Lessons Learned from the Jungle.

The straightest path is not necessarily the quickest one.

Sometimes it just gets you stuck in the mud.

So, friends, in your journeys, enjoy the winding road! It may take you to unexpected places.

Cheers, Sarah

Siga, no mas.

Today, friends, and for the last two months, I feel like I've finally been given permission to relish in my life. It's easy to realize how lucky you are in retrospect, but something truly special to recognize your blessings as you hold them.

The past few days in Ecuador have been utterly magical, not because of the sights, smells, foods, or sounds (though they are absolutely lovely), but because of a liberation of spirit. It seems that, unknowingly, I have been craving adventure. And now, having it, a new, wild, vibrant, hungry soul has been unleashed.

There is a greater sense of urgency to indulge, embrace, and explore my youth. The need to discover, to taste, and to learn is overwhelming. I feel truly. Happy.

Siga no mas is a phrase commonly used in Ecuador. And it means something to the effect of, "Come in. You're welcome. There is no need to keep waiting."

Well, if you insist. Yo voy.

Friday

Worked in the Subcentro El Dorado. It's the usual. Taking blood pressure, height, weight, temperature, paperwork. Until Nurse Nancy comes out with her gray cooler and announces that we're going to la escuela para vacunar los ninos.

Crap.

My previous experiences with vaccinating 100 children against Hepatitis B (for free!) was enough for me to know what was coming. Only this time, instead of relatively cool, calm, collected 11 year olds, we were going to be working with Kindergardeners.

What ensued what just as I had imagined: kids screaming for their lives, running away as the Nurse and her gray cooler approach their classroom. Other children run after me, nervously inquiring, "Which classes are you going to do, miss?" If they've been spared for the day, they run away, gleefully shrieking at their good fortune. If I am the bearer of bad news, they run away, shrieking.

It's as I imagined, only this time, because the vaccination is against Tetanus and because the kids are so much smaller, the shots need to go in their rear ends. Which means yours truly became a chair for the kids to bend over on, offering their tender behinds to the Nurse. This also meant that I was in charge of restraining several children--they are stronger than they look. I guess fear for your life will do that to you. (Note: the boys had a lot more trouble with the shots than the girls...)

We finish, and I survived, having only been bitten once. Out of kindness I gave my hand to a small child to hold during the shot. Next thing I know, they shoved my hand in their mouth and bit down. Hard.

Friday Night

It is Mateo's birthday. He is turning 4. Viviana made lasagna for the occasion (from scratch)! The dinner is a romantic one, with candles; we joke about it. You see, the candles are a necessity because for the past few weeks, the electricity has been cut off each day for a 4 hour period. This is because it hasn't rained very much lately (I balk at this statement...it rains every day here) and as such the power plant cannot generate enough energy to light up the city 24 hours a day. It is their way of solving a problem...in truth, I admire it.

Mateo receives: new shoes, new clothes, Ben 10 toys, a toy airplane, and an ice cream cake!

Saturday Morning

Jennifer's school is having some sort of futbol tournament, with each of the classes competing against each other. I elect to go with the family, and proceed to be very, very confused. Wilfrido and Mateo go to la farmacia because the little one has come down with a fever (too much excitement at his birthday party, I suppose). So I am left alone, with Jennifer and about 1000 other children and their families (no exaggeration). There is a procession of sorts, and election of a beauty queen (?) and the competition starts. It turns out Jennifer's class isn't playing today, we've just come for the "Opening Ceremony".

Saturday Afternoon

We take a hike along a trail that follows el rio Puyo. It's lovely and, thinking of it now, it's what I expected the trail to be like through the jungle. I laugh at my silliness now. The kids swim in the river, we emerge from the trail and eat a traditional dish from Puyo called the volquetero. It is plantain chips with tuna, tomatoes, onions, and other things I can't remember. Yes, the dish has the same name as the truck with which I hitchhiked in Pitirischa. It means "dump truck" because the dish is just literally a pile of food. Like it's been dumped. Get it?

Saturday Evening

The kids are bored and keep asking me what I'm doing on the computer. Having listened to some Louis Armstrong earlier that day, inspiration strikes and I play a youtube video of "Hello Dolly" for them. They love it. So, we continue on with Fred Astaire, Gene Kelly (in Singin' in the Rain), Ray Charles, and Audrey Hepburn. If you didn't know, I LOVE OLD MOVIES/MUSICALS, so this was great fun for me (and for them). Jennifer and I even cut the rug to Tony Bennett.

Sunday Morning

Starts off with an early church service which I don't understand at all. And then back at the house for a breakfast of encebollado. It is basically, tuna soup. The sheer amount of tuna I have had in the last few days is astounding.

Sunday Afternoon

The family works hard at putting up a Christmas tree. Believe it or not, the Torreses are a bit late on this, as Christmas decorations have been up for weeks now. It is very weird, since usually, in America, we wait until after Thanksgiving to start with the ornaments and lights. But here, right after Dia de Los Muertos...it's time.

I decide to stay home today while the family goes out for lunch. Alone time is precious and I engage in absolutely magical conversations with Taylor Debevec and Anita Prasad. I am so, so happy despite having the most uneventful day yet in Ecuador.

Sunday Evening

Dinner. is. canned. tuna.

This aggression will not stand! Or, at least, I like to think so. But I eat anyway, surprisingly noting the bright flavor of lime in the mix. It is refreshing. We have a juice of Taxo fruit today and while I slowly sip, trying to place this new flavor (there nothing more exciting to me than trying some new food for the first time) the rest of the family tilt their heads back and chug like they're playing flip-cup as if their lives depended on it. I quickly learn why.

Taxo is extremely acidic. To make the juice, the fruit is blended with milk. Acid + dairy = curdle. Ew.

Mateo is still sick and finds it funny to cough and sneeze without covering his mouth. I joked yesterday in Spanish: "Gracias por ducharme." Which, means (I think), "Thanks for the shower." The kids quickly learn my joke and repeat it throughout dinner after one of Mateo's coughing episodes. I suspect he does this on purpose just so that Jennifer can say the joke. I am proud because finally, an inkling of my endearing wit, sarcasm, and charm has shone through.

After dinner, Wilfrido and Viviana drag up one of the couches to the second floor hallway. I am confused until Vivi, satisfied with the arrangement, tells me to come, sit, and use the internet. I am strangely touched by this effort on their part. The internet connection upstairs (in my room) is much weaker than downstairs or in the hallway, but I often feel like I need to stay in my room to avoid being a distraction to the kids as they do their homework. So, for the past few weeks, I have been sitting/laying in awkward positions on the floor by my door to get what precious few bars I can. Now, I can blog from the comfort of my very own couch in a prime internet spot. Score!

And that, friends/lovers/family, has been the past magical/mundane (however you see it) three days for me.

P.S. Many of you have been inquiring how I am able to post so often from the jungle. To clarify: Puyo is a city on the outer edge of the jungle. This is the house I am staying in.

It has wireless internet. Yes, it is very nice. The family had it built a year ago. I feel like I am cheating a little bit. But what is not pictured is the vast emptiness surrounding the house and the small shack-like dwellings in the distance. It is an oddity on the outskirts of a relatively small town.

But rest assured, yes, I have been to the actual jungle. And yes, for the 8 hours I'm away from this palace every day, I am in a jungle town.

Things I Am Just Remembering From the Jungle...

...but forgot to put into my post(s).

1. The jungle children are oddly fascinated by contact lenses. Every morning, as Eve, James, Adrienne, or I pop in our "eyes" there is at least one kid peering over the table, just. staring. as Gustavo tells them they are late for school.

2. Gustavo thought that Bush was still President. I'm not sure which Bush he was referring to.

That's all folks!

And the Kind of Doctor You'd Like to Be?

If anyone had asked me this question two months ago, I would have most likely shrugged, and answered, "A good one."

But after my experiences this week, the answer has changed. Right now, it would be, "I'm not absolutely certain, but I'm thinking a lot about it."

And that's the truth.

On Wednesday and Thursday, I had the opportunity to visit and work in the Subcentro de Salud in Pitirischa. Some of you may remember my mentioning this "lovely" little town in my jungle posts and let me assure you, it is still the butt crack of rural Ecuador. I say this with all the affection I can possibly muster, because, as dismayed as I was to learn I would have to come back to this town, I suspect that the experience holds a life-changing moment for me.

And for that, Pitirischa will forever have a special place in my heart.

(For those of you at home, some visuals. Above is the view of Pitirischa from "my" left. To the right is the view of Pitirischa from "my" right. I'm not kidding when I say there are four houses and a store that sells Coca-Cola.)

So, perhaps some of you may understand why I was reluctant to return (I know Eve, James, and Adrienne get it. Ha!). In my one visit here nearly a month ago, I felt I had seen everything this town had to offer. I was wrong.

As I made my way to the Subcentro on Tuesday morning, I was greeted by Dr. Juan Carlos. The first few hours were incredibly awkward, as I had trouble understanding nearly everything the doctor was saying. He kept asking me for my opinion after a review of the patient. In truth, I had none. I kept stressing that I was not yet a medical student and that I didn't know very much. I was getting nervous--I thought I sensed a bit of frustration in him, but be that as it may, he always smiled and explained to me what was he was prescribing for the patient and why.

He explained that for infants, he always checks the lungs, heart, and respiratory frequency with the mother still holding her baby, to ensure that the little one stays calm.

He explained that for women still breast-feeding, there is a different type of treatment for parasites, because the normal medication is too strong for infants.

He explained that these tonsils were inflamed and that his nostrils had a pale color, which indicates this, or that. He explained why he had the woman make a fist and open her palms and why he looked under her eyes.

Yes, most of these things I probably could have figured out on my own, but what I appreciated so much was that he took the time to explain. He was patient, endlessly kind and understanding, and in a few hours time, I grew more comfortable, confident, and made the most of my time there. I asked questions, I listened to sick and healthy lungs, I found the heart beat of a baby still in her mother's belly. And he answered, he explained, he taught, he drew diagrams and he found material for me to read when I didn't quite understand.

And by lunchtime, we were fast friends. I was invited to have lunch with him and the Odontologist in the Subcentro kitchen (there is no restaurant in Pitirishca). Both Dr. Juan Carlos and Dr. Jose have just completed their residencies and are fulfilling their "rural year" (in Ecuador, all doctors that have finished their residencies must serve for a year in a "rural" community before progressing further in their professional careers).

We conversed, we dined on canned atun, we laughed. Most of you know by now my complete aversion to atun, but honestly, I didn't mind. I guess I didn't realize how much I missed the company of people more my age. We talked about how the doctors ran away to Puyo in September because the indigenous communities had come out on the main road in protest of Water and Mining Laws. Dr. Jose laughs, saying that he wasn't scared of the men, but that the shouting women with machetes were a different matter. We talked about my experiences with the Vwijint community and how the doctors want to try Maricoa. We talked about my Spanish being better than I thought, and Obama, and healthcare, and chicha.

I left Pitirischa that day with a lifted spirit, having made two new friends and having learned so much.

The next morning, at 4:30 am. My spirit is not so lifted anymore...it is more groggy than anything else. It is Wednesday, and the doctors and I are to go into a community to perform check-ups on the children living there. This requires me to catch a bus at 6 am. Joy!

I arrive in Pitirischa by 7:30 and meet up with the doctors. They insist that before we embark, we must share breakfast. Here, I begin to feel really bad that I can't offer anything in return...they are providing me with yet another meal. (It's really funny watching the two men cook, by the way, because it reminds me of how my brother, Jonathan, is in the kitchen: capable of fending for themselves, but definitely bachelor's fare. It is endearing.) The doctors are shocked when I don't put sugar in my coffee and drink it hot and black. We give our leftovers to the Subcentro's dog, aptly named Pitirischa.

And then we're off. We walk for a few minutes, and Dr. Jose (definitely the more rowdy one), insists we hitchhike because there is just no sense in walking when someone can drive us. (By the way, hitchhiking for short distances is a VERY common practice in Ecuador. I wouldn't do it by myself, but in the company of people who know what they are doing...no problem). We find and cram into the front of a volquetero for 15 minutes when Dr. Juan Carlos says, "Gracias" and the driver shifts gears. I jump out from the car and crane my neck over some trees. A one-room school. I don't even know how the doctors recognized the area.

We take a short hike to the escuela, where we find 11 children from 5 to 11 years old and one teacher. The doctors explain that they're here with me to do a free check-up and give any necessary medication. We set up shop. Dr. Juan Carlos produces from his bag: a scale, a measuring tape, some papers, and a small pharmacy. Dr. Jose scurries to a small desk a bit farther back, ready to check the children's teeth (they all need dental work).

There is a problem. There is no masking tape with which to stick the measuring tape on to the wall. I improvise with bobby pins on a multiplication chart. It will do.

And we start with the check-ups. As each child comes forward to have their weight and height taken, I nervously hold my breath as I track their progress. Dr. Juan also looks over my shoulder, always asking, "Peso bajo o peso normal?" And everytime he asks me, I feel like I want to cry. Only one of the children is at a normal weight. Everyone else is at least 3 or 4 years behind in development, mal-nourished. The doctor then quietly asks, "How many times do you eat a day? What do you eat? Are you hungry right now?" The kids answer softly. He prescribes multivitaminas.

Some of the children have gingivitis, some have a fungus on their skin from swimming in infected water. One boy has what looks like a ganglion cyst on his neck. He says it hurts. Nearly all of them have parasites.

One by one, the doctor checks the children, making sure they understand that they need to eat better, to bathe everyday. Dr. Jose blows air into a glove, making a balloon, and draws a smiley face. He uses this to teach the children how to brush their teeth. All of this is done and spoken in soft, soothing tones, with plenty of "mihija", "preciosa", and "mi corazon" thrown in.

We finish and start the walk back to the main road. The doctors, noticing that I am unusually quiet, pat me on the back and tell me not to be disheartened, that it is better to know how bad things are and make them better. And while they correctly guess that I am sad about the state of the kids, they misunderstand my silence. I didn't speak, because I was deep in thought.

This was where I started thinking about the kind of doctor that I want to be: kind, patient, understanding, soothing, empathetic, decisive. I know it hurts, but I never want to stop

caring. I never want to stop fighting. I want to

treat and heal. To make it better. This is where I understand that good doctors are, at their very core, teachers who still happen to be learning.

Watching these two doctors over the past two days has given me a lot of food for thought. Truthfully, I'm still processing everything and most likely won't have learned all the lessons to be learned for a good while. But I am forever grateful to both of them for their patience, their hospitality and for giving me a glimpse of the kind of doctor I want to be.

Yes, I am alive.

Friends, this week, I am spent and exhausted. There is so much to write about and process and share with you.

But there is time tomorrow for that. As I've now been up since 4:30 am (it is 10 o'clock, here), I'm having trouble typing out coherent thoughts (let alone thinking them).

So, for now, yes, I am alive. (Don't worry mom). Everything is truly, truly wonderful.

Ecuador is love. God is love. You are love. Love is love.

Today's Joys.

1. Finding a papaya that was BIGGER THAN MY HEAD.

2. Catching a pretty good-sized trout.

3. G-chatting with Katie Hall.

4. Reading that Michelle Pacer misses my Butternut Squash Soup.

5. Finding out that the House passed Healthcare.

6. Not being seriously hurt after a bottle of insect repellent exploded in my face/eyes.

7. Buying UP to watch with the kids.

8. Getting an email (with pictures of Moose and Hannah) from my mom.

9. Realizing that, yes, the jungle actually did happen. (And the bug bites finally healed!)

10. G-chatting with Taylor Debevec last night (it was so fun, it ends up on the next day's post!)

11. Not taking a shower today and, for the first time, being okay with that.

12. Reading about Emma Sandoe's creepy but happy gym workout.

13. Making up a song about a bear wanting to hibernate as I walked to El Centro.

14. 18 days until I get to see you guys!

Agua.

Cómo quieres ser mi amiga
Si por ti daría la vida,
Si confundo tu sonrisa
Por camelo si me miras.
Razón y piel, difícil mezla,
Agua y sed, serio problema.
Cómo quieres ser mi amiga
Si por ti me perdería
Si confundo tus caricias
Por camelo si me mimas.

Pasión y ley, difícil mezcla,
Agua y sed, serio problema...
Cuando uno tiene sed
Pero el agua no está cerca,
Cuando uno quiere beber
Pero el agua no está cerca.

Qué hacer, tú lo sabes,
Conservar la distancia,
Renunciar a lo natural,
Y dejar que el agua corra.
Cómo quieres ser mi amiga
Cuando esta carta recibas,
Un mensaje hay entre líneas,
Cómo quieres ser mi amiga

El Campo (or, The Field): Chinchorro Edition

It's been brought to my attention that, due to my recent focus on weekend and/or jungle adventures, it seems that I am not working but, in fact, on extended vacation.

Let's just say it's a mixture of both. A workcation, or varking, if you will.

You see, when you're sitting in a truck on the way home after an exhausting field-study, make a turn around a mountain bend and get a panoramic view of an Amazonian valley at sunset, it's hard to feel like you're at work. Really hard.

And today, that's exactly what happened.

I had the opportunity to accompany some of Dr. Torres' colleagues from the Ministerio de Salud Publica to the northern province of Napo, a two hour (mountainous) drive from Puyo.

The office received a tip early last week that chinchorros had been seen in rural communities in the area.

The goal: to collect chinchorro specimen and test for the presence of the T. cruzi parasite, which causes Chagas disease.

At 9am, I hop into the front seat of a pick-up truck next to Angel, the driver, and 7 men pile up in the back. Five other men crowd into a second van. We are ready to go. (I should mention at this point that yes, it was me and 13 men and I have never been treated so nicely in my life.) We drive for quite some time, with the usual treacheries (stray dogs running into the path of the car, insane driving, etc).

At about 11am, we stop. And despite the overwhelming heat and the slight fear-induced nausea, I break into a huge smile. Facing the beautiful Napo River, I see a ferry and put two and two together. I can hardly contain my excitement...it is my first ferry-ride.

We cross, I am practically giddy. The rest of the group is stifling their laughter. I don't care. Having trucks on a boat is cool.

And then, there is more driving. One of the trucks gets stuck (the roads, darling, aren't paved here). Angel expertly handles the situation, ordering all of the men to jump up and down on the truck bed. I don't know what this is supposed to do exactly, but as the other driver shifted gears and 12 grown men jumped in unison, the truck freed itself. I was impressed.

We stop at villages along the way, with the workers doing a cursory search around the bushes, searching for something promising. Finally, we stop at a hut and jump out. The sun is so hot and the air is so humid, there is a permanent layer of sweat on all of our bodies that makes it difficult to get the gloves on. Someone hands me a jar and a set of tweezers and I am ordered to go find bugs.

I'm sorry, I'm from Los Angeles, you want me to do what?

Fourteen people (myself included) invaded this poor woman's "backyard" and overturned dead leafs, a worn boot, planks of wood, and (in general) trash, in order to examine the critters that scurry away. By the chicken coop, someone finds:

1. A tarantula

2. A scorpion

3. A rat

4. Cockroaches.

The tarantula is put into a jar and, for reasons only God knows, handed to me (Stephanie Tangsombatvisit, I thought of you). The scorpion is killed (to protect the kids running around barefoot). The rat scurries away to another pile of wood and the cockroaches...well, they just stay there.

But, with all of the excitement, no chinchorros. We move on to the next house. I have no idea where I'm supposed to be looking, so for the first few minutes, I just watch the men. And I learned. There's no method. Just turn things over and look for the bugs (unless you're at the chicken coop). So, I did.

More houses. Nothing.

Then, the last house.

The chinchorro is a blood-sucking insect, so they are most likely to be found near houses and/or farms where there is plentiful "food" supply. Their bites aren't inherently dangerous, but, as they feed, they also defecate. If the chinchorro is infected with parasites, these will be deposited on the skin within the feces (not through the bite). A person won't be infected until s/he scratches, transferring infected feces into site of the bite.

So: infected chinchorro, bite, poop, scratch, Chagas. Follow me?

I head for the chicken coop, as the chinchorro apparently likes bird-blood. Slightly afraid, I only do a surface search. Darwin, the jefe, comes by and hand-searches the actual nest.

Score.

Two HUGE chinchorros. He tells me to grab them with my tweezers...I try, but fumble. He picks them up with this fingers and throws them into a jar. The rest of the group gathers around and a full hunt is on within the nests. One is occupied by a rather frightened looking hen, the farmer unceremoniously kicks her out, takes her four eggs, and we find one LARGE chinchorro. Darwin tells me this one is so big because it is lleno con sangre (full of blood). Ew.

We've collected enough specimen to make the trip worthwhile so the men spend some time finding other bugs and presenting them to me. I am so grossed out. They are so enjoying it.

We hop into the trucks, stop by a river to splash some water on our faces, pick some limes, and hurry back to the river before 4pm. (This is the time the ferry closes. If we're late, I have to spend the night in the jungle. That is not going to happen).

Another ferry ride, some of the group oblige me a photo because I am still so excited it's embarrassing.

And then the drive back. It's nearly sunset and there is about a mile long view of Amazonian jungle valleys with the night fog slowly creeping over the peaks of the Andes. I couldn't bring myself to take a picture, it wouldn't have done it justice.

Home at 6pm and the power is out in the neighborhood until 9pm.

And that's a typical work day for yours truly in Ecuador.

P.S. Dear Discovery Channel, Bug-Hunters would make a great show.

A preview of my upcoming work-related posts (and a reminder to myself):

1. Shell Voz-Andes: Endoscopy Edition

2. SubCentro de Salud: Mera

3. SubCentro de Salud: El Dorado

4. El Campo: Aedes Aegyptis Edition

5. Hospital Puyo and Vaccinating 100 Children

6. Hospital Puyo and Frankenstein Leg

*

Being alone, virtually unemployed, and out of school has taught me how to dream again.

I'm not quite sure where or how I forgot to (stop, breathe, think) but bogged down under a sea of to-do lists, midterms, and meetings, it happened. The dreaming stopped.

Somehow, in Ecuador, I remembered again.

Maybe dreams have to do with clarity. Thinking clearly, for the first time in a long while, about what it is I want out of life. Thinking clearly about the things and people that I cherish and want to carry with me into the future. Thinking clearly about where I fall short. Thinking clearly about the kinds of evenings I want to have and the kind of people I want to spend them with. Thinking clearly about the food that I really enjoy. Thinking clearly about words I truly love reading. Thinking. Clearly. Having purpose. Having reason.

So. Grounded in clarity, I'm dreaming again.

P.S. (Yes, the title is what you think it is. Ha!)

The Weekend.

So far, my weeks have been packed with clinic rotations and rounding with various doctors. Dr. Torres has been keeping me busy! On any given day:

6:15 am -- Wake up and shower. Try not to scratch at the bug bites. Read a little. Look out the window (fearfully) to see how hot it is going to be. If it is slightly overcast, it will only be moderately hot. If the cloud cover has already burned off from the sun, I'm in trouble.

7:00 am -- Eat breakfast (eggs, milk, fresh juice, and bread with cheese). Wait for Jennifer's grouchy morning greeting and grooming and whining.

7:30 am -- Dr. Torres drops me off at bus terminal/hospital/clinic. I am greeted with: "Ambato, Ambato, Ambato, Ambaaatttoooooo. A Macas, a Macas, a Macas, a Maaacaaaaas. Banos, Banos, Banos, Bannoooos." These are the bus-men who shout out the destinations of their vehicles. Clearly, since I must be a tourist, I should be headed to Banos, Ecuador's go to gringo-tourist location. Unfortunately, though I am a tourist of sorts, I am not (usually) headed to Banos. I daily disappoint the bus-men.

7:45 am -- Catch the 25 cent (crowded) bus ride to where ever I happen to be going.

8:00 am -- Start work (taking signos de vital, holding hands during shots, explaining medication, etc.) Have problems understanding Spanish. Make a funny (harmless) mistake. Provide comic relief to the nursing staff.

1:oo pm -- Attempt to navigate the daily problem of where to grab almuerzo. One wrong step can send me to the farmacia with a prescription for Cipro. Usually consists of some sort of soup with a plate of rice and meat (or pasta). In all, sets me back $1.50. Sweet.

2:00 pm -- Return to work after a long walk around whatever town I am in. Ecuadorians seem to take EXTREMELY long lunches and I, having grown accustomed to my hectic UCSD dine-and-dash schedule, find myself with anywhere from 30 minutes to an hour of "free time". This would be fantastic if there were a bookstore to sit in or a park with shady trees to take refuge, but alas, these don't exist in Puyo. Work, after lunch, may or may not be the same clinic I started at in the morning. Sometimes, I visit two different clinics. Sometimes, I visit one clinic and work at the orphanage in the afternoons. It all depends.

5:00 pm -- Leave work and wait for the bus.

5:15 pm -- May or may not be waiting, still.

5:25 pm --Catch a bus and hope it is not raining. When it rains, people close the windows and the inside of the bus steams up from the body heat and dampened clothing of the passengers. Babies may or may not be breast-feeding at this time. At least 5 people have a terrible sounding cough at any given time. Crowded. The road is winding.

5:50 pm -- Arrive at the bus terminal, catch a friendly yellow taxi and say, "Buenas. El Jardin de Gabriela Mistral, por favor" because the house where I am staying does not really have a street name.

6:05 pm -- Dropped off at El Jardin after a short and friendly conversation that goes something like this (on my end), "No, haha, I'm Korean, not Chinese./I'm a pre-medical student working in Ecuador./I've been here for a month. I have a month left./Yes I'm enjoying Ecuador very much./One dollar?"

6:10 pm -- Take a short walk to the front steps of my house, greet the family, jump into the shower to rinse off, apply anti-itch salve to the bug-bites (old and new).

7:00 pm -- Dinner.

7:45 pm -- Play with the kids, watch a movie. Oddly enough, this point of the day is where I learn the most Spanish.

9:30 pm -- Goof off on the internet

11:00 pm -- Bed time, finally.

2:00 am -- Scratch, scratch, scratch.

And then, repeat! The days go by fast. I love it.

This weekend marks the first that I've actually stayed with my homestay family. When Adrienne, Eve, and James (I miss you guys!) were still in Ecuador, we would habitually retreat to the gringo haven of Banos, much to the mild chagrin of Vivi. But now, alone in Ecuador, I'm embarking on a new adventure: A Weekend with the Torres(es). But not just any weekend, it's Dia de los Muertos, which means we all have Monday AND Tuesday off. Score!

Friday: Come home to an empty house. The kids and Vivi have gone to the pool. I am free to surf the internet in peace for several hours. The family returns and, exhausted, Vivi (understandably) cannot muster the energy to cook a huge meal for the 5 of us. We go to a local dinner place and eat together. I feel like an intruder on their family time, but they are very gracious and include me in on everything. The kids and I watch El Rey Leon (The Lion King), it is their first time! Mateo does NOT like the part where Mufasa dies. He is upset. The film ends. They loved it. Time for bed.

Saturday: Wake up at 6 am (out of habit and, in part, because of the neighborhood roosters) and spend the next 4 hours holed up in the room watching the remaining episodes of 24 (Season 4), which, for some reason, were downloaded on my iTunes. Hooked. Go to the indique in Mera (think dammed up river for swimming). Jennifer's swimming instructor and their family have joined us. The water is freezing and absolutely lovely. Mateo has decided to be difficult today and refuses to go into the water (he is still wearing his Superman pajamas). The indique is crowded, with people in various degrees of undress (undergarments suffice as a swim suit, here). There is a woman with a bar of soap, bathing. As soon as I get out of the river, bug bites. I am sunburnt, but I had a good time. Next, Vivi's crazy driving back to the house, a shower, dinner, and Tierra de Osos (Brother Bear). I think these nightly movies will become a ritual.

Sunday: Vivi's friend, her son, and her niece have come to visit for the weekend. There is breakfast and then we all pile into one car (eight people) with the kids in the trunk to go to Rio Verde. I misunderstand where we are going, because Vivi said something about shopping (I think we are going into the Centro). No go. We are climbing down to Pailon de Diablo (a waterfall). I did this "hike" (it's not that bad) with Adrienne, Eve, and James last weekend, but, due to my state of unprepared-ness, was forced to do it yesterday in flimsy flip-flops. Also, with 3 small children...tough. We make it back up and pile back into the car to Rio Negro, where we catch up with Tio Diego y Tia Yuli. I like Diego and Yuli. They are going fishing and we will join them as soon as we eat our plate of trucha...which FINALLY comes at 4 pm, nearly 2 hours after arriving at the restaurant. Vivi is NOT pleased. There is no fishing. It is starting to rain and is actually quite chilly. There's a lovely little brook that runs past the restaurant and Gabriel (Vivi's friend's son) plays around on the stones in the brook. Expectedly, he falls in, and is completely soaked. (I am still laughing from the memory of his face, his mother's face, and Dr. Torres' face). He does not have extra clothes. It is freezing. Gabriel, who is 8, is forced to wear Mateo's spare set of clothes. Mateo is 3. What ensued is possibly the funniest sight I've experienced in Ecuador. Short shorts. I wish I had a camera. Vivi, Mateo, and I stop by a huge outdoor market and buy papayas, pinapples, mandarins, strawberries, beets, etc. We return home, I teach Mateo to dance some Madonna moves (fierce), and we have dinner: atun. I just want you all to know, I will not be eating canned tuna for at least 6 months after I return. I can't handle it anymore. I don't know what it is. I go to bed early, exhausted.

Monday: Still working on it!!!

Gangsta Rap.

Scene.

Sarah sits in the passenger seat of the Torres family car.

Mateo, 3 years old, sits on her lap in his Superman pajamas and New York City cap.

Jennifer, 7 years old, sits in the trunk with a friend.

Vivi, mother, is driving (slightly recklessly) having avoided running over a dog and crashing into a car only because Sarah shouts out and braces herself.

Sarah is terrified and realizes she is the only one in the car with a seat-belt on.

Sarah silently vows to close her eyes when in a car. It is just better that she not know what is happening.

Vivi, cheerful and oblivious to the fact that the group has narrowly avoided disaster, pops a CD into the car.

"My adrenaline's pumpin'. I got my stereo bumpin'. I'm 'bout to kill me somethin'. A pig stopped me for nuthin'!"

Vivi is singing and Mateo starts shouting along.

Sarah's mouth is wide open.

Yes, yes, this is Ice Tea's Cop Killer that is blasting out of this car.

Sarah feels compelled to cover Mateo's ears, but then realizes that she is the only one in the car who understands what is being said.

Sarah, unable to cope with the ridiculous-ness of the situation, busts up laughing and can only wonder...who the heck gave them this album?

End scene.