Rediscovering My Words...

Well I finally found a writing instrument which means I can begin penning entries into this journal again. It's strange, trying to recount my experiences into words; where once it was as routine to me as breathing. Like a knife dulled from unuse and neglect, now I find myself fumbling and groping for the proper word or phrase to adequately convey the moment I want.

And what to write about? So much has already happened in so little a span. Should I write about my fears and trepidations? Because what sane person could leave behind their entire world and not have a few of those. Will I be able to survive on a continent where I barely speak the language. Will I be mugged and lose all my belongs. What will it be like in a year when I return home. Home... it now consists solely of a 45 pound red pack strapped to my pack and whereever my two feet happen to be.

Or maybe I should write about all the great people I've already met. There seems to be a special bond and kinship traveller's share that allow them to instantly accept and trust each other; almost as if we were kindred spirits that luck or fate, if you believe in that type of thing, has brought together for the briefest of intervals. A few days or a few minutes; it seems not to matter. Names are hastily exchanged, email addresses are swapped on scraps of white paper, and plans are made; sometimes months in advance. Not since my first few weeks of college have I met so many new and varied souls. Everyone is so eager to cling to each new relationship but just as willing to let it go.

Or should I write about Ecuador and its people, the little of it I've seen up till now. Tarquin, the owner of the hostal, swears Ecuadorans are an honest lot and I find nothing to malign his perceptions. The natives I have met are friendly and generally eager to converse with and help foreigners. In stores, if they don't have exactly what you're looking for, they have no qualms about directing you to another store. The city of Quito itself is nestled snugly into three mountains and the valley below. From the terrace of the hostal in Old Town, the Bascillica, a cathedral built in the Gothic tradition, dominates the skyline. And to the left, the Panecillo Virgin, a towering statue composed of 7,000 pieces of aluminum looks over the city in constant vigilance.

So much to still do and see, after which I'm sure I'll once again arrive at a dilemna about what to write.