A few days ago I absentmindedly dropped our coffee pot on the tile floor in the kitchen. This aggravated me for three reasons: 1) I obviously wasn't fully present in the moment, 2) I'd created a huge mess with shards of glass from large to nearly invisible everywhere, and 3) if I didn't get a replacement we weren't having coffee the next day.
Locating a miscellaneous item in Cuenca is akin to finding a needle in a haystack. Yes, we have Amazon, but in Ecuador's case it's a huge swath of jungle on our eastern border. No computer searches here--you've got to get off your butt and start looking.
Two instances involving my watch taught me the ropes of this procedure. First the battery died. I head into El Centro, go into the first jewelry store I come upon, hold out my watch and say, "Necesito una batería nueva." The clerk looks at it and says, "No." This is the expected response. Sometimes you strike gold with the first swing of the pick ax but-----.
On to the next one. Fortunately in Cuenca, much like in Europe, similar stores are often grouped very closely together. There's the "fabric block," the "party store block," and so on. The drill is you go into store after store and repeat the same sentence until someone says, "Yes."
While I was in the States one of the little metal posts connecting the links on my watch's wristband broke, and I decided, "No big deal--I'll wait until I got home to get it fixed." Wrong. Whereas replacing the battery took only two or three tries, getting that link repaired approached double figures. Still, a positive response and $5 later I was back in business.
Replacing the coffee pot presented a more nuanced challenge. There was nothing wrong with the coffee maker itself, but could I possibly discover a store that would sell only the carafe? I knew my chances were slim and none, so I waded into the "appliance block" near Parque Calderon fully prepared to return home with a whole new unit.
Stores that sell appliances downtown have a very curious mix of merchandise. Where else in a relatively small space can you buy a stove, a guitar, and TV, or perhaps a motorcycle? And in my case, a coffee pot.
This is Carnaval weekend in Ecuador, and as I approached the central park I heard the unmistakable sounds of a parade. A parade I was going to have to cross to reach my destination.
Two main ways of celebrating Carnaval here are spraying aerosol foam on and throwing water at each other. As I got closer I saw both activities were in full swing. Parade participants and onlookers were covered with all colors of foam; kids were armed with gigantic water guns.
Here I go. I cross the parade and magically feel like I'm doing one of those Tony Robbins fire walks where your feet don't get burned. It's as if I'm wearing a "cloak of invisibility." At 6'3", bald, and blue-eyed, the most visible person there somehow makes it through without a single drop of foam or water. Hooray!!
I enter store after store, and sure enough it appears I need to be narrowing down which new unit I'll be purchasing, because nobody is selling just a pot.
And then magic happens again.
An employee in maybe the seventh store asks in English, "What are you looking for?" I explain my situation and he says, "Oh, you need only the pot? Let me tell you where to go." He proceeds to draw me a map and write down the name of the shop, which is fortunately a few blocks away.
I thank him profusely and zip right over there, donning my invisibility cloak as I once again miraculously cross the parade unscathed. Sure enough, there on the shelf is exactly the replacement pot I've been seeking. After a $13 transaction I'm happily on my way home. There will be coffee in the morning!
I share this story as an example of how expat life is very different from the United States. The convenience many of you readers take for granted simply doesn't exist here. Levels of patience and persistence you didn't know you had become your strongest allies. For most everything there's a "yes" out there somewhere. You've got to be willing to keep looking until you find it.