Easter in Cuenca

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I woke up early so I could get to Parque Calderon before church started. Oh my, I was WAY too early. I guess the cathedral holds high church at 11:00 or so, but I was there at 8:00. The early hour provided another perspective. The cathedral was mostly empty except for those arriving to get a front-row seat. But the candle vendors were already set up outside. While it had been mostly sunny and gorgeous all week, Easter morning was dreary and the sun didn’t come out until after I finished filming. Naturally.

I wandered over to the flower market and then to San Francisco Church. Watching the crowd file into that smaller church was fascinating. This time I arrived just as the service began. I didn’t feel comfortable filming except a bit at the start.

Then I wandered down to my usual Sunday breakfast place, Kookaburra Café. Chris and his wife, Jenny won’t be there much longer so I was glad to capture their mugs on film. And of course, my pal Marcia made her entrance sporting an Easter hat.

“There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle.” –Albert Einstein

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What an adventure! Rich and I had weighed all my luggage on the bathroom scales. Don’t ever do that. . . . Apparently, because of weight distribution issues, we underestimated the weight of my bags. I had one 50 lbs bag, one was 68 lbs, and the other one was 76 lbs. The AA agent made me remove 6 lbs of luggage from the big bag, which I redistributed to my carry-ons. But she didn’t charge me a dime. However, I was flying business class, and  that probably made a difference. But on my second leg of the trip, with LAN, they charged me $200. At that point I didn’t care, so long as all my baggage came with me. And it all arrived at the same time, which was the first miracle. Now for those of you who think I carried 200 lbs of clothing, you would be wrong. Only the 50 lbs bag was clothing for my move. The others were full of good sheets and towels, because you can’t get those down here, Ginger’s stuff, rice cooker, small juicer and whatnot.

I was so freaked out about whether Ginger’s international papers were in order, and that she’d be traveling in the baggage compartment, and that I was carrying 200 lbs of luggage, that it was a stressful trip. Ginger is half Australian Shepherd, half Border Collie and without her crate, she’s another 50 lbs. But it went smoothly. We spent the night in Miami, to give Ginger a break. But on the second day, I wore the same outfit as the day before, simply because it was comfortable. And when the driver picked me up in Guayaquil, he had a pickup truck with the windows rolled down, thus my perfect “Dallas” hair was in an unruly ponytail.

The 3 ½ hour drive from Guayaquil to Cuenca takes you through several “countries.” Guayaquil is a city of 3 million and that’s how it looks, but just after you leave the city, it looks like southern Louisiana, where they grow rice and sugar cane. Then you go through an area where mangos are dripping from the trees. That looked like south Texas. It’s not like you and I are accustomed to, where the land gradually gets higher to meet the mountains. Instead, it’s just flat, and then you have to go up switchbacks to 15,000 feet. As you go up the west side of the mountains, there is dense fog, like Big Sur in July. You get to the top of the mountains and the fog suddenly disappears. At the crest of the mountains, the sky is perfectly clear and you look down at valleys where there are small towns, and a river. So you are in Switzerland. I am not exaggerating; well . . . not exactly. I’ve never been to Switzerland, but that’s how I picture it.

Then you do the long drive back down the mountainside. Again, there were clouds but no fog nor rain. There was one point when my driver said, “Look. That is Cuenca.” There was a V between the mountains that were still covered with clouds. But I could see it was sunny in Cuenca. The city was waiting for me. . . .

It was 5 p.m. by the time I arrived at my apartment. I called my folks, and told them I was looking forward to a hot bath. I took a photo from the balcony.

The hot bath was not to be. While the previous owners had kindly left the electricity and water on in their names, the gas had to be set up separately [that's a whole other blog post, how the gas works here]. So it was 8 days before I had hot water. In the meantime, I took nip and tuck cold showers, and gradually learned to heat hot water in my rice cooker, so when I washed my hair, I could at least rinse it with warm water. I will exclude further details of that. After I finally had hot water though, I was baffled by how to use this shower

Ginger and I have both had to adjust to the sounds of living in a city. Car alarms, backfiring motorcycles and the whoosht when the diesel buses apply their brakes, really frightened Ginger at first. But she’s adapted very quickly. I am sooo grateful I brought her with me. Under artificial light, her eyes will glow an eerie red. When we arrived at the Miami airport at 5:30 a.m., the guy who was wheeling the baggage cart remarked that she was a “perro diablo.” A devil dog. Now if YOU were gonna move to a third world country, wouldn’t you want to have a devil dog with you? Or at least one the locals believed was a devil dog? Sometimes even when I walk her in the daytime, people step off the sidewalk to let us pass.

Devil Dog is sitting behind my two sons

I met Claudio, the doorman/maintenance man for my building, and shook hands with him. Judging by his reaction, it’s not customary for tenants to shake hands with the doorman. Later though, I was glad I had, because his first two days with me as a tenant must have been the most difficult since he took this job. I know lots of Spanish nouns, but few verbs, so Lord knows what I actually say to him. Claudio is a Canari Indian, and the top of his crew-cut almost reaches my shoulder. Now I’ve hired a housekeeper, Patricia, who is apparently also Canari, because she can’t be taller than 4’4”. She will work for me, 4 hours per week, for $15. I can do most of the work myself, and while life isn’t exactly difficult here, it takes more energy than it does at home. And that is partly why I’m here. I know full well how spoiled we, as Americans, and especially I have become. Although having been raised on a farm, I know a thing or two about how to live without fancy accoutrements. And it’s FUN! . . .most of the time.

I will not have a car here so chose carefully where I bought my apartment. It’s a mile to El Centro, the old city. There is a SuperMaxi grocery store 3 blocks from my house. And it’s near el Estadio, the stadium where they play soccer. Every taxi driver knows where that is, and there are restaurants surrounding the stadium.

I must digress here to discuss SuperMaxi. It’s the upscale grocery store where all the US and Canadian expats shop, but also where the higher-income Cuencanos shop. That’s a strange name for a grocery store. It calls to mind a giant sanitary napkin, doesn’t it? They have good produce, but not as inexpensive as you can find in the mercados.

I will close this post by attempting to adequately describe a scene I was blessed to witness last night, and to which my title refers. I was in a taxi, coming home from Gringo night at California Kitchen. It was quite dark, but under a corner streetlamp a young boy, maybe 9 years old, was sitting on some steps eating an ice cream cone. He’d  deposited his bike on the sidewalk below him. He was eating his ice cream cone with all the fervor and unmitigated exuberance as though he was leading an orchestra playing “Ode to Joy.” With every downstroke of the cone, he was rejoicing in the miracle of that moment. He was such a picture of sheer happiness that I tapped the taxi driver on the shoulder and said, “Mira a ese!” Look at that. The fellow chuckled, so I was pretty sure he got it. I hope the kid has lots more days like that in his future. And why wouldn’t he in a place that looks like this?

Hasta luego, LT

I Miss Cuenca

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You know how when you were a child, and had a great family vacation, or else a profound time of learning and change at a summer camp, you would be depressed when you were leaving to go home? Even when you were very young, you realized that you could never re-capture that feeling. That’s the way I felt after my first trip to Ecuador, to Cuenca. I was pretty sure that, had I not known I would be returning in January, I’d be very depressed.

But I will be returning, and while it’s been a culture shock to come home to the US after only 6 weeks, here are my observations: The first time I walked into the neighborhood supermarket, I thought, “Uffda,” as my Norwegian grandmother would have said. Too much sugar and too much packaging. There were loads of flawless fruits and vegetables but I knew they’d seem tasteless compared to those sold in the mercados of Cuenca. And then when I wanted to walk to my destination, that destination was so far away. And the roads were too wide and the traffic was too dense. . . .

I miss the closeness of Cuenca, logistically speaking, where I would walk as far as my 57-year-old feet and knees could take me, then I’d hail a taxi. And there’s the other closeness of Cuenca, watching friends walk down the street with their arms linked. Naturally the teenagers did that as they poured out of their schools, but what struck me was, the grownups did it as well. They are not ashamed to exhibit their affection for the person they are walking arm-in-arm with, whether it’s their close friend or a relative.

I miss the Cuencanos, but I also miss the US and Canadian expats whom I met there. Turns out, most of the folks who have the gumption to sell everything in the US, to move to Ecuador, are of like mind. Maybe not in their political leanings, but certainly in terms of their courage and lust for life. I suppose that’s on account of us all being pioneers in our own lives, in our own inimitable ways. . . .

It reminds me of when I became a lawyer in Texas in 1978. It wasn’t popular, nor accepted that a woman would be a lawyer here. And there were very few of us. However, even though we women lawyers were separated by differences in background, education or social experience, we were a very close-knit community. To this day, I can phone one of my old woman lawyer friends, and the conversation begins as though it had never left off in the 80’s. Ya’ll know exactly what I mean.

While I will be moving to Ecuador gradually, I’ll spend most holidays here in Texas, especially because my parents are aging. But I look forward to that day when I will spend Christmas in Cuenca, with my grown children.

And with all of you. XXOOLT

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Carpe Diem, Man

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This post has nothing to do with Ecuador nor with Cuenca, so if you are expecting that, you might stop reading now.

Instead, the title is based upon something my youngest son, Sam, said to me a couple of days ago. Sam is a freshman in college and for the first time, he’d experienced an inexplicable death. An acquaintance of his, a girl who was a dancer, had lain down to sleep on Saturday night, and just died. No drugs. No reason. As a dancer, she was quite fit, and had performed with her troupe that very night, at halftime of a basketball game. Afterwards, she returned to her dorm room. At midnight, she called her little brother to wish him Happy Birthday for his 15th. Then she went to bed and died from a blood clot in her brain.

Her roommate couldn’t wake her up the next morning. God bless the roommate. Even in her shocked state, she called for help immediately and apparently the child had not been dead long. So her parents were able to donate her organs.

I’d talked with Sam earlier in the day, about his Christmas flight itinerary, etc. But that afternoon he called me back, saying, “Mom, I thought I should call you to tell you I love you because . . . .” And then he told me what had happened.

After we talked for awhile, Sam said, “Carpe diem, man.”

His words struck me, especially because most of us moms are working and stewing to decorate our homes for Christmas, no matter where we are, and to complete our gift purchasing lists. I was feeling guilty because, while I’m back in Texas for the holidays, I just couldn’t summon the inclination to drag out all our decorations this year. I’ll have a tree of course, because my kids will be home, but since I’m now positioned halfway between the States and Ecuador, decorating my house just didn’t seem that important.

It still doesn’t.

Instead, the only thing that seems important is to grab, or to seize, those snippets of time I will have with my grown kids this holiday season. Forget the decorations. Carpe Diem, Man.

 

 

My New Barrio

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Here is the view from the terrace of my condominium in Cuenca. I return in January to work on my residency. Ultimately, that will allow me to go back and forth between Ecuador and the States, when I visit my kids. The place is perfect for me because it’s a relatively small building and is close to El Centro, the Stadium, Supermaxi and restaurants. It’s named Sol del Sur. My initial preference was to buy a house, but I decided this condo, one of ten in the building, would provide me with the privacy of a house as well as some company when I wanted it. All other residents are Ecuadorian so I’ll have to improve my Spanish before I ask them over for dinner!

There is a loft apartment upstairs–the top floor of the building–that has its own kitchen. That’s where friends and family members will stay when they come to visit me. The furniture in these photos will be replaced with some of mine, once I sell the Fort Worth house.

So make plans to come visit me soon!

Hasta Luego. And . . .wish me luck. LT

I am NOT a Goat

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I had been trying to go on a tour to Cajas National Park, almost since I arrived in Cuenca five weeks ago. The views were supposed to be astonishing. But I had been too busy with other sights in the city, until this week. For reasons too complicated to describe, I only had 15 minutes notice that I would be leaving that morning for the tour.

The important items I remembered to take with me:

The important items I forgot:

Remember that the city of Cuenca has 4 rivers running through it. They are fast-flowing rivers that feed into the Amazon. Much of the water comes from Cajas. The park varies from 10,300 feet above sea level to 14,600. And I later wished I had researched this tidbit before I left–the park`s name comes from the Quechua word, ”caxas,” which means ”cold.”

It was a clear, sunny morning when we started out. Cajas is only about 20 miles from Cuenca and it’s on the shortest route to get to Guayaquil. The 230 lagoons in the park were formed as glaciers cut through the Andes. They contributed to a breathtakingly beautiful landscape. Our guide was 27-year-old Juan. There were only two guests on this tour, me and Sandra, a 27 year-old from Zurich, Switzerland. Store that fact for later.

So far so good, right? We went on a pleasant hour-long hike through the primary cloud forest at this lower level of the park. I love cloud forests because all the foliage and especially moss, is dripping with water. This is the level where the toucans live, but Juan told us it was easier to see them at daybreak and we were there around 10:30 a.m. The small rivers, the Quinoa River and the many lagoons provided lush greenery. We came upon a still, of the sort used for brewing spirits, that was built in the 1920′s during the Prohibition Era in the United States. With its remote location and abundance of pure water, it must have produced a fine product.

Then we drove up to the higher elevation where an alpaca greeted us in the parking lot. Juan handed knee-high rubber boots to Sandra and I, insisting that we put them on, even though we were both wearing waterproof hiking boots. He was right to do so. The terrain here was more rugged and stark. There were no trees but only clumps of grass. And just as we got out of the car . . . .it began to sleet.

Since we started at such a high altitude, it didn’t take long before I began to huff and puff. Sandra, on the other hand, was fine. It was then that it occurred to me that she was a veritable mountain goat! Not to be outdone, I plowed forward. We were going up and then down. The difficulty for me was going down, on my 57-year-old arthritic knees. Thus I was crab-walking sideways down each hill. And it sleeted and sleeted and the ground became slicker than . . .well you know what. Then the uphill walking became more difficult and huffing and puffing turned into wheezing. I would stop for a minute, but not wanting to hold the others up, continued on. It was really bad. At one point I asked if I could just stay where I was and wait for the other two to return, but Juan said they would return via a different route. Besides, I wanted to get to our destination–the highest forest in the world.

Oh and of course my nose started running. Did you know that you can’t blow your nose if you can’t get enough air into your lungs to take a breath?  I had made it that far but didn’t take many video shots because by this point, I was soaked and worried my camera would be swamped.

Seeing that forest was definitely worth the effort.

Then we had to return. We had walked an hour to get to the high forest. That meant it was another hour back. BTW, I forgot to tell you that since I left so suddenly in the morning, I hadn’t eaten breakfast. That was when I discovered that tenacity is worth at least as much as fitness. Or else certainly I would have died on that mountain. All 4 layers of my clothing were wet, so much that I was squeezing the water out of my sleeves as I walked along. As before, I’d stop for a moment, and then try to trudge onward. By this time however, Juan had figured out just how distressed my body was, so instead of letting me smile and continue, he would force me to wait a few minutes more. And occasionally on a slippery part, he would order me, “Take my hand.”

I am not exaggerating, I truly didn’t think I could make it, but we kept going. Finally, we were probably 20 yards from the top of the rise where the hike would end. But I couldn’t take one more step. Juan grabbed my hand and literally dragged me up the slight slope. Then he had the decency to walk away while I sat on the concrete and wheezed and snorted and, well, kinda cried.

Finally, Juan took us to the most enchanting restaurant not far away. The waiter brought us each a jigger of some pink concoction. It was steaming hot and I learned it was a liquor made from sugar and cinnamon. Then we had another. And potato soup, and fresh, fried rainbow trout. And these two 27-year-old kids complimented me on not only attempting this hike, but completing it.

After I made it back to my hotel for a hot shower and got into my long johns & Uggs with a cup of hot tea, I thought about whether this outing had been fun or not.

No, it wasn’t. But I’m damn glad I did it! And secretly proud of myself.

I am going home next Wednesday. While I haven’t been homesick at all, I’ve missed my kids. Looking forward to Thanksgiving with my family.

XXOOLT

 

 

Off to the Burro Races

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Hundreds of locals descended on Parque Paraiso yesterday for the Gran Carrera de Burros. As is typical, the event got started about 45 minutes late, but that didn’t prevent the announcer from starting on time. It’s a curious experience to listen to that Spanish cadence excitedly giving directions, explaining delays and building the crowd’s anticipation for the “BIG” event. At least I think that’s what he was doing. Whatever the heck he was saying, he never lost his enthusiasm.

Vendors were selling balloons and snacks. Families brought their dogs and their parasols. I’m not sure this many people would turn out in Texas to watch donkeys run 5 laps around a dirt track. But that was the beauty of it. People can still be easily entertained and it’s heartening to realize that.

And it was bedlam. . . .burros running, riders falling off, no one getting off the track out of the way of the burros. Kids, dogs, vendors, burros. It was survival of the fittest. Oh yes, and no one wore a helmet.

Hasta luega, LT

My Close Encounter with Lenin

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I was on my way to the Military Parade on this, Ecuador’s Independence Day, where President Rafael Correa was supposed to be participating. Then I ran into Lizette, Bob & Star beside Parque Calderon.They were going the opposite direction to see their friend Gerardo present his book, The Flight of the Hummingbird to Lenin Moreno Garces, Ecuador’s Vice President, at Parque San Sebastion. The book includes Gerardo’s hummingbird paintings and a fictional account of the evolution of Ecuador. So I changed my plans and went with them. I had heard good reports about current president Correa, but even better ones about Moreno.

Moreno was a successful lawyer and politician when in 1998, he was shot while buying bread in Quito, the capitol. After his injury, bedridden and beseiged by neurological pain for about 4 years, he used the power of laughter to heal himself, eventually becoming a motivational speaker, and he has written 5 books on laugh therapy. Here he is arriving. We were right there since the crowd was initially sparse, with the multitudes on the other end of town at the parade.

After being elected in 2007, Moreno transferred the country’s disability services to the Office of the Vice President, and made sweeping changes to the way the country helps it’s disabled citizens. Naturally the thousands of Ecuador’s disabled adore him and even today some were trying to get close to him. Moreno traveled the country seeking ways to improve their living conditions, and in the process saw horrifying scenes of people with disabilities being hidden in sheds and in chicken coops, a practice not unheard of in a country where a disability is looked upon as a punishment from God. Before Moreno came into office, the budget for disabled care was $100,000. Now with Moreno’s help, the budget is $65 million. With the goodwill engendered by his efforts, his quick wit and his influence, he is a popular and charismatic figure.That Constitution declares, “Ecuador is a territory of peace and will not permit the establishment of foreign military bases, nor of foreign installations for military purposes,” thus prohibiting the transfer of national military bases to armed forces or any other security forces of another country. How do you like that?

In Title 2 of “Rights,” it enshrines liberty and the right of its people to live in a healthy
environment that is ecologically balanced, free of contamination, and in harmony with nature. In the “Rights of Nature” section, it consecrates Pachamama – Mother Nature in Ecuadorians’ indigenous language, and constitutionally guarantees respect for her existence, maintenance, regeneration, and vital cycles. At the same time, it establishes as a responsibility of all Ecuadorians the maintenance of peace and security, and to preserve a healthy environment and utilize natural resources in a rational and sustainable way.

How I wish I could have understood all the words he was saying. He made the crowd laugh several times. Lizette translated that he compared quantum physics with politics and said while he loved the study of quantum physics, that didn’t mean he understood it. I was able to shake hands with him after the ceremony ended. Maybe I can find a copy of his remarks printed in tomorrow’s paper.So once again my day didn’t go as I’d planned it, but it was fun.

Hasta luego, LT