My last post presented what was hopefully some helpful information about navigating the Cajas mountains. And I mentioned that our own upcoming trip wasn't happening at the ideal time.
The good news is none of the factors about the phase of the moon or time of the year adversely affected our journey. But we were still an hour late arriving in Guayaquil.
Flat tire? Engine trouble? Avalanche?
Nope. The police.
As best I can understand, none of the van services are properly licensed for what they do. Why? Faithful readers know by now you don't ask that question in Ecuador because the answer doesn't really matter, but I'm guessing either a) they can't get the correct license or b) it's too expensive.
So they're licensed as tour companies although no actual "tour" occurs. Periodically the bus companies from whom business is being siphoned complain loudly enough that the police temporarily "crack down" and hassle the offenders. We learned they are sometimes stopping the vans en route and making the passengers get out, forcing the van companies to find alternate transportation like taxis to complete the trip.
Not exactly the desired scenario when you've got an international flight awaiting.
We had planned to leave Cuenca at 7 AM and arrive in Guayaquil around 10, allowing plenty of time for our 1 PM departure. After learning at the last minute of these police shenanigans we switched to 6 AM "just to be sure." Plus we figured the police might not be diligent enough to be out hassling illegal vans so early.
Since we rarely arise when it's still dark the 4 AM alarm was in fact alarming, but we got to the van service's office on time and boarded a totally full vehicle. The driver instructed if we got pulled over we were to say we were going to Guayaquil for a city tour.
As we hoped the drive through the Cajas was uneventful and we figured we were in the clear. Nope. Our driver got a call from his counterpart coming from the opposite direction that the cops had a roadblock set up ahead.
Immediately we were off on a side road through the countryside. The guy sitting next to me got on his phone, pulled up some app that plotted our course, and became the navigator. Cynthia and I were having a great time enjoying our impromptu "country tour." We had plenty of time and were fascinated to be in a portion of what I like to call the "real Ecuador" that we knew we'd never see again.
Somehow we eluded the cops and emerged on a highway that took us into Guayaquil from a different direction than usual. This too was a revelation. I knew there was a lot of money in this city, but the vans from Cuenca drive through miles of slums to get to the airport. You thus get the erroneous impression Guayaquil is a huge dump that you want no part of.
I still want no part of it as far as a permanent residence because it's quite hot and humid, and traffic there is LA-like horrible. But we drove past gorgeously landscaped gated neighborhood after neighborhood with huge attractive homes. Beautiful malls. The Guayaquil Tennis Club. Tony Roma's, Goodyear, Chili's.
Who knew?
Although an hour "late," we arrived at the airport when we had originally planned and checked in. Being 6'3", exit row is a blessing for me that rarely occurs in the States (plus the SOB's charge extra for the privilege of sitting there). Since Latin Americans are small they could care less about extra legroom and I always score.
Such was the case on our nonstop LAN flight, perhaps the best flight we've ever taken. We had a ton of room in our 2-seat area next to the window plus the plane wasn't full at all, so I was able to stretch out on the empty 3-seat row next to us for a couple of naps.
For airplane food our lunch was quite tasty and complimentary wine was liberally poured. The flight attendants were pleasant and there was a wide choice of entertainment options on individual screens. The 6 1/2 hours, pardon the pun, flew by and we felt refreshed when we landed in JFK that evening.
We're now in Hoboken with our daughter and enjoying our newest granddaughter for several more days before moving on to our son's home in North Carolina until the end of the year.
Sure hope the police have found someone else to hassle by the time we return to Ecuador.
Monday, December 17, 2012
Sunday, December 9, 2012
Tips for Traveling through the Cajas
Many of us Cuenca residents have traveled through the Cajas mountains to and from Guayaquil, home to one of the two international airports in Ecuador. This 3 hour van ride (cost $12 per person) can offer spectacular views on a clear day that help you appreciate what a crazy-gorgeous country we live in.
But weather in the Cajas is highly unpredictable, and sometimes you get stuck in rain plus fog so thick you (and more importantly the driver) can barely see past the front of the vehicle. Rain or shine large rocks fall from the mountains onto the road, causing unexpected swerving when they suddenly appear right in the van's path. Also rain or shine your driver often seems intent on maintaining the same schedule, barreling into and blindly passing slower vehicles on the many sharp curves along the route.
We have made this journey so many times that we've gone from outright fear to the understanding that these guys drive this road every single day and really do know what they're doing. Still, many folks who have endured one harrowing ride vow to never repeat the experience, opting instead to take a $150 round trip flight between Cuenca and Guayaquil.
I've recently learned some valuable tips about the best and safest times to go through the Cajas from Juan Munoz, a lifelong Cuenca resident, good friend, and guide with TerraDiversa. I'd like to pass on to you the info he shared.
Time of the year
The period from December through May is known as the "rainy season" in Ecuador. This is somewhat of a misnomer since there are rarely extended periods of rain or drought, so the dry season of June through November really means "less wet." Still, Juan says that from now until June you are much more likely to encounter inclement weather going through the mountains.
Time of the month
We are all aware the phases of the moon affect tides (witness the damage from tide surge in New Jersey when the recent hurricane hit that area during a full moon). Who knew the moon also impacts the cloud cover in the Cajas? Juan advised me that during the period from a half moon to full moon the skies in the mountains are much more likely to be clear.
So the absolute best time to go through the Cajas is during the dry season when the moon is half full to full, and worst is in the wet season from a new moon to half full.
None of this information is foolproof, of course. But I can verify from a recent trip the validity of Juan's advice. In early July Cynthia and I were returning to Cuenca from Guayaquil on the very last van that leaves at 7 PM, and quite frankly we dreaded what was ahead. It's bad enough running into fog during the day. At night you're looking at the possibility of three hours of white-knuckle terror.
To our delight during the entire ride the sky was crystal clear with, yes, a full moon beaming down from above. The views of the mountains were absolutely magical.
We're heading back to the States this Thursday. I just checked the calendar. There's a new moon that night, and it's the beginning of the rainy season. Oof.
At least we'll be on the 7 AM van instead the 7 PM one. Fingers crossed.
But weather in the Cajas is highly unpredictable, and sometimes you get stuck in rain plus fog so thick you (and more importantly the driver) can barely see past the front of the vehicle. Rain or shine large rocks fall from the mountains onto the road, causing unexpected swerving when they suddenly appear right in the van's path. Also rain or shine your driver often seems intent on maintaining the same schedule, barreling into and blindly passing slower vehicles on the many sharp curves along the route.
We have made this journey so many times that we've gone from outright fear to the understanding that these guys drive this road every single day and really do know what they're doing. Still, many folks who have endured one harrowing ride vow to never repeat the experience, opting instead to take a $150 round trip flight between Cuenca and Guayaquil.
I've recently learned some valuable tips about the best and safest times to go through the Cajas from Juan Munoz, a lifelong Cuenca resident, good friend, and guide with TerraDiversa. I'd like to pass on to you the info he shared.
Time of the year
The period from December through May is known as the "rainy season" in Ecuador. This is somewhat of a misnomer since there are rarely extended periods of rain or drought, so the dry season of June through November really means "less wet." Still, Juan says that from now until June you are much more likely to encounter inclement weather going through the mountains.
Time of the month
We are all aware the phases of the moon affect tides (witness the damage from tide surge in New Jersey when the recent hurricane hit that area during a full moon). Who knew the moon also impacts the cloud cover in the Cajas? Juan advised me that during the period from a half moon to full moon the skies in the mountains are much more likely to be clear.
So the absolute best time to go through the Cajas is during the dry season when the moon is half full to full, and worst is in the wet season from a new moon to half full.
None of this information is foolproof, of course. But I can verify from a recent trip the validity of Juan's advice. In early July Cynthia and I were returning to Cuenca from Guayaquil on the very last van that leaves at 7 PM, and quite frankly we dreaded what was ahead. It's bad enough running into fog during the day. At night you're looking at the possibility of three hours of white-knuckle terror.
To our delight during the entire ride the sky was crystal clear with, yes, a full moon beaming down from above. The views of the mountains were absolutely magical.
We're heading back to the States this Thursday. I just checked the calendar. There's a new moon that night, and it's the beginning of the rainy season. Oof.
At least we'll be on the 7 AM van instead the 7 PM one. Fingers crossed.
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
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.
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.
Thursday, November 1, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, October 26, 2012
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!
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!
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
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.
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.
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