I made it back to Riobamba on the luxurious Sucre Express bus service, a six hour ride from Cuenca, on Wednesday night only to fall a little ill. My father was not around, and I could not reach him all week because Mr. Smarty pants had his cell phone turned off... Survival was essential and so with that focus foremost in my mind I scrounged up some rice and avocados and lived off that until food stores became nil. I then contemplated eating whatever was growing out in his fields...clover or something green like that...the sheep were eating it so I supposed it would be ok. I guess I could have walked into town and gotten some supplies but energy levels were low and Mr. Hemingway and Vonnegut Jr. are lousy shoppers. Thankfully my Pops showed up with a bag full of bananas so all was saved. Not to fuss too much over my health however, it's not malaria or bubonic, it´s a cold but a pretty well entrenched cold like the viet-cong dug deep into their little dark tunnels. I've been trying to rest it out of me for the last couple of days but I sound like Darth Vader on codeine.

Riobamba is hopping tonight. I think there is some sort of fiesta going on...can you say DISCO!?¿?¿