I had said my goodbyes in Dallas, Texas. There I was standing at the ticket counter having one of those pre-programmed conversations that humans tend to have as a much too common courtesy.
People fly all around the world, paying homage to each airport they pass through, and naturally I thought that the ticket counter agent would have been familiar with destinations around the world, I thought.
In a smiling face, "And what is your destination?"
In an equal amount of smile response, "Quito."
"Quit-oh!"
Haha, yeah, I'm so excited.
"There's a place called "Quit-oh?"
Oh, it's pronounced key-toh. Quito, Ecuador.
"Ecuador! Where's that!"
Oh dear, um South America, which is South of North America, here, and it's on the Equator.
---did you take 8th grade geography
"Well, have a great time in KEY-TOH!"
--- if only I had my world map on standby like it usually is. She was not well-versed in what I thought was common knowledge, or familiarity, and I was not well-prepared to help humanity. I expected more and wasn't prepared for this dismay.
I only hope that her personal intrigue is strong enough for what she needs to participate in this wonderful thing I like to call basic observations and facts - they can get you far if you are driven enough.
I mean, geography may not be her forte, or even the oil drilling crisis on the environment, or even yet the changing of one hemisphere to another, so I mustn't be too harsh.
Nahhh, I'm totally bashing where bashing is due. I'd like to be told or informed if I was missing something, a key piece of, well, awareness. Bless her and many others who aren't curious enough to do a simple wikipedia search, or something. Exhausting. Though, I might just be hyper-strung out on random and expect others to share with equal appreciation... says the girl who wanted to be a cartographer in 5th grade.
Just for the record:
It's neither quit as in wit,
nor quite as in right.
It's qui as in key
and to as in toe
Now that wit is quite right!
Friday, June 29, 2012
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Ecuador:6 Wake-Up Call
It was a little after 4am and we had shaken on Sickness Pact #1. If one of us got sick, the rest of us would too. That meant a collaboration of the highest order.
We said our "goodnights" and "sleeptights" and wondered out-loud the possibility of being murdered in our hostel room. It was a pact after all, so it would have to be a murder of the highest order. The sky was beginning to glow ever so faintly, and we decided that if we were to be murdered it would be best if we were in a deep slumber. So we set straight to the slumber.
A little after 5:15am, the most terrifying sound jerked me out of my "rock-like state." I had only experienced this terrifying sound once before when I was at a sleep-over in sixth grade at someone's house that literally backed onto the train track. The whole house shook. In this second instance, I believe that fear itself was shaken right out of me.
I quickly yanked back the poor description of a curtain just in time to see the wheels of a 757 aircraft directly overhead. The aircraft was so close, in fact, that I could see the individual grooves in the wheels. My first thoughts were "is this even legal?" "We are about to go down." "But I haven't been murdered yet, so there's a sure sign!"
Thrice more did this terrifying situation repeat itself. And thrice more did I exclaim, "Hey! there's a mountain!" I was out of bed around 6am, and down to the breakfast I climbed, the most 70-ish style of stairs I have ever seen. I clumsily busted through the kitchen door, staggered a moment holding the doorknob, and intently tried to process what my gaze had fixated itself upon, which was a pan of boiling milk on the stove. "For the kittens? I presumed."
A man suddenly appeared, "Cafe?" I asked
"Cafe con leche?" he asked.
Ah, "si, con leche," except I said "com leite."
My first Ecuadorian breakfast was fantastic. Cafe con leche, fresh fruit from the trees outside, a delightful fruit juice, and bread that I stuffed in my pockets for the road. More cafe con leche for me, and then I wandered over to the bookcase. Had no one been there, I would have helped myself to a few hundred of the incredibly old Spanish literature of the greats.
After I faced this sad reality, I found myself climbing out our bedroom window, hoisting myself up onto another odd concrete staircase, and awkwardly greeting a woman who was doing her laundry just above. After two hours of intense observation, I had a running commentary on all of the surrounding building rooftops. Apparently 8am was the time to hang out the laundry. I took my first "Penny" photo, and pondered what down below looked like, for I had only seen the rooftops.
I was absolutely giddy from excitement and the running total of four hours of sleep over the past 48 hours. After my fourth cup of coffee, I was beginning to wonder what was propelling the shaking. I decided that it was the altitude after all, and wandered off to find that several others had joined in the observation of "a morning in the life of surrounding rooftop happenings" display.
We said our "goodnights" and "sleeptights" and wondered out-loud the possibility of being murdered in our hostel room. It was a pact after all, so it would have to be a murder of the highest order. The sky was beginning to glow ever so faintly, and we decided that if we were to be murdered it would be best if we were in a deep slumber. So we set straight to the slumber.
A little after 5:15am, the most terrifying sound jerked me out of my "rock-like state." I had only experienced this terrifying sound once before when I was at a sleep-over in sixth grade at someone's house that literally backed onto the train track. The whole house shook. In this second instance, I believe that fear itself was shaken right out of me.
I quickly yanked back the poor description of a curtain just in time to see the wheels of a 757 aircraft directly overhead. The aircraft was so close, in fact, that I could see the individual grooves in the wheels. My first thoughts were "is this even legal?" "We are about to go down." "But I haven't been murdered yet, so there's a sure sign!"
Thrice more did this terrifying situation repeat itself. And thrice more did I exclaim, "Hey! there's a mountain!" I was out of bed around 6am, and down to the breakfast I climbed, the most 70-ish style of stairs I have ever seen. I clumsily busted through the kitchen door, staggered a moment holding the doorknob, and intently tried to process what my gaze had fixated itself upon, which was a pan of boiling milk on the stove. "For the kittens? I presumed."
A man suddenly appeared, "Cafe?" I asked
"Cafe con leche?" he asked.
Ah, "si, con leche," except I said "com leite."
My first Ecuadorian breakfast was fantastic. Cafe con leche, fresh fruit from the trees outside, a delightful fruit juice, and bread that I stuffed in my pockets for the road. More cafe con leche for me, and then I wandered over to the bookcase. Had no one been there, I would have helped myself to a few hundred of the incredibly old Spanish literature of the greats.
After I faced this sad reality, I found myself climbing out our bedroom window, hoisting myself up onto another odd concrete staircase, and awkwardly greeting a woman who was doing her laundry just above. After two hours of intense observation, I had a running commentary on all of the surrounding building rooftops. Apparently 8am was the time to hang out the laundry. I took my first "Penny" photo, and pondered what down below looked like, for I had only seen the rooftops.
I was absolutely giddy from excitement and the running total of four hours of sleep over the past 48 hours. After my fourth cup of coffee, I was beginning to wonder what was propelling the shaking. I decided that it was the altitude after all, and wandered off to find that several others had joined in the observation of "a morning in the life of surrounding rooftop happenings" display.
Rooftop #1
The Mountain, yes, the foot in between the staircase and window was a squeeze, especially after breakfast. Worth it.
The Penny
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Ecuador:5 Dinner on the Plane
I had almost forgotten this comical situation.
After we had been flying for almost an hour, our plane had to turn around due to a "malfunction." So, on the second flight down to Quito, we were finally given something to eat.
It was on this flight that I encountered quite a connection with humanity. It was as if the lady next to me was the incarnate of myself. I intently gazed on the flight attendants for thirty minutes straight, waiting for my food. Each aisle that they edged closer dragged on my patience even more. I didn't wish to miss a beat, lest I fell asleep waiting for them to come, and quite the sorry sort I would have been had that been the case.
I could have solved the problem of poor patience by not giving anyone any option of "chicken or beef" and just giving everyone pasta. Pasta it would have been for my plane, and besides, meat on planes is freaky. You are telling me this is chicken. This isn't some restaurant, I know, but a load of stringy carbs would have suited me just fine. Socialistic Pasta, what an excellent idea!
I preoccupied myself, through my peripheral, by counting the number of times the lady in the seat next to me heavily swung her head as she was drowsing off into a deep slumber. Back and forth, back and forth, and quite violently, too. Quite the slumbering pendulum she was!
Ah, "chicken or beef," no, you aren't on the vegetarian list, so here's some chicken.
But, a meal is a meal for me. The notion of this delicious meal from a ravenous being was feasting over in my mind as I carefully cut a chunk out of my chicken. Everything else a blur, but the chicken so clearly detailed, was in slow motion, the angels were singing the Hallelujah chorus, I could clearly see the individual prongs on my fork making their utilitarian way to greet my taste buds and satisfy my angst. I could almost see clearly now, my prospects were looking up, I would survive. And then...
Incredible, the timing on this, just as the feast met my mouth, the prongs still deeply embedded, the lady, who had been swinging her head for quite some time, landed heavily on my lower arm! Awkward, so I carefully propped her so she was sitting straight once again. Chicken, Hallelujah, prongs, AND crash! Again, onto my shoulder, so I figured I would just let her hang on my shoulder for awhile. And then I realized that her husband was sitting next to her. He tapped her, patted her, shook her hand that had gone completely limp. "Oh dear, she's dead. She died, and she died on my bony shoulder; maybe it was my shoulder that killed her. Pulse? Yes, okay, maybe just gave her a concussion."
As I proceeded to indulge and demolish my banquet of chicken, I reflected on how humanity needs to rest, and how, almost infant-like, we revert to a childish manor in everyone needing tender care, a shoulder to rest on. So, if that is what it took, my shoulder to provide comfort to this stranger, then so be it. I might, in fact, one day need a stranger's shoulder as well. This whole scenario could have been on an Oppenheimer Funds commercial when one person sees another person do something kind for humanity and then returns the favor, the cycle.
The woman slept peacefully on my shoulder, and I thought to myself, "I would have wanted my mom to sleep on my shoulder, and this woman is someone's mother." Though, I wouldn't exactly want my own mum to go falling asleep on completely random stranger's shoulders. After twenty minutes of mulling over this in my mind, afraid to move and awake this lady and cause an awkward situation, she violently sat up, and as if someone had caught her doing something funny on video, thus was her response. She started giggling, and apologizing, well, maybe, I guess. She was Korean so I couldn't really understand. And then we smiled at each other, in understanding, though we did not speak the same language. Humanity does. So thus spake humanity.
Going vegetarian next time. Hope the turnout provides the same satisfactory level of amusement.
After we had been flying for almost an hour, our plane had to turn around due to a "malfunction." So, on the second flight down to Quito, we were finally given something to eat.
It was on this flight that I encountered quite a connection with humanity. It was as if the lady next to me was the incarnate of myself. I intently gazed on the flight attendants for thirty minutes straight, waiting for my food. Each aisle that they edged closer dragged on my patience even more. I didn't wish to miss a beat, lest I fell asleep waiting for them to come, and quite the sorry sort I would have been had that been the case.
I could have solved the problem of poor patience by not giving anyone any option of "chicken or beef" and just giving everyone pasta. Pasta it would have been for my plane, and besides, meat on planes is freaky. You are telling me this is chicken. This isn't some restaurant, I know, but a load of stringy carbs would have suited me just fine. Socialistic Pasta, what an excellent idea!
I preoccupied myself, through my peripheral, by counting the number of times the lady in the seat next to me heavily swung her head as she was drowsing off into a deep slumber. Back and forth, back and forth, and quite violently, too. Quite the slumbering pendulum she was!
Ah, "chicken or beef," no, you aren't on the vegetarian list, so here's some chicken.
But, a meal is a meal for me. The notion of this delicious meal from a ravenous being was feasting over in my mind as I carefully cut a chunk out of my chicken. Everything else a blur, but the chicken so clearly detailed, was in slow motion, the angels were singing the Hallelujah chorus, I could clearly see the individual prongs on my fork making their utilitarian way to greet my taste buds and satisfy my angst. I could almost see clearly now, my prospects were looking up, I would survive. And then...
Incredible, the timing on this, just as the feast met my mouth, the prongs still deeply embedded, the lady, who had been swinging her head for quite some time, landed heavily on my lower arm! Awkward, so I carefully propped her so she was sitting straight once again. Chicken, Hallelujah, prongs, AND crash! Again, onto my shoulder, so I figured I would just let her hang on my shoulder for awhile. And then I realized that her husband was sitting next to her. He tapped her, patted her, shook her hand that had gone completely limp. "Oh dear, she's dead. She died, and she died on my bony shoulder; maybe it was my shoulder that killed her. Pulse? Yes, okay, maybe just gave her a concussion."
As I proceeded to indulge and demolish my banquet of chicken, I reflected on how humanity needs to rest, and how, almost infant-like, we revert to a childish manor in everyone needing tender care, a shoulder to rest on. So, if that is what it took, my shoulder to provide comfort to this stranger, then so be it. I might, in fact, one day need a stranger's shoulder as well. This whole scenario could have been on an Oppenheimer Funds commercial when one person sees another person do something kind for humanity and then returns the favor, the cycle.
The woman slept peacefully on my shoulder, and I thought to myself, "I would have wanted my mom to sleep on my shoulder, and this woman is someone's mother." Though, I wouldn't exactly want my own mum to go falling asleep on completely random stranger's shoulders. After twenty minutes of mulling over this in my mind, afraid to move and awake this lady and cause an awkward situation, she violently sat up, and as if someone had caught her doing something funny on video, thus was her response. She started giggling, and apologizing, well, maybe, I guess. She was Korean so I couldn't really understand. And then we smiled at each other, in understanding, though we did not speak the same language. Humanity does. So thus spake humanity.
Going vegetarian next time. Hope the turnout provides the same satisfactory level of amusement.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Ecuador:4 Mountainous Void
As we flew into Quito at 2am, I kept thinking to myself, "when will it ever end?" Most cities have their central downtown and their outer laying towns and suburbs, but Quito, though at first only perceived in the dark, was EVERYWHERE.
Lights were everywhere, and it was quite a surreal image, that which was first displayed in all its grandeur because there were thousands of lights, and then nothing, pitch black. I wondered, "water, perhaps?" and then the turbulence began, and I was awestruck. Mountains, mountainous volcanoes, and we were flying right past these dark masses! How terrified was I to even think about a technological failure at a time such as this!
As long as we kept flying in the path of the lights and not towards any void, then we would be just fine, because that is where Quito lies, in the midst of these magnificent voids.
We bounced down the runway on the old rickety concrete and came screeching to a halt. We stumbled across the old rickety concrete towards the baggage claim. I utterly failed using my Spanish as it was that I was already half asleep, and the only two words I could produce were "si" and "taco" (which is basically an American with an appetite speaking in English).
"Como esta ud?" - woman at customs
"Si, si, taco!" - and thus spake a tacky American tourist
The streets were deserted, and in all of my vertigo and sleep depravity, I kept turning around trying to figure out in which direction these mountains were. Little did I reason that we were surrounded.
My suitcase barely fit through the hostel room door, and my roommate and I used the last few precious drops of water from our water bottles to brush our teeth. 3:30am and we hadn't even taken our showers. The floors creaked, which is what we would find as a common sound in every hostel. In fact, everything creaked: the doors, the floors, the walls, the ceilings, the dinner table, and the mattress of straw. (I found all of the mattresses to be quite nice. Now I'm going to go buy some hay.)
All of this being said, my first thoughts in my first two exhausting hours of being in South America, which felt like some bizarre dream. Thank goodness no one was hustling us along at the airport, for my sleep depravity left me little cognitive skill other than the natural duties one is capable of fulfilling when the mind is elsewhere. "where are the mountains? I swear they were there!"
Lights were everywhere, and it was quite a surreal image, that which was first displayed in all its grandeur because there were thousands of lights, and then nothing, pitch black. I wondered, "water, perhaps?" and then the turbulence began, and I was awestruck. Mountains, mountainous volcanoes, and we were flying right past these dark masses! How terrified was I to even think about a technological failure at a time such as this!
As long as we kept flying in the path of the lights and not towards any void, then we would be just fine, because that is where Quito lies, in the midst of these magnificent voids.
We bounced down the runway on the old rickety concrete and came screeching to a halt. We stumbled across the old rickety concrete towards the baggage claim. I utterly failed using my Spanish as it was that I was already half asleep, and the only two words I could produce were "si" and "taco" (which is basically an American with an appetite speaking in English).
"Como esta ud?" - woman at customs
"Si, si, taco!" - and thus spake a tacky American tourist
The streets were deserted, and in all of my vertigo and sleep depravity, I kept turning around trying to figure out in which direction these mountains were. Little did I reason that we were surrounded.
My suitcase barely fit through the hostel room door, and my roommate and I used the last few precious drops of water from our water bottles to brush our teeth. 3:30am and we hadn't even taken our showers. The floors creaked, which is what we would find as a common sound in every hostel. In fact, everything creaked: the doors, the floors, the walls, the ceilings, the dinner table, and the mattress of straw. (I found all of the mattresses to be quite nice. Now I'm going to go buy some hay.)
All of this being said, my first thoughts in my first two exhausting hours of being in South America, which felt like some bizarre dream. Thank goodness no one was hustling us along at the airport, for my sleep depravity left me little cognitive skill other than the natural duties one is capable of fulfilling when the mind is elsewhere. "where are the mountains? I swear they were there!"
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Ecuador:3 Song Nostalgia
The time to associate songs with places, people, and moments has come.
My songs for Ecuador:
Simple Song by The Shins - traipsing through the thick rain forest and basically everything else
On the Road by Keane - every time we were, well, on the road.
Sunrise Sunset by We Are Trees - three hour canoe ride in the rain
Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine - piranha fishing in the Amazon
Can't Take It In by Imogen Heap - driving through the Andes
Fernando by Abba - Hacienda Guachela
For What It's Worth by Buffalo Springfield - driving through a town, walls plastered with political graffiti
My songs for Ecuador:
Simple Song by The Shins - traipsing through the thick rain forest and basically everything else
On the Road by Keane - every time we were, well, on the road.
Sunrise Sunset by We Are Trees - three hour canoe ride in the rain
Cosmic Love by Florence and the Machine - piranha fishing in the Amazon
Can't Take It In by Imogen Heap - driving through the Andes
Fernando by Abba - Hacienda Guachela
For What It's Worth by Buffalo Springfield - driving through a town, walls plastered with political graffiti
Ecuador:2 Cuba
My future postings would not be complete if I didn't include a few of my thoughts about getting there.
All I have to really say is: Cuba.
It might have been the debate on the 1898 Spanish-American War that I totally owned in history class in 10th grade, or it might have been the pure interest and extensive personal research on the country... but I was absolutely taken over as we flew over this nation. It was around 1am in the morning when we flew over, but I could see the lights and the large gaps of stark darkness, those which I presume were countryside / my imagination took me to a guerrilla warfare countryside. I tried picturing Che wandering around and such..
So, this was my Ode to Cuba, as we flew over for the grand total of approx. 7 minutes, if even:
Ruben Gonzalez's version of Siboney
Celia Cruz's version of Guantanamera
It was quite an ethereal moment. So close... I truly basked in those 14 minutes I had of Cuba.
All I have to really say is: Cuba.
It might have been the debate on the 1898 Spanish-American War that I totally owned in history class in 10th grade, or it might have been the pure interest and extensive personal research on the country... but I was absolutely taken over as we flew over this nation. It was around 1am in the morning when we flew over, but I could see the lights and the large gaps of stark darkness, those which I presume were countryside / my imagination took me to a guerrilla warfare countryside. I tried picturing Che wandering around and such..
So, this was my Ode to Cuba, as we flew over for the grand total of approx. 7 minutes, if even:
Ruben Gonzalez's version of Siboney
Celia Cruz's version of Guantanamera
It was quite an ethereal moment. So close... I truly basked in those 14 minutes I had of Cuba.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Dear Ecuador and Ecuadorians,
You have treated me in the most splendid manor. Your kind embrace to allow me participation in your traditions, your freshly squeezed juice for every delicious and cheap meal, and your interaction of letting me practice my Spanish so I can communicate with you in your native tongue. I am not a tacky American tourist, rather, I am your tourist. I have returned the embrace.
Although several times were quite trying, an experience was definitely had through the journey, a journey that began with those times.
Three internal flights across the Andes, a seven hour bus ride winding around the Andes at 13,000 feet, two four/hour motorized canoe rides down the Napo River/Amazon and many other canoe rides, freezing cold water for showers, hikes along the sides of mountains, traipzing through the jungle in the pouring rain and afterwards being eaten alive by possible malaria/filled mozzies, 5am wake up calls, and a different language // these times have given me a different perspective, as in, I only had to briefly endure these adventures which I truly embraced, where as I leave everyone else behind who have been enduring and will continue to endure as a daily part of their lives. I have been taking my luxury for granted for too long, and it was about time that I learned to suck it up and acknowledge that I've missed out on a lot of "reality," plastered by my own ignorance and lack of exposure.
I wouldn't change a thing. I, for a moment, became an Ecuadorian, an Ecuadorian of the jungle, of the Salasacan indigenous weaving community, of the dusty streets of Cuenca, of the citizens of the outstretched area of Quito.
Quito, Napo, Quito, Salasaca, Banos, Cuenca, the Equator, Otavalo, Quito.
I have feasted my eyes on this beautiful land, a land that photography could not even come close to capturing. I have bonded with its people, and their lessons have taught me so much to the point that as I listen to their stories, all I can do is just cry in awe and admiration as I now hold great respect for these people, my people, the people who have given me joy and perspective.
I have seen so much, experienced so much, all in a little less than three weeks, a few weeks that have rattled my bones for the rest of my life. Will I ever return? and if so, where will I go, and will I reconnect with these simply influential people?
An old sage once told me that as you travel or meet people, either locally or abroad, you take a little bit of someone, and you leave a little of yourself for someone.
You have to make sure that what you take is worth taking, and perhaps taking can do you some good, so shutting down a new and perhaps wary experience shouldn't be evaded. And you also have to make sure that you choose your little lot to leave behind, wisely. First impressions last, and perhaps they are the only impressions. Second impressions verify the first initial perception. So, leave the best of you.
Perhaps this is the culmination of my blog, its peak, the ultimatum, maxium objective, the title incarnate.
Take it, or leave it, but at least think about it.
Adios Ecuador. I hope I have fully taken and left, but please do know that if I failed in any way, I am at least thinking sentimentally about it.
ye soft pipes play on... Andean flutes that is...
You have treated me in the most splendid manor. Your kind embrace to allow me participation in your traditions, your freshly squeezed juice for every delicious and cheap meal, and your interaction of letting me practice my Spanish so I can communicate with you in your native tongue. I am not a tacky American tourist, rather, I am your tourist. I have returned the embrace.
Although several times were quite trying, an experience was definitely had through the journey, a journey that began with those times.
Three internal flights across the Andes, a seven hour bus ride winding around the Andes at 13,000 feet, two four/hour motorized canoe rides down the Napo River/Amazon and many other canoe rides, freezing cold water for showers, hikes along the sides of mountains, traipzing through the jungle in the pouring rain and afterwards being eaten alive by possible malaria/filled mozzies, 5am wake up calls, and a different language // these times have given me a different perspective, as in, I only had to briefly endure these adventures which I truly embraced, where as I leave everyone else behind who have been enduring and will continue to endure as a daily part of their lives. I have been taking my luxury for granted for too long, and it was about time that I learned to suck it up and acknowledge that I've missed out on a lot of "reality," plastered by my own ignorance and lack of exposure.
I wouldn't change a thing. I, for a moment, became an Ecuadorian, an Ecuadorian of the jungle, of the Salasacan indigenous weaving community, of the dusty streets of Cuenca, of the citizens of the outstretched area of Quito.
Quito, Napo, Quito, Salasaca, Banos, Cuenca, the Equator, Otavalo, Quito.
I have feasted my eyes on this beautiful land, a land that photography could not even come close to capturing. I have bonded with its people, and their lessons have taught me so much to the point that as I listen to their stories, all I can do is just cry in awe and admiration as I now hold great respect for these people, my people, the people who have given me joy and perspective.
I have seen so much, experienced so much, all in a little less than three weeks, a few weeks that have rattled my bones for the rest of my life. Will I ever return? and if so, where will I go, and will I reconnect with these simply influential people?
An old sage once told me that as you travel or meet people, either locally or abroad, you take a little bit of someone, and you leave a little of yourself for someone.
You have to make sure that what you take is worth taking, and perhaps taking can do you some good, so shutting down a new and perhaps wary experience shouldn't be evaded. And you also have to make sure that you choose your little lot to leave behind, wisely. First impressions last, and perhaps they are the only impressions. Second impressions verify the first initial perception. So, leave the best of you.
Perhaps this is the culmination of my blog, its peak, the ultimatum, maxium objective, the title incarnate.
Take it, or leave it, but at least think about it.
Adios Ecuador. I hope I have fully taken and left, but please do know that if I failed in any way, I am at least thinking sentimentally about it.
ye soft pipes play on... Andean flutes that is...
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Ecuador:1 Humanity in the Raw, the before thoughts
As I sit here waiting to embark on a study abroad I never thought I would be embarking on, I reflect upon my expectations, and all I can really expect at the point is different. I expect to see the differences in humanity, the differences that are really the same in all, but these ones, I expect, will be magnified by the culture and the language. I expect for society to be backwards, not modern, whatever modern really is... Is modernization the future style, the improved edition, the more fashion-forward preferences in one's dreams? It isn't the skyscrapers, because Quito has a grand ól population living in skyscrapers. It is modern, though, relative to what time? As an American citizen, I would consider myself modern because I do not consider myself primitive - I have been civilized. I wonder, do those primitive people (Napo Region), in fact, consider me primitive because I lack a connection with a thriving environment, a unity with it, and rather I connect myself to things that won't last or reproduce, these connections are to things that can be improved, and if it can be improved, therefore it must be on the road towards modernization. I, for one moment, do not wish to be "modern." I wish to transcend this civilized time by experiencing humanity in the raw.
Take me to the place where the jungle dances.
With my "naturally brewed" (South American coffee, and not just by the label), I'll take a little humanity in the raw, please.
Dear Jungle of Ecuador,
We have not yet met. Consume me.
Signed,
A tacky modern tourist
civilization vs. barbarism, modernization vs. progress on the mind...
Take me to the place where the jungle dances.
With my "naturally brewed" (South American coffee, and not just by the label), I'll take a little humanity in the raw, please.
Dear Jungle of Ecuador,
We have not yet met. Consume me.
Signed,
A tacky modern tourist
civilization vs. barbarism, modernization vs. progress on the mind...
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