Well, I´ve been keeping a log on my own computer, but I thought that Id write right now while Im at the cybernet for family and friends.

Im in Ecuador, waystation Guayaquil, home of 3 million people. First instincts about the place are nebulous. It is huge and dirty and busy with cars. The feel of it is LA or Miami, noisy, standing at attention but without much knowledge of where to go, in some senses. On street corners, mothers paint their small children silver, so that when the babes ask for money there is something more magical in the process. Silver equals donation. Sparkle, crisp.

Im a little startled by the way cars might prefer to drive over you here. It is said that either you will love Guayaquil or hate it, and yet I still remain nebulous. It is always hard to find yourself in a place you dont understand, the area of discomfort. Should we hate that? There is much for me to discover here, I think, whether it is hot and fusty or not.

Speaking of hot and fusty, it is so hot here, humid, that I have gotten sick off it... pukish, even. Thats right, the girl who claimed no heat could get to her, has been gotten. I am learning the places of air conditioning. At night, I roll around and discard clothes until light comes up, and because my room has see-through curtains, I start putting the layers back on. Hot hot hot, and there is no nightly escape. They say it should get colder soon... like a summer in Washington, Im told.

Im living in a boarding house, and Im not sure whether Im going to stay for too long. The original deal was private entrance, second floor, food when needed, etc., but due to renovation, I find myself with a small downstairs room sandwiched between the kitchen and several rooms with a bustling noisy family washing and pounding outside my window by 8... for the same price as the dude upstairs with private entrance, etc. I end up wondering slightly if it has to due with me being a girl in need of protection within the walls of a Catholic family house. The food is good, and most of the large family is sweet... they took me out to help me get a cellphone. They allow my broken spanish to pass for acceptable. But the loss of chosen and occasional privacy might be more than I can deal with for an extended period of time. I will have to see, and find myself in the same state of nebulous that exists with everything else.

A question? When traveling, I have noted everybodys propensity to exagerate, or at least, emphasize, the painful: rape, theft, murder, and sickness sickness sickness are the words of wisdom many have chosen to share with me. Ive been told not to go into a certain neighborhood because "it is said that if you have an inch of flesh showing from under clothes, you will get sliced with a knife." Everybody gets sick, nothing is edible, there are outbreaks of Dengue (whatever that is, although I do know that it leaves red dots on your skin as a symptom), the water has everything, infections fester and grow (even a little scrape), people get hit by cars, I keep hearing more and more each day. And I am good, easily frightened. Im not sure where to set down my feet, but I do know this wont last. Whats the good of it if you are too scared to move?

By the way, I still havent figured out certain aspects of the spanish keyboard, which has great easy lettering by hard to access punctuation. I need a guidebook for keyboards.

This Sunday, after feeling wretchedly ill on Saturday ... 1/3 hangover from the very Ecuadorian TGIFs that I was dragged to by Big Tom (worthy of his own entry), 1/3 from backache, and 1/3 from heat-sickness ... I decided to go to the beach, hop on a bus, drag Small Tom with me, who I went to school with. We went despite it all, and I had a glorious time. I am now feeling much more hopeful, refreshed from travel, sunburned, feeling the possibilities mount in front of me. Im still overwhelmed by the approaching school quarter and the bizarrely scattered class prep, but I think I can do it.

So, the beach I went to was Montanita, which had the International Surf Comps last month. Great large waves on a flat beach. Children that come out of caves at sunset and groop in the swish and swirl. A small village, parts of which are established for tourists... resembling a Latin Disneyworld for International Surfers and Playboys. I went with it. The salt air blew the fust away, and I feel less ill. I went swimming and swimming and boogie-boarding for the first time. Once a wave caught my legs, yanked them up, and bounced me in a backwards somersault. I think it actually did my back lots of good... oddly: youd think it was a bad move. I drank dacquiries and played cards, ignored the fact that the hostel we were staying at seemed to hate us. Im not sure why... tourists, I suppose. I havent met any friends yet, but I figure theres always the possibility in every interaction. Smiles given, or full eyed looks of seriousness. Children in Montanita carry puppies under their arms.

There's a street down the way from my house called "Orville Wright." A little bit further down the street, under the eaves of a corner grocery store, the title morphs to "Orville Witch." Who had their hand in that pot?

People in the villages here are like men in the suburbs who sit in garages with the doors open, elaborate evening rituals and interactions. At night, people sit on the curbs, bare-chested men, bare-footed people with dust in between their toes. Babies play in their diapers and women walk in knowing ways... knowing that their walk is a form of conversation with those on the sidewalk, their girlfriends, boyfriends, enemies, babies alike. The trip to the sea starts lush and gets dryer and more desert, but the air gets lighter somehow... still burning, but maybe not so laden... is it humidity?

Back in the city, my burns turned so pink, I started wondering if my skin might just rub off at any time, a touch of a finger. Despite the city fear, I rode the bus home, instead of taking a taxi, which made me proud... small steps. The taxis are pretty cheap here - a coupla bucks a ride, but the buses are 25 cents, so it makes sense to learn them, even if they dont actually stop to let you on or off. Ill hone my nascent train-bum skills.

Nascent seems to be my English word of the week, whereas "Si, se puede" is the Chavez mantra that runs along in trickles.