long bus rides, hot sun, and sweet souls

my homesick is fading a little bit more every day. today I took a bus whose engine did not work, through the mountains with clouds so thick you could barely see in front. I almost did my cross three times, but instead I occasionally grabbed bryan’s leg when the fear became too overwhelming. I saw a volcano, went to el mitad del mundo, ate pig’s intestines (very chewy), met up with and got to know two fabulous women’s collectives in two cities: la casa de rosa, and la casa de la mujer. I am in Cuenca now with jose, he worked without documents in the US for 8 years, and while he was there, which was when I met him, he bought his mom and sister the house I am sleeping in now. it’s up in the mountains of azogues. he and his family are incredible. Leo, the person I stayed with in quito, is a student – an indigenous man, who got the UN to send him to NYC at age 8 to speak on behalf of indigenous childrens rights in Ecuador for a conference (damn.) The warmth I’ve been receiving from the acquaintances, friends, and strangers around me makes me want to burst. I am trying to give just as much as I am taking.

while on the plane to Ecuador, I remembered a woman I had met while crossing the border from Bolivia to Argentina two summers ago. she had sharp, high cheekbones, and her body´s odor was pure soil. she was young and breathtaking. and then she began speaking to me, la gringita, with a sweet, crackled voice.

“where are you from?” she asks.
“the united states,” I reply. A pause. She twists her head, confused.
“where is that?” she asks. this time I pause.
“It’s very far north from here,” I tell her.
“Oh,” she says, and we continue our conversation: part Spanish, part quechua (a language I do not know.) I ask her where I should get off so I can walk to la frontera in argentina. I ask her to write the border town for me in the back of my notebook. She stares, first at the paper, then at the pen I had handed to her, then at me. And without a hint of shame, she lets me know that she cannot read or write.

we continue our conversation, and I get off, walking over a blue and white bridge to argentina, where I am greeted by a police man whose first question is not may I see your passport, or, good afternoon miss, how are you doing today? Instead, he asks me if I have a boyfriend. Welcome to argentina. Buen viaje. I had no idea I’d be back so soon.

tomorrow bryan and i leave for la frontera to peru.