Chronicles of the Wayward Moot

WELCOME TO THE MOOT, oh world-wanderers and word-whisperers. After two years of Peace Corps. After 2,200 miles on the Pacific Crest Trail. What. Comes. Next?


It's 1am central time, February 4, 2006. I leave for staging in 53 hours. The anticipation is definitely BUILDING. Lots of packing is done, I've gathered supplies and some regalos (gifts) for my new compatriots and host family in Ecuador. I have an absurd amount of books to bring that may or may not cause me to exceed my allowed luggage weight limit... Every moment I get to spend with my folks or with my dogs is feeling quite special and a little bit sad. As for the pig outside, I fed her today and once again get the feeling that she's quite intelligent, though somewhat disinterested in anything I do or say not involving food, so I don't expect to miss her much, except maybe in my dreams when I've gone a few months without a good meal and start fantasizing about bacon. Alright, I'm kidding, I wouldn't eat the piggy. But if she bites my ankle again she better watch her sizeable ass!

Ironically, I went out with the folks tonight and had Mexican food. I wonder if the fact that I was craving it is a sign that I'll be in good culinary hands while down south? Simply put, my home is near New Orleans, a city that, until the unfortunate events of this past summer, was known for its exceptional cuisine. Why wasn't I eating crawfish etouffe or sausage jambalaya or a nice big gumbo with some cafe au lait to cool off the heat of the spices? To tell the truth, I dunno. I just felt like some seasoned rice and refried beans and cheese and flautas and burritos and all that good stuff. But wait. HARK, in the Andes they don't make tortillas out of the flour! What will I DO? Time will tell, this is all I can say for now. I will adapt. I must adapt. I must go get some sleep.


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