Funky Cool Ecuador

Home again, home again, jiggedy jig. Back from the equator, back to sea-level, back to toilet paper in the toilet, child labor laws, smooth streets, English, thesis... I'm back. Significantly more broken-hearted, open-hearted, scared, bored, amazed. Mildly envious of guys with cool patterns shaved into their hair.

After three weeks in Ecuador, anticipating return, I miss it. I miss stumbling my way through conversation in Spanish, my conversation partner looking at me quizically. I miss the screaming-hotties, waking around in tight jeans and stilhetto heals on cobblestone streats, a guy with his arm around her waist and a large-and-in-charge look on his face that says, yeah, I'm with her.

The folks at the orphanage, so kind and friendly, in spite of the fact that I'm there for only a few hours and will return home without them, leave them to fend for themselves, as they always have. The kids that curled up on my lap, accepting that I was only there for just now, taking what they could from me- contact, words, attention, not asking for anything more. I wish I could give them more. Blind promises to the nuns of, next time I come, I'll spend more time here. A week? Two months?

Vamos a pintar.
Es pintura azul.
Dame los cubos.
Muy bien!

Gracias, Ecuador, for your gifts to me. I hope that I can/have/will return the favor.