Facial Leak

October 14th, 2009: Waking up in the morning on the top bunk, I look down and see a young Israeli man in a thin sheet curled in the fetal position looking as if he was left to die in base camp at Mount Everest. I felt bad because I was nice and warm under my blankets next to the window which I opened last night - which is not a common thing for me to do but a situation arose that it became necessary for my own survival.

Waking up at about 2am, I noticed a smell. Thinking that it was a strange smell, I inhaled again, having trouble identify what it was. Thinking that it was kind of late to be eating, I discovered what was going on underneath my bunk as soon as I was coherent enough to understand what was being said. The girl below me who was drinking earlier seemed to have consumed too many beverages as she sprung a leak in her bed soaking everything in a 1.5 foot radius around her facial opening.

The Israeli helping her is the definition of a true gentleman because he wanted nothing from her since he already swapped spit with another girl from a few beds down, not to mention on who would want to swap anything with someone who obviously needed to brush her teeth and the pull the mess out of her hair besides a rapist? He did not just help out vomit girl last night by assisting her in covering the moist bed with toilet paper but also gave her his blanket so she would be warm after discarding her soiled blanket in the corner of our room. I need to write his Israeli mother for raising such a fine son. As for myself…when I was hearing what was going on, I relied on my iPod to muffle unwanted noises - I have little sympathy for over consumers. The odor was so strong that putting the blankets over my head didn’t filter the odor, opening the window as I went back to sleep…hoping that she didn’t fill my shoes or backpack that laid next to her during her uncontrollable outbursts - figuring that it was too late now to do anything about it. What have I done to be around so many people that perform this type of activity at such close proximity?

The "Jar"

September 4th, 2009: Barely being able to hold in what NEEDS to be steadily held…I run to the toilet, fumbling with the seat trying to wipe someone else’s past residuals. Unscrewing the top of the jar, I hold it with one hand that is wrapped around a small plastic bag, lining it up as helicopter pilot would lineup a container of water to drop in a specified location to douse a fire - or in my case…to fill up a cup. Missing the cup could be catastrophic…depending on how far off that I might be. Filling it up as if it was from a faucet…I skillfully top of the jar before topping off the toilet.

Proud of my accomplishments, I headed down stairs to get directions to the lab. Standing there as the travel agent is pulling out a map of Quito to show me where I need to go…I noticed an extremely strong odor, discovering that the jar is failing to do it’s job as it rested deep inside my shoulder bag. Does she now know why I need to visit the lab, or does she think that I rudely seeped out a big one without waiting to leave her office?

Getting my results back later in the day, I discovered that my body was rudely attacked by a bacterial infection and a parasite that is only found deep in the jungle – so I did end up with an unexpected souvenir. After an 8 day battle, a visit to the doctors and some hired help from the pharmaceutical empire, I was able to exit my sleeping bag and leave the fortress with more of an appreciation of what a good day is. Today, my constantly changing definition of a good day does not have to involve seeing whales, monkeys or by performing some adrenaline filled activity…it is a day without any new medical complications, medical challenges and by not having an umbilical cord to a porcelain toilet – now this…is a good day.

Money put to good use

September 3rd, 2009: Finally broke down and went to a doctor that did not just know how to perform medicine but how to speak English too. It was well worth the $40. Why didn’t I go sooner instead of expecting miracles by having my body to do it on its own, without the pharmaceutical empire? I was given a jar to fill to help my doctor figure out what type of weapons that are going to be needed in my cleansing, I think he must have forgotten about what type of sample he wanted upon further examination of this jar of mine. I don’t know how that is going to work…the opening of the jar is as large as a big mouth bottle of Mickey’s Malt Liquor.

The Man in a Cocoon

September 1st, 2009: Sliding into my chilly cocoon that strongly resembles a sleeping bag, my body violently shakes as I painfully reach to grasp my blanket to cover myself from the outside world. Laying there I look as if I am going though some withdraws from a cocaine addiction I never even had a chance to start. My body seems to be in a full blown battle that started its defensive days earlier.

I feel as if every inch of my body was mercilessly clubbed by a heartless Eskimo wanting my pasty white skin for a new face not to mention that my eyes seeming like my optical cords were painfully shortened by an inspiring doctor who read the most recent edition of “How to harvest optical cords for Dummies.” To look somewhere besides straight ahead…I had to use Mr. Frankenstein’s effective technique of rotating my body in my desired direction to see.

I must have looked quite amusing as I staggered down the streets of Quito to get some soup today at the local market. Perhaps this is the source of my problem. Not wanting to eat at restaurants, I have been consuming loads of calories from the individuals with their BBQ’s and fryers along the street, where you can pick up a meal for roughly a $1. I know the meat sits there all day and unrefrigerated, but I eat this not just for survival but to toughen up my soft westernized stomach. After so many times of getting sick I would think that by now I would have callused my stomach lining enough to eat raw sewage, stones and other appetizing items I find along the way – like a goat I suppose.

Thinking that my body was performing a deep cleaning…discharging everything that was good and bad, I had confidence that in time it would defeat this intruder. I am attempting to keep the doctors and the pharmaceutical empire out of this...not knowing how many weeks of travel will be lost from the cost of such a visit and how I am going to explain everything in a language I am not yet proficient in without a translator.

In my cocoon my mind is easily tricked to think it was camping. Wonderful thoughts battled my physical reality. The sleeping bag was a counter measure the invading forces were not ready for. Mentally I laid there growing stronger, getting me through another long cold night on the battle field. Maaahhhh.

Now hiring: Toilet designer

August 22nd, 2009: I made it back to Quito in one piece, but as the evening went on…it felt as if I became a carrier for a mutated strain of the Ebola virus. There seemed to be a need for my body to dispose of everything I put in my mouth for the past week or two – it is nice to see that corn in not only capable of showing up again from the other end. I truly hate being sick…hate it. Thankfully I have no hair to hold back as I would stick my head near the rim of the toilet bowl which looked more a psychedelic carpet of pubic hair, which quietly rested on the rim displaying various lengths, coarseness and a multitude of exotic colors. If I could only have had a clean rest room that I could sit on the ground and hug the bowl – safely touching the porcelain without involuntarily picking up any loose fibers. Couldn’t some toilet bowl manufacturer design a toilet made for sick people? You know…one bowl to sit on to make your deposit and one to vomit in without having to make the decision on what to do first. Since water does not move fast enough down that hole to who knows where, looking at or smelling what came out on either end at close range could never possibly be a pleasant experience.

Man vs. Bull

August 22nd, 2009: Sitting high up in an arena, I look down and see a man standing in the center…a flamboyant man in his tight red pants with his pink cape strutting around the ring as if he was some hero, calling himself a matador. Staring at him from 12 feet away, stands a massive bull…heavily breathing with steam literally bellowing from his nostrils as blood flows down his back. He charges the matador as he quickly steps aside, the crowd yelling, “ole!” The bull does a series of passes, unfortunately failing to gore the man.

At the final stage of this execution, the matador pointed his sword at the bull…aiming the cold piece of steel that is about to skewer the gargantuan piece of meat, attempting to place the blade between it clavicles and through the aorta. The large crowd of adults, kids and babies becomes silent as if they all simultaneously had their larynx ripped out of their throats as they wait for the final blow. The matador lunges toward the exhausted animal, impaling the sword into its back, missing the sweet spot thus prolonging the bull’s death. The bull stands there, looking at him with a sword in its back as blood is dripping down his body…thinking, “I just wanted to stay out in the field today, why are you doing this to me?”

The matador was beginning to grasp that he has poor aim and the bull was not going to go down. Minutes go by as the sword begins to work itself free. He grabs another sword from behind the wooden wall and flips the ineffective sword out. Again he plunges the sword in its back, as the bull still does nothing. The Matador is no longer strutting around the crowd as people leak noises of disappointment. I was hoping he practiced Japanese traditions, realizing he embarrassed his family tonight and would turn the sword onto himself. At this point, even the blood thirsty crowd wanted the animal to be put out of its misery.

After being stabbed in the back not just once but three times this evening, the bull that must have been in excruciating pain, as he finally drops to its knees. The matador’s assistant quickly went up to the disorientated bull and drove a knife in the back of its head, rotating it…letting the bull go back to the field he was pulled from and to his friends that were about to join him after their barbaric execution.

More today than any day, I wanted to see a man get gored by the bull. Not a grazing wound that would cause a minor injury or major scar…I wanted to see the bull hit the matador so hard, that he too would join the bull in that field.

It is always easier to go up…than down

July 29th, 2009: My hand shaking, as I look up trying to find a stable rock to grab onto…seeing nothing, I stretch my arm up above my head, feeling and hoping for anything. “I must not look down, I must not look down, l must not look down” I told myself…as I look down, squinting - as if this is going to somehow make things better. I see nothing below me but my two heels protruding out of the cliff. At this point I was about 212.3 feet in the air clinging to the side of the rock face. With no helmet, rope or safety equipment, I am attempting to follow my friends (that also have a limited amount of brain cells) to the top of this gargantuan rock outside, Quito. Thinking that I should have stuck with my original decision, to meet them on the other side, but I was now committed with no option to turn around, since it is always easier to go up…than down.

Glued to the rock, I could not get the thought out of my mind on what happened to me over the years? I thought I use to be quite brave, doing almost anything…not thinking too much about what could happen. Now, there seems to be such a struggle doing activities that may be questionable. I am curious if what I am fighting is…common sense.

Ledge after ledge, I was hoping there was some other route back. Trying not to climb too close to the others above me in case they fell to their deaths, I was disadvantage on not knowing the way they were taking. I had to get the fear out of me…this was not a wise place to be scared. To help defeat my fears…at first I thought that if two women can do this, I should be able to – that didn’t even come close to working. I then thought of something that is typically true and it ever so briefly made me feel better. If two women were doing this, it must not be that bad because they would have been the ones smart enough to say we shouldn’t - later thinking they must have been two lesbians who play the man’s role.

Meeting a guy who was coming from a different route, told us that he saw the way we were going up and thought we were crazy - definition of crazy in this context meant…stupid. I wanted to agree but I held that thought to myself. Now knowing that we didn’t have to go down the same way we came up – not to mention going the way of someone who thought we were crazy…I was relieved. This relief was brief…lasting only until we began following him down after reaching the peak. Seeing an easier way down that he didn’t want to capitalize on, I separated from his route with the others. Crossing back onto his path we were now in ahead of him. Standing there…we look up and see him dangling above us, as his feet were trying to feel some footing below him. Not wanting to be the person to break his fall, I observed him from a distance as I quickly I pulled out my camera and started recording the event on video…while the others pulled out their cameras to take photos. They too knew this was going to be a good photo opportunity…if he falls. Calculating a 92% chance of him falling…I was going to be there to capture it.

Waiting for the fall, somehow – I don’t know how…he made it down safely, beating the odds. He must have had someone - no, not someone…a congregation praying for him. I went up to him after and patted him on the back for defying mathematics. Once again I thought, it is always easier to go up…than down.

Overlooking Quito, the new Gotham City

July 26th, 2009: Arriving into Quito at the bus terminal, I asked a woman that worked at the bus stand for directions in Spanish. She gave me the most unattractive look I have seen from a woman in the longest time. I originally interpreted the look as being the, “why are you bothering me look” – thinking about it now, maybe I accidently said something…offensive.

Walking around lost, I went back to ask her for directions again, but now I was armed with my fail proof method. Smiling at her, I grunted and pointed in the book on where I wanted to go. We were now communicating on a level we can both understand. She was very helpful pointing to what platform I needed to go to…and even smiled back at me – did she forget it was me? Going about 20 feet…I was lost, again. Not wanting to push my luck with her, I asked another uniformed person roaming the bus terminal and made it another 20 feet. Asking another worker, I again made it…another 20 feet. Nobody else to ask, I went back to the last person. This method can be slow but it keeps you from looking too much like one of those carnival games in which a duck goes back and forth as it gets shot. Not wanting to see me again, she walked me not just to my bus, but to the front of the line and told the driver where I needed to go. How nice…special treatment for being handicapped in foreign languages and sense of direction.

I am staying at the Secret Garden in Quito, which is amazing. The view from the terrace is beautiful as it overlooks the entire old town. In this view, an enormous Basilica easily stands out as it catches my attention. Nervous about all the rumors that circulate in the backpackers’ world about Quito’s reputation on how things tend to frequently get stolen…with or without you knowing about it, I was on high alert as I made my way to the object of my desire that rested on a hill nearby. Once I got there, I forgot about what I was suppose to be scared of as I was instantly morphed into a Japanese tourist that could not stop taking photos – even a karaoke machine wouldn’t have stopped me. I climbed several flights of stairs and scaled steep ladders bringing me to the very top. It felt as if I was on some sort of religious jungle gym at Michael Jackson’s Neverland ranch.

Seeing that there was an opening in the roof due to the basilica being in need of some overdue roofing repairs, I climbed out and sat on the ledge as batman would over look Gotham city. Sitting there, I realize that I did not have super vision, hearing or special gadgets to assist me in helping anyone or myself for that matter…so I just took in the view and was happy to finally make it to Ecuador.