequate clothing or a place to live, I said.

“That may be true,” she replied, “but in the United States those people do not die of hunger.  That kind of poverty only exists in the rest of the world.”

For a wonderful reflection on cultural identity, globalization, and what it means to be a 'gringa', I highly recommend you read Alyssa's most recent blog post.  It is quite eloquent, and sums up many of my own thoughts on the complicated subject nicely.

The Very Best Vacation

You know that amazing feeling when you do something you’ve always dreamed of, and it exceeds all your expectations?  My recent trip to the Galapagos Islands was just that.  I have fantasized about traveling to las Galapagos since middle school when my teacher, Joe, took a trip there and brought back tantalizing pictures and stories.  College biology classes with focuses on the Galapagos wildlife deepened both my desire to visit the islands and my understanding of their significance.  So, when our plane touched down on Isla Baltra on Saturday, I was almost as excited as my friend Savannah, who let out a loud “WHOOP!” the moment the tires hit the ground and scared everyone on the plane.

We stepped onto the tarmac into amazingly pure air (especially compared to that of exhaust-filled Quito), and I surveyed my surroundings.  I was surprised by how desert-like the land was – an expanse of barren lava rock with small shrubs and tall cactuses.  As we traveled through the islands, we encountered areas of very lush foliage more like the scenes I had imagined, very similar to coastal Ecuador; the type of ecosystem depends on the soil and the direction of the winds that bring moisture to the area.

We spent one night in Puerto Ayora on Isla Santa Cruz, which is one of the more human developed and tourist filled islands.  I went cliff jumping, which startled me the first time I jumped because it was the first time in my life I have been in free fall long enough for it to register before I landed.  I almost forgot to hold my breath!  We also visited a tortoise refuge and made lots of tortoise friends.  These huge land tortoises are called 'Galapagos' in Spanish, hence the name Galapagos Islands! 

View from the top of the cliffs

One of the galapagos

The shell was VERY heavy!

The 2.5-hour boat ride to our next stop, Isla Isabela, was sunny and blue: blue sky, blue water, and blue life jackets.  Isabela is beautiful, and has a much smaller human population than Santa Cruz.  Our program director, Daniel, surprised us with a beautiful beachfront hostel, and we spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing on the beach.  The breezy temperatures in the high 70s, deserted white-sand beaches, and subtle humidity reminded me irresistibly of summer in Northern Michigan.  I know it's not every day that you hear Lake Michigan compared to a Pacific island, but Isabela was that pleasant!  ;)

Colleen and Me

Our "private" beach

We spent the next three days on Isabela checking off items from our bucket lists and learning quite a bit about geology and ecology along the way.  There is so much I could say about everything we did!  However, I will stick to highlights: I hiked to the top of the second largest crater volcano in the world, Volcán Sierra Negra, which is 10km across and last erupted in 2005.  While snorkeling I saw so many fish that I felt like I was in the middle of Finding Nemo.  I swam within inches of sea turtles and sea lions, and stayed a little farther away from the stingrays and reef sharks.  I saw animals and plants that exist nowhere else on earth, including marine iguanas, Darwin's finches, and the only penguins native to a tropical habitat.  Possibly most unbelievable of all, I ate swordfish and lobster and genuinely liked them!

The crater of Volcán Sierra Negra

Savannah has an underwater camera!

Thanks again, Savannah!

One of the more unique aspects of the trip was the abundance of wildlife.  The stories about the animals’ lack of fear are true; I was continually impressed with their indifference towards humans.  Living in a place like Galapagos, the animals have neither innate fear, as there are very few predators on the islands, or learned fear because the national park status ensures that the animals are well respected by visitors.  I liked the sea lions and Blue Footed Boobies the best, the sea lions for their playfulness in the water, and the Boobies for their beautiful blue feet and their graceful synchronized dives for fish.  I saw more iguanas than I knew what to do with.

All in all, trip was very refreshing on many levels.  First, it was a wonderfully relaxing break from school and bustling, noisy Quito.  However, more than that, I found Galapagos to be in much better shape than I expected.  Having read about the devastating effects of tourism, I arrived on the Islands ready to see an ecosystem ravaged by humans, but the reality was a pleasant surprise.  I found a place extremely well preserved and, on islands like Isabela, minimally impacted by human intrusion.  In fact, rather than doing damage, many human programs, like turtle hatcheries, are helping!  This is not to say that the Galapagos are prefect by any means.  Humans undoubtedly have negatively impacted the islands in the past, and even ecologically conscious tourism takes its toll.  For example, our boat driver told me that he used to see dolphins frequently, but he now rarely sees them due to an increase in boat traffic.  Daniel told me he gets a little more disillusioned with every visit.  However, in a semester where we have seen so many examples of irreversible environmental damage by the hands of humans and I have felt powerless to help, it lifted my heart to experience a place where conservation and care are standard and the hope for positive change is tangible.

October

Whew!  After several weeks full of studying, exams, and presentations, midterm has finally passed!  In the last few weeks the emphasis has definitely been STUDY abroad, but now I can go back to study ABROAD because we have a whole week off from classes and I am spending it in the Galapagos Islands!  I will take lots of pictures and share them with you all when I get back, but until then, here are two stories about life in Quito.

1. Bombolí

Last weekend I smelled two types of decay.  The first was when we stopped on the side of the highway on the way to Bombolí.  The trash bags thrown carelessly over the guardrail and onto the mountain slope had split open and their contents were festering.  The stench was disgusting; it was vile and burned my nose even through the folds of my scarf.  We looked beyond the trash and studied the rolling landscape; ridges that should have been covered with lush green cloud forest were brown, burned with forest fires caused by careless people.  The soil layer here, about an hour outside of Quito, is so thin that the forest almost grows right out of the rock, and fire damage can take up to 1000 years to repair.

This mountain is hurting.

The second decay I smelled was sweet, moist, spicy and full.  We walked through the wooded trails of Bombolí, crunching leaves and squelching in mud, and I couldn’t get enough of it; that smell of trees, dirt, and rain – the smell of life!  It took me back to a childhood full of running barefoot through the backyard and walking through the woods with my dad.

Dandelions :)

Bombolí is a large swath of land owned by an Ecuadorian couple, Oswaldo and Mariana.  Thirty years ago they built their house, which is not connected to electricity, and have lived there ever since, dedicating their lives to conserving their piece of paradise.  The difference between Bombolí and the land that surrounds it is striking.  As we walked, Oswaldo stopped to show us all sorts of things, from the quality of the soil, to a 600-year-old fern, to a tiny orchid flower.  “People need to go out and be in nature more,” he said, “we nourish life and life nourishes us, and the only way to combat nature’s destruction is through education.” 

Bombolí

On the bus ride home we learned that the government wants to build a tunnel through Bombolí because the current road has had problems with landslides (caused by erosion due to lack of vegetation), and Oswaldo and Mariana may have to sell their land, because they are getting too old to maintain it.

2. Rain

The rainy season (“winter”) has started here in Quito, which means that most days are overcast and cooler (65°F rather than 75°F) and it rains almost every day between 3 and 5 pm.  One day a few weeks ago, Alyssa and I were walking to her house from the bus when it was raining very, very hard.  As we were trying to cross the main street (with 3 lanes on either side), we got stuck on the median.  We didn’t think of anything of it, this usually happens when we try to cross that street.  However, this time when the cars started rushing past, they deluged us with waist high waves of water.  We both jumped and screamed, and then tried to use an umbrella as a shield while laughing uncontrollably, much to the amusement of the people safe on the sidewalk.  The shield was ineffective; we were soaked within seconds.

Tiny Miracles

Wednesday mornings are one of my favorite times of the week.  I volunteer at Clinica la Primavera, a clinic specializing in natural water births, Tuesday nights from 7pm – 7am.  La Clinica is situated on top of a large hill in Cumbayá, about 10 minutes bus ride from the university.  Wednesday morning, as the sun rises over the mountains, I leave the clinic and walk the 15 minutes down the hill to the bus stop.  I feel as though I am walking back down to the real world from a calm refuge of peace and perfection.  Up above the city, the view is spectacular.  As I walk, I relish the fresh quality of the chilly air; it has not yet been tainted with pollution or lost the damp smell of dew.  The pure rays of first morning sunlight sink into my skin, warming me inside and out, but my mind is still in la Clinica with the families, thinking of a mother’s strength and the promise of a new life.  On Wednesday mornings, I feel complete.

Outside of la Clinica

The view from the top of the hill (fuzzy because it's through the window)

I love my work at la Clinica and look forward to it every week.  The atmosphere of the clinic is wonderful!  It is very different from the stereotypical intimidating white-walled doctor’s office.  The bedspreads are colorful and the walls are covered with bright paintings done by the doctor, Diego.  He and his wife, Dr. Liliana, own the clinic.  The doctors and nurses at la Clinica are extremely friendly, and have welcomed me into their family with open arms.

Clinica la Primavera’s basis is the idea of natural, humanistic birth.  Mothers here have the right to decide who is present in the birthing room and what position they would like to be in.  Medication is seldom used and the doctors do not bother the mothers by poking and prodding them very often.  Women are given as much time as they need to give birth, without unnecessary medical intervention to rush them.  When the women are in the final stages of labor (when they are ready to push), they get into the big tub in the birthing room.  This room is very warm and inviting, with candles, stones, small sculptures, and what I would call “yoga music” (I particularly get a kick out of the cd of monks chanting Simon and Garfunkel songs).  If I were going to have a baby, I would want to give birth somewhere like Clinica la Primavera (Mom before you say anything, no, this is not in my immediate life plans).

The doors to the birthing room

"La Tina" (The Tub)

When I am at la Primavera, I spend most of my time working with the Doulas, who are similar to midwives.  In the six weeks I have been going to la Clinica, I have helped with five births.  We help the mothers throughout their labor by giving them massages, facilitating movement and dancing, suggesting positions, making sure they are comfortable, and helping them relax through breathing exercises; but most of all we are a steady presence by their side providing comfort, support, and reassurance.

In Spanish, the phrase ‘giving birth’ is ‘dar la luz,’ which translates literally to, ‘to give light.’  I love the poetic quality of these words.  I love the beauty they imply, because they communicate how beautiful birth is.  Of course there is a lot of pain involved, and if you don’t like body fluids then helping soon-to-be-mothers is probably not for you, but there’s just something about it that resonates with me.  I love how powerful and strong the women are – so focused and calm in spite of the pain of labor.  I love the intensity of the connection between the woman and her partner; a bond so strong and full of love that it’s nearly palpable.  I love the first few moments of a baby’s life; I am always struck with the infinite potential that lies in each tiny being.  It’s really amazing to be able to watch the first interactions between mother and child. 

Dr. Diego captured this wonderful moment

However, that’s not to say that there are never problems.  The first time I helped with a birth, the woman had gone into labor at 32 weeks, or about 2 months early.  After a very long labor, the baby finally slipped out.  He was blue and limp.  He did not open his eyes or move.  I had been helping from behind; as I supported the woman’s back, she supported her seemingly lifeless baby.  I couldn’t breathe; “this baby must be dead,” was all I could think.  I didn’t know what to do.  But Dr. Diego quickly reported that the baby had a strong heartbeat and started helping the infant breathe with a bag that he pumped with his hand.  I couldn’t help but think of how different the situation would have been if the baby had been born at the University of Iowa, where I had an internship this summer.  He would have been whisked away and put on a ventilator and IVs immediately.  However, I sometimes wonder if all the Iowa medicine really would have served him better, because after about an hour he began breathing on his own, and the next day went home with his parents.  Another frightening situation was the last birth I helped with, which ended in an emergency C-section.  The woman had begun writhing and wailing in pain; the baby’s head was too big and her pelvic bones had begun to swell.  I was struck with how awful it would be to watch a woman die like that, as would have happened 100 years ago, and my respect for midwives of old rose immensely.  However, as we are now in the 21^st century, no one came close to dying; the surgery went smoothly and a beautiful baby boy was welcomed into the world.

Another shot by Dr. Diego, after a C-Section

Whether the birth goes smoothly or the doctors need to step in to help, every new life I witness come into the world really is a miracle.  Every baby seems so perfect!  Maybe I only feel this way because the experience is still new to me, and after a while I will get used to it and stop feeling so amazed.  But then again, maybe not.

Pure perfection

We take photos like the ones included in this post of every birth; more can be found here.  Here is a video that shows a lot of the things that we do at la Clinica (heads up, at about 2:20 the actual birth is shown, only watch it if you want to).

Meaning

When I left for Ecuador, I had no idea what to expect.  The only information I had to form my expectations was my program’s excursion itinerary, and blogs and stories from friends who had studied abroad in the past.  Thus, the only thing I knew to expect was a steady stream of new experiences and adventures that “would change my life and who I was.”  I never stopped to think about the fact that it is hard to fill five months with constant novelty, and that not every day could be wonderful.  It took six rocky weeks and some introspection to realize that daily life in Ecuador would have the same ups and downs as anywhere else I have lived, and that it is silly to expect anything different.  This is not to say that I have been unhappy these last two months; on the contrary, I have been enjoying myself and have done some truly amazing things, but all the highs have been accompanied with their fair share of lows.  This caused me to reconsider what my semester abroad means and what I should expect it to bring.

What, then, does it mean to live for a semester in Ecuador?  Certainly not a five-month long vacation.  But if not that, then what?  I have thought a lot about what it means to live in this beautiful, contradictory country, and I have written a piece that I hope provides a glimpse into life here that is true to the whole experience.  Of course, this is life through my eyes; written by anyone else this would read completely differently, so please don’t take my words as the world written in stone.  I have learned that it is dangerous to take other’s experiences too literally.  What does it mean to live in Ecuador?

Living in Ecuador means living at the center of the world. It means no seasons. It means remembering to put on sunscreen every morning, or risk being burned, because the sun is so strong.

Living in Ecuador means waiting at the bus stop every day, gazing out at the mountains through the gap in the walls, and realizing anew, “I am living in the middle of the Andes.”  It means being present in a land so rich with history that the past is palpable with every step and visible in every face.

Living in Ecuador means sustaining the rice farmers, the bread makers, and the fruit growers.  It means a mid-morning coffee for a dollar and hot chocolate every night.  It means missing pasta and my father’s cooking.

Living in Ecuador means living amongst the people.  It means my personal space bubble evaporating with every packed bus ride.  It means men of all ages whistling, cat-calling, trying to dance without asking, staring without shame, and it means hearing the wrong words – “good morning, pretty girls,” when it is 6 o’clock at night.  It means walking quickly, looking nowhere but the ground, and trying not to listen.

Living in Ecuador means a cow on a leash crossing the road.  It means a constant soundtrack of Latin American music mixed with 80s hits from the States.  It means being taller than everyone even though the women are all wearing heels.  It means wanting to put out a public service announcement about how to avoid underwear lines.

Living in Ecuador means spending too much time on Facebook.  It means needing to talk to my mother but having nothing to say when I finally get her on the line.  It means an incessant stream of thoughts and plans for “when I get back to the States,” and wondering why I always look so far ahead and can never seem to be completely happy with wherever I am.

Living in Ecuador means conflicting ideas.  It means being annoyed with the constant construction, but impressed with the impeccable roads.  It means going to school with the rich kids while passing grubby children peddling gum and clementines.  It means wanting desperately to conserve our environment, but still buying foods wrapped in three layers of plastic at the supermarket.  It means being welcomed into a family, but really missing doing my own laundry.

Living in Ecuador means just that – living.  It means doing homework and missing my alarm and buying over-priced shampoo, going to bed brain-dead from a day full of so much Spanish.  It means running through an oasis of trees in a jungle of streets and pollution.  It means finding more questions than answers.

Living in Ecuador means being alive, and finding happiness in the fact that every day I wake up with the sun shining on my face, knowing that there are people all around the world who love me no matter how far away I am.