I wish I could entertain you with lots of funny stories about being "Home Alone" in a foreign country, but it really hasn't been that kind of a week. Once each entry is published I honestly don't read my own blog so I can't remember if I mentioned this, but the reason Cynthia is in the States is because her sister is dying.
And this isn't one of those, "Well, she's old and had a good life" situations. No, we're talking mid-forties and leaving behind a loving husband and 6 (tomorrow) year old daughter. Very, very tough. And casting a l-o-o-o-n-n-n-g shadow over all of us, even reaching from LA to Ecuador.
My coping mechanism for "alone-ness" has been to be overly busy. You saw that the refrigerator finally found its way home. That was only Monday morning. Since then curtains have been installed, electricians have almost moved in they've been here so much, measurements were taken for the handrails on the staircase, plasterers have been plastering, and our damaged dining room table has been shipped out for repairs.
So I've pretty much been kicking ass and taking names. And in between all that furious activity I've also been accepting every possible invitation--3 hour lunches, late night dinner and drinks--pretty much anything to one-thing-at-a-time suspend the reality that I'm on my own in Cuenca, Ecuador.
Today and tonight for the first time I really am alone. On purpose. During another dinner last evening I actually turned down an invitation to go out of town for the weekend because I realized my overcompensation is both understandable and unsustainable. There's 3 1/2 weeks until my sweetheart returns and my body absolutely cannot take the abuse like the old (young) days.
This morning I slept late, cooked myself some bacon and eggs, then went to the gym. I got out the recipe book, strapped on the backpack, mounted my bike and went to the mercado for produce, a deli for meat, and the SuperMaxi for everything else. Made egg salad, barbeque sauce (ribs tomorrow, baby--yeah) and from-scratch Caesar dressing (fyi--all the bottled salad dressing here sucks!). All the while drinking vodka and belting out some Journey and Eagles. Found time for a long nap somewhere in there.
It's raining right now and the streets are quiet. I'm enjoying a glass of vino and noticing, really for the first time, how excellent our apartment looks at night with strategic lights on here and there. Would be much better if I were enjoying the moment with my bride but pretty damn good nonetheless.
Our new microwave is on the fritz for the 3rd time; 2 "blog buddies" are in town; I'm joining a local biking group; I'm opening a checking account and maybe investing in an Ecuadorian CD; I need to get our TV up and running---hopefully the coming week will produce more of those entertaining stories I very much enjoy writing and you seem to enjoy reading!
I don't even know many of you who follow my blog, and I can't begin to express how much your interest and support mean to me. Thanks for everything.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
Sunday, September 12, 2010
Stairway to Hell
While once again trudging up and down the "Stairway to Hell" this morning I was inspired to compose a parody of its famous Led Zep namesake. In the tradition of Weird Al, here's OddEdd's version of "Stairway to Heaven."
There’s an hombre who knows
His legs are getting old
And he’s climbing the Stairway to Hell
When he gets there he knows
An Ibuprofen dose
Will allow him to get what he came for
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh,
And he’s climbing the Stairway to Hell
There’s a sign on the wall,
But he wants to be sure,
'Cause for him Spanish words
Have no meaning
Hell, he don’t need to cook
There’s delivery that brings
Sometimes all of our meals must
Be driven
Ooh, and it gives me hunger
Ooh, and it gives me hunger
There’s a feeling I get
When I just need to rest
And my body is crying
For sleeping
In my thoughts I have seen
Dreams of help for my knees
And the choices of maybe not cooking
Ooh, and it makes me older
Ooh, it really makes me older
And it’s whispered that soon
Workers may come at noon
Then the fridge will be in my apartment
And a new day will dawn
It won’t take too long
For the building to echo with laughter.
Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, ooh, whoa, oh
You’ve pulled a muscle in your sacro
Don’t be alarmed now
It’s just extreme need
For morphine
Yes, there are hot packs that you can go buy
But in the long run
There’s still time to find
The drugs you want
And it makes me younger
Aw, uh, oh
Your bowels are rumbling but they won’t go
Unless you say so
The diaper’s called Adult Depends
Dear hombre, can you hear the farts blow
And did you know
Your stairway reeks from you breaking wind?
And as he climbs to his abode
Carrying the groceries up two floors
There walks an hombre feeling low
Who whines a lot and wants to know
How everyone just tells him “no”
But if he’d listen it’s not hard
The truth will come to him at last
Whine all you want, someday they’ll come
Forget the clock, it’s Ecuador!
And he’s cli-i-mbing the Stairway-----
to Hell.
There’s an hombre who knows
His legs are getting old
And he’s climbing the Stairway to Hell
When he gets there he knows
An Ibuprofen dose
Will allow him to get what he came for
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh,
And he’s climbing the Stairway to Hell
There’s a sign on the wall,
But he wants to be sure,
'Cause for him Spanish words
Have no meaning
Hell, he don’t need to cook
There’s delivery that brings
Sometimes all of our meals must
Be driven
Ooh, and it gives me hunger
Ooh, and it gives me hunger
There’s a feeling I get
When I just need to rest
And my body is crying
For sleeping
In my thoughts I have seen
Dreams of help for my knees
And the choices of maybe not cooking
Ooh, and it makes me older
Ooh, it really makes me older
And it’s whispered that soon
Workers may come at noon
Then the fridge will be in my apartment
And a new day will dawn
It won’t take too long
For the building to echo with laughter.
Oh, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, ooh, whoa, oh
You’ve pulled a muscle in your sacro
Don’t be alarmed now
It’s just extreme need
For morphine
Yes, there are hot packs that you can go buy
But in the long run
There’s still time to find
The drugs you want
And it makes me younger
Aw, uh, oh
Your bowels are rumbling but they won’t go
Unless you say so
The diaper’s called Adult Depends
Dear hombre, can you hear the farts blow
And did you know
Your stairway reeks from you breaking wind?
And as he climbs to his abode
Carrying the groceries up two floors
There walks an hombre feeling low
Who whines a lot and wants to know
How everyone just tells him “no”
But if he’d listen it’s not hard
The truth will come to him at last
Whine all you want, someday they’ll come
Forget the clock, it’s Ecuador!
And he’s cli-i-mbing the Stairway-----
to Hell.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
The Problem with Planning
This was Day 1 of getting some structure in my life. And it all started out so well (uh-oh—is this a dead giveaway or what?)----------.
I was going to get up at a specified time—check. We won’t discuss what that time was because I went to bed rather late—actually very late—who knew going to the damn symphony could turn into a party--but work with me, I’m easing into this.
Go to the grocery store—check. Strapped on the backpack and jumped on the bike. Barely got everything I bought into the backpack, almost fell over sideways hoisting my leg over the bike with an incredibly cumbersome load now on my back (wine is heavy!) and got everything here and unloaded.
Do yoga—u-m-m-m. After all this exercise I’m hungry, and I just bought the fixings for a yummy sandwich. You know what’s good about yoga? You can do it anytime. So later on that one.
Explore a new area—w-e-l-l-l-l. It was a beautiful day and this was a great idea. But the US Open semifinals were happening, my son, daughter, and respective spouses were actually at the Open last weekend, and I haven’t seen one second of TV in two months. I’m wishing my son-in-law Happy Birthday online, at the same time bitching about my situation, and he suggests a “live streaming” website.
I try it and it works! Well, it kinda works—more like live dripping than live streaming, but in fits and starts I hear John McEnroe’s voice and tennis players moving around, I see a couple of commercials (I remember hating commercials) and I’m so excited.
I go downstairs to get a beer—oops, I just realized I haven’t told you this part of our story. Yes, we moved into our residence, but I cannot get anyone to show up and move our HUGE refrigerator from the 2nd floor to the 4th floor. So down and up, down and up I go every time something chilled is a requirement for my existence. I’ve nickname this particular part of our building the “Stairway to Hell,” as opposed to------.
But in the stairwell, inside my neighbor’s door I hear—I think I hear—so por que no, I knock. He opens the door and—YES!!!—he’s watching the tennis on a real TV, not a herky-jerky little laptop. I offer beer as an admission fee; he accepts!
So I didn’t explore the new area today. I watched TV with my neighbor for the 1st time in two months, the US Open semi-finals on a real TV, and I’m damned proud of my decision, even though Federer lost in 5 sets.
I think planning is overrated. No, that’s not fair. I think obsessive planning is overrated. From my time on this planet I’ve learned more than once that you can plan a trip in every detail—where you’re staying every night, what you’re doing every day—I’ve done it--but you can never plan for what’s over the next hill or around the next curve. More than once it’s been a figurative 18-wheeler on the wrong side of the road.
And I have myself uttered the old chestnuts about “A failure to plan is a plan to fail” and “If you don’t know where you’re going wherever you end up is fine.” God knows those words have never been even thought of in Ecuador, but somewhere between the obsessive/compulsive behavior of the US that has created so much so quickly, but at what cost, and the “es possible manana” culture that makes Ecuador, well, Ecuador, I’m seeking equilibrium, a happy medium between anal/retentive and carpe diem. Today was a good 1st step—the tennis is over, and that neighborhood will be there tomorrow.
In the meantime, there’s still time for that yoga---------------------.
I was going to get up at a specified time—check. We won’t discuss what that time was because I went to bed rather late—actually very late—who knew going to the damn symphony could turn into a party--but work with me, I’m easing into this.
Go to the grocery store—check. Strapped on the backpack and jumped on the bike. Barely got everything I bought into the backpack, almost fell over sideways hoisting my leg over the bike with an incredibly cumbersome load now on my back (wine is heavy!) and got everything here and unloaded.
Do yoga—u-m-m-m. After all this exercise I’m hungry, and I just bought the fixings for a yummy sandwich. You know what’s good about yoga? You can do it anytime. So later on that one.
Explore a new area—w-e-l-l-l-l. It was a beautiful day and this was a great idea. But the US Open semifinals were happening, my son, daughter, and respective spouses were actually at the Open last weekend, and I haven’t seen one second of TV in two months. I’m wishing my son-in-law Happy Birthday online, at the same time bitching about my situation, and he suggests a “live streaming” website.
I try it and it works! Well, it kinda works—more like live dripping than live streaming, but in fits and starts I hear John McEnroe’s voice and tennis players moving around, I see a couple of commercials (I remember hating commercials) and I’m so excited.
I go downstairs to get a beer—oops, I just realized I haven’t told you this part of our story. Yes, we moved into our residence, but I cannot get anyone to show up and move our HUGE refrigerator from the 2nd floor to the 4th floor. So down and up, down and up I go every time something chilled is a requirement for my existence. I’ve nickname this particular part of our building the “Stairway to Hell,” as opposed to------.
But in the stairwell, inside my neighbor’s door I hear—I think I hear—so por que no, I knock. He opens the door and—YES!!!—he’s watching the tennis on a real TV, not a herky-jerky little laptop. I offer beer as an admission fee; he accepts!
So I didn’t explore the new area today. I watched TV with my neighbor for the 1st time in two months, the US Open semi-finals on a real TV, and I’m damned proud of my decision, even though Federer lost in 5 sets.
I think planning is overrated. No, that’s not fair. I think obsessive planning is overrated. From my time on this planet I’ve learned more than once that you can plan a trip in every detail—where you’re staying every night, what you’re doing every day—I’ve done it--but you can never plan for what’s over the next hill or around the next curve. More than once it’s been a figurative 18-wheeler on the wrong side of the road.
And I have myself uttered the old chestnuts about “A failure to plan is a plan to fail” and “If you don’t know where you’re going wherever you end up is fine.” God knows those words have never been even thought of in Ecuador, but somewhere between the obsessive/compulsive behavior of the US that has created so much so quickly, but at what cost, and the “es possible manana” culture that makes Ecuador, well, Ecuador, I’m seeking equilibrium, a happy medium between anal/retentive and carpe diem. Today was a good 1st step—the tennis is over, and that neighborhood will be there tomorrow.
In the meantime, there’s still time for that yoga---------------------.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
Work Like an Egyptian
I showed you the parts of our new home that are completed but alluded to the fact that other areas are "in progress." So we've had electricians in here the last two days installing some lighting and plugs. Sometimes only one; sometimes as many as three. They seem to just kind of mysteriously come and go. You don't ask---at least they're here!!
But it's amazing how little they seem to accomplish. You know what the room looks like before the work begins. The guys go up and are banging and drilling and making all sorts of racket. You check on the progress an hour later and nothing looks different. How is this possible? Were they playing a recording of construction noise or something??
When they showed up on time this morning to finish what seemed easily a one day job I wanted to hug them because--well, unless this is your initial visit to my brave new world, you know why--and then slap them because I was going to have to endure another day of pounding and debris in our new, previously clean place. "Why pounding,?" you Americanos might astutely ask. Because the walls are made of concrete here, not sheetrock. So holes are chiseled, not sawed.
And these guys speak no English, which gives me the opportunity to share with you the Holy Grail of expat existence----Google Translator. With our lawyer--with our landlord--with all the workers who have come in and out of our lives these last four months, this tool has been a lifesaver. Sometimes, like our episode at the dry cleaners, playing Hangman and Charades is a lot of fun. But when important stuff involving real money is involved it's important that everyone really understands.
It's not perfect, but-------. I sit and type what I want to say. Entende(understand)? Si. You get up, the other person sits down and types the reply. Back and forth. Our landlord and I have become really good friends mainly communicating this way. It's pathetic, we both admit, but until our Espanol is up to par, this is far better than major misunderstandings and disappointments.
So tomorrow the boys will be back for Day 3 of a one day job and I'm starting to understand how the foremen on those pyramid projects must have felt. "Holy Ra, these stone blocks moved like, what, ten feet yesterday? I mean, these slaves are good guys and all, but in the name of Osiris, is this damned tomb going to get built before Ramses friggin' dies? I flog 'em; I beat 'em; I kill a few as an example--nothin' works with these guys!!"
And then there's the other crew that's supposed to have shown up to move our refrigerator from the 2nd floor for the last two days. Sigh---------------.
But it's amazing how little they seem to accomplish. You know what the room looks like before the work begins. The guys go up and are banging and drilling and making all sorts of racket. You check on the progress an hour later and nothing looks different. How is this possible? Were they playing a recording of construction noise or something??
When they showed up on time this morning to finish what seemed easily a one day job I wanted to hug them because--well, unless this is your initial visit to my brave new world, you know why--and then slap them because I was going to have to endure another day of pounding and debris in our new, previously clean place. "Why pounding,?" you Americanos might astutely ask. Because the walls are made of concrete here, not sheetrock. So holes are chiseled, not sawed.
And these guys speak no English, which gives me the opportunity to share with you the Holy Grail of expat existence----Google Translator. With our lawyer--with our landlord--with all the workers who have come in and out of our lives these last four months, this tool has been a lifesaver. Sometimes, like our episode at the dry cleaners, playing Hangman and Charades is a lot of fun. But when important stuff involving real money is involved it's important that everyone really understands.
It's not perfect, but-------. I sit and type what I want to say. Entende(understand)? Si. You get up, the other person sits down and types the reply. Back and forth. Our landlord and I have become really good friends mainly communicating this way. It's pathetic, we both admit, but until our Espanol is up to par, this is far better than major misunderstandings and disappointments.
So tomorrow the boys will be back for Day 3 of a one day job and I'm starting to understand how the foremen on those pyramid projects must have felt. "Holy Ra, these stone blocks moved like, what, ten feet yesterday? I mean, these slaves are good guys and all, but in the name of Osiris, is this damned tomb going to get built before Ramses friggin' dies? I flog 'em; I beat 'em; I kill a few as an example--nothin' works with these guys!!"
And then there's the other crew that's supposed to have shown up to move our refrigerator from the 2nd floor for the last two days. Sigh---------------.
Home Alone
I put Cynthia on a plane for Estados Unidos Tuesday night. For a variety of reasons she will be gone up to 5 weeks. After two nights together in our own bed for the first time in four months, I'm now alone in a foreign country for the first time ever, and this will be our longest separation in 39 years of marriage.
How do I feel about all this? Honestly, at least right now, OK. As you know we just moved into our permanent residence (and many thanks for all the kind comments, both in public and through email), so there's the stimulation of all that newness (is that a word?). I can't sit around and watch TV the whole time, or any of the time, because we still don't have service connected. All our books are still packed and will remain so until mi esposa's return.
That means I'm either going to meditate a lot and work on my "spiritual journey," or I'm gonna hit the streets and have some fun. Let's see--contemplate my navel or have some beers with friends? Chant "Om" or join that biking group? Tough choice but--------, I think I'll go with Door #2!
And that's the main reason I think I will successfully survive this separation. We lived in Las Vegas for 4 years and left with one new friend. Pathetic--that's one tough town to meet people. We've been here 4 months and have quickly developed such an amazing network of expats and locals. Folks like us that have a zest for life and want to get out and do things, experience things, and are happy to have others come along--would rather have others come along.
As an example, I mentioned in my post about Salinas that Cynthia and I were contemplating just taking off up the coast on buses with a little money and no agenda. I was drinking some of those aforementioned beers last night with a couple who had read this entry and they said,"Hey, we loved your idea about that trip but we're buying a car soon. When Cynthia gets back why don't we all go together?." See, once again these difficult decisions--comfortable car with friends or backpacking on buses with strangers? Gosh, this time I'm going to have to take Door #1.
And please understand that we didn't arrive in Cuenca with a calculated agenda of, "OK, here's the plan--let's get unpacked and start attending every event possible and meet as many people as possible and-----." No, we came here with no preconceived notions about anything except that we would jump into this adventure without our swimmies, not drown, and have fun. Everything beyond that simple notion has developed organically.
One thing I'm definitely looking forward to, now that we've at least secured a beachhead, is establishing some semblance of a routine. The only regularly scheduled aspect of our life, and this speaks volumes when I think about it, is our hot stone massage appointments every other Thursday. Freelancing has been a blast, but there can perhaps be a little more "meat on the bone" here. Baby steps, though--yesterday I scheduled a facial for the off Thursday next week. Hey, it's a start!
So, totally uncharted waters ahead for yours truly and we'll learn together how this ends up. Upbeat now but it's early in the first quarter. Stay tuned--we'll be right back-------.
How do I feel about all this? Honestly, at least right now, OK. As you know we just moved into our permanent residence (and many thanks for all the kind comments, both in public and through email), so there's the stimulation of all that newness (is that a word?). I can't sit around and watch TV the whole time, or any of the time, because we still don't have service connected. All our books are still packed and will remain so until mi esposa's return.
That means I'm either going to meditate a lot and work on my "spiritual journey," or I'm gonna hit the streets and have some fun. Let's see--contemplate my navel or have some beers with friends? Chant "Om" or join that biking group? Tough choice but--------, I think I'll go with Door #2!
And that's the main reason I think I will successfully survive this separation. We lived in Las Vegas for 4 years and left with one new friend. Pathetic--that's one tough town to meet people. We've been here 4 months and have quickly developed such an amazing network of expats and locals. Folks like us that have a zest for life and want to get out and do things, experience things, and are happy to have others come along--would rather have others come along.
As an example, I mentioned in my post about Salinas that Cynthia and I were contemplating just taking off up the coast on buses with a little money and no agenda. I was drinking some of those aforementioned beers last night with a couple who had read this entry and they said,"Hey, we loved your idea about that trip but we're buying a car soon. When Cynthia gets back why don't we all go together?." See, once again these difficult decisions--comfortable car with friends or backpacking on buses with strangers? Gosh, this time I'm going to have to take Door #1.
And please understand that we didn't arrive in Cuenca with a calculated agenda of, "OK, here's the plan--let's get unpacked and start attending every event possible and meet as many people as possible and-----." No, we came here with no preconceived notions about anything except that we would jump into this adventure without our swimmies, not drown, and have fun. Everything beyond that simple notion has developed organically.
One thing I'm definitely looking forward to, now that we've at least secured a beachhead, is establishing some semblance of a routine. The only regularly scheduled aspect of our life, and this speaks volumes when I think about it, is our hot stone massage appointments every other Thursday. Freelancing has been a blast, but there can perhaps be a little more "meat on the bone" here. Baby steps, though--yesterday I scheduled a facial for the off Thursday next week. Hey, it's a start!
So, totally uncharted waters ahead for yours truly and we'll learn together how this ends up. Upbeat now but it's early in the first quarter. Stay tuned--we'll be right back-------.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Manana Finally Comes!!
When Cynthia and I first announced that we had decided to move to Ecuador, almost everyone we knew thought we were crazy. Of course nobody actually said, "What, are you crazy?." Well, maybe somebody did; I can't remember. But I know that's what a LOT of people were silently thinking when they said things like, "Really? Ecuador? That's interesting---------."
You know what, I don't blame them. Before we started researching relocation possibilities I couldn't have pinpointed Ecuador on a globe if you had offered me a million dollars (apologies to my geography teachers, whoever you were--sorry, I can't remember you either!). And Cuenca? How do you pronounce this place, honey--Soo-In-Suh? (it's Coo-Wayne-Kuh). At the time, who knew?
So of course we got our fair share of teasing about living in a grass hut and trading in our car for a burro, right? Then when we moved here but first were staying in a hotel, then a furnished studio, then a "temporary" apartment while ours was being "finished"--month after month after month--well, folks were perhaps starting to get a bit suspicious. And, again, I don't blame anyone for those thoughts. If I was in the States and had no familiarity with the endless "manana's" that define the Latin American culture I'd probably be saying, "Those crazy Staton's. They up and move to friggin' Ecuador. Edd blogs about all this fun they're having, but what's up with this place they never seem to move into? I'm telling you, there's something wrong down there!!"
Guess what---WE'RE IN!!!!!!!! Finally a week of harmonic convergence appeared out of nowhere and last night we at last slept in our own bed, in our own residence-----------------.
I had to pause for a moment just then. This journey has blessed us in SO many ways, and sitting here right now surrounded by our possessions in this beautiful home is almost overwhelming---I don't think I can even describe my feelings at this moment. Let these pictures speak for me and put to rest any feelings of those who were genuinely worried about us. We truly appreciate you caring.
Our foyer.
View down the foyer.
Breakfast room
Kitchen
Living room
Dining room
Master Bedroom
Master Bathroom
As a dear friend of mine in the States said, "Not bad for a couple of gringos on a fixed income in a 3rd world South American country." I think we're gonna be fine.
You know what, I don't blame them. Before we started researching relocation possibilities I couldn't have pinpointed Ecuador on a globe if you had offered me a million dollars (apologies to my geography teachers, whoever you were--sorry, I can't remember you either!). And Cuenca? How do you pronounce this place, honey--Soo-In-Suh? (it's Coo-Wayne-Kuh). At the time, who knew?
So of course we got our fair share of teasing about living in a grass hut and trading in our car for a burro, right? Then when we moved here but first were staying in a hotel, then a furnished studio, then a "temporary" apartment while ours was being "finished"--month after month after month--well, folks were perhaps starting to get a bit suspicious. And, again, I don't blame anyone for those thoughts. If I was in the States and had no familiarity with the endless "manana's" that define the Latin American culture I'd probably be saying, "Those crazy Staton's. They up and move to friggin' Ecuador. Edd blogs about all this fun they're having, but what's up with this place they never seem to move into? I'm telling you, there's something wrong down there!!"
Guess what---WE'RE IN!!!!!!!! Finally a week of harmonic convergence appeared out of nowhere and last night we at last slept in our own bed, in our own residence-----------------.
I had to pause for a moment just then. This journey has blessed us in SO many ways, and sitting here right now surrounded by our possessions in this beautiful home is almost overwhelming---I don't think I can even describe my feelings at this moment. Let these pictures speak for me and put to rest any feelings of those who were genuinely worried about us. We truly appreciate you caring.
Our foyer.
View down the foyer.
Breakfast room
Kitchen
Living room
Dining room
Master Bedroom
Master Bathroom
As a dear friend of mine in the States said, "Not bad for a couple of gringos on a fixed income in a 3rd world South American country." I think we're gonna be fine.
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