Cajas For A Day

We all foresaw the inevitable fallout. I apologize for the lack of posts, but being on the internet has been less of a concern as I've gotten more acclimated to Cuenca and far more busy. They won't cease completely, but I think I'll plan on just sending out an email when I post now to make sure there are no dry blog-checks.

Yesterday I went with my friend Bob, an old fart from Colorado, to Cajas National Park. We were at about 10 or 11 thousand feet and it was very wet and humid. Strange, considering how remarkably dry the Rockies are. It was beautiful, as you can see in the attached photos. We went with a guide and about a dozen other people, almost none of whom spoke English. As it happened, I practiced my Spanish all day and it was great. Exhausting but great. It was the first time I really noticed a difference in my language since I got here because it was the first time I'd spoken for more than 20 minutes straight in Spanish. I really need to get away from the other Gringos.

The park was spectacular. More lakes than you can shake a stick at and lots of waterfalls. The mountains are much more steep than I'm used to. They shoot up sharply from the ground and in many places they look nearly impossible to scale. I was amazed at how much sun affected the temperature of the air. When a cloud would pass over the sun for even a few minutes I'd put on my jacket. I swear the temperature on our hike varied at least 20 degrees.

It was great to be out of the city. I hadn't left Cuenca since I got here almost 4 weeks ago and being in the city was starting to get to me. As I hiked I tried to listen to some music on my iPod but Bob wouldn't let it happen. "Good Scott! Why don't you tune the whole world out? You're in the mountains, hearing the river and the birds, but it doesn't even matter. We're just the people you're hiking with, we're not important." I told him to go crawl under a rock, but what he said was, clearly, something I'd say to Steve if we were hiking so I succumbed to pressure and pocketed my ear buds. Sigh.

One of the people on the trip was a 5 year old girl named Daniela who was absolutely terrified of me. I asked her if it was my beard that scared her, or my pale skin, but I came to find out that its because mothers here tell their children that Gringos eat kids. It was not the first time I'd heard this rumor, either. Merian, the woman with whom I spoke the most, explained that for centuries mothers have told their children that if someone has light skin and green or blue eyes they should be careful. Historically speaking, I think I can understand the fear and reservation, but I'm not sure how the cannibalism thing started. I think this dates back to a time when white people mistreated people of other races in the world. Thank goodness that doesn't happen anymore!

Anyway, when we had climbed a grueling mountain and were relaxing in the sun, drinking water and scarfing down sandwiches, Bob offered Daniela a slice of apple and -without warning- we had her complete trust. From then on she talked and talked, and on the bus ride home she kept trying to grab my nose. I tried to take little offense, but my nose is a little oddly shaped, I suppose. After awhile her brother new I was getting a bit annoyed and said, "comes niños, Daniela" and she went back to hiding. And the lies continue...

Pig Hooves and Cow Stomach Linings

On Sunday afternoon I was walking with my new friend Tom when I casually remarked about the weather. It had not rained since the previous Monday. And by that I mean it hadn't rained much. Don't be mistaken: it rains every day, but the showers had been brief and light and the rest of the days had been sunny and cool. Dress shirt and jeans by day, jacket by night, no umbrella necessary.

The casual remark might have been a mistake because Monday the clouds rolled over the mountains and its been primarily overcast since, save the early mornings. Rain has been consistent in the evenings. Perhaps we were just having a respite. The rainy season is in full swing and apparently the heaviest rains fall in April and May. June, I hear, is spectacular.

Nevertheless its hasn't been a bad week. I've enjoyed my classes, started a spanish class of my own, and have had plenty of time to cook and relax. The terrace, I'm sad to say, has been largely inaccessible due to weather, but the mornings are usually clear enough to do some stretches and exercises in the sun. There is a rooster, living atop a nearby building, who I fear might be narcoleptic. He crows incessantly, and its not just when the sun comes out either. It's just about every 5 minutes each morning. Maybe this is normal. This Okie never lived on a farm.

This looks to be another grand weekend. The founding of Cuenca is April 12 (Saturday) and supposedly this city really comes alive. Cuenca will be 451 years old and I wish it all the best. My birthday follows two days after this, which makes me feel admittedly miffed. Oh well. I'll try to make the best of it, maybe ride the coattails of the city and pretend it's all about me.

P.S. The title of this post is in reference to the lunches I ate the past two days. Not as delicious as it sounds, nor as funny. Kinda pissed me off, actually. Serves me right for not knowing how to read the menu. Oh, and the photo is a view of my building from across the river. My terrace is above those orange umbrellas. The other picture is a shot down the river walkway. Obviously a nice place to take a stroll when its sunny.

It's not a ball!

Next to me at my desk lie a satchel and an umbrella, neither of which are mine. These are remnants of last night's house-warming party, left by guests as they scurried down the street to the opening of a new bar/art gallery. By then I was massively tired and knew I wouldn't possibly be able to keep up.

At about 4:30 I went to the market with a couple friends to buy goods for our feast. I kept my eye out for a woman at the market who hates me. A few days ago I threw one of her tomatoes into the air and caught it and she snapped at me. No es una pelota! she screamed. Her friend just laughed but I couldn't get a grin out of her.

Our original plan was to have about 10 people over and fix a copious amount of Italian food. Unfortunately, there was no eggplant for the eggplant parmesan so we had to figure something out on the fly. We bought avocados, onions, tomatoes, a giant mango, strawberries, a pineapple, some limes, bread, beer, parsley we mistook for cilantro, oregano, plantains, ketchup, chips and chili powder. What transpired was a bountiful feast. Friends brought drinks and we gorged ourselves on guacamole and chips, tomato bruschetta with bread, fruit salad and fried plantains with ketchup (a personal favorite).

We watched basketball (explaining the rules and such to those silly Brits who can't understand why the world needs another sport than Football) and made merry. After that we took our drinks up to the terrace, looked out over the river and the city and enjoyed ourselves. It was quite a time.

This city is mostly shut down on Sundays. There are a few stores open every now and then, maybe a bakery, a cafe or a little shop, but for the most part people go to church and then head to the parks where there is live music and much to do. Today I went with Rory, a nice Londoner, to the river where we walked in the grass and talked about the IRA. After a spell we found an awesome kinda sunny spot to relax and I parked myself against a rock and pulled out Salinger to read while he more or less snoozed between bouts of Nick Hornsy. Not a bad way to spend a spectacular Sunday afternoon.

It's great not having a cellphone here. All the social activities happen in the moment or are planned ahead. There's plenty of dropping by and no calling. However, most everyone here is getting a cellphone so it may only be a matter of time until I buy a $3 card for my phone. We'll see.

The Sound of Settling

After living out of a suitcase for a week I finally settled into a place. While small, it's beautiful and very nice. The shower is spacious and the view from atop the building is nothing short of spectacular. If my internet connection were stronger I'd upload a video but for now the photo will have to suffice.

I started teaching Monday, and my classes are great. They're also very small. I have 3 classes and about 10 kids total. It's almost more like tutoring than teaching. Anyhow, 2 of the three courses are upper level English classes called Comparative Cultures. We'll be watching films in English, reading short stories and writing a lot. There are no text books so I'm basically doing what I want as long as they fulfill a few writing requirements. This week the film is Into The Wild. One of my students, a 15 year old boy, cried. The film is heartbreakingly sad and the experience was pretty intense. As they left the classroom I promised that none of the other films we watch will be so heavy. I think we're watching either Supersize Me or Remember The Titans next week.

My other class is a medium level kids class. My students are around the age of 12. They're funny and a bit wild, but they seem to be decent language-learners. I've told them that the class is a No-Spanish Zone, and we keep tallies on the board of who speaks Spanish the most. The idea is that at the end of the day the person who has the most tallies has to stand in front of the class and sing a song. Yesterday none of them said a word in Spanish. I, however, did twice, so I sang Oklahoma! at the top of my lungs. Needless to say they enjoyed this thoroughly.

The idea of watching Supersize Me caused me to notice that there are actually no McDonalds in Cuenca. There is Pizza Hut and KFC, but no McDonalds. It's kind of nice, actually. The second day we were here the school ordered Pizza Hut for our meeting. It tasted peculiar, but I haven't had PH in a long time so that might be normal.

Today I'm going to the market to buy lots of fruits and vegetables. I have a couple friends who have been already and hopefully can keep me from being scammed. I really don't know the going price for a mango or potato and I'm sure I look like a lost Gringo. Hopefully this evening my kitchen will be stocked with produce. Later I'm heading to the Supermaxi, a woefully depressing supermarket that feels like a marginally executed version of Safeway. But many necessities (namely, olive oil, pasta, nuts, and libations) are not as readily available elsewhere.

That's all I've got. Tomorrow night I'm having other teachers over for dinner. We'll go up on the terrace, eat Italian food and drink wine. It's going to be great. I'll let you know how it goes...

"If It´s Gray Don´t Eat It"

It´s not always rainy in Cuenca. I guess for 3 weeks before I got here it rained almost constantly, but its been pretty sunny thusfar. It basically rains in the morning, clears up, gets pretty warm, then clouds over, cools down, starts raining and gets cold at night. It´s almost like having 4 seasons in one day. Not bad.

Last night we stayed at a hostel called Cafecito. It was less than $9 for me to stay with two new friends, and it was louder than a bunch of monkeys. The hostel is also a bar, and our room opened to an enclosed garden. It was beautiful and if I weren´t at an internet cafe I´d post a picture. I´ll try to do that tomorrow or perhaps tonight. On the other side of the garden is a discotheque. It was bumpin till 2:30 probably but I managed to fall asleep. Tonight we´re moving into a house where we´re paying less. We´ll be there for a week, or until we can find a suitable permanent place. The guy who runs the show is probably my age, and he asked me if I want to play basketball and soccer with them. I said yes. He doesn´t even know I´ve got mad ballin skillz. Steve, you know what I´m talkin´about.

We´ve spent the last few days tromping around the city in search of the perfect apartment. No place seems to fit that criteria, most likely because Dan and Libby, a wicked-cool couple from Colorado, has already found the perfect apartment. Their balcony --complete with a multi-colored hammock-- overlooks the south side of the city, the mountains, and a roaring river. This is a beautiful river, although people like to throw trash into it. This I don´t understand. The way this city functions, you place your trash outside and someone comes to get it. It doesn´t seem to matter what day it is. The city of Cuenca prides itself on being clean, and for the most part it is. Why people feel better driving a truck to the bridge, throwing trash into the river and driving away is beyond me. I´ll post a picture soon of Dan and I on his balcony. I don´t think there is any trash in the photo. Also, the sunsets here are for real. Sunrises are blocked by clouds but hopefully that will change when the rainy season ends.

One more observation. There are no stray cats here. There are plenty of stray dogs running around, and I haven´t pet any of them. People here don´t treat their dogs like those in the US do, and needless to say the dogs don´t treat them as well either. I miss my dog and canine affection in general, but I don´t want to get rabies. At least not until I´ve been here longer. Anyway, there are no stray cats. I thought they were everywhere but no. Maybe the dogs have eaten them all, or maybe they´ve taken to the deadly poinsettia trees, which are beautiful, plentiful and a feline favorite. I´m on top of this and I´ll have an explanation soon.

Oh yeah, and one last thing. The title of this page. We went on a walk as a group and I was talking with a girl from England, Claire, as we ventured through an open market. We found ourselves in the meat section and I wasn´t quite prepared. I´m not sure I can eat meat anymore until I´ve looked a pig head square in the eye and dealt with the reality of it all. Yesterday I wasn´t so brave. There were piles of organs, heads of strange creatures, gizzards, and livers as big as my head (I have a big head). I told Claire I wasn´t sure what to make of it all and she said, "My rule is: if it´s gray don´t eat it." I agreed completely. I feel we can apply that anywhere, not just the meat market.

The juice here is amazing. Seriously, its fantastic. Thanks for reading.

Waking Up In Cuenca

This is a shot from my hostal. It's the local market, about to be set up for the day.

It’s taken a couple days for me to get this started. This is mainly due to stress, anxiety, terror and piqued interest in just about everything. Not really terror, I just wanted to throw that in. I landed in Quito on Wednesday night after a dreadful time stuck on the plane with my least favorite person in the history of Earth. I’ll get to that in a minute. When I landed, Daniel, a co-worker whom I had not previously in person (though we’ve been corresponding for well over a year via copious amounts of emailing). Daniel was great, he drove me to his apartment where I rented a room and then stayed up talking about computers until midnight. All who doubted my nerdness can now rest their cases.

Quito is huge. It’s sprawling in two directions and is built on hills. There’s a definite beauty to it, which you’ll see in the photos, but I don’t think I’d want to live there. Too much pollution, too many crazy drivers, and a bit too heavy on the crime from what I’ve heard, although I myself never felt endangered. I didn’t spend much time in Quito proper, as Daniel lives outside the city, but the drive through was pretty fun. Cops don’t do much and I believe on several occasions I saw a light that was both red and green. Even Daniel didn’t know what to make of it.

At 10am Thursday I caught a plane to Cuenca. I gave up my seat on the bus to the plane to a very old woman (which any half-decent half-wit would do) and a woman called me a caballero. It made me feel awesome. Maybe she was stunned to see an American going out of his way for someone else. I guess I’m breakin’ down those stereotypes one at a time –that’s what I’m here for.

So before I tell you about Cuenca, I’m going to fast-forward to last night. I’m at Café Eucalyptus, which is a nice, but wholly American, restaurant/bar in central Cuenca. I say wholly American as though I’m not wholly American, but whatever. I’m at a table with 3 of my new coworkers, with whom I’ve been scurrying about the city all day. Bob, Ellen and Brittany are their names. They seem pretty great so far. As I’m settling into my seat and Bob orders a pitcher of sangria, I suddenly hear someone yell from across the room: “Hey! GUY ON THE PLANE!”

Cuenca is absolutely beautiful. It reminds me of the French Quarter in New Orleans but with less crime, more street vendors and fewer English speakers. The streets are mainly cobblestone and there is food everywhere. Lots of little bakeries you’d imagine seeing in Italy or France. The cathedrals are spectacular. On my way to my hostal, I walked in the shadow of the first one built here and could not believe my eyes. There’s nothing in the US like it. Across from the Old Cathedral there is a new one being built and in between there’s the city square. Lots of beautiful flowerbeds, winding paths and park benches. People here seem relatively happy and friendly. The guy at my hostal thinks its funny to watch me struggle with Spanish, even though he speaks decent English.

Ellen, my walking partner all day, made friends with a guy named Juan who is an Ecuadorian version of my cousin Ben. He popped his collar midway through the day. He showed us around, let us see a house near the university with 2 rooms for let. He walked us back across the river, which is pristine, and showed us where to salsa. Great guy. I’m staying in the hostal where he works tonight with Ellen and one other person, yet to be determined. Should be more fun than staying alone.

Let’s go back to the plane ride. I’m situated right next to the engine but, unfortunately, its not loud enough to drown out the jabbering –or snoring, as the case was later—of a horrible human we’ll call Rick. Rick is about 55 or so, sweats like a monkey, and, judging from how many times he went to the restroom on the plane (4) and for how long each trip was (15 min at least) he probably has prostate issues. Normally I’d feel bad. But Rick is the guy who is one second faster, one inch taller, lifts 1 more pound, knows 1 more important person than you do. He’s also a multi-millionare, or so he claims.

Rick grinned at me when I sat down and said Good luck. Rick proceeded to tell me about all the things the US has done to ruin Latin America (and the rest of the world). I more or less agreed that the US has had their hand in some shady business worldwide. Then he found out that this is my first time out of the country and he was extremely insulted. Rick, I’ll have you know, has lived in several countries and develops property. He claims that he wrote the proposal for Eco-Tourism 30 years ago, which is probably crap. He then went off about Costa Ricans (who are all thieves), Jews (who are racist), people in Brazil and Thailand (who are filthy and dangerious), and every US city (which are ugly and full of horrible people). I learned that there are no decent people in the US and no one is happy.

Finally, I got fed up and told him to renounce his citizenship and stop complaining.

Rick got mad.

He asked me how many hours I work per week, guessing 5 hours a day. I said closer to 60. He asked what I do and then said that teaching is the easiest job on Earth. Then he asked how much money I give to the Nature Conservatory and when I said nothing he started saying “Yeah! Good American! Yeah! Nice!” and started sweating really bad.

I put on my headphones.

And now, 24 hours later, in a Cuenca café he’s sitting behind me. Anyhow, I order a hamburger because I just don’t want to rush into Ecuadorian cuisine and I’ve got a real hankering for some beef. We’re all enjoying ourselves, drinking sangria and laughing because I’ve told my new friends about Rick already. As I start to take my first bite I hear him yell, “I'll make you a deal: if you promise never to order a hamburger here again I’ll introduce you to the manager.”

I turned around and said “How about this Rick, if you never speak to, or look at me again I won't complain."

His eyes crossed. He looked stunned and hurt. I realized he honestly though we were friends.

He started to laugh then, and muttered a reply, which I can’t remember. I then told him to hold his thought and get back to me when I find myself remotely interest in what he has to say. That response was edited strongly, due to some young viewers.

Rick finished his glass of wine and left. I will probably see him again and he’ll have likely forgiven me for what I said. I don't aim to write of him again, though. There are plenty of interesting people here, including Bob, a coworker who rode his motorcycle through Mexico and Guatemala, and spent 13 years working on an organic dairy farm outside Fort Collins. More later. Hope you guys weren’t bored.

P.S. Julie, there's no DST here. I'm on Central time!