The Port of Lemons…. (aka Puerto Limon, aka my new home)
I arrived at my new home on Sunday after spending a week in capitol city of Quito. Quito is nothing to write home about when you first get to Ecuador from the states, but trust me, once you travel around and see the rest of Ecuadorian life, Quito becomes nothing shy of spectacular. And in fact, it really is… Because its located in a valley of the Andes mountains its an incredibly long and narrow city. I think someone just told me its 80 km long. It can take you a good hour to get from one end to another. I feel like we sufficiently saw what we needed to during our time there, shopping malls, eating at good restaurants (including sushi!), finding the elusive Dunkin Donuts, and hitting up the Mariscol (the 4 block radius of restaurants, bars, and clubs, which stay open longer than you can keep your eyes open!), to which the locals refer to it as, Gringo Landing, for apparent reasons. Last Friday, myself and 28 other Peace Corps trainees (we have lost a few, not to malaria, mom... they went home for personal reasons) swore in at the Ambassador’s house in Quito. That night, with a bit of liquid courage, I became the winner of Dancing with the Estrellas, Salsa style. But I must tell you, me and my partner Andrew were the only participants. The following day, I managed to get out of bed around 6pm and head to a Mongolian, all you can eat, steakhouse. The cure for being chuchaki (means hungover in Kitchwa, the other language spoken here).

The Party was over by Sunday. I left on a bus to Santo Domingo in the early afternoon with all my luggage, scared shitless I was going to get robbed. I think a lot about getting robbed here, because it happens so frequently. The countless experts; Peace Corps safety commission, the US Marines, Embassy people, tell us that when approached, give the thief what he wants and 99.9% of the time he will then leave you alone. The problem is, I have a hard time believing I will just give up my stuff without a fight. I know myself. No one knows me better than me, and I just don’t believe I will just hand over my personal belongings I’ve worked hard to buy. But more importantly, I have not been lugging 4 suitcases around Ecuador for 3 months, so some jackass can come and take it from me, and then sell it on the street for a fraction of what I paid for it. That’s just rude. Bottom line, statistics tell me, I will probably get robbed in the 2 years I’m here. I feel sorta bad for that unlucky bastard who chooses me. I’m all talk J

So Puerto Limon, 450 meters above sea level in the province of Santo Domingo de Los Tsachilas. The Tsachilas are a rapidly dwindling indigenous group located in the province on separate reservations. I don’t really know a lot about them except they use berries to paint their hair red and to paint lines on their body like a zebra. 2 PCV’s live with them now trying to preserve their culture. I am looking forward to visiting and trying some of their homeopathic medicine, which I heard just makes you drunk so you forget you are sick. That is my kind of remedy!

Anyway, I have decided Puerto Limon is somewhat like that movie Pleasantville. If you haven’t seen it, Reese Witherspoon and Toby Maguire get transported into their TV program which is about a small town in the 50’s, where no one wants or needs to leave or even questions why they would. My movie transported me to a Latino village in the 80’s where blue eyeshadow runs rampant and perms are the latest trend, but other than that the plot seems to be the same. Last night there was a big dance in the town square! Oh how fun! Every sweaty, fat, old man asked me to dance... Actually, no one really asked. They just pulled me. After the 100th time of saying, “No puedo bailar” or “No quiero bailar” (I can’t or don’t want to dance), a boy somewhat close to my age grabbed my hand, which now had an ice cream in it, because if I’m not going to dance, I might as well eat. Anyway, I gave in but before the 15 minute song was up, he traded me to a sweaty, fat, old man for a younger Latina who knew how to shake her caderas (hips). PERFECT! Right back where I wanted to be. It is like being in 7th grade again, only everyone is doing the Salsa or Meringue and the men are most likely wasted. It is not as appropriate for the women to drink here. And since my main objective is to integrate and have people respect me enough to be able to teach, I will hold off on the alcohol consumption, in Puerto Limon anyway. I’m going to try again tonight since dancing is one on the necessary staples for living here. And my alternative is to watch more bootleg movies on my computer (they run about $1.00-$1.50 a piece. I kid you not. Its illegal, but when in Rome…)

Lastly, I did go see a dance recital in my town a couple nights ago. The dancers were terrible, the costumes were hideous, and the dance teacher sorta resembled a dying bird when she danced, but I am ecstatic! The passion is obviously there and it’s a project I can take on immediately. I don’t need to speak perfect Spanish to teach dance either which is great for these first few months where I am having a hard time communicating anyway.

Camera is fixed now but I apologize for the lack of pictures. It wasn’t working for about a month. Miss you all and thanks for taking the time to read my rambling...



The parque near my house in Puerto Limon







On the way to Puerto Limon. Yup, its pretty green.
















I almost stepped on this with flipflops. Now he is dead.














Me and Sam practicing for dancing with the stars.



The Paquistancia crew... AKA Pak-Attack and Jav, our Language facilitator.

Swearing in at the Ambassador's House in Quito. Yes, that is me in the yellow, and no, I am not pregnant, I just look that way.