Viajando

The beautiful cave town of Cappadocia.

Well folks, given the positive feedback on the loss of my nipples/dignity, here's the latest... We met up with Joyce, and began the next leg of the adventure. The Highs: -Spent a lazy four days cruising on the Mediterranean, probably the most beautiful turquoise water I've seen. The days were spent eating, swimming, eating, napping, swimming, drinking wine, and eating again. -Pistachio ice cream. No explanation needed. -We are now in the mountains, and although it was a sad farewell to the beach, the climate here really cuts down on the butt sweat, which I think we can all be thankful for. -Breakfast here is the best part of the day, but with all the olives, yogurt, honey, crusty bread, goat cheese, banana stuffed Nutella crepes, spanoktopita, tomatoes, cucumber, French toast, peaches, apricots, and obviously chai...somehow at the end of the meal, and for the next 3 hours we literally feel pregnant, with tight bellies and an inability to breathe. The situation only gets better (worse) when right after breakfast we usually start a long and bumpy bus ride to look at ruins. Overeating has seriously never been so much fun. I think the only reason this is in the "highs" section is the Nutella banana crepes. -Gail is a big fan of happy hour in the hotel room pre dinner, which I'm clearly all for, except we have an issue with drink preferences. Gail loves white wine, I however cannot drink this since Gail and KK got me a box of shitty white wine to celebrate moving into my first apartment ever when I was 19, and my roommate and I proceeded to throw a party our first night and I chugged a good portion of that wine, and spent the rest of the night puking into a dishpan. Therefore white wine permanently tastes like vomit to me, and it's out. Gail is ok with red, except the fact that in 106 degree weather warm red wine tastes similar to boiled blood, therefore we settled on chilled red wine. Yum. Anyways, long story short.... I didn't pull my weight during happy hour by losing track of time and only having one half a glass before we went out, therefore we were left with some wine that next morning and nothing to do with it considering we were leaving on a plane for the mountains. Although leaving the wine behind or simply pouring it down the drain was a viable option, that's not Gail's style. So somehow we ended up at the airport right before we have to go through security and get rid of all our liquids, and Gail is sticking a plastic water bottle full of wine in my hands and guilt tripping me about being a poor happy hour companion, and somehow before I know it, my mom has peer pressured me into chugging this now warm red wine with her. Lovely. Hence how we now find ourselves drunk, on a plane, and with an extremely cranky and sober travel companion aka Joyce. Boo! The Lows: -Gail made the decision to get a rental car so we could peruse around the coast at our own leisure for two days, and never before have I been more fearful for my life. First off... Gail's driving in the states is good, but tailgating is not a concept she understands I'm any country. Add that to curvy beach roads with no guard rails while Gail jerkily drives stick shift for the first time in multiple years, and I may have shat my pants. For two days straight. I have decided from this trip that I'm an incredibly risk averse person, and safety is a number one concern (this is evident by serious hypochondriac/germaphobe tendencies, excercising extreme caution in all situations, and being an overall anal control freak). Gail on the other hand is in the middle, and values her own life at the last second (aka when she decides not to pass the melon truck on the skinny one lane highway going 10000000km per hour), and Joyce has absolutely no regard for her own life. She swam at night which is CLEARLY SHARK SNACKTIME, she drinks tap water which is CLEARLY FULL OF ENTAMOEBA HYSTOLITICA, and she wants to go back to Africa midst this Ebola crisis. I told her I would literally sit on her and lock her in our parents basement if she so much as tries. -In my opinion, the proportion of attractive Turkish men vs the amount of creepers is 1/100000000000000000000000000000000. Joyce would probably put this ratio more at 7/10. In other words, the eye rape is not getting any better, and my sister is not getting any less charming/charmed. -Currently the smell of extreme B.O. in the airport is making me nauseous, and in my mildly drunken state it's only intensified. The worst part about it is that this stench is probably from Joyce. Just kidding it's probably me. Just kidding is probably EVERYONE WITHIN TURKEY BECAUSE ITS SO GODDAMN HOT. Seriously though, I highly suggest it as a travel destination. Nice and humid, as long as you're ok with a sweaty asscrack. Thanks for reading (or not)!

Drunk on a plane. With Gail. Nothing beats chugging hot red wine from a plastic water bottle before entering security. Look for the whole sad story in my blog... #gailprobz (at Kapadokya, Goreme, Turkey)

Well... It's been awhile my friends. And I had originally planned to have this blog only for my time in Latin American, but too good of things happen to not document them, and so.... The adventures continue in Turkey. WARNING: Reader discretion advised. The following blog may (will) contain graphic descriptions, and uncomfortable experiences. Proceed at your own caution. Turkey is such a beautiful and huge country, but it is so starkly different to anything I've experienced recently. It has some of the most beautiful beaches in the world (according to the human encyclopedia, Gail), and well as some of the most diverse land. It's full of olives, wine, goat cheese, and of course bread, so what's not to like? Well... Potentially the occasionally objectifying and suppressive Muslim culture. Things I have discovered since coming to Turkey: 1) It's so goddamn hot. Where we are the temperature stays right around 100 degrees, with 90% humidity. So yep, death. Sweating is a constant theme here, it's to the point where (and I've calculated), I usually feel a bead of sweat roll down my spine every 7 seconds. Gross I know. If you wear a skirt or dress you are doomed from the start, your underwear will be sweat soaked within an hour, and this can range from just the faint asscrack sweat line on your underwear, to the feeling that you are wearing a pair of straight up wet swimsuit bottoms. I will go into no more details considering I've probably lost 1 of my two readers here. (I probably had 3 readers in Ecuador--my mom, my dad, and some random creep perusing the Internet. Considering Gail is in Turkey with me and I will assume KK stopped when I mentioned an "asscrack", now the only person reading this is that random creep. Enjoy, this is for you bud. 2) The call to prayer happens five times a day, and there are mosques everywhere. Also, I'm not allowed to enter cause I'm a heathen, aka I'm indecent because I wear shorts and a t-shirt instead of a burka, in an attempt to cut down on the butt sweat. 3) It's incredibly impolite to blow your nose at the dinner table. Gail informed me of this before we came about 5 times because she had read it in a guidebook. Lo and behold on our second night here Gail got a little tipsy, lost all her inhibitions, and blew her nose at the table. They haven't kicked us out yet so I take it as a good sign. 4) Americans are a huge minority here--most of the tourists are local Turkish people traveling to the beach for a vacation, or they are European. When I said I wasn't European to one shopkeeper, he guessed I was either Australian or Canadian before American. We have only heard one other group speaking English with American seeming accents, but my guess is they were actually Canadian. Seriously. We are weird, as usual. 5) They sell a lot of knock off Prada, Hollister, Michael Kors, and pretty much every other brand you can think of by the shitty store-ful. Somehow, I have found it in my willpower to find the self restraint to not buy a belly shirt with the phrase "Holester" across it. 6) Stray dogs barely exists here; it's all cats. Seriously, there are kitties EVERYWHERE. Cat lovers, this is an invite. 4) Gail's snoring sounds like a manual car shifting from 1st to 5th gear, and back down, on repeat for 8 hours. Enough said. Now if you're still with me, my typical blog entry wouldn't be complete without a little male bashing. And I hadn't planned this, but being a white lady in a Muslim country, no matter how progressive, it was bound to happen. "The Creepiest Creep Of All Time" On our 3rd day in Antalya, Gail and I went on a whitewater rafting trip. Not sure what we expected when going, but in getting on the bus to take us to the river put in, we joined a group full of 30 yr old ish Turkish guys. And the only term I will use to describe what happened next was eye rape. The gentlemen clearly don't talk to us. But one in particular continues to look me up and down from head to toe, pausing in two vital areas. To say I was uncomfortable is an understatement. Also not that it should at all matter, but I was seriously wearing athletic shorts almost to me knees, and a baggy tank. And I was gross and sweaty and miserable. Anyways we luckily weren't in his boat during the raft trip, but literally every single time I looked over at him and his group he was staring at me. Super gross. And just rude. And as the rafting continued most people took off their clothes and just rafted in swimsuits and life jackets which is A NORMAL THING TO DO. But I felt so uncomfortable I kept all my clothes on the entire time we were rafting, and although there were THREE OTHER WOMEN IN BIKINIS in our boat alone, and countless other "scantily clad" women on the trip he could have stared at, he didn't. And as I cowered behind Gail the whole day and felt repulsed I kept trying to tell myself I was overreacting and so what he kept looking at me, no big deal, it didn't feel that way. At lunch we ate at a row of picnic tables, and he sat one table over from us so I purposely sat on the same side of the table where he was but one over so I was looking at his back and he couldn't look at me, and him and 3 other guys blatantly got up and switched sides so they could all look my way. I even put my hair down despite the heat to cover my neck, but nothing worked, he kept creeping. I tried ignoring him, and glaring at him, and anything I could do besides blatantly saying "fuck off" which he wouldn't understand anyways, but he was relentless. Once we got FINALLY got back to the hotel after a 10 hour misery trip, Gail chose to tell me that she walked past the group of the men at one point and saw them all huddling around Creepy McCreeperson as he scrolled through the pics on his iPhone and showed them all the super zoomed in picture he had sneakily taken of my chest. So I suppose the end of this story is I felt like I respected him by not flipping him the bird all day while he COMPLETELY disrespected me by being rude and disgusting. I know we aren't home in the States, but I don't know of ANY CULTURE where it's acceptable to take pictures of someone like that. I suppose all I'm left with in this situation besides a sick feeling in my stomach is the fantasy of curb stomping this guy in a very public setting while hoards of people cheer me on. Sadly this fantasy is only just that, but this situation makes me so thankful I like in a country where I'm treated well, despite my gender. Now if you're still with me after that depressing and anger inducing story, let me get to the best part... "The Turkish Bath Incident" Gail and I decided to go get a Turkish bath while here. This is Turkey's version of a "spa", and clearly with KK and Joyce absent, that was the perfect idea. Now we had read the brochure for this experience and looked at the pics, and it looked pretty fun, you get to lounge in a big bath in your swimsuit while someone puts a green face mask on you and another person massages your shoulders. Sounds great, right? Well Gail and I got "the works" for a whopping 35 US dollars for an hour and a half. The bath is separated into men's and women's wings, as expected in a Muslim culture. When we first enter a lady motions us into a tiny dressing room, gives us two checkered table cloths, and says in broken English "everything off". I clarify "everything?" And she nods at me and after shutting the door I hear her mocking me by saying "everything?!?" And then her and her friend crack up hysterically. Already off to a good start. So Gail and I assume we use the checked table cloth to wrap up in, and follow our host. She passes us off to another lady who also speaks no English, who then leads us through a series of marble corridors with small sinks in them, and the air inside feels exactly like a sauna. She then proceeds to brutally take our checkered tablecloth coverup from us, leaving my mother and I together, naked, defenseless, and very uncomfortable. STEP ONE: Our lady covers our faces in some type of face mask, all I know is it was green and smelled funny. Then she asked us to sit on a marble bench at the edge of the room next to a small sink, and gave us both a small soup bowl to fill in the sink to splash on our bodies, and then she left us. Naked and defenseless for 20 minutes. STEP TWO: Lady renters in a pair of old basketball shorts that are pulled up to roughly 2 inches below her breasts. She then hastily pulls on a white, saggy, see through, and incredibly unsupportive bra that has definitely seen better days. We had no choice but to assume this was her uniform. She then pours water from the sink all over our faces to rinse off the mask. Authors note: During all this time we are sitting on a marble bench, naked. And I can't help but wonder how many naked butts have sat there before me considering on the sign it said this place has been used for 700 years. And then I try to think back to high school sex ed as I wonder if it's possible that someone that sat here naked before me had some type of STI, and if potentially those bacteria/viruses could still be thriving on the marble bench my bare ass sat upon, and if somehow they could swim up into my nether regions, and infect me. Irrational, I know, however for an unreasonable hypochondriac like myself it seemed very feasible at the time. And then I also began to try to remember the transmitting fluids of Ebola, and if there was ANY WAY I was currently being infected with Ebola. I am still unsure of my status. STEP THREE: Lady motions for us to come up, one at a time, and lie face down on this giant marble slab in the middle of the room, that is under a big skylight. (I couldn't help but think she was offering my naked body as a sacrifice to the gods before she plunged a syringe full of Ebola juice into my neck.) She then puts on what looks like an oven mitt, but is actually the roughest sandpaper known to man, and begins to scrub out bodies. She is scrubbing off dead skin, but seemed to pay little attention to areas I would think there is a lot, such as your feet, and instead concentrated on the soft, sensitive areas such as the back of your knees and your buttcheeks. I also personally felt that she targeted anything she saw as removable, such as the tattoo on my back, moles, etc. The front was a similar type of torture, she just had more sensitive areas to work with. I looked down in the middle of this treatment to make sure both my nipples were still there, cause I was sure she had managed to remove one. I also think she removed a great deal of my freckles/moles, and the brave ones that were still there were LITERALLY barely hanging on. STEP FOUR: Lady has us rinse our bodies with the same soup bowls, considering there are ROLLS of dead skin seriously the size centipedes on us. Ew. She then has us lie back down on the sacrificial table as she gives us a soapy massage, or as it said in the English translation, "soupy massage". This consists of filling an old pillow case with soap, dipping it in water, blowing in the pillow case, and then squeezing it so bubbles come out, and she spreads the huge foamy bubbles all over your body---quite a nice sensation, until the massage begins. First off, the soap stings all the places she has scrubbed raw in the previous treatment, so you can pinpoint exactly where you lost a mole, a nipple, a massive chunk of skin, whatever. To say this lady was strong with her massages was an understatement, she was going for bone. Seriously. And because my body was so slippery from the soap, when she was massaging my legs, with every stroke her hand would always slip and inevitably end up in my buttcrack. So nice. STEP FIVE: The oil massage. We leave the naked torture chambers and are wrapped in a towel, where we are then led to the "massage room" aka a room with two tables with some pillows and towels that you lie on. The lady who gives the oil massages is also the receptionist, and the lady who shows everyone in, tells them to get changed, etc, therefore during a massage the door was always open so she could see if anyone new came in, and when they did she would shout orders at them while massaging you, or simply leave the massage room for a few minutes. Did I mention this was a full body massage? At one point she was massaging my lower body, so I was laying on my back and had a towel covering from my face to my belly button, leaving everything else exposed. It was at this time she chose to leave me there, with the door open obviously, to welcome new customers, chat with them, etc. Pretty sure at least 15 Swiss tourists saw my faceless naked body from the waist down. STEP SIX: Get dressed while getting oil all over your clothes, and then strip down again at your hotel to inspect the damage/status of your moles. Moral of the story, a Turkish bath is a great cultural experience, but I wouldn't suggest it if you are partial to your nipples. :) More to come from Turkey in about a week folks! We just met up with Joyce who flew in from Azerbaijan, so let the adventures begin.....

BIFS reunited. Also, Ann got a puppy and we all die. Jk it's a stuffed animal. #biffies #bikinibrave #jkweatealoafofbread @lianaguerin

So... I missed this lady. #reunited @kasodie

So... I've got a dilemma. I feel as if I can no longer justify keeping a blog, because it seems more like a diary if I'm writing it from the states, I know too many people here for it to not break some type of confidentially rules/be that creep who writes online about everyone they know, and... Let's be honest, no one really cares about the details of my life when I'm not in some foreign country (although I suppose to my Ecuadorian/extranjero friends... This still would be foreign). But... Believe it or not, life has been really busy thus far state side, and I just don't know if I'll have the time/desire/plethora of creepy stories to make it worthwhile. But my last post was a pathetic sob story so... Gotta leave it on a good note! When I was in Ecuador it was almost surreal to think of coming back to the states and what it would be like, but now that I'm back, it's surreal to think back on my time there, and I have some days where it's like wow... Did I really do all that? Did all that happen? Did I really eat that many bananas? 1) Since I've been back, I've had a ton of people say the whole... "Hey I read your blog, sounded like a total experience! Oh and also, that douchebag you went on a date with was insane! Was he for real? Oh my gosh that was so funny!" Yes, out of my many months of adventures, the main thing people comment on is the AMERICAN DOUCHEBAG I WENT ON ONE DATE WITH. Glad it was so memorable for you folks, for me too. Just a sparkling shining memory of my time in Ecuador. But hey... If that's what the people want-- my pain, humiliation, and eternal singledom, I'll give it to them. So... In my previous post describing the unforgettable date with that sweetheart, I forgot possibly the most startling thing that Douchebag said to me, so I figure that will be a good memory to leave you all with. "Did you used to be fat?" Yep. Literally, that's what he asked me. And it was about 10 minutes into the date, after we had gone through the small talk about our week and the weather. Yes, that's what he decided would be a great first conversation topic. Now besides being rude, horrible, and all around douchy, this is an awkward question on many levels.... Do I look like I used to be fat? Are you saying I'm fat now but trying to soften the blow by chalking it up to "leftover baby fat" or something? Or is this a backwards compliment saying I look good now, therefore I must've had to have been fat before? SERIOUSLY THOUGH, how does one answer that question!? Yeah actually, I lost 200 pounds in the past 6 weeks. No, I've always been a skinny raging bitch? Yes, but I recently got gastric bypass surgery? I would say this question is evidence of Douchebag's douchebaggery; clearly you never ask a lady about her past weight history, especially not when you're on a date eating fried cheese empanadas, which she will inevitably have to pay for. 2) Going out and talking to people is painful. Simple as that. I end up running into a bunch of people I haven't seen obviously since last May, and I get the awkward "oh! how was your trip?!", or "how was studying abroad!?", and then it leads into the even more awkward "weren't you in Mexico or something?", or "how was Ethiopia?", or "you must be really sick of burritos!", or "so what language did they speak there?" And sometimes "ooh say something in Spanish!", and then "oh I went on a mission trip once in 7th grade to Guatemala!" Or... "I'm thinking of doing the peace core!", and finally... "Wow, you are SUCH a good person. That's so cool that you went down there to help people". Ok. Let's just get some details straight here. -It wasn't really a trip. Yeah maybe I'm just being picky on word choice here...but I lived there. Not quite what I would consider a trip. -I wasn't studying abroad. Trust me I learned a lot, but there were no classes, no homework, and no expectations except drinking at least two glasses of wine nightly. -I could see how this could be confusing because I WAS in Mexico before Ecuador, but.... Not an excuse for the common misconception that ANYTHING south of the US, or where brown people live is all "Mexico". -Ecuador and Ethiopia are different countries believe it or not, actually different continents even! And I don't know why people keep thinking I went to Ethiopia, but it's strangely something I have got quite a bit. I don't even know what else to say on this subject, it puts me in too much physical pain. -Once again, burritos are Mexican, not Ecuadorian. But actually, burritos are an American idea of Mexican food, whereas in Mexico I never even encountered a burrito. So nope not sick of them, Chipotle sounds great actually. -Really!? Spanish! Unless you were confused and actually did think I was in Ethiopia, come onnnnn people. -Generally when this comes up, people don't give me a chance to awkwardly say "que tal?", but instead start reciting all the Spanish words they remember from high school Spanish class while butchering the accent, the pronunciation, and oh yeah, the actual word. But this I can't actually get annoyed at because 1) it's hilarious and 2) I know alllll about difficulties with the language. In fact I'm a pro at that, so I can sympathize. -Cool, that's awesome. But... A little bit different. Won't say more here cause I don't wanna sound like an asshole. -Oh my gosh. I don't even know how to explain how difficult this is, unless the person is literally Joyce. But Joyce, empathize with me here sissy. -Okay. First off... I hate the phrase "help people", let's never use that again. And... Not such a good person, don't confuse me with the average do-gooder. I drank, smoked, partied, and kissed many guys who's names I don't even remember from a bunch of different countries. So... As much as I'd love to play the mother Theresa card, I'll be honest here. Now that doesn't mean I blew off my job and just partied the whole time but... Let's just say I tried to get familiar with the culture on all aspects :) Also... I wasn't on a Mormon mission. 3) I can't speak English anymore. Simple as that. I literally don't know past tense of anything anymore, and I keep using "hay" or "como" with the cashier at the grocery store. Embarrassing. 5) Culture shock is an interesting thing... First week back was absolutely terrible, as evident my ugly cry on repeat. Now it's definitely getting better, but there are little things that still freak me out every once in a while. For instance...Why is there hot water in the pipes? Seriously though, I came to believe that didn't exist unless you boiled it. Also embarrassing. 6) Thanks to family, friends, and those awkward "conocidos" (conocido is the word that fits here. Regrettably, it's in Spanish and I literally don't even know the English translation that would have the right meaning and connotation. Like I said, English isn't my strong point) that have supported me in my travels, sent me messages, or even just read my blog on a boring Tuesday night when they were procrastinating. Much appreciated folks, and I'll be back when it's time for my next adventure:) Best of luck in 2014, and if you by chance end up traveling to Ecuador, hope you come to love that beautiful, amazing country as much as I did. But... be wary of the bloody sidewalks.

Livin' the high life. #trashy (en University of Montana)

#tbt to a couple weeks ago, and an awkward top deck selfie. #galapagos #teextrañoecuador #cuandopuedoregresar?

Reunited with two of the most important ladies in my life, reminiscing on Mexico. Wine helps, obviously. As does being the only people at the bar on a Tuesday night. #ladieznight @jacysuenram

Probably the best re gram you will ever see. Snorlax is my fave new roommate FOR SURE. @jsierra4

Hi folks... Well I'm clearly back in the states, but... The first part of this blog I wrote on the plane from Quito to Miami. If you were looking for that pathetic girly sob story... Here it is. If not, feel free to skip it. No hard feelings. Also... To clarify, the continually mentioned "kanga" is pretty much like a small sheet that African ladies wear to cover their head, or as a shirt/skirt/scarf, it's pretty multi functional. I generally use it as a pillow case at sketchy hostels, a towel, or a giant tissue. Yeah, I know. Gross. Part 1: The ugliest cry imaginable I think watching the plane take off from Quito was one of the hardest things for me so far. Even harder than finding a good taxi connection. Or forcing myself to try blood soup. I have come to love this city, the people, my life here, everything. And leaving all that behind is hard. But.. It reminds me of when I was leaving the states to come here, and I was like... I have EVERYTHING here. Why am I leaving? And now... I almost question why I'm coming back. Having control of my emotions right now would be nice, but realistically, let's not count on that one. I am just praying I don't start the ugly cry right here on the airplane, but if I get close... That's probably a reality, sorry fellow plane passengers. I'm sitting here thinking about the other plane passengers, what are their stories... Were they all here on vacation or... Did they come to love somewhere too, to call it home, to feel so incredibly close and connected to somewhere, something, someone. Ok, the tears are starting a bit. Currently I'm trying to use my iPad as a shield, hiding my face from the rest of the plane so I'm not the random girl crying in row 23. When I got to Quito I cried a lot. I missed my friends, my family, my life. I missed being comfortable, feeling safe. And now I'm crying for everything I'm leaving. Im thanking my lucky stars Joyce left a kanga at my house so I can have it on the plane to put over my head to pretend I'm sleeping, aka I'm morphing into the ugly cry. Prepare yourself folks for the monologue that will follow. I literally am such a mess of emotions these past few days, I don't know where to begin. On my last two days in Ecuador I hadn't necessarily planned anything special, maybe to avoid the realities that I was leaving, but somehow those two days weren't tribute enough to the city that gave me everything. On my last night in Ecuador I went to an año viejo party with Santi, which is pretty much everyone sitting around drinking, and eventually burning a joint pants/shirt combo to look like a person, and this is to welcome in the new year. And I couldn't help but think as I watched these overstuffed sweatpants burning that this is the end of something, and the beginning. And I have absolutely no idea how I feel about that or where I'm headed next or remotely WHAT I AM DOING WITH MY LIFE. Now yes I'm aware currently I'm irrational because the ugly cry has morphed into a full blown meltdown, I'm on an airplane full of people, and the only thing between me and the world (aka the all the passengers on this plane) knowing that I care, and am upset about leaving somewhere that was so hard to come to for me in the first place, is a paper thin kanga, which is clearly also doubling as a tissue for me right now. Today the airport was literally a blur for me, as much as I have traveled and been in about a million airports, the one I literally know second best to DIA was an absolute maze. I stumbled my way through security, forgot to take off my belt, jewelry, and money out of my pockets. When I then had to get a pat down, I couldn't understand the guard when he said to turn around. Sweet Jesus I've been living here for 6 months, no my Spanish isn't perfect, but I KNOW that. When I finally got through that I went to the wrong terminal, and had to be rescreened to get into the international terminal. And then the first hour of the flight I kept telling myself "wow I should probably feel some more remorse, feel funny, something." But no, I was numb. Until my emotions decided to tidal wave me, and I'm in one of the ugliest ugly cries I've ever done before. The kanga may be hiding my tear streaked face, but sadly there is no way it has been muffling the strangled sobs, and shaky breathing. Yeah doesn't get much more pathetic than this folks. Going back is so much harder than coming here ever was. It's not just leaving Quito, it's returning to my life, my job, my friends. I'm not the same person now that I was when I left, so how can I expect things to be the same? I feel like I have changed so much, and grown because of this experience, and that's what I have to keep remembering when I go home rather than stress about the little things. For instance, if it is maybe worth it to throw away this kanga when I get to Miami because of how incredibly soaked with snot and tears, or if I may need it again for the flight to Denver, if my tear ducts aren't completely dehydrated by then. Or if I may need it for the drive to Montana, where I'll have 15 hours to do NOTHING BUT THINK. Or maybe for my first day of class, my first meeting back at my work, the first house party I force myself to go to. This kanga is my security blanket right now, the thing keeping me feeling like I'm going completely crazy. Wait, I've definitely passed that point. So... May as well hop out the emergency exit right now and try my luck in Panama. **for the record, this was a real live account of an ugly cry. An ugly ugly ugly cry. Part 2: 6 days later-- Well folks here are the things you've missed. -Packed my life away in a mere day, and then drove the lovely 16+ hours to Montana -On the way, had a breakdown in downtown Salt Lake. Embarrassing how scary a parking garage, big mall, and or so many white people can be. -Moved into my new house, and painted my room pink, obvs. -New Years in the states. Also had another breakdown this night. -First day of classes/work/my real life. -Another breakdown this morning. Can anyone sense a recurring theme here? Life back home has been a little rough so far, and a lotta bittersweet. Thoughts and friends are always appreciated, wherever they may be. Sending you all love for the New Year, and let's hope the ugly cries are kept to a minimum, and the ugly laughs are a daily occurrence. Próspero año nuevo!

#newyears @ka_mar @shawec

3.2 and not okay. #reunited @kasodie

Back to the promised land. No, not Wyoming. #roadtrippin #whereiseverything #cultureshock @rexfordq

Blogging on the road is my new best friend. From airport layovers to between island cruises, I'm mobile. Currently I'm in the Galápagos Islands, a biological paradise, but ill obviously be posting this when I return to cell phone service/ Internet/the real world. So.... Between the return from the jungle to where I am now, here is what you missed... -Joyce got into Quito. -Mamas BFF, muy linda Linda also arrived, although for the majority of the trip I've been referring to her either as my Tia, or my "real mom". -We touristed around Quito for a day, never knew it was physically possible to see that many churches in such a short time span, but mama Gail made that happen obviously. -Went three hours North of Quito with the entourage to some famous markets, ended up coming back with 3 suitcases worth of purchases, and some very happy ladies. (Not leaving KK out of this, but the only thing he purchased during the 2 day shopping spree was a $1 hand knitted hackey sack that he refers to as a "stress ball"). Also, I would say the best deal of the weekend was the trade of 2 alpaca scarves for the sweater I was wearing at the time, which I probably got when I was 16 years old and was planning on throwing away in a matter of days. -And that brings us to part 1 of this epic adventure... The downfall of Ladies Night: I feel like I'm ALWAYS in situations where my mom tells me to do something, and because I'm clearly a mature capable adult, I decide to do exactly the opposite of what she told me. With this situation, it involved our early departure for the Galapagos. 4:30 in the morning early to be exact. And... I decided it would be a great idea to take Joyce out in Quito the night before, to ladies night. Now I should have listened to my mom when she said I really should stay in because not only were we leaving early, but the whole week in the Galapagos is rigorous, lots of physical activity and sun, plus every day is an early start. Oh how I should have listened to her. And I also should have listened to her when she said if we did go out, at least try to start early so we could end a bit earlier. And I also should have listened to her when she said to drink only a couple drinks, or not at all, oh how I lament not having listened to my mom. So the breakdown goes as follows: -Early start is a nice idea in theory. But... Realistically not going to happen. And needless to say in this case, it didn't happen. -Ladies night is famous for its free alcohol for women. But considering the trend of unwise decisions, we decided to pre-game the FREE ALCOHOL. Still questioning what was going through my mind, clearly nothing. -By the time we made it out, it was clearly late. And instead of heading directly to the discotecas like all the other smarter gringas, we went to a professional salsa bar. Where we made another unwise decision to drink 2 for 1 mojitos (I feel like this is the only thing my mom would be proud of through the whole night, mojitos are her drank). -After staying entirely too long, we finally made it downtown. At which point the clubs were so packed, we had to wait for people to leave to get in. This should have been a sign. But in our inebriated state, clearly this was a sign the clubs were gonna be GOOD. -Now ladies an gentleman, I am aware the universe was sending me flashing "GO HOME" signs, but this was the most blatant one I could have seen.... -I saw Douchebag while waiting to get into the club. Yes, the DOUCHEBAG who I never expected to encounter again. Clearly there was an awkward hug, some slurred "how have you been"s, and some all too loud whispering to Joyce "oh my god, that's him, the douchebag from the nightmare date!" -Decided to enter the club, against all good decisions. The next couple hours are a blur, lots of dancing, embarrassing attempts at singing along, hiding from Douchebag, drunken confessions (sorry Santi!), and something terrible I am incredibly ashamed to admit that i blame COMPLETELY on an abundance of rum and coke, and a lack of dinner (hint, it starts with a sub and ends with a way, but what it really ended in was shameful suffering and a loss of self respect). -Now I really should have listened to my mom when she said the taxi would be at our house at 4:30 sharp. I should have listened to her when she said to BE SURE to be ready. I definitely deserved to listen to her yelling at me after Joyce and I woke up with the taxi honking outside after waiting for us when we slept through our alarms, arriving home a mere hour before... -I also deserved to listen to her yelling at me at the airport when I was unable to successfully translate for the family, making us wait in the wrong line for a half hour due to my still inebriated state. -I ALSO deserved to listen to her shout in front of the entire airport "oh my god you STINK like alcohol". -So after I successfully lost every shred of dignity and pride I may have had, I realized a couple more reasons I should have listened to good old Gail. I should have listened to her when she was trip planning, and asked me to come look at where we were staying. Gail had planned a cruise around the Galapagos, which I learned upon arrival, yes a cruise apparently means "BOAT". I should have listened to my mom and taken some hints when she talked about the 3 different sea sickness medications she brought in anticipation. I continued to think with remorse how i should have listened to my mom as i suffered the worst hangover known to man, while on a rocking boat. -Moral of the story: listen to your mom. Seriously. Galapagos: Now I clearly didn't do my research before coming to the Galapagos and holy shit, I almost felt I was unworthy to come here, not being a biologist or bird enthusiast or really anything but a hungover college kid. But... The Galapagos are literally unreal. Half the islands look like another planet, so covered in volcanic rock it's questionable how anything can live there, much less TONS of giant tortoises and sea lions. Anyways now that I have acknowledged how cool the islands are, let me get to the goods. First a break down of the trip: it was me, my mom, Joyce, and BFF Linda. My mom and Linda have been best friends for almost 40 years. And lets just say when these two are together they are HILARIOUS, especially when wine is involved. But for anyone who doesn't know them... They look like a bunch of crazy drunk ladies (sorry mom and Linda when you read this, you know you two are my faves). Anyways... Combine the two of them with Joyce and I, and you have quite possibly the most annoying and hilarious group of gringas to ever exist, depending on how you look at it. And clearly being so incredibly perfect ourselves, we had to judge the others on the boat. Ironically, on a 15 person person cruise, the 3 people we could not stand were 3 out of the 4 other Americans on the cruise, what does that tell you....Now the breakdown of the codenames we gave them so we could gossip more freely went as follows: (yes I know we aren't in high school anymore. Yes I'm aware we are pathetic for giving them codenames. For the record.... Mama and Linda were responsible for the names, and Joyce and I were responsible for encouraging them). R.B.: Russian B**** - This was a lady from Russia who had since moved to the states. The whole trip she was too busy making sure her French manicure didn't get messed up to pay attention to anything else. Also, she was incredibly disrespectful to the wildlife and the environment, and the "7 foot" rule regarding the wildlife was more of a 7 inch rule for her. And for the record we were on the fence about R.B., but for every redeeming quality she had, she had 3 that made us forget our doubts of her evil nature. A.P.: Asian Princess -This was a lady from San Fran, and she had traveled a ton of places and seemed SO COOL, but every time you tried to talk to her she would literally ignore you, and was rude to everyone on the trip. The entire trip she annoyingly stated was on a diet, and maybe the fact that she was hungry all the time can explain her bitchy nature. Needless to say, she got along great with R.B. F.F.: F*** Face -Yes, this name is blatantly rude and not at all creative. But I cannot physically think of another way to describe this guy's personality. He was A.P.'s husband, and was more obsessed with his foot long camera than anything (clearly compensating for another part that may be lacking). This guy was MAYBE 6 years older than me, but the entire trip he referred to "the kids" aka me and an 8 year old girl from Finland. He also continually made rude comments to the crew or other cruise members, pretended to be such a world traveler but was incredibly ignorant, and he was pretty much an all around 1st class a-hole. Speaking of a-holes, yes I'm aware us four ladies are just that for coming up with spiteful nicknames for our least favorite people, but hey when you are trapped on a boat 24 hours a day with the same 15 people for a week, your douchebag tolerance declines rapidly. AND speaking of douchebags, let me get to the four main ones here. Just to continue our status as annoying gringas, and because mama Gail and muy Linda Linda are serious drama queens, they choreographed a dance number to "I Will Survive" for us to do in front of the entire crew, and all the passengers. Right before we went on, mama Gail and muy Linda Linda were taking swigs of out of a smuggled water bottle full of wine to gain some liquid courage, Joyce kept repeating "I'm so nervous I could puke", and I was mourning the loss of my dignity and self respect. Our performance was received with raving reviews from the ecuadorian crew members, and uncomfortable looks along with murmured whispers among the other passengers. Nailed it. And yes I'm aware I'm posting this... Not so Christmas spirit-y blog the day after Christmas. A couple days ago when I wrote this... I was definitely in a different mood, I was looking forward to returning to Quito, to spending the holidays with my family and friends. And now...Christmas is over, Ive said goodbye to my friends over the past couple days, my family last night, and my querida Arielle this morning. Now I have a mere 2 days to say goodbye to the city I love so much, and the country that has taught me more than I could ever imagine. So yeah, I'm posting a relatively shallow hopefully funny blog now, to fend off the other things I'm thinking, so I can try to spend the next two days as blissfully happy as possible. Ecuador has been an amazing experience thus far, with so many ups and downs, and so so so so many lessons I never expected to learn. And, funnily enough, before I came here people gave me all sorts of advice about living in another country---don't hang out with other extranjeros, don't speak any English, don't Skype home too much, try every type of food you can, don't drink the water, learn as much about the indigenous cultures that you can, don't get a novio, only walk on the street in large groups, the list goes on and on.... Some of this advice I took, and some I obviously didn't. But those were my lessons to learn on my own, and I don't regret anything. I've had an amazing time here, and I think it's just the right amount (for now). If I had stayed for only 2 or 3 months, going back would be way too easy, too natural. But... If I had stayed any longer, I think I would have a lot more trouble moving back to the states, or maybe it just wouldn't have happened at all. I am so incredibly thankful to have had this experience, and going back to the states is the next adventure. I no longer think of it as going "home", because I have so many places that feel like home at this point. And for that, I'm so lucky. Happy holidays wherever they have taken you folks, wherever "home" may be for you.

The one day a year I can legitimately use this cup, even though it's clearly been my favorite mug since August. Feliz nav ñaños!