Crispy

A quick note, as I have a 1:30 meeting to make: I came back to Quito from Otavalo today a different color than I left on Saturday. In other words, I'm learning the joys of sunburn... well, my left shoulder and my left forearm are, anyways. Either I forgot to apply sunscreen on one side of my body or I hiked yesterday with the sun to my left.

The last seems unlikely given that the hike was at mid-day on the equator.

Too Many Lattes

Last night I wrote a quarter of my thesis by a fireplace in a cabin about four kilometers outside of Otavalo. It had no Internet connection, which was probably for the best. On the whole, very Thoreauvian, unless you count the borrowed laptop.

So I've decided to stay here one more night in hopes of returning to Quito tomorrow with half my thesis behind me. I'm not sure what my advisor will think of it, as it's mostly practical and anecdotal, not theoretical, but Eli and Orazio seem to like it so far. Which is what matters, as the idea is to help them, not to secure a place in the annals of academia.

Today I worked off yesterday´s blackberry pie and caramel flan by hiking 14 spectacular kilometers around a volanic lake. It was the most up-and-down hike I`ve done in a long time, maybe four years, and I felt every bit of the altitude (3,000 meters.) I clearly need to get back in shape; I've been drinking too many lattes.

What I'm reading: A Death in Vienna, by Daniel Silva. The body count so far: two Israeli women, one Israeli boy named Dani, and a top Israeli spy (except he's only in a coma.) I suspect representatives of some other nations will be dying soon too.

One Hundred and Thirty-Two

I may have some explaining to do at U.S. Customs. I now own 132 alpacas, of which 2 are large, 16 medium, and 114 compact. All are soft, though 35 are less soft than the others. Sadly and also happily, they won't stay in the family long: they're meant as gifts for DemiDec subscribers and team members.

I'm in the town of Otavalo, which Lonely Planet claims has the most famous indigenous market in South America. I'm not sure about its fame, but I can't dispute its size: stalls disappear down every street and fill every plaza. The alpacas, however, were cheapest at an actual store, where Orazio bargained hard on DemiDec's behalf.

Afterward, the three of us came across a woman selling puppies. One was a castellano, Eli´s desired breed. We took turns holding it, and during her turn Eli determined it was a she. Around then she made a small noise and fell asleep.

They weren't sure how to buy it now, as they were on vacation (Eli won't be back in Quito till Tuesday.) The vendor, sensing but misinterpreting their hesitation, offered to lower the price from eight dollars to maybe five or six.

Eli and Orazio ended up passing on this one, but giving their phone number to the vendor. I asked her to keep an eye open for Pomeranians. If she had been selling an American Eskimo, I think I'd be holding it now... sorry, Misty.

A Mexican at Twenty

Quick update before running to Grupo Faro. Today, over breakfast at my hostel, two of the women who work there asked me if my parents were Mexican. I asked why they might think so, and one pointed at my hair. "Es tan negro!" she said. (It's so black.) More black than they're used to from Americans. The other then indicated my eyebrows, which are apparently too thick to be plausibly Gringo.

I admitted my parents were Chilean and made a quick exit (though first I finished my granola, and not before they expressed shock at my age--they thought I was 20.)

By the way, Eli, Orazio, if either of you is reading this--stop now, and return in 3 weeks. Trust me.

Would Misty Approve?

Today I bought a dog. It was my first time. And it was also sight unseen. The dog is (or will be) a "castellano"--a mixture of a cocker spaniel and a French poodle. It's not, however, for me. It's a surprise for Orazio and Eli. When a puppy of the right breed becomes available, about two to three weeks from now, the pet store owner will deliver it to their apartment. I left a note for them, "Woof! Un regalito..." They've been dog-hunting for a while, and I overheard that this is the breed they're looking for. I wanted to do this last time I was here, and am glad I had the chance today.

What I'm reading: Reunion, by Alan Lightman, the author of Einstein's Dreams. So far, so good, even gritty, though not in a Sam Spade kind of way. I'll write more about it when I finish.

A Dark Night in Quito

I must look like a Republican tonight. My taxi driver began our drive by asking if I was a "friend of Bush." I assured him that in fact, I had volunteered for the Kerry campaign. He seemed doubtful. "Why did Kerry lose?" he then asked me. "How could the American people have elected Bush again?"

I gave him a few reasons, mostly mistakes I felt were made by the Kerry campaign, but also encompassing outside factors such as Bin Laden's last minute tape. He kept asking for more. "Y la cuarta razon?" he demanded ("And the fourth reason?) I provided one. So he asked for a fifth--"Y la quinta?"

He then asked me if I was here in Ecuador to help someone or another whose name escaped me. I admitted I didn't know who that was. He again seemed doubtful. "Es el presidente!" he chided me. He then invited me to a protest march tomorrow. Apparently all of Quito is going up in arms circa one in the afternoon. I thanked him politely, then noticed that he was overcharging me for the ride by about $4 (out of $5.) When I pointed this out to him, he scowled and said, "I know you're really a friend of Bush's."

I gave him $2. He didn't protest, and I exited the scene a bit amused and more than a bit annoyed.

A Little Late, as Usual

It took me a long time to graduate from Stanford, and even longer to become a columnist for the Stanford Daily.

http://tinyurl.com/47tc9

What I'm writing next: something on narrative innovation. Or maybe food.

Death and Continuation

On our way to La Casa Sol, the manager of my airport shuttle service confessed that her father and fiancé had both died in the last year, one of disease, the other in a car accident. She was in good spirits, considering.

I wonder if it´s just the altitude´s passing effect on my brain, but my Spanish seems more fluent than it did a month ago. We´ll see if it stays that way tomorrow.

My room is the same as last time, except one floor down. This trip, though, I came prepared with an Itty Bitty Book Light, so I can read more comfortably.

Speaking of reading, I finished another novel today, The Confessions of Max Trivoli. It´s the story of a boy born an old man in 1871, a three-part love affair with a woman who doesn't recognize him each time they meet as he ages backward toward infancy. Very well-written, and if not haunting, still memorable. Recommended.

Newsworthy

A quick note from Lafayette, Indiana: yesterday, the L.A. Times hardly covered the results of the Academic Decathlon. So I sent them this letter, which they didn't publish.

Dear editor,

I was dismayed to see that your coverage of the L.A.U.S.D. Academic
Decathlon has diminished this year to a small piece buried on page 4 of the California section, with only a single quote and no photographs. Compare this to coverage in the 1990s and early 2000s, when color photos, features on team members and multi-page articles were matter of course. Just because Los Angeles schools now have some of the most consistently competitive Academic Decathlon teams in the country doesn't mean we should take them for granted. For many of the students who participate with C averages, this is the first time in their lives that they've had an opportunity to shine as scholars. And for a school district confronted with challenges of every kind, the Decathlon is an annual breath of fresh air--but one that the public can only inhale if they have a chance to read about it.

Indeed, the winners from Taft and the runners-up from El Camino, and all those who gave their hearts and minds to this marathon of intellect, determination and hard work, have earned at least as many accolades as any champion athletic team. Their achievements are not only praiseworthy, but newsworthy.

If It's Wednesday, It Must be Sacramento

A lot of my days have begun like this lately: on an airplane, this time an American Airlines 737-800, watching other passengers file in and dispute overhead space. One woman just assured the rest of us that her bags were "soft" and therefore unlikely to damage our carry-ons even when squeezed tight. Good to know.

My experiences these last couple weeks have included being stranded without photo ID in Minneapolis, pondering an Arby's fish sandwich, and jumping off the back of a dragon.

My next big update--if all goes well, later today--will be on books, though I may mention the dragon again, too.

What I'm writing today: a column for the Stanford Daily. What I'm reading: Perfume, a novel about a serial killer with no body odor.