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?

20/03/2006

I have 57% No Concept

AND 43% GOOD SENSE.
 
So says the way-cool Engrish on my Asian import backpack that I bought down here. It adds that it was made with 100% sincerity as well, in case you were worrying.
 
After I leave the internet cafe I´m going to go buy some ingredients for making pizza.  Might make it tomorow night I think, if I can fashion a campo oven out of a large pot and some bricks and such.  I´m worried about whether the campo cheese they have here will melt correctly.  And then of course there´s the difficult decision of what sort of pet to use for topping... guinea pig...horse.....armadillo?  I guess I could go with the classic and use pork or chicken, but then I´m not in Ecuador to go with the classic.
 
Getting more excited about visiting my site, but because of the heated roadblocks and other goings on in the country due to unhappiness with the TLC agreement we weren´t able to do the scheduled site visit this week.  Instead we´re having language classes and technical sessions to fill the time and hoping that the site visit can be rescheduled to later.
 
Attended a big crazy wedding party Saturday night.  Went home around midnight.  The party was still going on late Sunday night.  Rain, freezing wind, mud.  This party had it all.  A medieval kitchen with a giant cauldron of soup with chicken feet and whatever else floating in it...dogs roaming among peoples´ feet looking for scraps, a live band screaming QUE VIVAN LOS NOVIOS over and over, plus a DJ with all the latest 80s Latino dance hits.  Oh, and lots of hooch.  Rum, tequila, chicha (Andean maiz beer), and other stuff I don´t know what it was but I drank it.  Now when I drank these things I was doing it out of a tazata, a tiny little plastic cup.  Not a lot at all.  BUT, apparently the rumor mill doesn´t sleep and because most of the town was there that night and watched me tasting their little thimbles of booze, I am the drunken Benito or some some hogwash.  Whatever.  I had a great time and I needed those drinks to help sterilize whatever was in the mystery soup cauldron!  When we were able to skip out of the festivities and rode back to the house in the back of the pickup while the rain kept falling down, almost AAAAALMOST smashing into a parked Ford Bronco on the side of the cobbled and mud filled road, I was then able to enter the magical world of the mefloquine dream theater, that ever enchanting realm of chemically induced lucid dreaming.  If only I could have taken my camera into my dream.  Damn.  Wow.  Whoopiee. 
 
Sorry there are no pics again this time gang.  Soon.  Soon.  Paciencia dammit. - MJ

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