So, I got up this morning at 3:30 after going to bed at 11:00 last night. Sleep ended up not coming all that easily for me. The internal and external moise rattling through my skull wouldn't allow for it. That said, I woke up feeling far more alert than I had thought possible (not to say that I was perky by any means, but I was functional). Made some coffee, had a quick breakfast and woke up Laura and Jon to say good-bye then climbed into my cab (which arrived a good 15 minutes early, much to my chagrin) and went to the airport. I had originally only planned to take the taxi to Broadway and Granville, but once nestled peacefully in the backseat, decided to just ride it out all the way to YVR. Thirty bucks and fifteen minutes later I found myself sitting in a surprisingly busy terminal waiting for the Continental booth to open up and for Ross and Jim to arrive. I had a fairly lengthy wait as the flight didn't leave until 8:10 and it wasn't even 5:00 yet. I guess I could've slept a little longer.

I've never had to take my shoes off before when going through airport security. I guess everyone had to do it this time, though. That, in combination with taking off my belt and jacket had me feeling like the next step would be wandering naked throught the terminal.

Things moved quickly after that and I spent the next few hours flying over the western states, being regaled with fascinating stories of misadventures in South American archaeology by Ross. I've actually come the conclusion that part of the whole archaeology thing is a natural ability to tell a great story (likely this comes from experiencing the world as if one were Indiana Jones, but I think the key is in the telling, not necessarily the doing). I've never met an archaeolgist or anthropologist who lacked this ability. A little more practice, and maybe I can get there, too.

***

I don't know what state we're flying over right now. I'm guessing Colorado, but I could very well be wrong. Ross and Jim are dozing and I'm staring out the window. It seems like the further south we go, the more snow I see. The low hills are evenly dusted and some appear to even be glacial. It's all so vastly unpopulated. Every now and then there is a break in the white and grey motling below; a valley of rich red ochre or a sickly yellow. Occasionally, a town appears. There are very few roads. The hills have become more pointedly mountains and the white-grey-green with some icy-deep-blue lakes scattered about have grown yet more prominent. I'm even more convinced now that we're over Colorado (but I still could be wrong, but what does it really matter?). All the signs of human life look like massive wounds, deeply gouged scars on the surface which would be more contoured and graceful if left to itself. Perhaps it's because the evidence of humanity here is so scarce, scattered, that they stand out so plainly, so ugly. No one lives here. Snow gathers on the north slopes, leaving the south a dusty brown. The road which cuts across the flow so angular is clearly a means to get through here, not to here. Everyone is somewhere else.

***

The circular fields below look like pac-man and sundials. There's one that even looks like pac-man eating a power pellet. Farms from the air are strange beings.

***

George Bush Airport, Houston

Don't they usually wait until a person dies before they start naming public buildings after them?

This is a strange place, but in a subtle way. Like any major airport, it's big, disorienting, climate controlled and full of shops and surly people (much like a mall). But somehow it seems a bit surreal, like some sort of alternate dimension. The general population, milling about with bags, seem slightly less friendly and inviting than at home, with the exception of service staff at the various stores and fast food places who are distinctly and exhuberantly friendly. It's as if all the friendliness of this place has been channelled through them to the point that they are so overloaded with it they just might burst, relieving everyone else of the responsibility of even attempting the pretense of friendliness. This is a strangely skewed existence and very unnerving.

I think we board our plane to Quito soon and I will be very happy to get out of this uninviting place.

On a side note, I had a rather large cup of cola with my lunch at the airport. It's been an extremely long time since I had a cola and it made me feel woozy and a bit ill. That's a hell of a lot of sugar for one person to consume in one go. That got me thinking of obesity and the oft-reported problem of it n the U.S. In looking around at the people in the airport, it didn't appear that the number of obese people per capita was any greater than that at home (this is an admittedly select sample of people, many of whom likely weren't even American). What struck me, though, wasn't the ratio of obese to non-obese people, but the scale of the obesity on the obese individuals. Those people who were fat were really fat. There wasn't much in between. It seemed as if the people here (at the airport, anyway) were either thin or extremely big. Just an observation.

Anyway, it took us forever to finally take-off once we boarded the plane. I have no idea what the delay was, but I've never had to wait so long, post-boarding, to leave a city.

***

We arrived in Quito at about 11:15. The airport is right smack in the middle of the city. It seriously looked as if we were going to land on houses. Getting through immigration and out of the airport was exceedingly easy. I get the distinct feeling that the airports on the way back won't be quite as simple. Anyway, we hopped into a taxi, drove to our hotel, had our complimentary drink at the bar and went to bed. It seems that we'll be staying in Quito for a few days while Ross runs some errands and shows us around, tourist-style. Then, it's off to Riobamba where we'll settle into what I'm told is quite the house. I'll describe it once I've seen it.

Guillermo