Moonshine at the bull ring

I may have to eat my words a little.

As soon as we left the internet shop yesterday (the one where I poured my frustration into the blog below), the mood between the other volunteer and I seemed to change. All of the things I had complained about seemed to stop, and we actually managed to converse in words of multiple syllables.

I suppose I was a bit harsh in my complaints, because he certainly isn´t a bad person and wasn´t intentionally trying to offend me. Perhaps he was frustrated and resentful with the situation, and not me, and just needed to speak to his family and girlfriend on Sykpe to feel more sociable. Whatever the resaon for the tension, it got better.

I considered deleting yesterday´s blog, because I don´t want to write anything insulting or hurtful to people. But I will leave it, because it is an example of my yo-yo-ing emotions and heightened sensitivity at the moment. The close quarters are one thing to make us edgy, and the philosophical and personal issues that the situation raises another, but when things start going off-plan in a technical sense, the feeling of helplessness and solitude can blow up out of all proportion.

This week I have had my phone stolen and discovered that my bank card doesn´t work. Two annoying, technical chains linking me to the commercial, media-obsessed western world have been cut. I never realised how reassuring these chains can be. But I will survive without them, I am sure.
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Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, last night in Riobamba.

We decided to get a bottle of wine and find somewhere to sit and people watch, because despite the fiesta practically everywhere in Riobamba is closed on Sundays.

Eventually we found a spot on some steps, next to a group of people selling artisania and playing a hotchpotch of instruments from bongos and traditional pipes to a plastic mini saxophone.

Drinking Crystal (like moonshine, the chemicals can make you go blind if you drink too much) on the steps of the bull ring, a pool of bulls blood on the road in front of us. Sat between a texan traveller and her Ecuadorian boyfriend, being taught to juggle by the Columbian guy who gave me the bracelet, and making plans to meet up and hang out on the coast in a few weeks maybe. Reassuring the police woman that I do have a passport back at the hostal, and do have a visa (hm?), and winding our way back to the hostal at around midnight, chatting and ready to sleep.

It was an alright night.