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It started with the flight attendants spraying the overhead compartments on the airplane. It was clear that we were going somewhere different, somewhere unique, somewhere extremely delicate and untouched. They were spraying our luggage to make sure we didn’t bring any foreign species onto the islands, which at the time seemed fragile and small. This wasn’t going to be like other trips I had been on. Spending five days and four nights on a catamaran in the Galapagos Islands was going to be special…

That, I knew.

Even months before I left, it seemed like everyone who traveled to the Galapagos Islands had taken some sort of vow of secrecy. Friends who had gone would give me short responses when asked to describe the experience. They’d tell me it was “AMAZING” and say “You have to try and go…” But I couldn’t grasp what was so different and special about the Galapagos. I saw a photo here or there, but nobody wanted to give anything away. One friend refused to show me any photos before I left. She told me, “I don’t want to ruin it, you have to go and find out what it’s like for yourself!” I was running out of time in Ecuador and my waiting for a last-minute deal was becoming desperate, so I began to make moves to ensure that a trip would happen. I wanted to know what the secret was. I wanted to be a part of the less than 160,000 people who are permitted on the island annually. I wanted to be in the I’ve-been-to-the-Galapagos club, but the opportunity was slipping through my fingers as my time left in Quito dwindled.

I tried to accept that maybe I wouldn’t get to go, and yet I didn’t believe it. I had to go. During lunch on my last day at work, I made my way to a travel agency, credit card in hand, ready to give in and buy a spot on a 4 day, 3 night cruise on a boat that resembled the Staten Island Ferry (in a not good way, if that wasn’t clear)… But something in my gut told me not to pull the trigger. The cruise was leaving the next day, so I had to make a decision by 6 pm. I decided to wait out the afternoon, see if the deal I was so desperately waiting for would crop up before 6, and if not, I’d come back after work to secure my spot.

At 4:30 pm, thirty minutes before I was going to leave to purchase the very questionable boat tickets, I got the email I had been waiting one month for: a spot had opened up on The Nina — the #1, nicest, most luxurious boat in the Galapagos Islands — and I was going to be able to get on the 5 day, 4 night cruise, which usually costs $2,700 for for close to free (in exchange for some writing about it). It was unbelievable, unreal, and almost too good to be true.

I could barely comprehend this opportunity. I had to buy the tickets that night. My decision was easily made. THIS was how one should go to the Galapagos! I just didn’t think it was possible: I didn’t think I’d ever be able to afford something this nice and I had only one week left in Ecuador. I was half an hour away from out of time. I felt like the luckiest girl in Ecuador, and after everything I have been through here, it just seemed right to end my adventure in the lap of luxury — something very far from my reality and yet suddenly so close. I couldn’t get over how grateful I felt… I just felt lucky. I still do.

When we landed on San Cristobal Island in the Galapagos, it looked like a desert floating in the Pacific. The air was crisp for what I imagined an island on the equator to feel like, and the vegetation looked dead. This was what all the fuss was about? I just had to be patient.

Our plane had been delayed 3 hrs, so we were all sad to miss a large chunk of our expensive cruise (my first cruise ever, mind you). They apologized profusely for us missing out on some baby turtles in captivity and took us on a boat to the dock where we would board The Nina for the first time. In a stroke of luck, we bumped into the rest of our 16 passenger cruise, and they hadn’t left yet! Because of the 3 hr delay on a 9 am flight (we were supposed to arrive on the boat for lunch), I hadn’t eaten anything all day. We were told we could immediately hop on the bus to see some turtles or get on the boat and relax until dinner. Half the group got on the boat, but my friend Allison and I were not going to  miss a thing if we didn’t have to, so we hopped on the bus with our carry-on luggage in tow and stomachs totally empty, and got our empty cameras ready.

I was so hungry I could barely function (I don’t skip meals for just anything!), but the first few minutes in the Galapagos proved promising. We saw mostly large oversized flowers, big green leaves, and small groups of locals celebrating around a graveyard, as it was Dia de los Muertos when we arrived.

The truth is, I wasn’t too impressed by the baby turtle farm. I wasn’t interested in seeing a bunch of baby turtles in capitivity with white numbers scribbled on their shells. I wanted the wild side of the islands to come out… And it would.

When I could barely keep my eyes open and my body upright from hunger, at around 5:30 pm, it was time to board The Nina for the first time. The catamaran held 16 people, and was much smaller and more luxurious than any of the more wobbly boats and cruise ships floating in the harbor. I had never been on a cruise (I had never wanted to go on a cruise, but this is the only way to really see the diversity of the Galapagos Islands) so I wasn’t sure how I’d feel. When we stepped onto the boat for the first time, I was a little surprised by the amount of swaying. (Needless to say, everyone turned a bit green at some point, but I made it without ever getting full-blown seasick, although even today – two days later – I still feel myself swaying in the waves even 10,000 feet up, here in Quito.) A sea lion was perched on the steps — an exciting site on day one, but a common occurrence by day five (you see how the Galapagos can spoil you?!).

Our boat consisted of about 10 crew members (one appropriately nicknamed “Iguana” because of his iguana-like profile and spikey gelled hairstyle), 6 hilarious Australians, 1 Norwegian, 4 Americans (including me), an Ecuadorian family, and a Swiss woman. We all began to get to know each other as we settled in and set sail for another island, which would take us all night to get to. The adventure had begun.

Just before a delicious dinner, we had a briefing about our itinerary. The wake-up  call was going to be at 5:30 am and we were going to Isla Española to see blue footed boobies, other types of boobies, finches, frigate birds, land iguanas and, of course, sea lions. It all sounded great, but I still wasn’t sure how much I was really going to get to see.

Sure enough, at 6 am, we all boarded one of the “zodiacs” (inflatable blue boats that took us from our catamaran to the shore) and disembarked on the rocky coast of Isla Española just as the sun was rising over the island. Within seconds, I saw bright orange and red crabs scattered across the rocks, and sea lions napping in the sunrise. The sun sparkled off the sand and light reflected off the crystal clear water like glitter. I could barely believe how much I was already seeing. And it was so quiet. The only sound we could hear was the assortment of bird calls against the swishing of waves.

As we took a few more steps inland, hundreds of red and black land iguanas grazed the sand, clinging to black rocks and standing guard across the beach. The large iguanas stood confidently on their turf, unfazed by our presence. They looked like small colorful dinosaurs, fearless and stoic.

A baby sea lion played in the rocks nearby. Crabs scurried and then paused, as if posing for the cameras. We began our walk around the island (most of the islands are quite small), with our fingers on the triggers of our cameras firing photographs left and right like we were in the middle of a beautiful war zone armed only with cameras.

One of the creatures I was most excited to see on this trip was the blue footed boobie. I can’t really explain it, but I remember studying evolution in a tenth grade biology class and learning about the boobies (yes, I still giggle a little every time I say boobie). When we finally came across one, I was amazed how blue their feet really are. They are funny looking birds, with googley eyes and a long narrow beak. It was almost like they were posing for the camera. Part of the reason we arrived on the island so early was to see the male boobies doing their little mating dance to impress (and hopefully mate with, echem) the female boobies. This is something I wish had been passed to humans. I guess guys do a sort of “dance” to attract females, but I’d like to see some high kicks once in a while!

The boobie dance goes a little something like this: lift right foot very high. Put it down sloooowly. Nod head a couple times. Puff out chest and spread wings. Then repeat. Of course, each male boobie does his own special dance, but the moves are pretty limited and similar. Meanwhile, the female boobie will stand nearby looking on, and will give some sort of signal as to whether or not she is interested and/or impressed (or not — sorry Mr. Boobie). The male boobie does his jig, his blue feet twinkling in anticipation and hope, and the female boobie either determines that his moves are acceptable (aka: sexy), or she rolls her beady eyes and moves on to the next boobie (ouch!). It’s pretty fun to watch.

Words can’t really express what it’s like to be surrounded by so much wildlife while wandering around the brilliant cliffs and rocks of a virtually untouched island. When you visit the Galapagos, you realized how trodden our world is — how damaged, how interrupted, and how threatened our ecosystems are. It’s almost heartbreaking to see the contrast, and yet you realize how valued and cherished the Galapagos Islands still are to all who visit. What is so special about these islands? It’s getting to sample a piece of a world that isn’t ours. Spending time there felt like a privilege and a gift; it was like getting VIP access to the only part of the world that remains purely how it was intended to be.

Later that day, we got to visit the most beautiful beach I have ever seen. We traveled on The Nina to Gardner Bay, a white sand beach on the other side of the island. We slowly approached the shore through water so brightly turquoise it was hard for our brains to fully comprehend the colors. The water was completely transparent; you could see almost all the way down to the sand below, even 20 feet down. The only dark blotches that interrupted the sea were rocks, massive sea turtles (of which we saw many), and the occasional shark (sharks!) or sea lion.

When we landed on the beach of Gardner Bay, I was overwhelmed by its beauty, and by the string of sea lions lying across the shore as far as the eye could see. With no real predators, and with humans as non-threats, the sea lions had nothing to fear. That’s one of the most incredible things about being on the Galapagos Islands: we are so used to being scary humans, of being threats to most animals who run away in fear of our presence. But in the Galapagos, humans are not killing animals, destroying plants or overrunning the land. There, we arrived as peacefully as we could, with hearts full of respect for the wildlife. We accepted the fact that this is their world, and we were lucky that they were willing to share it with us. The animals in the Galapagos, luckily, know nothing else of us. But seeing untouched sand on a beach without human footprints of any kind makes you realize what a gift our world can be, and how much has been destroyed, and permanently taken away — not just from us, but from them. Even the Galapagos Islands are completely vulnerable. Shoes must be cleaned each time you leave an island so as not to disrupt or transfer any of the endemic flora from one island to another, and the old hiking mantra “leave no trace” is taken very seriously. Many islands don’t even allow shoes on the beaches, and your feet must be thoroughly hosed down with water each time you get back on your boat.

When you go through all of these steps, you realize how easily life can be destroyed, and how easily these unique islands can be damaged forever. As much as I want to tell everyone they must go to the Galapagos Islands, I really don’t want any of you to go. Or, I should say, I don’t want too many people to visit, because I’m scared we could lose one of the only unscathed places that we have left. And surely, we eventually will, even with the Galapagos’ attempts at capping the amount of boats and the amount of tourists allowed on the island every year. The damage we cause is irreversible, and despite all the efforts of Darwin and his succeeding scientists and naturalists on the islands, our human desire to see and touch what has not yet been touched by our curious hands will only lead to the inevitable sullying of the very thing we cherish so deeply.

Some moments from the trip are very hard to explain. For example, how do you explain what it feels like to look into the eyes of Lonely George, the last turtle of his species who has no interest in mating no matter what scientists try (surrounding him by sexy female tortoises accomplished nothing, and theories that he is gay live on)? Being in the Galapagos, you learn about how many species are facing extinction on the islands. On some islands, there are less than 70 of one species of iguana remaining. Less than 70! Sigh. And there is only one Lonely George.

One evening, after an incredible snorkel adventure during which I got to swim with sea lions and sharks (eek!) along a stunning coral-covered wall of a reef in the middle of the freezing ocean, the  young American couple, the 22-year-old Norwegian girl and I decided to take a break. We sat up on the roof deck of the boat, cool in the early evening breeze while The Nina cruised to the next island. We sat outstretched in our chairs, with the seat backs tilted as far back as they could go, and kept our gazes upwards as a show of frigate birds flew overhead. There we sat for hours, completely mesmerized by the mid-air dance of the birds, amazed at how close they would come to us, with dips and dives through the breeze of our boat as we cruised through a sunset that made us forget anywhere else in the world existed. We watched the males fight in the sky for the attention of the females, and we learned how their feathers flared and constricted to catch the fresh wind in all the right ways. We sat in silence for much of an hour, admiring the world we were a part of, appreciating every detail of its silence and its noise.

On a turtle plantation, we got to sit beside giant tortoises as they roamed the grassy fields. They had nothing to fear as we got closer to them and they allowed us to take photos of their ancient looking faces and dinosaur-looking feet. Every island we visited in the Galapagos had something different to show us, to teach us. The birds, the plants, the sand, the sea lions, the crabs, the turtles, the iguanas and everything in between was a gift. I feel privileged to have gotten this glimpse into such a rare and beautiful world. And yet I feel almost guilty for allowing my footsteps to make impressions in the sand at all.

And then there are the people with whom I shared this experience. I didn’t go to the Galapagos Islands for the people. I didn’t go intending to make new friends. I went because this experiences living in Ecuador has been one of the most challenging of my life, and I wanted to wrap it up with an unforgettable, beautiful adventure. I didn’t think too much about who would be on the boat with me for 5 days and 4 nights. In all honesty, I didn’t really care. But something special happened on this trip – something that can’t be planned.

I never imagined that an Arizona girl who doesn’t “believe in evolution” (yes, we had some pretty intense and interesting discussions on our boat), a stylish middle-aged woman from Switzerland, 3 Australian couples, a young couple from NJ, a young Norwegian girl and an Ecuadorian/Belgian/American family with two young children spending only 5 days on a catamaran in the Galapagos Islands could become such a family in so little time, but we did. After all, we shared a once in a lifetime experience together. We shared a slice of something special in this world. In an odd way, I felt closer to those people after five days than I feel to some people I’ve known for much longer, and saying goodbye was surprisingly heartbreaking. Once we arrived back in Quito, we all hugged and some of us got choked up. Most of us didn’t even exchange contact information. It’s like our friendships were endemic (yes, they like that word) to the Galapagos along with everything else!

You can’t plan the experiences when everything just clicks. Trust me, I’ve tried. You could say this adventure in Ecuador never fully clicked for me. So many things went wrong, so many things failed me, so many unexpected challenges arose. As I begin to pack for my return to the US, I’m only now beginning to see how many things have gone right. I do know this: being here has been worth every second and every lesson I have learned. I was tired of being sick (damn you, Juan the Amoeba!), tired of people trying to rob me with razor blades, tired of men hissing and making little comments every time I (or my fellow gringas) walked by. I was ready to blend in again. After getting bumped and smacked around by life enough times here, I now realize how much this place and this experience has taught me. I was so ready to take all that I had gotten out of this adventure home with me and call it a done deal. And then, just like, that in my final week here in Ecuador, everything came together.

Tomorrow, after over six wild months in Ecuador, I am going back to New York City. I am finally going HOME. But looking back, this whole experience in Ecuador was absolutely wonderful. I may have been attempted robbed three times, I may have had to deal with a resilient parasite and bacterial infection that put me in the hospital and forced me to curl up into the fetal position (shivering so hard I was scared to chip a tooth!) more times than I want to remember. I may have had to deal with some very difficult and frustrating situations, and re-evaluate a lot of things I have clung to. I had to let go, hold on, get my ass kicked, experience a coup attempt, go to sleep to the sound of machine guns, trudge through rain and mud at 12,000 ft when my body wanted to collapse from months of being sick. I had to give up many little luxuries that I didn’t even realize I had, and lean on new friends when all I wanted was to be strong enough on my own. But I am going home with a newfound love and appreciation of EVERYTHING. I am overwhelmed with gratitude for what I have had the pleasure of experiencing here in this beautiful and unpredictable country, and excitement for all I can experience with a refreshed soul when I get home. I love my friends, I love my family, and I love this world more than ever.

Like all travel adventures, you can’t predict how you will be challenged or what you will learn, but as long as you’re willing to explore, you can be pretty darn sure that you will come home grateful that you went… wherever the trip took you.

Adios Ecuador. Thank you (for everything). New York City, I’m coming home.

Here is a short YouTube video I created from the trip. I’m new at this, but enjoy:

It’s exactly the two week mark: two weeks from today, I will be flying home to NYC. I’ve got so many thoughts buzzing around, but the overriding feeling is excitement. Yes, I just feel GREAT about this decision, hopeful, excited, but completely curious as well. I don’t think I’ve ever been more excited to go to NYC. Instead of writing about all that I feel and think about leaving (because of course, it’s always a little sad when an adventure ends), I am still here. So I am going to write about still being here, in Quito.

One of my all-time favorite children’s stories is Ferdinand the Bull. It’s about a bull named Ferdinand, who is not like the other bulls. While he has the large horns and the stature of an intimidating animal, all he really wants to do is sit and smell the flowers while his bull friends do bull-like things, like bash their heads into each other and jump around in the field.

Wednesday nights are Salsa Night at a bar/club in the Mariscal. Salsa night at El Aguijon (the name translates to “the Stinger”) consists of foreigners and Ecuadorians  mixing harmoniously in a spatter of salsa moves ranging from sexy and precise to sloppy and awkward. Within two minutes of entering, every gringa in the club will have at least one Latino man (or boy, as if often the case) taking one of their hands and asking them to dance.

What’s sweet is that, often, the guys just want to teach the girls how to salsa (you can turn that into a metaphor if you’d like — also very much true). The nice thing about being a gal salsa-ing is that, for the most part, you don’t have to know how to salsa; you just need to follow the guy’s lead.

I have to say… I used to hate salsa. Mostly because I couldn’t do it, and it took too much thinking for dancing, in my book. My favorite dancing is when I get lost in it, when I can’t HELP but dance. There is no thinking involved, just feeling — some force moves you, you just go with it. With salsa, you have to match someone and force your feet into a slightly unnatural rhythm if you aren’t used to dancing to its beats. I took 1 salsa, 1 cumbia and 1 merengue dance class while volunteering in Costa Rica 5 years ago, but that didn’t do me much good without any practice.

After six months in Quito, I can proudly say I now know how to salsa. At least enough to hold my own on salsa night. And, I kind of love it. Although sometimes I certainly need to switch it up.

That said, not everyone knows how to salsa…

Last Wednesday, my friend Jesua (“Map Jesus” as we call him, since he used to be the mapmaker in our office) brought a few of his male friends to join us for salsa night.  We found them sitting on cement posts on a dark street in the Mariscal, passing a plastic shot glass around and holding a bottle of cheap vodka.

Once we (about 6 of my gringa friends and the four Ecuadorian guys) were in Aguijon, the invitations to dance started comin’. We turned the first onslaught down because we wanted to get drinks, and we just weren’t ready yet.  Eventually, I accepted an invite from a guy with long black hair, about my height (tall, for Ecuador) who smelled like a combination of fruit-flavored gum and sweat. His dance moves weren’t that impressive, compared to what I’ve gotten used to (shout out to my favorite salsa partner, Victor!) so I moved on after I had sufficiently sweat and banged into other gringas on the  dance floor. It aint no joke: some people are hardcore on salsa night! Let’s just say I have a couple cigarette burns from a couple massive German girls.

I ended up spending some time with one of Jesua’s friends, who we will call Fernando (yep, start making the connection…). He started telling me how he hates salsa and asked me what other kind of music I like to dance to. He looked horrified and offended when I told him I LOVE dancing to Reggaeton. Hehe. Don’t hate. He was like “How could you like Reggaeton?! It’s all dancing like wah-wah-wah [him imitating some grinding with a look of disgust].” I laughed and said, “exactly!” I can’t explain my love for Reggaeton, people. There is just something about it that makes me move the way I want to move, and I love it. So there.

He said he only likes rock and plays bass in a band. But I could tell he was starting to get antsy and was weighing the risks of asking me to dance. Eventually he did, with the disclaimer that he can’t dance salsa but “whatever, let’s just see what happens.”

We got onto the dance floor, and I was a bit shocked to see that this nice, attractive enough Ecuadorian guy just could NOT salsa. He knew he was failing and flailing, and immediately began defending himself. He was sweating and embarrassed but figured he would give it his best shot. Eventually it was just too awful, so we stopped and he was like “I don’t understand why everyone thinks all Latino guys can dance! It’s not like that. Not everyone dances salsa!” Hehe. Poor guy. He just seemed so nervous and uncomfortable.

I guess he may have had a point. Although, in my experience, most Latino guys CAN dance. That is one of my favorite things about them. For the most part, the second you step on the dance floor you can tell it’s in their blood. In fact, it is on the dance floor when most guys tell me “Ah, you really ARE Argentine! I can tell by the way you move…” Hehe. What? It’s true. The hips don’t lie. I love dancing.

They exist — the outliers, the anomalies, the ones who break the mold. Latino men are known for being smooth, for having moves that white girls fantasize about, for knowing what to do with their feet, hips, and shoulders on the dance floor and for knowing how to take control…

But not every Latino can dance. Not every bull wants to fight. At one point or another, we’ve all been the Latino who can’t dance, or Ferdinand the Bull. As much as I LOVE traveling, I just can’t wait to stay put for a bit. Sure, the wanderlust will quickly creep back in, but going home, to New York City, has never felt so exotic and so exciting.

I guess right now, I’m the travel writer who is ready to come home. At least I learned how to salsa while I was away.

After being here exactly four months now, there are a few things that have become a part of my everday life here in Quito, and one of these things is: the taxi.

As most of you know (I may have mentioned it once or twice… yes that is sarcasm), I am a New Yorker (speaking of, I was trying to teach an Ecuadorian how to say and use “OY” yesterday… hehe. It was pretty funny, and I think I left him totally confused). I’ve been hailing taxis since I was in fifth grade. In normal non-Quito life, a taxi can be one’s refuge on a cold, rainy night. It becomes a yellow beacon of hope when you are tired, alone and tipsy in the wee hours of the morning. Taxis can be the hero that swoops in and saves you when your feet are killing from a cute pair of shoes and your legs have danced all they can dance. When the first flurries of winter begin to fall and that chill writhers down your spine, or when you get caught in summer’s first flash thunderstorm wearing just a white tank top, a taxi can come to the rescue.

Ahhh, but everything you knew and felt about taxis changes when you get to Quito.

It’s a catch-22: most people know that, in Quito, it is way too dangerous to walk ANYWHERE at night, especially alone. People are instructed by every guidebook and website to take a taxi to their destination once the sun goes down, even if it’s only a few blocks away. The irony is that we are also warned to be extremely vigilant and cautious when it comes to taking a taxi here. Like in many other cities, there are official cabs and then there are unofficial cabs. The official cabs are yellow with a cab company name on the side of the door and a license plate number on the front windshield. These taxis, we are told, are safe.

Of course, some criminals are very clever. There are plenty of impostor taxis that mimic the official ones; they are yellow, with a cab company name on the side, and they have some numbers on the windshield, or on the side door. While often, these are just people trying to make a few bucks, they can also be dangerous thieves waiting to rob you, or worse. Then, there are the normal cars that drive around the city with a home-made TAXI sign, which they only whip out when they see you waiting for a taxi. We are strongly discouraged from using these cabs, but sometimes, when you are standing on a street corner at night for the 20th minute, unable to find an official cab, and there are sketchy men trying to talk to you, you just get the heck into the car. It’s really just a gamble. Most of the time, I’ve found these guys to be the most polite and kind (there is definitely grumpy cab driver syndrome in Quito). I usually judge the safety of the driver the moment I get in, and I am not afraid to get out if some red flag goes off. Usually, I see how they greet me . When they say “Good evening miss, how can I serve you?” which is usually what the nice ones say, I go OK… Green light. I also give them my address, which is quite a mouthful, and most cab drivers don’t know where it is so I always have to direct them in the car (“No pasa nada, puedo avisarte…”). If they listen carefully, they actually want to know where I am going and are planning to take me there. If they don’t respond — sketchy. If they ask questions on how to get there, even better. This is usually what happens, and it gives me comfort.

Hailing a cab here is quite the ordeal. I have never seen such pushy people in my life (ok ok, not all Quitenos are like this, but I have definitely encountered one too many!). During rush hours, it is VERY hard to find a cab, and Quitenos are ruthless. There are some official cab stands, and they will literally walk past the line, cut everyone, and try and hail the cab twenty feet before the line… shamelessly. They will also steal your cab, if you aren’t careful. Pull that shit in NYC and you will get verbally punched in the face, if not physically. Nothing makes my blood boil like trying to be a good samaritan in someone else’s country, and watching them walk all over good people. It’s just wrong! We have to work together in this world, and if you start cutting the taxi line where little old ladies and tired gringos with parasites have been patiently waiting for a taxi in the cold, then you are an ASSHOLE. There. I said it.

Why are these taxi precautions necessary? Well, there are a lot of horror stories out there. One common occurrence is something known here as local kidnappings. Yes, these happen. And often. Basically, a person hails a taxi — an official one even. You get in, say your destination, and then head off on your merry way. At some point, the driver takes a wrong turn. They pull into some dark alley in the middle of nowhere, some guys pop out of the darkness, pull you out of the cab, rob you of everything you’ve got, and abandon you there. Then, there are the stories I’ve heard of people getting into a cab, the cab pulls up somewhere, two guys get in each side with either a knife, screwdriver, or gun digging into you. They rush you somewhere , take everything, punch you in the face or whatever they have to do, and leave you with nothing.

This past weekend, two of my good friends were robbed this way. It’s not just stories you hear about friends of friends of friends; these things happen to your friends, and to you. They are very real and there is a new horrible story every week. I feel particularly guilty about this one, because my friends happened to get robbed after leaving my birthday party. Basically, they live in Tumbaco, a town 30 minutes outside of the city (where I spent the weekend just before I ended up in the hospital with the parasite for the first time). They found what they thought was an official yellow cab at two in the morning, got a good price to get to Tumbaco (every time you get in a cab here, you have to barter with the driver for a price. I’m quite used to it now and definitely wear the pants and get my way almost every time. Or, I get out, at which point they beg me to get back in and take me home.) The driver made friendly conversation with them and they watched carefully as he took them the right way. Then, when they were almost home, he took a wrong turn. They were a little confused and tried to redirect him, but he ignored them. Suddenly, he stopped the car. The driver pepper sprayed them in the face as two guys yanked them out of the cab and demanded they give them everything they had. The thieves kept saying “we aren’t going to do anything to you, just give us your money!” so they gave them their cell phones, their cash, and their change while stunned by the pepper spray, and the guys drove off… leaving them in the dark with nothing and no idea where they were.

They couldn’t see, but they heard music so they followed the sound until they arrived at someone’s doorstep. Some very friendly people let them in and told them the only way to get rid of the burning was to blow smoke in their eyes, so they took turns puffing on cigarettes and blowing smoke into my friends’ eyes. By now it was almost three in the morning. They walked them to a police officer down the street, who eventually drove them home. Luckily, the robbers only took one of their sets of keys; one girl managed to keep hers, so they could get home. They spent the next hour drinking peach schnapps and trying to calm down. But they were ok.

Just another weekend in Quito.

Usually, you get a cab and you feel safe. Here, it’s different. Most drivers have rosary beads dangling from their rear view mirror, and a Madonna statue perched over their dashboard. They have these things to protect them on their journey. What do we have? Common sense? Street smarts? Experience? Gut instincts?

Unfortunately, none of these things promise you anything. Taxis are part of my every day life here; to me, they used to symbolize safety, relief, and an escape route from danger. Now, I know that each one comes with a risk. But that’s life here in Quito. And sometimes you’ve gotta take risks to get where you’re trying to go.

I’m not going to write about how, this weekend, I got the horrible stomach ache that I have learned to recognize and dread here, and how I had to go to the doctor on a Sunday for immediate testing only to find out on Monday morning that Juan the Parasite still lives (which I knew the moment I woke up Sunday to the now all-too-familiar painful cramping), or how I found out that, not only do I have a parasite again (still?), but I also have a bad bacterial infection again (still?). I probably should have realized this while I was dancing my butt off on Friday and Saturday nights, or around the time someone tried to slash my bag strap for the third time since I’ve been here while I was shaking it at a sketchy dance club called Bungalow surrounded by about ten friends. But I didn’t. And for some reason, it was still an amazing weekend, for reasons I can’t fit into this blog entry. I guess I am unfazed by all this stuff now — the infuriating bag slashing attempts, the persistence of my unwelcome parasite (it’s been three months of having a parasite and bacterial infection now — what is going on?!). I’m on my third round of Cipro since I’ve been here, combined with bacteria-killing drugs, and I’m just tired of being sick, tired of taking medicine that makes me feel worse, and tired of not being able to be free of caution. But, like I said, I’m not going to write about any of that.

What I do want to focus on is a little positive somethin’ somethin’. Strangely, I think I’m the happiest I have been the whole time I’ve been in Quito! I am really enjoying myself, and really glad I’m here. I’ve met a bunch of new people, hung with several great Ecuadorians, and begun to consider other options for when I come home… Many things are making me happy and optimistic right now, and as I wake up to the first day of September (my birthday month — the big 27 is just around the corner!) I feel GOOD. Well, my stomach hurts, but besides that… I feel GREAT. I know what I want more than ever, and I’m going to go for it.

To celebrate, here is a little shameless plug that makes me proud and gives me hope. If I’ve learned anything from being here (well, I can’t even tell you how much I’ve learned — it’s a LOT!! We’ll get to it all another time), it’s that I want to write. I LOVE writing. And, no matter what, I am going to write. So, any little encouragement I get is appreciated.

A few weeks ago, I contributed to a South America ex-pat blog called Expat Daily News South America (my little article can be seen here). Then, yesterday, I found out I made this list of the Twitter Ten, or the top ten articles tweeted last month (as chosen by www.the-working-traveller.com).

I know this isn’t a book deal or a Pulitzer Prize, but hey — as they’d say on “The Jersey Shore” (ah shit, I’ve blown my cover by referring to that show TWICE now on TwT), I’m just doing ME. And even if “doing me” comes with three rounds of parasite pain, three attempted bag slashings, and several Quito ups and Quito downs, people out there keep reading about it. That is my little TwT victory.

Shoot, it’s 8:20 am. I’m taking Juan the Amoeba to work now. Outside, the clouds are crazy.. I can pretty much see the entire city of Quito from my apartment, and right now — with the clouds this high up — it looks like half the city is on fire and full of smoke. But I definitely see some blue sky peeking through…

HAPPY SEPTEMBER!

The other day, I received this comment in response to my blog post, “Quito, Slashed.” It comes from “Fan of Quito” and I thought it deserved its own blog for a response:

quito is cooler than you are.

and you’re missing the point.

stop thinking about yourself and your privileges that you miss so much and you’ll really start enjoying spending time in a culturally and geographically fascinating city.  think less about what you can GET from the city, and try to focus on what you can do to ameliorate all the sad things that you are witnessing.

Uhoh, have I come off like a total privileged, anti-Quito, gringa snob?! Please say NO. If so, BLOG = FAIL!! Gawd, I hope that is not the case… If anything, that is the exact OPPOSITE of how I would describe myself, but it’s always interesting to get a reaction from a stranger (have you read the rest of my blog, Fan of Quito? Because I think you’d see I’m quite different from your impression… or at least I’d hope so!).

I love traveling (duh), and I always live with an open mind. I’m living in Ecuador for every experience that comes with it, and sometimes those experiences can be negative… But sometimes they are very, VERY positive.

Fan of Quito, I see your points. I hope I didn’t come off as ungrateful or superior in any way. I’m here to learn, to experience the ups and downs, to figure this city out, to take a risk, to explore myself as much as Ecuador. The truth is, I hit a rough patch a few weeks ago but I feel SO much better about Quito and about being here now. Hopefully that will also come through in the blog, alongside my downer moments. All I can do, and all I want to do with this blog, is track my journey as honestly as possible. The reality is that I was feeling frustrated with this city, so I wrote about it. When I am feeling in love with being here, I write about that too (did you read my last post on Canoa? All happy thoughts!).

My coworker Nick decided, Fan of Quito, that you are right: why have I not been able to single-handedly change the world yet? Why have I not saved an orphan, randomly picked a street to patrol, or marched for some cause since I’ve been in Quito? I’m not sure what is expected of me by being an expat here, but I’m not trying to make a huge change — I’m sorry. All I intend to do is live here, take it all in, learn from it, and share the experience as best I can with anyone who wants to know about it. The changes I can make are small — tiny, miniscule. And part of my purpose for being here is for me, whether you think that is right or wrong. I know Ecuador isn’t perfect and that the problems — poverty, crime, political dysfunction — are much bigger than me and my experience, but they are also a part of it, and I think people deserve to know what being here really feels like for one person — in this case, me.

It’s true: I have been missing certain luxuries about NYC/USA-living like crazy. I am SO lucky to have them at all, and traveling to less-developed countries involves giving up many comforts as an American. But don’t you dare start to think that I am not getting so much by being here too! I am FULLY aware of how much I am getting out of being here, and I am trying to give in my own way. But part of the reason I was so frustrated with Quito was because I kept getting sick and it was wearing me down. There are problems in this city that I cannot solve, but I can live here, capture my honest experience in words, and then maybe other people will want to learn more about this place and what life is like. From there, who knows? Someone might want to volunteer here, or research it, or help it, or just appreciate it for what it already is — right?!

The important thing is that I am here, I am open, and I am being as honest as I can be about how this experience is turning out for ME, nobody else. I’m sorry if I offended you, if I came off as ignorant or overly negative towards Quito, but I expressed exactly how I was feeling the moment I wrote that particular blog, whether it was right to feel that way or not.

For what it’s worth, I’m not feeling like a Negative Nancy sour-puss anymore. That’s part of learning; sometimes you’ve got to go through rough, resentful patches to come out on the other side. I’m over some sort of hump and feeling great! It is a BEAUTIFUL morning, I’m meeting more and more wonderful people, I’m slowly discovering some places I really like in this city, and I am actually really, really happy to be here right now — despite all previous blog posts that may give the impression that I am not.

I obviously pissed someone off, and I guess it was cool to see that sort of reaction for a change. I am glad you said something, Fan of Quito, and thank you for reminding me that this experience in Ecuador isn’t just about me (even though I know that — I promise!). I mean, if I’ve pissed someone off that means a couple things: 1) people are reading, and 2) I’m on my way to success! Hehe.

No but really, I appreciate every and all comments, as long as they are honest. I am far from perfect, I have a lot to learn, but as long as I am imperfect and as long as I still have a TON to learn, I sure as heck am going to keep writing about it.

And hopefully, you’ll keep reading.