A Walk in the Park

I had a lot of freelance writing assignments due today. When I was finished my back was killing me and my eyes felt like they were going to fall out of my head from staring at the computer screen all day so I decided to take a walk through nearby Paradise Park to refresh my body and clear my mind.

The street that we live on, Avenida Paucarbamba, was one of the ritzy streets in Cuenca that was first developed when well-to-do locals first left downtown and fashionably moved to the “suburbs.” I put this word in quotes because our home is a mere 20 minute walk from the center of the historic district.

Today many of the old homes have been torn down and replaced with commercial buildings and mid-rise structures like the one we live in. But a scant two minutes from here lies what I call the “real” Cuenca—mostly modest homes, small businesses, freely roaming mutts (which makes me realize how few stray cats are ever seen), and an occasional crowing rooster. Wandering through such neighborhoods helps keep me in touch with how privileged we are to live a wonderful life here even with our modest, by American standards, monthly budget.

On the weekends Paradise Park is filled with people—soccer matches, families enjoying picnics on the grass, folks riding paddleboats on the lake. On this Wednesday afternoon the park was mostly empty. A few ladies were walking their dogs and several kids were playing on the old school metal swings and slides (heaven forbid—someone might get hurt!) under the watchful eyes of their moms.

But the park today was mainly the turf of sweethearts. Young couples walked hand in hand, sat on rocks by the river, or did homework together.

At the far end of the park, after walking through a towering eucalyptus forest, the Tomebamba and Yununcay rivers converge. The rushing waters crashing together there are a powerful energy center for me, and, as always, I sat for awhile to renew my spirits.

After emerging from the forest on the other side of the park I walked past the “food court,” perhaps eight stalls selling a variety of meals and drinks. On this late afternoon only two were open, and I noticed that the most expensive items on their menus cost a whopping $1.25.

I took a different route home and strolled past a restaurant where Cynthia and I sometimes enjoy an almuerzo (fixed menu lunch of soup, fresh-squeezed juice, and entrée) for $1.75 each. We never know what we’re going to get but it’s always been tasty and plentiful.

As I approached our building I thought how much this little stroll was a microcosm of our whole life here. I knew I wanted to walk to the park and back but had no thought of exactly how I would get there or return. I simply set out in the general direction and wandered without a care about the specifics, knowing I would eventually reach my destination. And I did, having a wonderful time every step of the way.

How different from my previous over-scheduled, over-planned, and under-enjoyed life.

What Do I Miss Most about the US?

I’ve often been asked what I miss most (after family and friends, of course) about living in the US. This question invariably catches me off guard, and I’m always stumped for a suitable reply. I guess I have lived here long enough that I don’t even think about such things any more.

I believe I now have a definitive answer. Those of you who know me well might guess I’d say Popeye’s fried chicken. Good thinking, but my existence really isn’t that adversely affected by a lack of two-piece-spicy-white-meat-with-red-beans-and-rice-and-a-biscuit-please.

With Cynthia gone for two weeks I’ve been responsible for all the household chores, specifically those food-related—shopping, cooking, and cleaning up. We have a loosely-enforced agreement around here that whoever cooks, the other one cleans up. Well, with one soldier MIA that plan goes out the window.

And herein lies my discovery. I can now state unequivocally that what I miss most about the States is----

A dishwasher.

That’s right. A dishwasher. An appliance that you put the dirty dishes in, close the door, push the button, and the dishes come out clean.

Overall our apartment is wonderful. It’s large and modern with incredible views of the city and surrounding mountains. Our shower looks like it came from the set of a sci-fi movie, and the hot tub has a remote control.

Because the apartment was originally intended for the owner of the building it is designed in the Ecuadorian way with the expectation of live-in help. We have a maid’s bedroom and bath upstairs.

This domestic help would be expected to do everything—clean, wash and dry the clothes, iron, shop, cook---and wash the dishes. Thus no need for a dishwashing appliance.

We have a maid who comes once a week which is enough for our needs. Even if we could afford full-time help we wouldn’t want someone living upstairs—it would be kind of creepy. And we certainly don’t want to eat Ecuadorian food every meal.

So we hand wash all the dishes, pots, and pans every meal. This is by no means my favorite task. But I hate to come into a dirty kitchen first thing in the morning so normally everything is cleaned up the night before.

That routine has been altered during Cynthia’s absence. As I said I don’t like washing dishes in the first place and don’t mess up enough at one time by myself, so my alternate strategy has been to just avert my eyes from the cluttered sink when I come in to make coffee in the morning.

I’ve learned that leftover brie takes on the consistency of super-glued pieces of automobile tires when left overnight. And that I seem to use the same knives and utensils over and over, which requires fishing them out for repeated washing anyway.

While not profound (and maybe even silly-sounding) I do miss having a dishwasher. A lot. Yes, I could opt for paper plates and plasticware. But that seems so picnic-y.

Being here without my sweetheart is definitely no picnic.

Halloween in the NC Suburbs

After visiting our new granddaughter in Hoboken for awhile we headed south to North Carolina (just before Sandy came to town) to be with our son, daughter-in-law, and darling 17 month old granddaughter Addison.

Last night was of course Halloween, and since this neighborhood is filled with young families we stocked up on trick-or-treat candy. Cynthia and I raised our two children in a similar setting so we knew what to expect.

Or so we thought.

The elaborate outside decorations we observed on walks around the community were clues we didn't pick up on. I've never seen so many skeletons, bats, spiders, ghouls, ghosts, and graveyards. And there's now this spider web stuff adorning porches and shrubbery.

When we saw neighbors setting up fire pits and lawn chairs in their driveways we realized this Halloween celebration was going to be on a bigger scale than we'd ever experienced.

At six o'clock the doorbell rang for the first time. We weren't ready. The dogs went nuts as Addison was still being dressed in her costume and I scrambled for the candy bowl. I gave the kids some candy, we got the dogs sequestered, and our little giraffe was ready for her first trick-or-treating.

Cynthia and I manned our own lawn chairs outside as the onslaught began.

The waves of kids came in a decreasingly desirable order. First out were what trick-or-treating is all about-the smallest ones with their cute costumes and shy behavior. Parents reminding them what to say. Sweet angels and little devils and princesses.

Next came a mixture of ages from acceptable to borderline too old. Lots of Dorothy's from the Wizard of Oz, ninjas, and nerds. I enjoyed messing with the middle schoolers. I told them (with tongue in cheek)if I couldn't guess their costumes they got no candy, which threw them all a curveball. Typical exchange with a guy:

"I give up. What are you?"
"I have no idea."
"Neither do I. That's why I asked. Here's some candy. Get out of here."

Another:

"You're a nerd, right?"
"Yep."
"Did you even change clothes after school or is this how you always look?"

One girl came up and proudly said, "I bet you didn't know I used to live right next door to you!"
Me: "I bet you didn't know I don't even live here."

And so it went. Then came the posse I detest--the older teenagers who should be home giving out candy, not shamelessly still trick-or-treating. I think they drove themselves here. One guy with a mask was bigger than me, and another one had a beard--growing out of his face, not drawn on. But what do you do--say "no" and take a chance on them egging or otherwise vandalizing your home?

You give them some candy so they'll go away.

But this year in the late crowd I encountered two categories that I guess are a sign of the times. Several actually made requests: "Do you have any Reese's?" Really? I'm giving you something and you're being picky? I'll give you one Reese's for two Hershey's, knucklehead.

Even more surprising was a kid who refused what I gave him, saying, "I can't eat this." What, it's got Red Dye #5? Peanuts? No, the other kid got the Reese's. Then he actually picked through the bowl and grabbed a couple of suitable choices. By this point I was too pooped to even care.

By 7:30 four huge bowls of candy were gone and we were cold anyway (no fire pit--who knew?), so we went inside, turned off the lights, and closed the shutters.

Several plaintive door knocks afterwards went unanswered. We were treating ourselves to much-deserved glasses of wine.

On the Road Again

During the 2 ½ years I’ve lived in Cuenca I’ve traveled back and forth to Guayaquil through the Cajas mountains numerous times. Early trips terrified me. It seemed that the drivers were much too reckless and going way too fast. Now I’ve come to realize that these guys drive this road every day and know every inch of the 3 hour journey.

I’m on my way to meet my new granddaughter in New Jersey, and this time I allow myself to truly relax and enjoy the magnificent topography. At every time of day the mountains show a different personality as the sunlight reveals unnoticed nuances of shade and texture.

Today it is early morning and the sky is bright blue with a smattering of clouds. The depth—the contrast—the vividness—are impossible to describe. Every direction I look there is a stunning canvas begging to be painted.

Weaving through the peaks are irregular stands of trees that are obviously there on purpose. Part of an unusual ecological agreement, the Finnish government actually pays Ecuadorian landowners to plant these trees to increase oxygen on the planet. Their orderly unnaturalness somehow adds visual interest to the landscape.

In what seems like the middle of nowhere I periodically see indigenous folks walking along the side of the highway. Where are they going? How long will it take to get there? What can life be like so high up among these mountains and so far apart from each other?

It is the end of the dry season and we have gotten much-needed rain in the past few weeks. The closest mountains are once again impossibly green, while distant peaks are a deep blue. Ahead is the Sea of Clouds, a blue valley seemingly always covered by a thick, fluffy white blanket.

Thankfully we stop halfway through for a bathroom break (it was an early start with a lot of coffee). Once on the way again I immediately fall asleep.

I briefly awake to see that we are descending the western part of the Cajas. Although I’ve never been to either place the flora here reminds me of Viet Nam or Cambodia. The lush foliage, banana trees, and misty fog are always a welcome sight because they signal the end of the back and forth, up and down part of the trip. The rest of the way the road instantly becomes flat and straight.

I doze off again, my slumber interrupted only by the speed bumps we traverse in several towns along the way. All of these places look identical to me—chickens and pigs being grilled on spits—fruit stands and little stores—open-air joints serving food to customers sitting on white plastic chairs.

Coast people look different. Of course because it’s hotter they often dress in T shirts, shorts, and flip flops, but it’s easy to see these folks have descended from different bloodlines than those in the highlands. They are on the whole fatter and to me generally not as attractive.

Highlanders call coast people “monos,” or monkeys. This is because speech is much faster here, like chattering to the ears of mountain inhabitants. Also they consider people who live on the coast to be lazy and “clever” (translation: not to be trusted).

Past the string of small towns the final leg to Guayaquil is an excellent 4-lane divided highway than spreads to 10 lanes on the outskirts of the city. During Rafael Correa’s years as President all of the major roads in Ecuador have been greatly improved and many new ones built.

Here as throughout Ecuador stand empty homes in various stages of construction. Invariably this means a relative is in the US or Spain working. When money is sent home more work is done until it runs out, then everything stops until more funds arrive.

Coming over the first bridge Guayaquil’s skyline appears on the left. For a city of 3 million+ it is quite uninspiring except for one twisted high rise tower on the water's edge. To the right McDonald’s golden arches declare we have arrived in a metropolis much larger than little Cuenca.

For some reason Guayaquil is much better landscaped than Cuenca. Our parks and common areas, while well-maintained, are haphazardly planted with no design. Another obvious difference is the presence of old school window AC units (Cuenca has no heating or air conditioning because of the temperate climate).

Almost exactly three hours from the time of departure our van arrives at the Guayaquil airport. Time to go meet Miss Eloise!

Lights Out!

I tried to watch the Presidential debate last night, but wouldn't you know it, 15 minutes after it started the power went off in our neighborhood. This was followed by a brown-out where the lights dimmed and the television turned on/off/on/off/on/off. And then no electricity again.

If I had asked Mitt what happened he would have immediately blamed the problem on the failed energy policies of the Obama administration. But since I'm in Ecuador, I didn't bother.

By the time power was restored the event was over and I was stuck watching the "talking heads" giving their views on the proceedings. Fortunately this turned out to be like the halftime show of a football game on TV where they show only highlights, so perhaps I didn't really miss much after all.

At this point in the campaign season I'm certain of two things. Obama seems to have "inherited the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression." God, he's been saying that for 4 years! Come on, man, conjure up some new material.

And if elected, Romney will inherit the second worst financial crisis since the Great Depression, but he's got a 5 Point Plan that will fix everything. This number is important because it allows him to hold up only one hand and at the same time use all of his fingers every time he says it.

How awkward would a 6 Point Plan be? So many decisions--hold up 5 & 1? 4 & 2? Or demonstrate bipartisanship and go 3 & 3?

From the little I saw Obama definitely amped up the energy level from the first debate and seemed constantly on the attack. But feisty and effective are not synonyms. I, like probably most Americans, would prefer that he stay positive and tout his first term record. But when your two notable achievements are 1) passing a health care plan the majority of people don't want and 2) running up the biggest deficits of any President in history, maybe going after his opponent is lesser negative choice.

I found two post-debate statistics from polls of undecided voters to be extremely interesting. On the one hand, by a narrow margin Obama was declared the winner. But on the other, these same voters said they trusted Romney more on "pocketbook issues"--the economy, jobs, the deficit, and health care.

So this election may come down to a choice between a superb orator and your wallet. One might think that's an easy decision but, guess what, in the last election the orator won. In three weeks we'll see if he can do it again.

Evil Spirits

Awhile back a reader asked me to do a post on the wine situation here in Ecuador. Since I am currently working on International Living's 2013 Retirement Index (a quality-of-life survey of 22 locations around the globe) which includes a monthly budget, this seems like the perfect time to comment on a category that is certainly one of our expense items.

Let's cover the gamut of alcoholic beverages while we're at it, because liquor, wine, and beer all have their own stories to tell.

All imported goods are of course more expensive. I can't remember what a can of tomatoes costs in the States, but the Heinz variety here is over $3. So unless you "eat like a local" you've gotta be prepared to pay the price.

And with recent tax increases on hard spirits you have to drink like one too. A fifth of Bacardi is now over $30. Oh, you're a vodka drinker? Absolut runs around $50. As does Johnny Walker Red. Brutal, right? Fortunately there are drinkable alternatives. Rum made right here in Cuenca is only $8 a fifth, and Sky vodka rings in at a reasonable $20.

Wine prices are no bargain either. Ecuador has no viticulture industry to speak of, so these products are also imported. Bottom shelf domestic stuff in US grocery stores that you can pick up for $4.99 is priced in the teens. Most of our selection not surprisingly comes from Chile and Argentina, and with these countries being so close it's frustrating to see prices perhaps 50% higher than back home.

The go-to wine for many gringos is in a box, not a bottle. Concha y Toro,a mega-winery with high to low end production, has a boxed variety, Clos, currently available for $5.51 in merlot, cabernet, and "white." It's comparable to Trader Joe's 2 Buck Chuck (Charles Shaw) but, again, at over twice the price for its US counterpart.

And what the heck is going on with the price increases of locally made beer? There's no import tax on that! When we moved here 2 1/2 years ago a 6 pack of Pilsener was about $3.50. Now it's $4.93. By the bottle Pilsener is 80 cents (which I just realized means buying singles is slightly cheaper) and Budweiser is $1.00--not much of a price difference. But the beer bargain is always the big 20 ouncer's from local convenience stores. They're only $1.00 when you return the bottle.

I often joke that a vegetarian teetotaler can get by in Ecuador on a tiny food budget. We're neither, so be aware that if you eat meat and drink alcohol a disproportionate share of your grocery dollars will go to those two categories.

What about the Grandchildren?

I'm totally proud to present to my blog friends the newest member of TeamStaton, Eloise Grace Walker.

Our second granddaughter and the first child of our daughter Adrian, Eloise today is the ripe old age of two weeks. This little bundle of joy has remarkably long arms and legs and amazingly large hands and feet, so I'm going out on a limb with the early prediction that she will end up as the tallest member of the family.

And I'm 6'3".

With two here and #3 on the way (our first grandson makes his debut in late January) I'm often asked, "So are you thinking about moving back to the States now?" In fact the subject came up just yesterday when I was chatting online with an old friend.

I wrote an article for International Living a couple of months ago that I'd like to share with you here. Hopefully it sheds some light on this emotional topic.

What about the Grandchildren?

One of the major concerns for retirees considering relocation abroad is being separated from their grandchildren.

My wife and I weren’t grandparents when we arrived in Cuenca over two years ago. Now we have a one year old granddaughter and two more grandbabies on the way.

Since we've reached this milestone many friends still living in the States have said to me, “Gosh, it must break your heart living so far from your grandchildren.”

Really?? We visited family for two weeks in March and the whole month of June. And we’re going back in the fall to welcome our newest granddaughter into the world.

It is a completely erroneous impression that because we live abroad we'll be missing out on our grandchildren growing up. The truth is we’ll see them more because we've lowered our monthly expenses and we're no longer tied to jobs.

If we were still working in the US we'd have 3 or 4 weeks vacation a year and hope we had enough money to visit. Plus we want to see the world and selfishly perhaps do not want every day of our available travel time devoted to family visits.

Now to be fair, our two children live in different states, so there’s no way we could live near both of them simultaneously. Therefore some form of travel would always be necessary even if we still lived in the US.

Your feelings towards your grandchildren should be an important part of your thoughts regarding expatriation. And brutal honesty about those emotions must drive your decision.

I know a grandmother who moved to Cuenca and found herself absolutely miserable being separated from her grandchildren. Although they loved the city and made many friends, she and her husband were back in the US in less than six months.

Do you already have grandkids? Do you live close by and see them often? Are they the light of your life? Then listen to your heart. Moving abroad is probably not going to work out well for you.

But if you are comfortable with visiting maybe not as often as you’d like but for longer periods of time, by all means continue to make your plans.

Most locations in the US and Canada can be reached from Ecuador in hours. With Skype video you can stay in touch for free as long as you like and as often as you desire. You don’t have to physically be there every moment to feel like you’re an important part of your family’s life.

Reality check. When we left our little granddaughter after the last visit I bawled my eyes out in the airport. Would I love to hug her every day? You bet. Being apart isn’t easy, but for now it’s doable.

Don’t let the notion of being “so far away” stop you from considering a move abroad. You’re retired now! You can enjoy an exciting new life and still visit those grandchildren as often as your budget allows.