I arrived at the Mariscal Sucre Airport in Quito in the afternoon, and got a cab to the hostel where i was to stay the night. The cab driver was like every driver you were to encounter in a third-world country- talkative and eager to show the treasures of a country he takes pride in calling home. Once at the hostel, the kind-eyed owner, Pablo, showed me to my room. The room had five other beds, reserved for the group of volunteers that was to arrive that night.__ I left hostal El Taxo to give my friend Andrew a call. He was staying in Quito for the summer. While I waited for him to pick me up, I chatted with Pablo and his wife. Their easy-going, genuine conversation reminded me of Kenya. Pablo´s story was that
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