I´m already nostalgiac for Guayaquil... and I haven't left yet.

I think that what caught and held my attention was the contrast. In the light of the streetlamps, the workmen were purple and gold against the blurry twilight as they propped their ladder against the wooden pole. Purple and gold, one -- he was missing most of his front teeth -- dragged the cable down the hill and became gray. Purple and gold, another climbed the ladder, a small bright glow against the graffiti'd walls. (Cada vez estoy más cerca a escribir tu nombre en el cielo.) Behind -- the flat, dusty field; the green-blue-purple hills of the ESPOL with the lights on the antennae twinkling on top.

And I, lone gringa, 3 km into my walk, blonde short curls and all, stop with one hand on my backpack and the other still clutching my key like a kinfe, and gape like a tourist.

(I am a tourist)

Finally I've seen the beauty that comes because, not despite of, the dust and cansancio and grime.