I need to say one thing. For the first time in my life, I recognize and appreciate the universality and passion of team sports.
Amongst the wild, wild moors
I left Baños on Sunday, bound for Guaranda, a small colonial town overlooking Volcan Chimborazo. Guaranda was quaint and beautiful, but more than that, the journey there was worth the overpriced hotel room and drizzling rain and head cold. The road from Baños to Guaranda cuts through tufts of paramo grass and vast hills that rise to soft peaks like fresh whipped meringue and plunge fantastically...
I spent the better part of Satruday once again outfitted in a wetsuit and harness, scrambling around a Baños waterfall, propelling backwards from a rope down the rocks. At one point, I was dangling from a thirty foot drop, easing slowly down behind the spraying water. It’s always the most remarkable things you do that you don’t get pictures of.
Men here call to single women walking like children who have just spotted their second favorite flavor ice cream, with a sort of pleasure and assurance that even if they are ignored and don’t get what they want, it’s no big surprise and no big deal. I sometimes glance at these ridiculous peacocks with their caws from across the pavement. I sometimes say hello back. But mostly, I walk...