And So It Begins.....

Arrival September 27th, 2007
Quito, Ecuador

My roomate is a petite, insane, pregnant, weed-smoking Bulgarian with cornrows who is off tommorow to Colombia where she hopes to remain long enough to give birth to her Nigerian-Colombian rastaman's child. He's still here surfing in Ecuador, and did I mention they began their romance just one month ago? I met her upon entering my $4 a night hostel.

Hostal Villamara is, um... quaint. The bed has a pronounced concave center and the entire first floor is nothing but broken rubble. But it has a lovely balcony and I know I mentioned that it's only $4 a night. It's also very centrally located which means no long nighttime walks back from this internet cafe, which is essential to this young solo woman traveling in this lively and lovely but unpredictable South American city.



I have not cried. For me this is a strange thing. Between the exhaustion, the hangover, the total and utter upheaval of my life I have just thrust upon myself, a good crying jag would be a predicatable occurance. I did have a sick feeling in my stomach as I hung up the phone after speaking with my parents earlier today. I believe it came from realizing how far away I have gone, again. And from realizing how hard this is for them, but how incredibly supportive they remain, and how committed they are to understanding it and letting me go. As they are stupefied by me, I am awed by their courage. It's just a lot to absorb and the sheer distance makes it sit heavy inside of me.



And then as I lay down to a much needed nap I had that panicky, dizzy feeling that has met me before--in Ghana three years ago, and in Ecuador the first time around--that seems to scream directly into my brain with a menacing intent to unravel my carefully spun web of mental security, "What are you doing? Why did you come here? You can't do this. Go home!" I thought, "My only connection here is Crazy Cornrows, and though she seems to really like me, she's stoned!!" Not very comforting. But I realized, as I quieted my mind with willpower alone (no Xanax yet), that this feeling only comes from being so suddenly without a place, a friend, a distraction, a purpose. I focused on what will come in just a few days, when I will go from being a brand new idle tourist to being an active participant in this land.

I focused on the Andean mountain air coming in from the balcony. I listened to the rhythmic breathing of Cornrows, who'd passed out in a sleepy stoner slumber. I remembered Maggie, a mother of two twenty-something's, who I'd met on the plane and who practiced Spanish with me and invited me to her house and who made sure I had a sweater. I thought of my last night in New York: my friends and their amazing gifts of support and awe and encouragement, surrounding me and embracing me even as I travel. I fell asleep in my concave bed, my fingers clasped round my Christopher pendant, and awoke to the Colombian band members upstairs playing the congas. Life is good.

For all pics, please go to http://www.flickr.com/photos/meghanhatch/