The Sierra is Cold

Yes, it is true. There exists in Ecuador not only the scalding heat of the coast where I currently dwell, but a freezing climate high in the wind-swept mountains of the sierra. Such a wide variety of pain, in a country the size of Colorado! An earlier version of myself would have jumped at the chance to get out of the heat. Indeed, I did laugh when my host family told me Zula would be cold, even for a gringo. Cold? Hah! I come from Chicago, we own cold. As its masters, we let it roam free for half the year and sometimes more. And my host family wanted me to take a coat. A coat! Who the heck brings a coat to Ecuador?

As it turns out, I made a grave miscalculation. The extreme altitude, searing wind, and arctic temperature combined to form a type of Axis of Evil whose united purpose was to make me feel like crap. They succeeded, in part. I spent my nights unable to sleep due to the change in pressure. My mornings were spent wishing my stomach pains would leave so I could actually eat something. The evenings were spent looking for additional clothes to put on. By stealing clothes from random people I was able to cobble together an outfit that made me look like a sad Christmas tree---a green hat, red scarf, and over sized jacket that wasn't nearly thick enough.

The cold found the prospect of tormenting an unprepared gringo much more appealing than its failed attempts to pierce the stone skin of the local natives. That is why it followed me. I know this is not usually possible but this chill wind born in the harsh mountains of the sierra seemed to have developed an evil intelligence. It jumped on my head and made me wish I was born without ears. It tried to gnaw off my face by freezing portions so they were digestible. It followed me into the bathroom when I was most vulnerable. Showers were impossible. I'm surprised the water could be at that temperature and still hold its liquid form! Sometimes I would feel the wind whipping at my eyes and making them water, only to realize they were tears. Perhaps I was mourning the slow death of my fingers? Using my keen survival skills I was able to steal mittens. This served the dual purpose of completing the outfit of the Dorkiest Gringo in Ecuador and saving my fingers, for which you should be grateful as I'm using them to write this blog for you.