I woke up this morning, groggily peeled the curtains back and looked out my window at the snow covered peak of Chimborazo volcano. The clouds had lifted their furry heads to give me the most splendid view of this monolith, perched on the edge of a plunging green valley with a river snaking through it, spotted with tiny farm houses and a soccer field. After eating my daily bowl of oatmeal with palm sugar I was ready for the jaunt to the library where my students await. On the way I said hello to a dog, a chicken, a donkey and a cow. Passing me on the dusty snake of a road, a local Salasacan woman shuffled, barefoot, dressed in a bright pink shawl with a green felt hat, her crooked back laden with a huge
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