Post-Christmas pouting...and I added more to the previous post

New Years Eve Sneak Peak: I asked the neighbors if I could join in on painting the Año Viejo they were making and set to work painting Buzz Light Years legs. It felt great to have a paint brush in my hand and to be a part of a group project.

My return to Quito was really a low point of my travels. It was hard to leave Otavalo. Every bit of me was saying ¨don´t go don´t go¨, but I was the only person in my hostel and I told my friend Dani I would come back to Quito before she leaves for the Peruvian coast for new years. Long story short, someone got in the back pocket of my little back pack without me noticing and I arrived home without the Flash Memory drives with all of my pictures and word documents on them. There are a few ¨what if´s¨ and ¨if only´s¨ and ¨how stupid of me´s¨still floating around my mind now, but for the most part I have accepted the fact that these things happen, that I am very lucky to have my camera and also very lucky that the storage on my camera is big enough that I have all my pictures since Blue Fields, Nicaragua except none of the video. I have met so many people who have been mugged here that I have decided I am also lucky someone gently stole my things rather than took my whole bag or threatened me.

Still, it was hard to sleep that night. The sense of loss, of violation is a bit much. The only thing that really brings tears to my eyes is losing the pictures and video of my grandparents before I left. Their good bye video. But, when I think about that I remind myself of the last thing my Grandmother said to me as I walked out of her room to leave for my big trip ¨Have a wonderful time, it´s a wonderful adventure, as they say Don´t Sweat It!¨ My grandparents wouldn´t want me worrying over losing pictures of them, that is for sure. I comforted myself by reading my book and resolving to make an effort (for closure atleast) to find my stolen items. I had heard of a place where all of these stolen things are sold, and it seemed worth it to go and try to find my things there.

The next morning I set off with nothing but the clothes on my back and the money in my bra, I had been warned to bring absolutely nothing to the markets where I was headed. It was a bit of a goose chase, Rowena agreed to go along, but was too scared to really go to the markets. She has already had awful experiences being mugged here. So I went to a market some police officers told me about. I went from stand to stand asking about flash memory until I realized that this really didn´t look like the place to find my little electronics. I told an older man who was selling TVs or something unmemorable like that my story and he drew a map, verifying details with another guy he worked with, on how to get to where my stuff might be. I thanked him, and proceeded to head in the exact opposite direction that his map had shown. Not trusting my map reading abilities, he walked with me all the way to the other market. He was surprised that my parents weren´t from South America, and I appreciated the chit chat we had along the way. Soon we were exploring the 2 floors of a market that was stand after stand of everything pulled from the bags of tourists. My helpful guide told me to hold onto his arm and let him do the talking. He patiently went with me looking at case after case of cameras, binoculars, phones, watches, chargers, ipods, and flash memory drives. We asked about any other used flash memory each vendor might have, often interupting the careful work of filing off serial codes from various treasures. I had thought before about being lucky to have lost only the flash memory drives, but now that I was surrounded by all kinds of fancy things people have had stolen I felt almost ridiculous to be so obsessed with getting my jump drive back. I saw one that looked a lot like mine, but was told it had been there a month. Plus it didnt have the clip I had put on it and luckily it seems the vendors will do all they can to do away with serial numbers and still leave other major markers on items. I wondered if I bought this jump drive what I would find on it. Someone elses precious pictures? Homework? Would it be possible to somehow find this person, google them, anything, and get their jump drive back to them atleast?

I left, but I did not lose hope. I returned the next day. Same routine. Visiting a graveyard of things stolen, lost, mourned over, and forgotten. I may return again before I leave Ecuador, but it´s time to move on and take more pictures and live. Live with a few less things to worry about losing.

Something symbolic I do see in this event is that one of the Flash memory drives held my Bonderman Application, my outline of why I want to be here doing this traveling. I think I lost sight of some of my aspirations for my travels before physically losing this document. Just in little ways, slipping into small bouts of purposelessness. Losing my application is a reminder to think about everything I wrote about within those 4 pages, everything I hoped for, feared, anticipated. Thank you Anthony for sending me a copy of my application to re-read and to think about as I continue my tradition of spending the new year holiday looking back (or all around me) at this year and preparing myself to start 2008.

Here in the city, people have begun the new years celebrations. There are vendors all over selling masks to be be worn, and dummys made to look like political leaders, cartoon characters, or just the basic human form for the purchaser to decorate themselves. All of these are being burned on the sidewalks and streets with fireworks and festivities. Last night I went out for Thai food (first thai food on the trip, and half of the restaurants on the Ave near UW are thai food so it´s strange to have gone so long without) with a fellow Udall Scholar that is working down here and he told me that another new years tradition here is to eat 12 grapes and make a wish for each of the grapes.

So tomorrow, I will be spending New Years Eve at big family dinner with turkey and the works at Ave´s home. I am not sure if they uphold the grape eating tradition, but around midnight I will eat twelve grapes and make my twelve wishes and I welcome you to do the same with me at the same time! Midnight here is 9pm in Washington state (6pm in Hawaii?), so choose whichever fruit, treat, food with which you would like to make your New Years wishes, watch the clock and know that I am doing the same and wishing you a very Happy New Year.

Afterwards I may or may not be burning a Bush effigy with the Udall Scholar I met here and his friends, which you are welcome to do as well :)

Feliz Navidad

Ida the Incredible and I on the bus to Quinchuqui after our happy (unplanned) reunion

Welcome to Quinchuqui

Mujanda Falls and I

Better look at the falls

Christmas Eve Novena procession

Sparklers and fireworks along the way

This little light of mine

Native Pride Quinchuqui style

William´s cousins and father (although not in the photo) enjoying the illustrations in my journal

Wawa Jesus

My Plane for Peru left on the 20th, I however did not.

I decided to stay in Ecuador for the holidays. Thus far I have spent every Christmas of my life in Seattle in the living room of my grandparent´s house. The rest of the Christmas break I have spent in the glorious snow in Omak, sledding on the rez, watching city workers put up those same OLD once-metalic now dull bell and candle decorations on the city light-posts... Oh and the Happy Holidays banner near the hospital... hot cider and the rather obnoxious array of christmas decorations on my street that everyone slows down to look at. In Seattle there´s candy cane lane and the gingerbread house decorations downtown. I honestly had never stopped to think about all of the traditions my family and I have surrounding the Christmas season. It was much too tempting to atleast spend this Christmas in a country where I had made friends and had familiar surroundings. My options for Christmas were as follows:

1. Christmas with la familia de Ave (Esteban). Wonderful of him to invite me, but I wanted to be out of the big city of Quito and I also had already been thinking about spending my Christmas alone to do some arts and crafts, cook, and reflect.... I also don´t want to have any pressure to mix my holidays with alcohol, and there is much potential for that with Ave and his friends...which brings me to option 2.

2. Christmas alone in Otavalo. Otavalo is known mostly for the market, but I fell in love with the place because of its small size and the coutryside, lakes, waterfalls and ofcourse the people. I wanted to return to the adorable cottage-like countryside hostel I stayed at before equiped with lots of food and little things to keep me busy. In case you are interested, the little things that I do that keep me occupied are reading, knitting (although I just learned how here in Ecuador and keep on getting my yarn into bizzare knots), writing in my journal, painting in my journal, and making cedar hearts.

The two days I was in town before I left for otavalo were a little crazy. I had returned from the Jungle (which I will write about later) covered in mosquito bites and various rashes that I am hoping aren´t shistosomiasis or anything lovely living in my skin. I met up with Rowena, my youthful Jewish bike-riding photo-taking New Yorker adopted mother and I had the first pedicure of my life. It was actually slightly embarassing to show my bare feet to anyone after my full jungle muck experience, and pedicures have always seemed like a very strange way to spend time and money to me, but overall it was a fun experience. For the rest of the day I walked around thinking ¨Under these muddy shoes I have brand new beautiful feet¨, which is a nice reminder when your are wearing extremely dirty and mismatched clothing and pausing on the sidewalk to itch ferrociously at bug bites like a street dog with fleas. I ran some errands for Rowena, she is always doing a million things and I have taken to helping her with those things on some of my days inbetween exploring other cities in Ecuador. I probably don´t need to add much more detail to the activities in these days except the following interesting happenings:

The day before I made my escape to Otavalo I wound up being a translator twice. The first was another favor for Rowena. She had met some totally confused older couple, uber hippies that spoke nor understood a word of spanish. She said she would meet them at a market I had not yet been to, and I met them instead. I needed to do a little more shopping myself, but it was really strange to be the spanish speaker of the group. I haggled down prices for them with incredible confidence, I spoke spanish without thinking about it... without translating bit by bit. Granted bargaining takes very little spanish, but I was impressed. And the couple was impressed as well as I sliced prices for them a couple of times. After spending the night before at Rowena´s, not restocking on cash at home, not bringing my debit card and spending a bit at the market I had about 3 bucks in my pocket. I found a cheap place to eat (Not hard in Ecuador, but difficult in the touristy area I was in near the market) and soon after I was served the segundo, a man from India came in trying to sell silver rings without speaking any spanish. So I translated between the owners and this guy throughout most of my meal. The ability to do the translating was fun for a while, but it wore off when I realized how irritating I found this guy, especially his reaction when I refused to give him my email. Before that he had asked me ¨and you, what are your qualifications?¨ ¨why have you left your land of dreams to come to this country?¨ all in a snobby manner that made me want to throw my soup on him. What is the point of me writing all this? The point is this last translating job was followed by an even more hectic evening (for a while it seemed I would not be able to get back into the place I am staying that night... and that I didn´t have enough money for a cab to get there regardless) and I was ready to get out of Quito and back to Otavalo.

And my return to Otavalo was all that I hoped for and more. In the dorm area of the hostel there is one bed that is not a bunk, tucked in the corner with a bookshelf and separate light. OH how I wanted this bed again for Christmas time. I knew there would be others in the dorm, but when I arrived, for what reason I cannot fathom, no one had claimed my spot! Sounds like such a small thing, but I was overjoyed to have my little bed! Soon I was flying down the long road into otavalo city in the back of a truck, it felt so good to be hitchhiking again down this familiar road and the green countryside.

In town I wanted to check my email just in case I didnt come to town on Christmas Eve, I saw an internet cafe and started to enter when there before me was Ida from the hostel and waterfall hike in Costa Rica. We both froze, took a moment to fully recognize eachother, and then it was nothing but hugs and smiles and ¨What are you doing here?¨´s. She had spent two weeks in Otavalo with a Kichwa host family the year before, so she was staying with them for Christmas. The family works in the market, so I got to meet them and was invited over to come over to their house in Quinchuqui. Quincuqui is a very small Kichwa community 30 minutes bus ride from Otavalo. My hostel is 20 or so minutes ride in the opposite direction from Otavalo, and the last bus to or from Quinchuqui leaves at 6:30 pm so it was decided that I would be staying the night. I agreed to meet them to take the bus after I returned to my hostel to explain I would just be leaving my things there, which I did, then I caught a ride back to town in one of the trucks that charges 30 cents. Only I didn´t end up needing the 30 cents because the driver remembered me from when I was last in Otavalo. He even remembered my name! He asked the usual questions that these young attractive Kichwa guys ask: where are you from, do you have a boyfriend, how old are you... You can generally tell the ¨sleezey factor¨ of a guy by how he reacts to the boyfriend question. This guy passed the test, respecting that I have a (imaginary) boyfriend. We got to talking about the dream catcher hanging on his rear view mirror and I started telling him a bit about my tribe, he had more excited questions than I had time to answer. He asked if I had gone to the waterfalls or lakes close to my hostel, and he offered to meet me the next day and walk to the waterfalls together. We set a time and I headed off to meet my friends and go to Quinchuqui.


I spent both the 23rd and the 24th (Christmas Eve!) in the Kichwa community. The family that I was staying with was very involved in celbrating-observing Novena, the nine nights before Christmas. At about 7pm we went to a home that Ida told me they had been to the night before. I sat down with everyone on the mats on the cement floor and admired the unique nativity scene the family had made. The entire event is in Kichwa, except for some prayers in spanish that everyone recited together. I found this to be such a relief. Instead of straining to follow spanish, I was immersed in a language of which I only know 6 or 7 words where I could relax and just focus on the emotions, the interactions, the visual details of the tradition. And the songs in Kichwa were beautiful, sung with so much feeling. Ida and I were sitting with the girls who had the song books printed in Kichwa and full of illustrations. There were songs, prayers, speaking, before we were all given candles and left the house to create a procession where the baby Jesus (or in Kichwa Wawa Jesus) was brought to the next house for the rest of the Novena. More people joined the procession as we went and threw rose petals from wicker baskets. I started to piece together that each night begins at the house where the Novena was the night before and then moves on to the next house for the full Novena.


I could hardly believe my fortune to have this experience. Sitting and singing with Kichwa families, people of all ages all in their traditional dress and the same light spiritedness of traditional gatherings back home. Children were allowed to be children, some people whispered and chattered, there was laughter, there was warmth. The evening ended with a large bowl of soup for everyone, and people learning my name and quickly turning Emma into Emmita, a more affectionate form.


Ida and I shared a bed at the families home and talked with eachother about the things that make Christmas Christmas, the things we were without. For her, sauna with her family, specific foods, and candles define the Christmas spirit. Finnish saunas, as far as I understand them, are very much like sweat houses in general function. Different in construction and I know little about any spiritual significance sauna has or has had in the past, but when Ida described going from the sauna to quickly roll in the snow or jump into a hole cut in the frozen lake I pictured the snow and icey creeks of home.


In the morning we had a special breakfast of hot chocolate, bread and pears. Later that day I met with my friend to see the falls (I went back to my hostel to shower in warm water, something Quinchuqui does not have) and went on the the short hike to the falls. We went back and forth asking about Christmas traditions in eachothers country on the way down to the falls. He stopped now and then to tell me a little about some of the plants we were walking by, edible and very very non edible berries and medicinal plants. The falls were pretty, but the water was really dirty from the rain that they had gotten during the week. Along our walk there were spray paint marks to direct tourists to the falls, and there are the falls on a rock the worlds ¨Beautiful Ecuador¨ were written in blue cursive spray paint letters. A distinction in my attitude towards graffiti. Graffiti on buildings, quality social commentary or art, is something I love to find. However, spray paint used on rocks outside of cities is really hideous. I was sad to see someone would do such a thing, and it made it sadder that it was in English.


The walk back was a Kichwa lesson in exchange for a Salish and English lesson. I don´t really remember all that much that I was taught unfortunately, but I am really amazed how many people are willing and patient enough to teach outsiders words in their language. I told my friend about the issues of language preservation and our experiences missionaries and assimilation efforts - genocide of the heart, soul, body and mind.

Feliz Navidad Continued:

At the last Novena on Christmas Eve Ida and I perched ourselves on the stairs where children had sat the night before, an old woman smiled and nodded in our direction saying in Kichwa (translated by William or Rumi, son of family we stayed with) that we looked like two little doves. The name given to me when I had my naming ceremony was Mourning Dove, so dove references are especially meaningful. I did a sketch of the manger scene, Wawa Jesus in his wooden cradle, surrounded by rose petals, flowers, under a hand made straw manger and surrounded by plastic animals. Again there was the procession to the next home, but this time children were dressed up as Mary and Joseph, as shepherds, and some where just more dressed up than usual. Mary and Joseph led the procession with a woman carrying wawa jesus in his cradle with her own baby strapped to her back watching the fireworks and sparklers from over her shoulder. I walked slowly with Ida, trying to keep my white candle from going out. A man asked me my name and if I was from... Colombia. Again, I have no idea why so many people think I am from Colombia. We walked down dirt roads past homes and fields until we made it to the last house.

Waiting outside was a truck with Native Pride decals on the front window, along with two feather decals. Around Otavalo I had seen many dream catchers, an American flag with Natives on the front of it used as curtains, even a teepee outside of a healers home, and I had caught glimpses of Kichwa men wearing shirts and sweaters that looked like they could be from Native conferences in the US or Canada. This silver truck with the decals really took the cake, it was a touch of home.

On the last night of Novena I mostly paid attention to the children, many of whom were snacking on the Christmas treat bags sold everywhere consisting of hard candies, some chocolate and ALOT of animal crackers. Never have I seen such large quantities of animal crackers in my life, in the markets they have bags larger than me full of them. I also had no idea that I really liked animal crackers or their addictive properties. I have eaten herds of zebras and elephants, if that is even the corect taxonomy of the blobby looking galletas. At 10 pm it was time to move across the street to the church. The church was bigger than I thought it would be from the outside, and the man speaking at the Novena continued his light hearted lecture until the priest arrived, reminding us it is Buena Noche not Mala Noche, we shouldn´t look tired or have our armed crossed like old ladies. The priest does services at two other nearby community churches, a young man who was yawning as much as I was. The service was simple, beautiful, but I was so tired. The church service was in Spanish, and I found myself kind of zoning out instead of trying to follow all the words until my favorite part of any catholic service... giving the peace! At this point I came to life, giving Ida a big hug and giving handshakes up and down the aisles. Smiles and ¨paz.¨ At the end of the service there was delicious bread and a type of tea that they often call coffee made with a plant that I have drawn pictures of in my journal, but have yet to learn the name. People ate and talked at the kitchen area at the back of the church, until Ida and I went home with the family and some extra cousins to make Christmas Eve Midnight Strawberry Crepes for all! While we were cooking the cousins and father paged through my journal looking at the illustrations, que buenos and que lindos were easily heard from our kitchen posts. Soon everyone was in the kitchen eating crepes as they were made. Inbetween adding strawberries and dabs of whipped creme I was sharing my photos and stories about Omak, my family, my friends. A little after midnight Josephina, the mother came in and started a round of ¨Feliz Navidad¨ hugs. I received a hug from everyone and me and Ida ate our Christmas Crepes.

Ida and I slept in on Christmas morning. We had a small breakfast left for us by Josephina and then made our way to the morning church service. After the service we had more pears and bread back at the house. I had bought a big bar of fancy dark chocolate with orange and had luckily brought it along to their house to add to the Christmas snacks. Ida and I sat at the table writing in our journals, kindred spirits side by side on Christmas day. Around 1pm we went to Otavalo where William treated us to a Christmas Almuerzo (lunch) with salad, fresh fruit, soup, shrimp, rice, veggies, potatos, juice and icecream. I was so full by the end I felt like taking a nap, which is truly a Christmas feeling.

I called my Grandparents house using Skype, and we sang carols together and talked for long enough that I could visualize myself sitting in the living room with them. Grandma in the tan chair, Dad in the black chair, Mom and Grandpa seated on the ¨davenport¨ and myself, the child of the family seated on the carpet helping decide whose turn it is to open a gift. It was hard not to cry.

I was so full from lunch that I decided to have a slice of chocolate pie from my favorite pie place for dinner, I bought 2 slices to go. The other slice quickly found a home. I had a short conversation with a little old man that lives alone in a house on the way to my hostel, and he told me to come visit him the next day because some of his family would be home then. I wished him Merry Christmas and asked if he would like to have a chocolate treat for Christmas and he gladly accepted the gift. When I made it back to my hostel I organized my area in the dorm and had my pie with a tall glass of milk and a good book. Later I made a small Christmas shrine on the low bookshelf with a scarf, a manger scene inside of a carved gord that I bought in the market, candles, flowers and pictures of my family and friends. I crawled into bed and enjoyed my Christmas decorations and my book.

There were two girls from Sweden staying in the dorm as well, Emma and Maria (Maria for short, not sure what the long name is) and Emma came in and put a santa hat on my head and added a christmas tree pin to my shrine. They had done all of their Christmas celebrating the night before, and invited me to watch a scary movie with them later back in the hostel main building-house. We watched the movie while drinking Glug and tea, snacking on raisins and christmas treats they had made. After the movie (which really was scary) we learned more about eachother, travels, Christmas traditions, future plans, hopes and dreams. A very nice Christmas night.

I hope everyone has a wonderful holiday season and happy new year, sorry for the wait on updates on my travels... I treasure all of the comments left on my blog, thank you for reading, and for your support!

Because it isnt everyday that you ride your bicycle to the Amazon

Thanks to Pablo I got VIP seating in the back of a truck to watch the races

We are all crammed in the back of a truck to watch the races

The races!

Marco and I ready to ride. Common language Spanish, although it sounds a bit different with a french accent


The end of the scariest tunnel

...Or almost to the Amazon. My French partner in the bicycling adventure and I made it 13 kilometers away from Puyo after three hours of riding up and down windy roads. We passed waterfalls, rivers, orchids, hummingbirds, buena vistas, muchas cosas ver. Unfortunately, it was getting to dark to continue on, and I was completely exhausted. I think that may have been one of my most intense bike rides ever, all I could think is ¨how the hell does Kitty do this and not drop dead from exhaustion?¨

Two truly fantastic experiences along the way: we rode through a tunnel (the tunnel that my friend Dani told me she has never gone beyond) that was extremely long. From the part at the beginning that I could see it was not finish over with cement inside, instead it was more like a cave with a rough rocky ceiling dripping water and hosting a variety of mosses, after the first 15 feet there was nothing but complete darkness. I was riding in front and couldnt tell if I was still going straight or if I was going to hit the side of the cave, I really was mostly worried about finding any hidden potholes. What a rush though, eventually we could see the light ahead and flew out of the tunnel laughing and sighing and thanking Dios in English, Spanish and French for making it out safely.

Okay so there were many fantastic experiences, I saw the tiniest little humming bird that I have ever seen along with a complete change of scenery from the higher altitude mountainous regions. But the other fantastic experience was riding past people and the greetings we recieved. Especially when this elderly man walking along called out ¨Hola prima¨ when I went past him.

This is the last place I would expect to her someone say ¨Hey cuzzin¨!

The bicycle adventure began in Baños, where I have been staying for the past couple days. Here, again I have had great timing. My bus ride to Baños was on a very clear day so I was able to see and take great photos of the plumes of ash errupting out of the volcano. I also arrived during the celebrations of the foundation of Baños, a small town known for its hotsprings, that tracks its history as a town by the sightings and miracles of its own Agua Santa. In the church, the stations of the cross come second to the massive paintings portraying these miracles. On my first day I visited the church and explored Baños, and I found a $2 yoga class that was really really relaxing, despite being a bit physically challenging as well. I think the last time I did yoga like that was at a summer camp I went to in the 7th grade, so yoga isnt a part of my life at all really, but I felt like trying something new. Then I accepted an invitation to go to the hot springs with a nice young guy from my hostel, Pablo. He is from the coast, Guaquil (cant remember how to spell) and spends all of his school breaks here in Baños. Thus he knows everything you can do here and everyone who works here, or so it seems. We went to the hot springs, where there is a hot hot pool, a medium hot pool and a cold pools. Directly behind the medium hot pool there is a long thin water fall, beautiful. I got the full experience of going straight from the hot hot pool to dipping the small stone lined cold pool before Pablo took me to ¨the best food in Baños¨, a funky but fancy Argentinian restaurant. There was live music that I got a chance to see later near the main plaza, and then I wandered back to the church to draw outside and enjoy the warm evening (warmer than Quito thank goodness).

Here I made three amigos, preteen students that came to see what I was doing. They had just finished stealing flowers from the celebration decorations and each offered me a flower. I showed them my journal and they had many questions about my drawings and writings. When it came to learning eachothers names I found that my new friends were just as enthusiastic about coincidences as I am. Upon learning my name Geovani told me there is a big coincidence, that earlier that day he was asked to give the name of a friend that is a girl (I assume this was something for class or in school in general). He replied that he doesnt have friends that are girls so instead he was asked to give any womans/females name and he chose Emma... not really a common name here in Ecuador, but he seemed proud of himself for predicting the future. The girl of the groups name happened to be Elizabeth, my middle name, and Sebastian and Geovani discovered that they share the same middle name. Our time together became a chance for Sebastion to show me his English work book and for all of them to practice English while I practiced Spanish. This English lesson quickly became directed towards learning the words they arent taught in class, like kiss, love, cute, beautiful, gorgeous, they asked and I answered. I think their favorite, judging from overall reactions, was when I told them that the slang for ¨Besos con lingua¨ in English is making-out. I caught a bit more of the concert that evening, and then walking back with my yellow rose, my red carnation and my white carnation.

I started the next day by exchanging one awful book that I couldnt even stand to read for two other books, one on the worlds religions and the other a book by Ursula K. Le Guin that should be entertaining. I walked away from the cafe/book exchange so excited I dont know whether to read the books or just kiss them. I didnt bring anything to read with me when I left on this trip, which is really a shame because this is my chance to read all the books I every wanted to read but didnt finish or even start because of my school reading. Instead I have read a very bizzare assortment of books along the way. Basically anything I can find in English. A child psychology book, Freuds ¨civilizations and the discontents¨, the Kama Sutra, and one really good book in comparison titled ¨Eat, Pray, Love.¨ After getting to pick out my new books from a large selection, I was so thankful I decided to go light a candle at the church. It seems like a real Baños experience. I bought my candle, lit it and stood before the shrine to the saint with several others that were praying, song-like, or too choked up to do much more than make tiny cries. I too became emotional, praying for friends and family and being suddenly immersed in memories of the nun that I was named after, Sister Elizabeth. She would love it here, and it was really almost like she was here, because when I went to bring my candle back to join the others I was suddenly surrounded by a mass of small school children lighting their candles and enthusiastically wetting their hair with the water of the Saint. I guess you would have to know Sister E. for the connection to make sense. One thing I noticed that I have yet to learn about is why people had tied small locks of their hair to the bars surrounding the shrine, Ill have to ask someone. Other people have simply tossed balls of their hair into the fake flowers of the shrine... interesting.

I saw the town/church museum, which had many many interesting paintings that I think were done mostly by one friar. The paintings that stood out to me the most where a series of portraits of people who seemed to be just local people, poor people, blind people, solemn looking twin sister spinsters, all standing in front of the church in portraits that look just like those done of saints. I think I would get along well with whoever was inspired to honor local characters in that way.

I met some people at the market and the vote is in: I look Colombian. Maybe I look like I could be from Chile, but both people I have met in Quito and here say that they assumed I was Colombian. They told me about the events that would be going on that day, a big competition of Coches de madera (I think that is what they were called), basically a race with pairs of people in go cart or soap box car type things they built. When I went to go watch Pablo spotted me and I got to sit with him and Victor (the kind-of-hostel owner) and many others in the back of a truck to get a good view of the race. When it came time for the race I let a little girl sit in my lap so she could see because the truck was crammed with people. They competition was tough, they came down the hill group by group one car at a time and we were in the perfect spot to see whether or not they made it over a bump in the road that created a jump. There were so many people there, so many excited spectators, that this race was probably the event of the year in Baños.

Unfortunately later that night (last night) I felt sick, and it only got worse after I went to bed. achiness, chills, fever, all of those lovely symptoms of Malaria. Today I am much better of course, I mean I made it throught the bikeride, but Ill have to see if this was just a one time overnight flu bug or if it follows classic malaria manifestion of cycling back into chills and fever after 2 to 3 days. Something tells me I wouldnt be able to pull through the bike ride if I had malaria, but its partially my hypochondriac nature that drew me to the field of public health.

I was planning on staying in bed all day today, but when I came downstairs to read and use the internet Pablo surprised me with scrambled eggs and hot chocolate that was just as delicious as the hot chocolate at the Cabin drive thru coffee place in Omak. Later in the afternoon, Pablo again surprised me by CLIMBING MY BALCONY to invite to me have pasta and soup with him and Marco, and during that lunch I was convinced to go on the grand bike ride. Buena Gente in Ecuador, and its nice to have people who get you to get out there and live when you are more likely to lay around and read. Now is the time for laying around and reading, good night!

Feliz Cumpleanos Papa!

Today has been a very special day. Mostly because it is my fathers birthday, and although I wasn't able to spend it with him I had the next best thing. I am currently in Otavalo, Ecuador. Famous for it's Saturday markets, I am here to shop around a bit and enjoy the natural beauty of this place, montains, lakes, waterfalls. I have made a few local friends here, not counting the various Otavalian young men that insist on walking with me to my various destinations. If anyone asks I have a very large jealous boyfriend of 3 years living in Quito, we are going to be engaged soon and are very happy. The greatest friends I have made here own a store that sells mostly jewelry and figures carved out of Tagua "Ivory of the trees". I found a necklace there I loved on my first day in Otavalo, and the owners asked where I was from which became a question of why I didn't look American and an explanation that I belong to a tribu de indigenas en Estados Unidos. The couple spoke among themselves about how I am not a gringa and once again I couldn't help but be delighted by this distinction. Suddenly I was being offered coffee with lots of sugar and ritz-like crackers (which taste really good when dipped in sweet coffee) and we were somehow communicating despite my major spanish issues (which by the way I still can't speak spanish, but I can understand it way better) about indigenous identity, world views, philosophies, and about the history of Indigenous people here and what they suffered when the spaniards came. When it was dark and I needed to find my hostal (Hostal La Luna, far out of town up in the hills, but way worth it) my new friends negotiated a cheap cab price while I waited in the store. They told me to return the next day, and ofcourse I did.

As a side note, La Luna is an incredibly comfortable and beautiful hostal with a small farm-type feeling to it. Warm fireplaces and great music (oh brother where art thou soundtrack playing when I first arrived), and plenty of hammocks. My dorm is like a little cottage where I am the only visitor, so I have an adorable bed in the corner next to a window where bright blue and yellow birds peer in at me. The owners cute barely 1 year old daughter's name just so happens to be... Emma.

On Saturday I went on a short hike to a good view point above the lake where I could journal. While I was sitting up there I heard a strange striking sound until before I knew it a very old woman appeared, machete in hand out of the brush. I could only think of how much I was panting walking up the same hill and how healthy this little old woman must be. I explained why I was there in spanish, and she laughed and began a long story in Quecha before she moved on to the trees and brush to my right with her two dogs. When I went down to Otavalo I visited with my friends at the shop early in the day and later when I had coffee with them again. They told me about famous Indigenous leaders of the past in Ecuador, Peru and Chile and talked about how they think Chile is like the U.S. in that there are plenty of people who are very poor, but you would never know because they are invisible in the media. They asked what else I wanted to do in Otavalo and I said I had heard of Peguche falls. Elizabeth, the wife told me they were beautiful falls and her husband said we'll go tomorrow, meet me at 9:30.

So today I went to the falls with him and his little 4 or 5 year old daughter. It was like watching my dad and me, as he helped her balance when we walked along the curb and on the unused train tracks when we walked along there. He is really so much like my father in so many ways, a fisherman, an artist, knowledgable in natural medicine and in finding bugs and animals. I learned so much on that walk, it was a situation where I was sometimes surprised to remember there is a language barrier, because I could understand everything he was telling me about the different plants that he invited me and his daughter to touch, smell, taste. He would ask me what different bugs and birds where named in english, and in some cases I could give him both the english and salish names. The falls were beautiful, and my friend and guide pointed out the faces in the rock formations below the falls and later showed me a tree that has knots in the trunk that look like clenched fists. We walked back a different way than we came so I could see their home and visit the home of a Shaman he knows that just so happened to have a teepee up in this yard.

The most exciting moment of this day by far happened when we returned to their shop. I asked about the seeds used in necklaces I recognized in the store as being just like one I had when I was a little girl. The name of the seeds is San Pedro (perhaps from the same plant as the hallucigenic cactus) and they are small smooth and a white-gray. When I was a little girl I had a wild imagination and was terrified of the monsters and bad people in my room, my closet, outside my window, in the toilet, anywhere that I was alone. Fortunately, my wild imagination also created ways of protecting myself from these ugly creatures. I had utmost faith in little songs I made up to say before I used the bathroom alone (to keep the snake in the toilet from biting my tush) and in a necklace that I had from a winter dance or something, a necklace made of red beads and san pedro seeds. I chose this necklace to be my protector while I slept and when I got up in the night, beleiving that as long as I was wearing the necklaces the monsters couldn't see me as I slept. I remember that I had never seen the seeds before, and maybe that is why I felt they had special powers. I wanted to be able to explain these things I made up when I was a child to my friends, because I couldn't understand what he was telling me about the seeds. So I said the most that I could in spanish, that when I was a small girl I wore a necklace of san pedro when I slept, and my friend (my ecuadorian father practically!) said in spanish "yes, they are for protection" as he made the motion of hugging himself.

"yes, they are for protection"

And somehow I knew this when I was almost the same age of his little girl. Strange coincidences abound in travel, and who knew I would have to come all the way to Ecuador to understand one of the many strong beliefs I had as a child.

Another strong belief that I had as a child was that the world was drawn by the creator with a pencil, I remember telling my mom that the proof of this is the thin black lines you can see when you squint at objects. These were the pencil marks that the creature used to separate colors and shapes so that the world made sense visually. I was reminded of this train of thought while I was hiking and bussing in Costa Rica, along with thinking about the vast difference in perspectives created when a person is taught from a young age that animals where put on earth by God FOR humans to consume, for humans to master over, rather than what my dad taught me. He taught me that animals and plants knew humans were coming to earth and they made the selfless decision to offer their flesh, roots, berries so that humans could survive. I don't think that two people raised with these two separate ways of understanding the world could ever look out a bus window at the Costa Rican forest, or sit down to dinner, and see the same forest or the same meal. Totally different attitudes. Just a thought I keep going over.

I am going back to Quito tomorrow, and so I plan to spend the rest of the day reading my book and enjoying my countryside hostal. Had a really fun hitching a ride down to town in the back of a truck this morning and am looking forward to whatever means by which I will return!

Happy Birthday Moddy!

Viva Quito! and so much more...

The Stolen Empanada... This fried beauty was better than a lot of frybread I have eaten... and it was only 40 cents.
Can´t get this picture to not be sideways.
Viva Quito
Graffiti Competition
¨The only virgin in Quito¨is the joke around here.

Hello again! It´s been so long since I have posted that I am going to flood you with information. I am now in Quito Ecuador, staying with a friend of the incredible Jess, whom I met in the most boring biostatistics class in the world. Jess came to Ecuador with a public health study abroad program I have been thinking of doing for a long time (more on that later), and made many friends here. Now I am fortunate to meet those friends and see Ecuador from there perspective. I am staying with Ave (Estaban) and Rafa (Rafael), and they announced on my first night that I am the ¨Queen of la casa.¨ They are only the beginning of the incredibly interesting people I am meeting here. Ave teaches literature and philosophy at a highschool and makes short films, Rafa is going to university and recording great music, his current projects are a unique mix of rock and calypso (Joan - I will try and get a copy of some of his music for you). Ave and Rafa have one of those perfect roommate relationships where they get along and enjoy living with eachother, but have totally different groups of friends. This is good for me because I get to know a broader group of people here (met Rafa´s friend Pablo who works on reforestation projects, hopefully I will get to go plant trees and do a community education day trip with him to a community an hour north of Quito!!! Cross your fingers for me!). I also really get to LIVE here, to wake up in the morning, play with and feed the street dog we have taken in (the dog´s name is Trapo or rag and he prefers to sleep on my bed), have my glass of milk and pastry while listening to some of Rafa´s extensive music collection... life is good to say the least.

Currently Quito is a very busy place because we are right in the middle of Fiestas de Quito. Before coming here I had no idea what Fiestas de Quito was about, but now I know that it is a celebration of the (spanish) foundation of Quito and it is made up of much partying (on Chiva buses, that drive around with the saddest sounding bands aboard the top and people drinking below) and bull fights.

On the subject of bull fights: Cullen alerted me that these would be going on while I was here (he is somewhere in Ecuador or the Galapagos currently) and so I got some time to think about them when I was in Costa Rica. My first thought was ¨um gross animal cruelty.¨ Then I thought a bit about how PETA reacts to our ¨world famous¨ suicide race in Omak... I fully support the continuation of the suicide race tradition, so I considered the possibility that maybe I am being overly judgemental of a cultural event. But then I thought ¨you know, we don´t stab the horses in the suicide race.¨ So my final thought is ¨um gross animal cruelty.¨

I´m in good company with this thinking. I haven´t met a person here in Quito that likes the bull fights. That is mostly because I have been enjoying Quito Fest, a collection of heavy metal, rock, punk, ska, hip hop and rap concerts that are taking place in opposition to the bullfights and are openly questioning the celebration of the Spanish foundation of Quito after so many years of oppression and violence... ¨Soy una Indigena, Soy una Indigena¨...These lyrics being yelled into the mic tell me I am in the right place. Friday night, Saturday night, and most of Sunday I spent at concerts with all kinds of music and messages. Sunday was especially good, and the concert took place at a park with a great view of Quito. It was there that I purchased my first Quito souveneir, a button crossing out a dieing bull that says ¨Tortura, Ni Arte, Ni Cultura.¨ It was also there that I was dumbstruck by the unpredictability of my travels. I stood admist a crowd of Ecuadorians watching an incredible rap-rock group from France while a graffiti competition was going on over to my left and really just couldn´t believe that life works in this way.

Other Quito highlights have been: The food, the food, the food! I admit some things I have tried have been less than thrilling, like cow tongue on my first day and the whole fried fish I was served for lunch today (I realize now I was silly to think I was ordering fish and chips type fish). But at the concerts I tried Mote and this delicious potato thing that I don´t know the name of...basically a fried mashed potato exterior and veggie and chicken interior with THE BEST veggie salsa I have had, some variation of the agi or aji salsa served with every meal. I also had a sit down lunch made by Ave´s father, whom Ave says is probably even a better cook than his mother. Later when I was hanging out with Ave´s little brother we related on the experience of growing up with a family situation with a daddy that was more of what I, from a very young age, knew as a ¨Moddy.¨ A dad that does all the things that are more commonly considered to be mommy or women´s things in our society. He took care of me, cooking, playing, housework... Mateo (Ave´s brother) and I both agree that having a Moddy is really a great way to grow up in this world. I especially benefited from having a father that taught me that our history is full of women warriors, that women can do all that men can do and more, that there are no gender roles or rules, that I can be what Steve (selam, not my dad) referred to me as, ¨a ribbon-shirt girl.¨

So I got on a tangent. Overall message: the food here is delicious.

I really like getting to see peoples houses here. Right now I am in the house that Rafa grew up in, which is now more of an office building for a company that I believe has something to do with Rafa´s father´s work. I don´t really know details, but Rafa´s father (is, was, not even sure of that status) an amazing artist that did work in collaboration with Disney. Here in the house-office and in Rafa and Ave´s apartment there are some of the multi-layered illustrations used for his films. Now Rafa records music and does homework here. The house is really stunning to me, I think this might be what one would call a town house? I am really not familiar with many types of houses or their appropriate nomenclature, but this place even has a sauna. Wow. Another great house is the home of Dani and Victoria´s family. Winding staircases and interconnected multi level rooms with a room that is their mother´s pottery studio fully equiped with a kiln. Upstairs there is an elaborate miniture nativity-city of Beth. that their mother made with every single detail imaginable. Their father, Ave tells me, is a well known mime. It´s families like this that fascinate me. Dani´s cousin is going to teach me how to salsa, she knows how to do all sorts of different dances and is sympathetic to my cause. I am always asked to dance salsa at clubs in Seattle because I look latina... and despite Angelo Baca´s effort to teach me, my salsa skills are lacking entirely.

Speaking of looking Latina... I am not all that surprised that people in Seattle think that I am latina. It´s pretty much never other Latin@s that make this assumption, just people who wouldn´t ever assume that any person is Native American unless they are sitting next to a teepee. Well actually, no that´s not true, other Latin@s do think I am latina, but mostly when I am at settings that would aid that assumption (just to clarify).

What has been surprising is how many people in my travels have thought the same. Wherever I go there are people that either assume I am from there or have family there or have a latina background of some sort. This happens especially if I haven´t had a chance to show how ridiculously awful my spanish is, but even then people dream up these scenerios that maybe I grew up in the U.S. while my dad or family lives in ________ (insert Latin American country here). I have been told repeatedly that I just don´t look American, I don´t look gringa. In BlueFields I was described by a bartender as ¨A Spaniard girl who speaks english very well¨ when he was calling my friend Daniel, the bar owner´s son, to let him know I was looking for him. When I say that I am Native American (Aborigine/Indigena de Estados Unidos) it seems to make sense to people that I look so different from anything they consider to be American, that I am more like most latin@s because I am... and this is really a strange thought for myself... A Mestizo. We don´t have that racial category in the states, in the states I am mixed or more often by hyperdescent I am Native. When people ask ¨what are you?¨ in Seattle they aren´t interested in hearing about my Danish ancestry, they want to know why I am brown. This identity does give me a unique ¨in¨ that other travelers may not experience. Strange as it sounds I look like I could be from most places that I go, and when people find out I am not it inspires conversations about indigenous people in the US and indigenas whereever I am. I don´t remember if I said this before, but looking like a local has its perks. Like getting into see the Masaya volcano in Nicaragua for the resident price instead of the tourist price. Or just getting less harrassment from men and being viewed as less tourist-like. I may even be less of a target for theives, which leads me to another story...

Today was the first time I have had something stolen from me on this trip. I was on top of the world, I had made my way to the city center all by myself, wandered around, had lunch, found a very comfortable pair of jeans (if you think shopping for jeans in the US is a nightmare, come to Ecuador... it takes a great deal of time and energy... and money), and out of no where found what looked and smelled like FRY BREAD. I found fry bread in Nicaragua, though I didn´t try it, and I am not sure whether or not I posted the picture of it. I asked a young guy what he was eating and he told me it was an empeñada and let me try a piece of his. He explained what was in it and the two most important things, its Rica and Barato. So I bought one... it cost maybe 25 cents and was huge with sugar sprinkled on top and cheese somewhere in the middle. In my excitement of finding Ecuadorian fry bread I decided to take a picture of it before eating any more of it and I started walking down the narrow sidewalk with my camera in my right hand and the empañada in the left. Walking up the sidewalk was a man without a shirt, his head was down and he had blankets resting on his shoulders. He looked up at me and I could tell that he wasn´t going to move to make room for me so I swerved to the left to go around him and just as I did his hand reached out, fingers clawed, lightning fast and snatched away.... the empañada. I was in shock, upset over the surprise of what had happened and losing my treat, but mostly AMAZED that he didn´t steal my camera instead. It was closer to him, it could buy him much more food than the empañada, but he didn´t take it. I can´t make assumptions about what went into his decision making, but I am very thankful that I still have my camera and hope he finds more nutricious and fulfilling food tonight, whether or not this requires stealing.

Playa Hermosa

He´s just a lil guy!

playa hermosa!
Signs of good surf
I´m at the beach!



Tomorrow I will write. Tonight I want to get pictures up from my beach time. I am now at my hostel in Aljeula (near San Jose, Costa Rica) after spending time at a surfer stop called playa hermosa.

Me, the tree & the toucan...

There is an incredible tree outside of Santa Elena that I hiked to with three friends from the hostel where I stayed. What makes the tree so great is that some kind of parasitic vine type thing got to it and created a hollow center that you can climb up and up and up until you exit the trunk and are standing in a cluster of branches up in the tree tops. In my opinion this is way better than paying to walk on a suspension bridge in the tree - tops, especially after my friends headed back and I got a chance to journal up in the tree. Just as I was going to leave a beautiful toucan landed in a branch to my left, INCREDIBLE. It was one of the Kelle billed toucans with all the bright colors on it´s beak. I didn´t take any pictures of it, I was afraid of scaring it away. But I did take time for a shameless self-portrait photo shoot before climbing back down, enjoy!

It´s a long way down

Climbing up, view of the hole you climb through to get onto the branches

The tree!

Jake took this picture of me climbing out of the tree

View from the tree

Before the night hike where I saw 5 sloths, 4 of which were mom and baby duos, a tarantula, tiny frog, strange bugs... and so on.
The hike before the hike, getting closer to the falls

Anna, Ida & Emma swimming in the falls!

Santa Elena Reserve

Very thankful for this day

This was her favorite page in my journal

Painting flowers next to the bucket of dulce leche she is selling.

Thank you Montenegro family for treating me to the concert at the National Theater of Nicaragua and the incredible dinner and flan de coco after, you truly are my Nicaraguan parents and I promise to return!

Thank you Blanca Lucia for the bracelet and the impromptu spanish lessons!

Thank you Marlene for the bananas and water for my journey, and for the conversations by candlelight on the porch with your daughter when the power went off for the evening.

Thank you carol for writing the note in spanish to the bus driver so he knew that I was going to Monteverde and not San Jose. I felt like a kindergardener with my bus number pinned on the back of my shirt, and it felt good.

Thank you woman on the bus from china, we both had limited spanish, but you knew enough to help me through customs.

Thank you little girl selling dulce leche at the bus stop that came over to watch me paint, you brightened my day and I hope you have a paint set of your own some day, the flowers you painted in my journal are beautiful.

Thank you young man and your mother for buying me a sandwich and coke and being patient with my limited spanish. A wonderful thanksgiving meal. I didn´t have small enough bills or even the right type of currency to eat.

Thank you everyone on the bus for making sure over and over again that he needed to stop at a place where I could transfer to monteverde.

Thank you Huber for the exciting drive to monteverde, the best hitchhiking experience ever.

Managua: Today

Masaya Volcano!

Day after I went to see the University

Universidad Americana Managua

Architecture students are funny

I´ll keep this brief. Today I visited the Universidad Americana de Managua and met Georlene Garcia, an international studies student and basketball player with stunning eyes and a very fun personality. She showed me around campus while we conversed in spanglish and learned some knew words from eachother. She introduced me to her coach and two more of her college basketball teammates. We went out to lunch together and I enjoyed getting to see the interactions between the girls and their goofy coach.

You have no idea how much I enjoyed being taller than the college basketball team.

More feelings than travel stories, skip ahead for real Managua news.

Here I am back in Managua and with a computer and internet access all to myself for as long as I want tonight, and for free. Being on a computer is so different when A) you are paying for it B) you are surround by people C) people think nothing of coming over to see what is on the screen in front of you. Now I am relaxed, I have my cup of cold calala juice next to me and have plenty of time to wander around the web. This is actually kind of making blogging more difficult, I do just about everything at the last possible minute and the time pressure of internet cafes may be optimal conditions for good blogging, but here it goes...

Yesterday I exchanged hugs and kisses with my friends at CEDEHCA before taking a taxi to the airport. I was sad to be leaving so soon and was a little on the grumpy side. So I had much less patience for my airport experience. First, while I was simultaneously being hit on by the taxi driver and trying to pay him, a man opened the passenger door to pick up my bag and carry it 20 steps over to the front desk. I hate that, I really hate that. He got enough of a headstart that I couldn´t stop him and he had my bag long before I was out of the car. It´s MY bag, I can carry it just fine and I certainly don´t want to pay anyone to carry it for me. But I did. So I got my boarding pass, something I do like about this tiny airport is they have reusable boarding passes, basically a large rectangle of plastic that says your destination and airline. What I don´t like is that they nearly sent my bag to Corn Island. Then the TSA where I felt they searched my little backpack out of pure boredom. The woman said, we are going to search your bag and paused in such a way that I think they were leaving me plenty of room to slip them some money to avoid the hassle. I smiled and told her to go ahead and take her time. What did I have to lose? A dozen or so safety pins apparently. Oh well, I still have the rest of my life-time supply pinned in various locations and I have no idea how safety pins made it onto the list of dangerous items. Clearly it was the littlest things that were getting to me, so when my one and only Pilot Precise V5 pen exploded from the pressure change in the plane I started laughing. I had spent the last couple days distressing off and on about how my pen was running low on ink and I only brought one Pilot Precise V5, which has been THE ULTIMATE PEN brand and model for me since my sophomore year in highschool when Molly and I first began making our dream travel adventure composition books. I was aware of the danger I was putting my pen through, both Rebecca and I had our V5´s explode on the way to Arizona, I am rambling. Suffice to say that these little irritations were part of something looming in the back of my mind.

Both the latter part of yesterday and part of today I was suffering from a bout of traveler´s remorse, something I thought my good time in Bluefields would make me immune to, but unfortunately did not. On top of being sad about leaving, a very evil little voice in my head kept on prodding at the need to see everything, do everything, and spend less. This sort of mentality creates a lose-lose situation, and fortunately today I found a remedy for it thanks to a suprise from my parents. I knew they were sending a package to me, but I didn´t know it´s contents or the impact it would have on me. The package included: raffia and yarn for the cedar hearts I am making as gifts, pictures from the summer (my parents, anthony, stampede parade, dad´s artwork), two different types of bug spray, a cute old spanish phrasebook, an article on Ometepe from the Seattle Times, a purple pencil top eraser, a gluestick, two little wooden fish carved and woodburned by my father, a bag of dried camas (something I greatly miss), peanut butter cups (THE candy I have been missing, although not usually my favorite, way to go psychic parents), and two lovely notes. Tears came to my eyes as I went through the pictures and the rest of the package, but I needed to set these things aside for the time being and go to see the Universidad Americana. Later, when I was back at the home I am staying at I was tempted to eat the peanut butter cups right away.

Instead, while I was writing in my journal I decided (journal excerpt) "No, I´ll wait. I will make this a into a sort of celebration or maybe more of a ceremony. I will go sit on my bed, listen to ¨waltzing with jesus¨ (A instrumental song from a CD that my mom played her upright bass on) on my ipod and put all of my photos in my photobook. I will think of mom and dad and let go of any of my doubts about what I have done in my travels or what I am going to do." This is something that, now that I think about it, is common in my family. Making small events into more significant ones. The idea was also semi-inspired by part of a story my mom told me where she was instructed to really savor a chocolate candy in a meditation class.

My journal entry afterwards:

¨I don´t think mom and dad knew how much the chocolate and everything would mean to me. They probably didn´t know I would be eating the chocolate with a spoon either. I sat on my bed, with the combined breezes from the air conditioner and the open door calming me and boosting that ´oceanic´ feeling (freud reference, had very strange reading material in Bluefields). I put on my headphones, made a pile with the pictures and played waltzing with jesus. From the first sound of my mom pulling that low note on her bass, my eyes began to water. I rearranged all of the pictures, and placed dad´s letter adjacent to my picture of aunt Jeanette. All of the pictures are in the perfect order now and I have a feeling of completeness, contentment... -I am never alone. In my mind I called mom and dad to me, asked them to think of me at that same moment. I have their prayers and hopes and we are in eachothers dreams. I chose select pictures of mom and dad to look at as I opened the candy wrapper. The contents were clearly melted, so I grabbed my spoon and remembered the day we bought it a rei, a family shopping trip. I looked at the pictures as I savored small spoonfuls... -and the chocolate was better than chocolate, because it was more than chocolate, those moments were my nourishment. Now I am very happy, bubbling with joy and feeling. Why mope about not getting to do this or that, it´s the people that matter. The article mom and dad sent me is a good reminder, the last line was ´But, as with all the best trips, it really was the people that made the place´.¨

With my new energy I visited with both Marlina and Blanco Lucia, the mother daughter duo that takes care of the house that I am staying at. I came out of my room and Blanco was drawing a picture from a comic (making fun of pilgrims - which makes more sense now that Margo has informed me that thursday is Thanksgiving day) and I was excited to see that she likes to draw. Her pencil had no eraser left on it and so I went to get the pencil top eraser mom sent me. Coincidence that I had no idea why my mom sent the eraser? I did some watercolor painting in my journal at the desk next to her, she speaks a little english, she is 15 and learning it in school, and I speak a little spanish so we can communicate pretty well. I spent time with Marlina as well. She gave me a glass of my favorite Calala juice and understood what I was saying when I told her that in Hawaii Calala is called Lilikoi. She laughed.

I was excited and ready to make the most out of any experience here in Managua. I think I´ll end this very long and emotional blog to move on to Managua news.

I am sure I will have many more moments like the ones described in this blog, but I don´t know if I will record them here very often. Hope you enjoyed a peek into my journal and some idea of how truly, in the words of my grandfather, ¨Mushy¨ I can be.