City Bus Cruise and Local Fest

The last two days have been sunny and restful. I missed getting out to Zoe's Friday evening due to illness from something I most likely ate at a local fest, and should have known better than to eat. Today, Saturday, has been a day of rest as well. So hopefully, I will feel well enough to get out and about tomorrow morning to Parque Calderon, where on Sunday mornings concert programs may be presented, and a number of expats come to meet, touch bases, and possibly have breakfast or lunch together.


Jose Cortez, the computer technician and I got to talking, and I told him about how I wanted to ride the double-decker bus on a city tour of Cuenca. How my first attempt had failed, and how I heard that the tour was only in Spanish. Jose had not taken the tour himself, so he went along and he translated for me. The current price of the tour is five dollars, and takes about two hours. As it turns out part of the tour is in English. An attractive young blond, American from Seattle who was doing her internship in Cuenca did the honors in English. However, most of the tour is presented in Espanol. My camera is also new, so I have been learning how to use it. This is the first time I have purchased a camera since my 35mm died in the 90's. The city tour was my first effort at using the video, and I have not transferred it yet from my camera to my laptop to maybe the blog--oh this really is going to prove interesting! We went up to Camino a Turi, the pinnacle of Cuenca, where I was able to snap panoramic photos and videos of the city. I also had my first ear of white corn cooked over the charcoal grill. It's a definite winner. I was surprised for kernels as large as these and prepared in the manner that they were, that they came out so tender and flavorful.

The tour gave me a good perspective of the layout of the city, and an opportunity to experience the city from above instead of always at street level. What was fun for everyone on the upper-deck was that the cables running across the street are low enough that a number of them barely clear the bus. When passengers are standing and taking photos or video-taping on the upper-deck, the crowd shouts at them to get down before they are decapitated or electrocuted. We truly did have to duck sometimes lower than the back of the seats to avoid contact with cables. That's a city excursion one will never experience in Chicago. The insurance companies haven't destroyed Cuenca yet.

While touring the city, we saw a square where people were preparing for a local fest that evening, and decided we would attend later. We had dinner at the up-scaled, Vino Olivo, which was near the square where the fest was taking place. The restaurant's lights were out, so we ate on the patio. The kitchen did have power. Eventually, power was restored throughout the entire establishment. We actually had a great location for seeing the fireworks, and the burning lights which slowly ascended into the sky like hot-air balloons, and stayed lit and afloat for as long as half-an-hour. I have not been to a fireworks display in the states for at least six or seven years now, so these lights were something new to me. The dinner was disappointing. We ordered a seafood paella. Both the rice and the seafood were too dry, which is exactly how I have had paella back home in Valparaiso on several occasions. Only once, have I had paella, which melted in my mouth; which was in a Spanish restaurant in Milwaukee, Wisconsin about ten years ago. Possibly other fare on the menu may be quite good, but I would not recommended the paella.

After dinner, we went over to the concert. The performance was an Ecuadorian contemporary rock group, and the theme was "Cuenca Lives". Makeshift eateries were everywhere. I forgot what Jose said they were called, but I pointed out to him the trays of cones sticking up in what looks like mounds of ice cream. I knew this colorful concoction wasn't ice cream, because it doesn't melt. Before I could say anything more, Jose pulled out some coins and bought me a cone. I had refused to purchase this dessert in the past, because I was concerned about contamination. The purchase had been made, throwing precaution to the wind, and not wanting to offend Jose; I ate it. It had the texture of Cool Whip, and I understand that it is made from fruit juices. It is served with a very little spoon, which is actually a tiny plastic utensil with a flat square surface extending from the handle were the spoon should be. From the number of adults and kids I see eating these cones, they seem quite popular. The cones and their vividly colored concoctions are not very large, and are obviously intended to be eaten in small bites. I myself would prefer ice cream or soft-serve. Of course, there was hell to be paid the next morning as my health issues arose, and I stayed near the facilities in the condo all day and night Friday. Sunday, I went to a pharmacy to get medication for stopping the runs. No one needs a prescription to use the pharmacies in Ecuador. Just stop in, and tell them what you need or want, and it's yours.

It was about 10:30 p.m. Thursday night, and maybe 500 to 1,000 people were on hand at the fest. According to Jose, the band was now playing nationalistic music, which was a clue that the concert was soon to end. We both grabbed cabs going in opposite directions to our homes ahead of the mob of people, a number of whom may have tied traffic up for quite awhile attempting to cross streets in a duel with the autos and attempting to signal taxis all at the same time. My taxi had to come to the end of a median and make a place to turn around and take me in the opposite direction. Believe me, he made a place. It truly is whoever gets the space first in this competition. Except for the taxis, there were no amusement rides like one would find at neighborhood and church fests back home. There was a hill were kids had mats that had green glo-lites on them, which they used to ride down a natural hill that was only six-eight feet high. The kids remind me of my generation when we were kids, when we didn't have so much and had to often make our own fun.

Amigos y Amigos

Friday was people day. I was scheduled to have an Ecuadorian breakfast at Kookaburra Cafe with Rich and Nancy, who are two expats here in Cuenca from the states, who I met and interacted with through their blog. I was pleasantly surprised to meet Rich's brother, Bob and his wife, Roxanne as well. They are the folks from whom I am renting the condo. They also have a home on the Pacific coast of Ecuador, and rent out their condo when they are living on the coast. They were in town for a few days on business and staying with Rich and Nancy. Bob and Roxanne also have a blog. Both couples' blogs are linked on "Cuenca High Life", a web site for expats and travelers to Cuenca. I strongly recommend "Cuenca High Life' to people who plan on visiting here.

I can not begin to tell you how beautiful Bob and Roxanne's condo is, and how nicely furnished. There are so many amenities in terms of fully ceramic bathrooms from ceiling to floor and encompassing the bath tubs as well, to beautifully ceramic floors throughout the kitchen, living room, and hallway which adjoins the three bedrooms and two baths. Hardwood floors in all three bedrooms. Quality wood doors with a simple carved trim etched into the doors to set them off from just being plain looking doors. Wood framing around all the doors. Numerous inset and spotlighting throughout every room of the house. I'm no expert on home designs, so forgive me if I'm not using the proper carpentry descriptives. The walls and ceilings are set off from one another by wood cornices, and every ceiling in the house is then further enhanced by a higher inset that is also set off by wood cornices. It's an elegant home perfect for my tastes, and my understanding is that such a condo in our area would cost twice as much as the cost in Cuenca. I am not talking about the city of Chicago or North Shore market, then you could triple or quadruple the market value.

Roxanne, and I assume Bob, have some great tastes in art. There is a haunting painting of this young couple's faces above my desk where I type out these posts that I find absolutely mesmerizing. There is a sketch in the hallway of the faces of a young couple that is also very expressive. Lucky for Bob and Roxanne, I am such a good, decent, and honest guy. I don't recall them including all their paintings on an inventory of the furnishings that I have to account for when I vacate the premises.

At any rate, the five of us had an Ecuadorian breakfast with another couple, Mike and Patty, who were heading back to the states while their home was being built in Cuenca. Also present for breakfast was Steve, who also has his own blog. Steve was very helpful in the advice he gave me concerning the procurement of permanent residency in Ecuador. Please refer to his blog for further details. I could not have asked to start my visit with a nicer set of folks than Steve and these three couples. We had a very good breakfast, and good conversation. Ecuadorian seasoning is flavorful without generally being red-chilly-hot spicy, as commonly associated with Mexican cooking. The garlic-roasted potatoes were perfecto. I had the chance immediately after breakfast to meet with Steve's wife, Linda, as well, who had not been able to join the group for breakfast.

Friday evening many of the expats and newcomers gather at Zoe's a popular restaurant and lounge in El Centro or the Colonial Quarters. Imagine walking into a room filled with people you have never met before, and you look around and there are people you immediately recognize from their photos in their blogs. None of these people know a thing about me, because I've just started blogging, and I'm still working my way through the machinations of the site and my use of my first laptop. Some of the bloggers feel psychologically naked, "Oh you know so much about us, and we know nothing about you." was a comment I heard more than once.

Well, it didn't take anytime at all to break the ice, as the room filled and people congregated about sharing their stories and why they came to or are thinking of moving to Cuenca. It was a fascinating evening. I'll long remember standing out on the balcony and talking with various couples, while engaging in the feast for the eyes of the colonial facades and the cobble stone streets running down the block, and the way the evening sky seem to set off the facades of the buildings. In my first post, I stated that I had fallen in love with Cuenca from our first acquaintance, and I wanted to discover if our contact was simply a long-distance romance that could not withstand the test of reality. Unlike some cyberspace romances that went so well while we emailed, but not so well once we met, Cuenca has romanced me beyond belief. The question now is will our romance stand the test of time? We will see.

My only disappointment to date has been with myself. Karma has a way of catching up with us. I regret that I had not applied myself better in learning Spanish when I was in high school. Although over time, people will forget what they learn when they don't use it, that knowledge is still filed away in the old noggin somewhere waiting to be resurrected. Education truly is wasted on the young.

I left Zoe's with a lady from Santa Barbara, who like me was exploring Cuenca as a possible relocation. She had been visiting the square each evening of the week as the Catholic Church was celebrating some kind of religious feast day. Abi spoke more Spanish than I, but I soon learned she could get off a plethora of questions in Spanish, but understanding the responses--not so well. We did the best we could.

I first walked into the church. A mass was taking place. There were no pews. Everyone was standing. The interior of the church was ornate, and in the traditional Spanish style. There were streamers of pastel-colored drapery that ran down from the statue of Mary outwards, which had the effect of further emphasizing the already front-centerd focus of Mary in the church. Although the music was more lively than what I associate with Anglo Catholic services, the reverence of the people in the church reminded me of the Catholicism of old when I was a child.

On the square outside the church, Abi and I mingled with the people, and communicated as best we could. The people are so open and friendly. Abi said the program was advertised to begin at 8:00, which meant in Ecuadorian "whenever it happens". "The happening" did not begin until 9:30. We spoke with one couple who may have been about our age. The husband spoke some English, so between his English and Abi's Spanish we were able to patch together a conversation. The couple have three sons and a daughter--all living in Minneapolis. I asked the father how his children like Minneapolis. He diplomatically said, "They like Minneapolis, because they all have jobs." There are 14 million Ecuadorians, something like 3 0r 4 million are living in the United States--primarily in New York, Chicago, and Minneapolis.

It was the neatest thing in the world to watch the people--their close proximity to one another, the indulgence of the youngsters, not in a spoiled way, but just in terms of time and affection showered upon the kids. The children I see everywhere are always smiling and of good cheer. No one is in a rush. It doesn't matter when the program starts. It will start when it starts. Just being here with family and friends and relaxing is reason enough. It is the end in itself. The program was incidental.

Poor Abi--she had been bragging all evening about the wonderful dancers, singers, flute players, etc that had performed the previous evenings. Unfortunately, once the program began, it began with a very slow-moving, surreal, possibly political statement that reminded me of a mime out of Cirque Du Soleil--minus the rest of the cast and acts to hold ones attention. Not knowing if this solo dance dramatization may go on for an hour, the fact that I was tired, and the fact that my left eye was really irritated possibly from incense that may have been used during the mass, or from the vendors cooking various meats for the people in the square; I begged off and decided to head home.

I took the first taxi I saw. My faced lit up when the driver spoke English. I had an amigo with whom to converse on the way back to the condo. Better yet, he had just returned from Chicago on April 30th, where he had worked in a restaurant kitchen for thirteen years. With English and the Chicago connection, we began immediately to commiserate. He has a thirteen year old and a twelve year old son, and his home was about ten minutes beyond my condo. He invited me to his home to meet his wife, Marianna, and his two sons. As we arrived at our destination, he warned me that I should not get into a taxi without first asking the driver to show his identification. He proceeded to show me his I.D., and the two I'D's that he had from Madison, Wisconsin. I asked him if he had lived in Madison. He said no, that his cousin lived in Madison and was able to get him the Wisconsin licenses, which he said were good enough for Illinois. We may get together yet. I would like to meet with an Ecuadorian family in their home. Of all the taxis in Cuenca, that we should meet up. How's that for fate, and for six degrees of separation. Hasta luego!