(Thursday, May 21, 2015) - Day 1
And so it begins. I've known it was coming for months, close to a year even, yet it was still surreal. Adrenaline rushing in anticipation, heart leaping with joy, and stomach twisting in fear in a stunning juxtaposition that traveling tends to spark within me, I stepped onto the plane. It was a long day--the blur of gates, hurried meals, sweaty skin, and whirlwind of voices and faces that airports force into our every sense. The taste of dry, stale air, the smell of fast food, the sounds of ten different languages all at once, some more familiar than others, the rough and heavy touch of the piece of luggage we are forced to lug around, and the vision of glamorous airport shops and women dressed to the nines, which I will never understand. You're flying. It's uncomfortable as it is why are you wearing heels and a tight dress?
But the craziness was more than worth it as we stepped out into the Guayaquil night and humidity permeated my skin and filled my nostrils with an unfamiliar smell. I've never been to Latin America, so everything is foreign to me. As we drove to our hotel, my senses were again overwhelmed by the constant stream of life unfolding outside my window as we sped on the highway, and the voice of Sebastian, our guide, enlightening us on the slang we will hear in Cuenca, which takes its character from indigenous roots.
I am always in awe of individuals I meet in other countries who have so much pride in their cities, and in their nation, giving historical lessons and answers to questions I would be unable to answer about the US. He boasted about the loveliness of Cuenca, it's the best place to live in the world, it's people speak clearer and slower, they sing when they talk, it has more history than other cities in Ecuador, the air is cool and fresh. I think we could all learn from the pride that others take in their homes. When I lived in France, my hosts were sheep shearers--they never went to college, yet could recite France's entire history to you on demand. When I was in Palestine, my friend showed me the cafe that had been bombed during the intifada, told me the intricate history of neighborhoods and the historical balance in their religious identities. I don't know how we came to be the way we are, but we are somehow disattached in a way they are not.
We are staying by a park with beautiful trees that are a type of masterpiece by mother nature that I have never seen before. They're stunning. The city is stunning. And I look forward to being continually stunned and inspired by the beauty these next ten days will bring.
-Jori Breslawski
And so it begins. I've known it was coming for months, close to a year even, yet it was still surreal. Adrenaline rushing in anticipation, heart leaping with joy, and stomach twisting in fear in a stunning juxtaposition that traveling tends to spark within me, I stepped onto the plane. It was a long day--the blur of gates, hurried meals, sweaty skin, and whirlwind of voices and faces that airports force into our every sense. The taste of dry, stale air, the smell of fast food, the sounds of ten different languages all at once, some more familiar than others, the rough and heavy touch of the piece of luggage we are forced to lug around, and the vision of glamorous airport shops and women dressed to the nines, which I will never understand. You're flying. It's uncomfortable as it is why are you wearing heels and a tight dress?
But the craziness was more than worth it as we stepped out into the Guayaquil night and humidity permeated my skin and filled my nostrils with an unfamiliar smell. I've never been to Latin America, so everything is foreign to me. As we drove to our hotel, my senses were again overwhelmed by the constant stream of life unfolding outside my window as we sped on the highway, and the voice of Sebastian, our guide, enlightening us on the slang we will hear in Cuenca, which takes its character from indigenous roots.
I am always in awe of individuals I meet in other countries who have so much pride in their cities, and in their nation, giving historical lessons and answers to questions I would be unable to answer about the US. He boasted about the loveliness of Cuenca, it's the best place to live in the world, it's people speak clearer and slower, they sing when they talk, it has more history than other cities in Ecuador, the air is cool and fresh. I think we could all learn from the pride that others take in their homes. When I lived in France, my hosts were sheep shearers--they never went to college, yet could recite France's entire history to you on demand. When I was in Palestine, my friend showed me the cafe that had been bombed during the intifada, told me the intricate history of neighborhoods and the historical balance in their religious identities. I don't know how we came to be the way we are, but we are somehow disattached in a way they are not.
We are staying by a park with beautiful trees that are a type of masterpiece by mother nature that I have never seen before. They're stunning. The city is stunning. And I look forward to being continually stunned and inspired by the beauty these next ten days will bring.
-Jori Breslawski
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