Furry Things Do Not Belong Here

Since my last posts have gotten such a positive response (apparently people enjoy reading about me in uncomfortable situations?) I've decided to provide a few anecdotes. Sorry, they do not involve Leon. They do involve showers.

It started when the hot water stopped working in the house. The water was still hot in the pool bath, so I decided to venture out into the cool night in my fuzzy pink bathrobe. The shadows seemed to skulk at the edge of my vision as I dashed across the yard. Yes, I can be a little skittish, but I really DID hear something following me through the grass. I scrambled into the bathroom and locked the door, then set down my things and went to the window to confirm it was locked.

Something started scratching at the door.

Yes, scratching. Like fingernails. On the door. Here I am, so young and full of hope and ambition, and I'm going to die alone in a pool bath. I almost sat down on the toilet and cried at the poignance of my situation. Instead, I silently undid the lock and threw the door open. There was something there. It was Cicero, the sleek gray-and-white family cat. He looked up at me and meowed.

I slammed the door shut and turned on the shower.

Halfway through my shower I heard something again, only this time it was coming from the window behind me. I turned and saw a round shape with two eyes staring in at me. This time, man, I really screamed. Cicero meowed back at me.

"You have a sick, twisted mind!" I shouted, banging on the window to scare him off. Needless to say, when I was done, Cicero walked me back to the house. The men in this country…

Don't let that downright darling-ness fool you.

Tonight, I had my first encounter with a Spider in my shower. (And that's Spider with a capitol S. I mean, this thing was a SPIDER.) I caught sight of it slinking along my shower curtain and let out shout of horror. Huddling in the not-so-protective stream of water, I considered my options and decided the only thing I was brave enough to do was…let it walk away. I watched until it had scrambled across the curtain and out of sight, at which point I became more alarmed than before. Spiders who walk out of sight have the tendency to reappear suddenly in the most unwanted places. In this case, it happened to be my bath towel. Yes, Spider made his lithely-long-legged escape, looked around my bathroom (which is like, hundreds of spider square miles) and decided to make himself comfy on my towel.

C'mon, Spider. Ain't nobody gonna be happy when this is over.

Luckily, I have the long-established habit of thoroughly scrutinizing my towels before wrapping them around myself, thus saving myself from the potential horror of that––rather close––encounter. In the end, Spider got away (cackling evilly and vowing to return in his high-pitched, Spider voice, I'm sure) and I decided to change elsewhere.

Oh l'amour part deux: stalk or be stalked

Remember that guy from class who totally planted his fat lips on my face after I told him I wasn't interested? Well, in a brilliant move of self-preservation, I transferred to a different class and assumed I'd never see him again. Problem solved!

I saw him in the French library a few nights later. "Victoria," he exclaimed. "It's you!"

I'll admit it, I panicked. I turned tail and fled. Luckily, my ride was waiting and I was able to make a quick escape.

The following day, I was not so lucky. Due to a series of unfortunate events, Emme was late in picking me up and I didn't have my phone, so I wandered the parking lot in search of her. It wasn't an easy task: the traffic here is terrible and the drivers are absolutely locos. Also everybody drives the same kind of car. Really. After searching for some time, I decided to wait by the front. That's when I heard his voice:

"Victoria!" (I am coming to dread hearing my full name.)

I turned and slipped inside, hurriedly scrambling upstairs and into the girls bathroom where I sequestered myself inside a stall. I didn't really think Leon would follow me. I didn't think he'd even seen where I went. Still, to be safe, I pulled out my iPod and passed some time reading a few chapters from Way of Kings (love that book). When the cleaning lady finally kicked me out, I stepped into the hall…

…to discover Leon sitting there, waiting for me.

"Victoria," he said, closing his book and smiling. "I have been waiting for you."

No! Really?

I stomped past him, holding my hand out warningly. "Don't talk to me," I snapped.

"Please," he said in the most sickly-sweet, most pitiful, patético voice. He gazed up at me with gleaming, sable eyes. "Do you really mean that? I just wanted to talk to you."

"DON'T TALK TO ME. DON'T EVER GET NEAR ME AGAIN," I bellowed as I stormed down the stairs and out the door. Outside, the air was cool and fresh, but it did little to lessen my annoyance as I stalked around the parking lot in search of Emme's car. I ran into the security guard, but he didn't speak any English and I decided a game of charades wasn't necessary––I was more furious than frightened, and judged I wasn't in real danger––so I moved back inside and bravely made my tragic last stand in the middle of the cafeteria (I thought that sounded like pretty noble place to have a last stand) where I could watch the door.

I didn't have to wait long before in rushed Emme. She'd had a crazy time trying to come pick me up, but I told her about my escapades and totally won the who-had-a-crazier-night contest. Judged by me. Ha.

All that remains of Leon's roses.

Seriously, though. My love life.

Oh l'amour part un: Love, you nasty thing

I've come to Ecuador to learn French! (Odd, that.) Since I'm going to be living in France for several weeks, and I previously knew nothing about the language, I figured it'd be smart to take some classes. I ended up in a super-intense-five-week-two-hour-a-day French class taught for Spanish-speakers.

Not gonna lie; it's hard.

Luckily for me, many Ecuadorians take English in school, so I've been able to carry out basic communication with most of them. One man in particular, Leon, strove to converse with me.

"Victoria," he murmured, "you are distracting me."

"I am?"

"Yes. With your beauty."

"Oh. Well, I can come looking like a bum from now on if that would help."

"God has a garden with many flowers, but you are the most beautiful flower of all."

Leon's romantic attentions escalated quickly. Two weeks into class, he presented me with a bouquet of roses in front of the entire class (the heat I felt in my cheeks could've roasted marshmallows). After that, when I sat apart from him, the other women (giggling loudly) would rearrange themselves so that Leon was seated next to me, giving him ample opportunity to brush against my arm or touch my hand––despite my pointed glares.

"Sorry, but I'm not really interested in romance right now," I announced to him after class.

"I want to spend more time with you," he replied.

"No. I'm not interested. In you."

"Can you come to my house?"

I toyed with the idea of pulling out my iPod and playing my theme song for him. Instead I shook my head and said, "Nope."

"I will expect you sometime this week?"

"No, I'm never going to your house. Ever."

"Victoria, God has a garden with many flowers, but you are the most beautiful flower of all."

"Huh. Never heard that one before. But look, here's my ride. Goodbye."

He sighed in defeat, then leaned in for the customary "kiss" on the cheek. You always have to kiss everybody goodbye here––it basically involves bending towards somebody so that your cheek is next to theirs, then making a kissing sound. It still feels odd to me, but I suppose the custom of shaking hands looks odd to outsiders. Still, I should've been smarter…

Leon leaned forward, then made a quick dive for my lips. I jerked my head to the side and his lips landed at the corner of my mouth. His soft, squishy lips. "NO!" I shouted, shoving him back with all my strength, then turned and stomped to the car. I was livid, horrified, disgusted––and absolutely, irrevocably enraged.

Seething, I went home, listened to some angsty Taylor Swift music, plotted my revenge, and wrote mean things about men in my journal. Then…I transferred to another class. This section is a lot smaller, with only five girls (all my age or younger) and one young man who could be an Abercrombie & Fitch model. Not that I'm interested.

We'll see how it goes…

Sopa con…popcorn?

I've been eating ALL KINDS of new foods since coming to Ecuador. Like cooked carrots. I haven't gotten near cooked carrots since I was…well, since a long time ago. Muchos años. Coming to a new country, I determined to be open-minded about the foods here, to be willing to try new things. As it often occurs when one tries new things, I've discovered a lot of deliciousness. Cooked carrots, really, aren't bad. I don't know why I've avoided them so doggedly all these years.

Another food I've always kept my distance from is soup. (Okay, so maybe I'm a picky eater.) Soup breaks several rules of mine: it often has onions or cooked tomatoes and the ingredients are all mixed together. I do not eat anything mixed.

Well, it turns out Ecuadorians eat a lot of soup, and I have discovered it to be one of my new favoirte foods (behind crunchy peanut butter, chocolate chips and granny smith apples). A few days ago I was introduced to a soup called crema de espinacas. Being a fan of spinach smoothies, I had no trouble with the thick texture or delightful greenish-brown color.

I was, however, quite startled by one particular ingredient: popcorn. Yes, Ecuadorians sometimes put freshly-popped popcorn in their cream soups.

Sopa de espinacas (and, well, popcorn)

Years ago, my youngest brother soaked a handful of popcorn in a bowl of ramen then offered me a spoonful––while watching with adorable, wide-eyed aprehension. The popcorn was slick and spongy. I had to employ all my throat muscles in getting it down without gagging (nearly destroyed my ability to sing). So, now, when I looked into the bowl of crema and saw the popcorn…nope. I ate the soup––even took seconds––but helped myself to dry, crisp popcorn on the side. Just how I've always eaten it.

It appears my newly-found, liberating open-mindedness only extends so far.

¡Hola y Chao!

Hola from Ecuador! I've been here for two weeks and I absolutely love it! Today we finally have wifi, which is such a blessing. I don't know how the past 100 billion residents of this earth lived without instant communication between people on a different continent (partial sarcasm there) but I am so grateful to be able to talk with my family again!

The city of Quito is dwarfed by nature.

The Andes are beautiful––every time we go for a drive I am awed by the landscape around me. The city stretches out as far as you can see, eventually fading into the hazy sky, and the mountains are so massive they thrust through the clouds. Yes, their peaks reach higher than most clouds!! (Granted, I spent most of my life in the very flat state of Florida, however, these mountains are BIG.) I've never seen anything like it, but I could totally live here.

Actually, I do.

Another wonderful aspect about my new situation is that my bedroom has a huge window (almost as big as those mountains) that takes up an entire wall. An orange tree is blossoming just outside––attracting plenty of emerald-colored hummingbirds––and the sweet scent drifts inside when I open my window. It's perfect. In late afternoon, I can listen to the birds singing, and the dappled sunlight flickers and whirls across my floor. Sunlight coming through big windows makes my heart happy.

My beautiful window.

The only thing I feel bad about is that I left the States so suddenly I didn't get to say goodbye to a lot of people, such as my dear brother, Alec, and all my friends in Virginia. So, to all mis amigos…I miss you. I think of you often (in a fond, non-creepy way). And since I've noticed people rarely say "adios" here: Chao! (Or tchao, if you're French…which none of you are. I just need to practice my French.)

At night, the clouds hang low over the city and reflect the lights.