t has come to our attention that despite the consistent updates about Peruvian postcard salesmen or the author's floundering language skills, some questions remain. For you and you alone, Sarahhepola.com has compiled the following list of answers and vagaries.

Why did you go to South America?
Because I was 26, and I'd never lived outside of Texas. Because I needed a change. Because it was cheap. Because I could learn Spanish. Because my dear friend Aaron had visited his friend Ryan in Ecuador two years ago, and he told stories of friendly people and breathtaking cloud forests and monkeys and full, fragrant roses that cost two dollars a dozen, and he showed me a picture of a beautiful little Ecuadorian girl, her head cocked to the side shyly, and I fell in love with her right then, because I'm just like that.

So was Aaron right?
Yes, except for the monkey part. They don't really drive the buses here. (Why did I believe that?)

What are you doing there?
To begin with, I took five weeks of one-on-one Spanish lessons. Then I traveled to Peru and Bolivia for four weeks. Next week, I'm going to Vilcabamba -- a tiny city in the south of Ecuador where it's warm and the birds have feathers that look like crushed yellow velvet. I'm going to spend a month there writing. Just writing.

What are you going to write?
Something horribly embarrassing, most likely. But I don't know yet.

You're not working?
I haven't found something I want to do yet. When I left the States, I said I was going to teach English -- it seemed like a good guess. But most of the jobs teaching English are with adults, and I don't want to teach adults. I'd like to work with children, but most of those jobs are for volunteers. Paid jobs with children require better Spanish.

How is your Spanish?
Inevitably the moments when I think I'm a bad-ass with perfect pronunciation are immediately followed by the terrible conversations in which I speak utter nonsense. Talking to an Ecuadorian friend last night I said "See yourself" instead of "I will see you." Then, trying to remember another similar word, I kept repeating the word "dick" not knowing what it meant, until my friend finally said, "Please don't say that anymore." And he started speaking English again.

How are you paying for this?
I saved $3,000 in my last year of work. Of course, I then blew most of that traveling to New Mexico and New York and DC, because I'm a financial moron, but I was blessed with a bonus when I left my job. I still write occasionally for the Chronicle to supplement my bank account.

Is it cheap to live in South America?
More or less. On average, I spend $1000 a month here. You could spend more, but you could spend a lot less. My month at the Spanish school, living with a family, cost $1400 (including meals, weekend trips, Internet cafes, bars and discos). But next month I'll pay $120 for a room and one meal a day, and I only plan on writing, which is free.

How is the food there?
Not bad. The ceviche and the fresh-squeezed fruit juices are great. The meat and the coffee are terrible. Lots of starches, lots of soups, lots of grease. It's possible to eat healthier, but it's also more expensive. The concept of "less fat" isn't exactly pervasive. When I wipe the grease off my pizza with a napkin, everyone stares at me like I'm giving myself a tongue bath.

Is it hot?
No, sillybilly. I'm high in the Andes -- 2850m high to be exact (Quick: Convert that to feet. You can't? Okay, yeah, me neither). June, July, and August are the winter months in the southern hemisphere, so when I went to Peru and Bolivia, it was c-c-cold. But Quito is on the equator, so it's the same temperature all year round -- sunny in the mornings, cloudy in the afternoons, cold at night. Lonely Planet calls the climate "spring-like," but it's more like a Texas fall. But yes, I'm tanner.

What are you doing next?
I have no idea. I return to the States in mid-November, and I'll be in Texas through the holidays. I'll either come back to South America, move to New York, stay in Austin, or go somewhere else. I'm sort of painfully undecided.

In other words, you're approaching 30, unsatisfied with both your creative and romantic life thus far, but also panicking about making a commitment to any person, job, or place because you could be determining your entire future -- your future! -- and time suddenly seems cruel and fleeting, and you actually do that thing where you stare at your new wrinkles in the mirror and wonder how you got so old, so fast, even though you're still enviably young.
Umm, more or less.

And all the devastation in the States underscores it, and leaves you feeling like all of the crap in your head is utterly beside the point, and that you have to go home now, and that you can't go home at all.
Okay, okay, we get the picture.

So are you happy there?
Happy? Sure, yes. Why not? Everyday I see a whole different part of the world, places I never imagined I could touch with my hands. I didn't grow up dreaming of the jungle or Machu Picchu -- I grew up dreaming I could one day be Michael Jackson. So this isn't anything I anticipated, and that alone is a tremendous gift. In the good moments, I can't imagine asking for anything more. In bad moments, I ask for a lot more. I sort of have a fundamental problem with being able to accept my life in its current form.

What do you want?
My life, only taller. My life, without the stretchmarks. My life, with a fabulous Jon Stewart-type boyfriend.

You're not "getting it on" down there?
This isn't that kind of Website.

That means YES, doesn't it?
Oh, come on. Not necessarily.

Then why are you smiling?
Because you're embarrassing me. People's parents read this thing!

Oh, sorry. Hey, wasn't this goofy postmodern thing-y old when Dave Eggers used it in his book?
Well, yes.

And isn't this just a bad imitation of that?
Maybe.

And now that everybody's surviving this nightmare, and life feels so unfathomably precious and uncertain, do you think people will make a turn from this kind of cheeky, ironic, self-referential way of communication and toward something more sincere and direct and comforting?
I don't know. Probably. That could be nice, I guess.

So do you miss me?
Terribly.