Go big or go home.

Day 1: Drink water from the tap.
Day 2: Eat food from a marketplace vendor.
Day 9: Camp by the side of a lake in the crater of a volcano. Wake up at 3 AM to hike about 11 kilometers at almost 14,000 ft.
Day 10: Eat a chicken's heart.

I'm tired. But happy and healthy.

My experiences here thus far have been phenomenal. I have met so many great people, experienced many things in the city--food, shopping, night life, long lines to deal with government papers and more--and most recently an amazing hike as well as an orientation meeting for my job, the reason I actually came here in the first place. I need to remind myself I'm not just here to bop around South America.

I really think I'll enjoy working at CEC (Centro de Educación Contínua). At my orientation meeting, I was happy to hit it off with a couple of the new professors. It's so nice to be abroad as a functioning human being, not just seeking diversion all the time. I say, bring on the work. I mean, I think so. Here's hoping I can make the transition from being the student in a desk to the teacher in front of the class in so brief a time as three months. 

Quilotoa

The hike. What a hike. I left Friday afternoon with Luke and Luis, took an hour trolley ride, followed by two 1.5 hour bus rides. The second bus ride was particularly unique, as Luke and I were the only gringos, and many of the bus's occupants seemed as if to come from a different age: in their manner of clothing as well as cleanliness. The indigenous people are fascinating here. And it's incredible to be able to finally hear Quecha spoken, since I first heard of it almost a decade ago in the book Beyond the Gates of Splendor, which my Dad read to Valerie and me. There was even a bird in a man's lap, just as anxious to get off the bus as we were. I wonder if it was his pet or his dinner.

At Quilotoa, we met up with several other people and began the trek down the crater to the lakeside to camp for the evening. It took over an hour to hike down the steep, sandy path--the whole way down, I was thinking about how challenging it would be to get back up. You could actually hire mules to go down and up the crater for eight dollars, and the local people would lead them. We didn't make use of that, though I did try other methods for going down the path, like trotting the way the locals do. Men and women (in absurdly non-hiking shoes) literally trotted down the sandy path with reins in hand, leading the mules burdened with Ecuadorians, gringos, and other foreigners. It was fascinating! It's a lot less effort to just jog down, since your muscles don't have to work to slow your momentum. This came in handy on the path as well as when we went around the lake in the wee hours of the morning.

That night, our group eventually totaled nine people--seven guys, and another girl from the US and me. In all we were three gringos, one Venezuelan, and five Ecuadorians. We spent the evening building a campfire, gathering all sorts of sticks and wood (borrowing some from a fence nearby...) and eventually just chatting, roasting hot dogs for dinner, and watching the stars come out. It was amazing to see a new night sky--to think of all the stars in view that I had never, ever seen before! Because we had created such a toasty fire, some others who were camping stopped by to get some of our fire to light their own, and two other men stopped by to enjoy the warmth. I do so enjoy the easy social interactions among this culture. It was not at all odd when we ended up chatting with the newcomers for over an hour. They loved to travel and were definitely aware of the world outside of Quito. That's not always common here.

In our hunt for wood, we stopped by the meagre hostal to inquire about their wood supply. It was no better than what we had found, so we thanked the man for showing us what was available and said we'd find our own. Though we had already gathered some, he informed us that it was impossible to find. We again assured him we had already met with success, and he again told us there was none to be found...the stubborn determinedness (is that a word?) bordering on dishonesty isn't uncommon here. It's a cultural idiosyncrasy which one just has to put up with.

There is a worldview I have met with often in my travels: that traveling is one of the very few ways to learn about oneself, others, and the wide world surrounding us. I certainly disagree though I have done my fair share of traveling. In Spain, some of my professors and fellow students maintained there was no other way to broaden one's horizon. The men who stopped by the fire at Quilotoa, who had both gained much in their various travel experiences, said the same. What about books? What about conversing with a family member or close friend and fostering good, challenging relationships? You may be just as close-minded after traveling as before, even if you do have a few more stamps on your passport.

Hemingway, no stranger to travel said, through a character in The Sun Also Rises "Listen...going to another country doesn't make any difference. I've tried all that. You can't get away from yourself by moving from one place to another. There's nothing to that."

And of course, in Ecclesiastes, a book which rather out-dates Hemingway, we find that there is 'nothing new under the sun.'

I love to befriend fellow travelers and foreigners living abroad, but I don't look down on the people who are happy to stay at home, while traveling miles and miles through a book or adventuring with good, solid thoughts and open conversation.


After a full evening, it was time to turn in. We concocted the crazy plan of waking a little after three in the morning to begin our hike, so as to see the sun rise from a certain high point on the eastern rim. Jillian and I got our own tent, set out our sleeping bags and tried to sleep. Within five minutes there was snoring from the guys' tent...and several hours later, after I hadn't slept at all, I couldn't lie still anymore and decide to watch the stars. It was two-thirty in the morning when I hopped outside of the tent, plopped down on the ground in my sleeping bag, and counted shooting stars--over ten in about twenty minutes! What a beautiful sky! Jillian couldn't sleep either and joined me: and so we sat in the moonlit night, counting stars and whispering and laughing, just waiting until we would pack up the campsite and begin the day's trek.

It was as grueling as a sandy, uphill path would be at 14,000 feet at four in the morning. We made it up though, and began the walk around the crater's rim. It was an absolutely fantastic hike, and without a doubt the most challenging of my life. Of all my muscles, my heart was probably the most strained. Nine days is not enough to adjust the altitude of Quito, let alone the altitude up in the volcano. Nevertheless, I made it without much altitude sickness...though halfway through I did have a headache. On two apples and water I made the journey (the other food we had was all chock-full of gluten). I must admit I'm rather proud of myself and I can't wait to hike again.

We got done around ten AM. I was the last to arrive, thought I started out near the front of the pack: first of all, because it was exhausting, but I also waited in the back so I could enjoy some of the walk alone. It was breathtakingly beautiful and I only wish I had a camera to capture some of it, but now you'll just have to come visit me so you can experience it for yourself.

Before leaving, I needed some more nourishment and ordered a soup from a "restaurant." (The soup was a dollar and the much-needed coffee, seventy-five cents. The restaurants and hostals at Quilotoa are the upstairs of people's homes. Going downstairs to the bathroom led you right into their own hallway of bedrooms. It was an odd sensation, as if we were invading their home...which was precisely what we were doing. But, we got food and a warm fire anyway.) My soup was tasty, with a chicken leg, rice, carrot, and yucca, but when I fished around with the spoon, I came upon an unusual little piece of meat. Two new Ecuadorian friends assured me that yes indeed, it was a heart. Well, with a bit of their encouragement, I ate it. It tasted like chicken, surprise, surprise...but it was really, really dense. It was like anatomy class in high school...except lunch. Next up in my culinary adventures? Cuy.

Yes, that's guinea pig. Stay tuned.


In other news, I had my first teacher's meeting today and tomorrow, my first day of classes! Time to prepare a bit...I will teach a couple sections of Advanced 2 English and co-teach a Conversation Club class. When I myself understand what that entails, I'll let you all know.