Whatever snuck in through my window yesterday night and ate one of my pieces of bread through two plastic bags – sucks. As I stared at the ripped bag, trying to deduce what type of animal committed such an atrocity, I was faced with the tough decision eating one of the two remaining rolls, or not. As usually, I was hungry, on a very tight budget, and the bakery is a ten-minute walk through shade-less equatorial sun, so I decided to eat the roll that was furthest from the site of the attack – and hoped that the culprit had a clean mouth.

As I walked in the front door after my early morning run the following morning, I was worried about making the decision to-eat or not-to-eat the remaining mostly intact portion of the only wheat bread in town. Luckily, the thousands of ants marching happily across my countertop carrying away my bread made the not-to-eat decision a whole lot easier.

I have fallen into a pit of emptiness – oh wait, that is just my apartment.

About a week and a half ago I made the decision to move out of my host families’ house. PC’s timeline is living with a host family for three months, I lived with mine for six, but ultimately the decision to move out came down to privacy, not having running water in the house, not having a toilet seat, and my little brother peeing outside my window every morning before school. The host brother thing was actually kind of funny, but only because he is four.

I love my host family, and their pet guanta, and have visited many times since the big move, but I have always been the independent type, and love living alone. I savored the first few days of reading in my hammock without Steven jumping on me, or chasing the guanta around with a broom in his underwear, but as the community gets more comfortable with the idea of the gringo being out in the wild, there has been an increase in random forced-entry visits. Whether it is the neighborhood kids wanting someone to laugh at, or my drunken neighbors wanting to hangout and finish the case of beer at my place, my solitude is quickly becoming as irregular as clean clothes.

I have pretty much nothing in my house wares department, and it is both awesome and depressing. The few items I bought with me, I can’t really unpack because I have nothing to unpack my stuff onto other than a moldy tile floor. I am trying to fix the mold problem, but bleach, vinegar, and laundry soap only prove to be temporary solutions. I am working on getting some serious primer, but it is so humid here that last night the condensation from the roof woke me up dripping on my face.

Hopefully this weekend will win me some comfort. I am promised a mattress from my counterpart agency, three plastic chairs from another PC volunteer, and already have an excellent hand-me-down propane stove and toaster oven. I am treasure hunting like a Somali pirate, trying to commandeer wood to build a bed, shelves, and table. I am also shopping around for curtains to keep out the prying – what is that gringo up to in there – eyes.

Standing up while eating breakfast, sitting on the tile floor reading about reforestation, and trying type in a hammock is cool for a few days, but it is getting old and uncomfortable as we enter week two. It will also be awesome to be able to store food, and protect it from the army of ants longer than 4-12 hours if I can ever afford a refrigerator.

26.2 Miles is 42 Kilometers – 42 Kilometers is really far...

I ran my first marathon today, and around mile 24, I also thought it would be my last. However, like most strenuous physical activity, as soon as I crossed the finish line, I was planning how to do it better, faster, and stronger.

Running in Ecuador has been an adventure worthy of a low budget, made-for-television, motion picture. With the help of some marathon masters from home, I somehow squeezed 18 weeks of marathon training into 5, and prepared to run for about 4 hours in Quito, the second highest capital in the world.

I was very fortunate to meet up Friday night in Quito, and stay with two other Peace Corps marathoners. Kristen and Lindsay are super volunteers – they actually signed up for a third year of service, and great people to hangout with under the impending weight of a marathon. I am very gracious for their hospitality, hunger for baked goods, and humor.

We woke up this morning at four to make it to the starting line by five, for the five-thirty start. A small bowl of oatmeal, two oritos – mini bananas, and a sip of water later, I was off to the San Francisco church starting line. It was a chilly morning – perfect New England running temperature – and we were sent off with a blaze of fireworks, followed by the Ecuadorian national anthem. Running in the pre-dawn darkness is one of my favorite things to do in Ecuador, and I could finally do it without looking crazy – well, looking crazy along with 300 other people.

The first half of the race flew by, but by the third lap of the Parque Carolina, I felt like I was about to celebrate my 125^th birthday. My right quad cramped up so bad I could see my muscle flexing like Arnold in pumping iron – it is the movie about bodybuilding – and I had to get the Gatorade guy to help me lift my foot to stretch my leg. As funny as it probably looked from the comfort of the taxi guy’s drivers seat, I was beginning to wonder how I was going to finish the race.

It turns out my parents, Miss Wiernas (first grade teacher), Miss Lyzack (second grade teacher), and that testudinidae from the tortoise and hare story, all lied to me; slow and steady does not win the race – it just gets you across the finish line. As I lay in the grass, looking up at the clouds above Quito, I reflected on my 26.2 miles road, and my five-ish months in Ecuador; a slow and steady pace will get me to the finish line, but a strong and sustainable pace will bring the trophy home to the jungle.

Welcome to the Jungle

After almost four months of living in Ecuador, and over a month of getting down to business and living on my own in the community of Santa Clara, I am finally getting a bit more settled. I hope this blog acts a platform to share some of the amazing experiences that I have had over the past few months. So far, life in the Peace Corps has gone by faster than a midnight express bus; I feel like it has been equally bumpy, at times uncomfortable, but always exciting.

Life, work, and stories:

Life:

For the next 23-ish months, my official hometown futbol team plays games in the beautiful town of Santa Clara. Located in Pastaza, the largest province in Ecuador, Santa Clara sits delicately next to the Rio Ungsu in the Amazon rainforest – or the Oriente. There are about 800 people in the town itself and an additional 400 people in the surrounding communities. With five and two-half restaurants (not six), three school systems, three soccer fields, and zero stop lights, Santa Clara has it all.

Santa Clara occasionally reminds me of my hometown of Windsor, Connecticut; friendly and family focused, small town feel, and big town accommodations. Just like the first town in CT, SC sits between two big cities. Instead of Boston and New York to my north and south, Tena and Puyo are about an hour away – depending on the drivers’ nerves and the mudslides. There is no North West Park, town green, or Shad derby, but I am falling in love with my new home and look forward to sharing a post dedicated exclusively to Santa Clara.

Work:

Landing an assignment in Santa Clara proves that I had some luck packed away somewhere in one of my three bags, but I feel like my Peace Corps assignment was as lucky as hitting the jackpot at both Mohegan Sun and Foxwoods.

My overall title for the Peace Corps is a sustainable agriculture volunteer, and I have a lot of freedom to assist and advise the community of Santa Clara with projects they would like to accomplish. Part of the Peace Corps – PC mission is promoting cross-cultural connections, and simply machete-ing through the jungle with local farmers is an important part of my daily work. However, I have been extremely fortunate to get paired with an outstanding organization for my primary work project.

The majority of my time is spent working with indigenous farmers planting, harvesting, and promoting guyusa tea. Guyusa is a tree native to the Amazon, and a big part of the local culture. Many indigenous families drink guyusa early each morning as part of their path to a healthy life. Our foundation is called Fundation Runa based on the Quechua (language and indigenous group in the area) word for people. Runa is currently working exporting details to the states, and should be on shelves shortly. Runa.org is our website and details the project.

Runa will be celebrating its one-year anniversary next month, and I am very pleased and fortunate to be joining the team at such an exciting time. We are opening a new factory on the property of an old and dilapidated zoo, and I have many exciting project planned, including figuring out a way to eat snacks without letting the monkeys steal anything.

Stories:

I have countless stories, journal entries, observations, and one-liners to share. Ecuador is an amazing place; living at the local level, and in the front seat of a new company provides the perfect view for a unique, and often hilarious perspective.

Please stay in touch, pass on my blog and my regards, and send me your thoughts.

All of the best of life and luck - Climb on

Joseph Walker