Sherman_07_19_08

I have climbed the first for summer of 2008, Mt. Sherman, about a five-hour drive north, after you cross the Divide to the east. Fairly easy to get to, only the last eight miles on a washboard forest road. Two things circled the two days devoted to the effort, one the climb itself, the second the mental attitude of the effort.
As the climb is really considered not much more than a “walk-up, meaning not much more than physical exertion is involved, the worry became the diminished attitude of attempt. For an unknown reason(s) the anticipation of earlier attempts was absent. Any number of possibilities can be offered. Was it the solitary experience of the climb as almost all have been, a “been there done that” boredom, the experienced knowledge of knowing the aches that would follow, a tiredness brought about by the continuance of a long sequence of goal driven desires for near a year? Or, more worrisome, a deepness of some sadness setting in that needs a major event to avoid a tail spend. And, why would that be, having reached a period of relative calm, and certainty? Something to figure out, that needs attention and work.
As for the climb, it was as ‘advertised’ fairly easy on the effort. The entire walk, approximately a seven-mile round trip, just under 3,000 foot elevation gain, was gradual and steady. Not too many obstacles presented themselves. The entire area was an old mining spot. Vacated mines were easily visible on the slopes and the neighboring mountains. I don’t know what mineral motivated these men (no attempt at sexism), to challenge the altitudes, inclines, and outside four, five, months some extremely uncomfortable weather conditions. But, either there was, or was thought to be, plenty of the element based on the number of sites. I would like to know more about these mines, but do not. Some, as evidenced by the “junk” left behind give a hint that there was activity not too many years past, electricity, motorized machinery, even an old pickup with a 50’s of 60’s body style. Just don’t know.
A few climbers were already on the trail when I got started. There were typical exchanges of greetings, with folks from Colorado, Chicago, Philadelphia. Many more were met on the descent. There were also, it seemed, more than the usual numbers of dogs brought along for the climb. Perhaps due to the expected ease of the climb, but certainly more in number. Not sure I support dogs on the trail. I can understand the desire to share time with a loyal friend, but even on well developed trails, there still is limitation to space and secure footing. At the minimum, in my opinion, they should be leashed, for the protection of all. This trip brought a sample of the danger. Snow still is found in the mountains here at this time, due to the previous heavy winter. One of the few spots of caution was about 1,000 feet below peak, where one has to carefully cross about two feet deep snow patch, maybe 100 yards in length. As it happened on the descent, I observed a near “situation” as two groups met just above this snow patch, one pair on the ascent, the other on the descent. Both had dogs with them, one leashed, two not. At the intersection, the ridge narrowed and the parties were funneled close, including the dogs. Well, the unleashed dogs, perhaps with friendly intent, approached the leashed lab mix, who had no desire for friendship, and a nasty entanglement immediately resulted. The female owner of the unleashed tried to pull away the two, and in the mix of things, was jostled and fell onto the snow, whereupon she slid near the full length. She lodged against a small cropping of rocks among the snow, which perhaps prevented her from a horrific fall that awaited not too far beyond the snow. She was hurt, but with the assistance of her partner and others in her group, managed to get back on the trail, damaged, limping, but with no evidence of broken bones. Did not have to happen.
As to the completion of the climb, it was otherwise uneventful. At the top was the usual reward of a 360 degree view of the mountain ranges around, views of 100 miles in some directions. More snow than I have ever seen at this time of year. In comparison to other climbs, this was maybe midway. Some coverage of wildflowers, but not as much as other places, perhaps due to the mining activity that was once here. A nice view at the top, but primarily more mining spots below. So, as regards color and variety there was not too much offered. Still, it was a warm-up climb and yes, it was followed with tightness and tiredness. I got down easily, made the round trip in about four hours, a very quick climb, and returned to my tent site. Had a quick bite as the clouds began to come in, threw everything in and departed. I avoided evaluation, and will let that happen later.

San Juan River, 06/03/08

Not much more than one week back from Ecuador and I am back on the banana boat. Well, that is not really true. Rather I am in a raft. Accepting an invitation from a friend in Pagosa, shortly after returning to Pagosa, my friend and I headed to Utah, to join nine others to raft the San Juan River. The San Juan actually starts in the mountains around Pagosa, but travels miles and miles through Colorado, New Mexico, then into Utah. After draining water from several sources, uniting with other rivers and streams, it finally deposits a steady flow of snow melt into Lake Powell, which stretches for miles, enlarged by other rivers, including the Colorado. Reluctantly, or gladly, either way, Lake Powell finally lets loose some of its capture back to the Colorado as it heads through the Grand Canyon.
I suppose the San Juan does not have the notoriety of the Colorado, and is not framed by the canyon walls of the Grand Canyon. However, the San Juan too has its own strength, beauty, contribution, and visual beauty among canyon walls. Thus, it drew the excited interest of the eleven rafters, all except I who had returned to previous enjoyment of the river. All, except I, had several experiences on rivers, for some including rafting in the Grand Canyon.
The trip covered roughly 86 miles, and seven days. We embarked near a small desert town of Bluff, into the fast moving and muddy river. At first the landscape was somewhat routine, not too impressive. But, we got off around noon, and buddied up in twos, except for the most experienced, who went solo. The first day was rather short, and we found a camp site, which was pretty nice for a primitive site. Thereafter, the days travels were generally longer and more eventful. Along the way we stopped at various locations, and added land hikes to our watery highway.
Each hike had its own flavor. The first included visitation to Indian ruins, not only to wonder at the mystery of a missing culture, the architecture, reasons for location and then disappearance, and then to frequent discovery of wall art, petroglyph and pictograph, and the possibilities of interpretation of the images seen.
Other hikes included walks to old miner cabins, or sites. Others were up canyons, washes, gullies. One (name not remembered) provided great relief from the heat, as it linked spring water into many pools as it ran toward the river. All on the trip found their own seclusion in one or more of these pools and taking an initial deep breath, plunged into the coolness, which soon enough was worth the initial shock.
So many avenues to pursue and investigate, departing from the full river to the desert surroundings that began almost immediately from the shore. A certain contrast between the rapid movement of a full river, then to the sand and limestone cliffs that began after the first day. Soon these cliffs were rising over 1,000 feet up, with numerous side canyon intersections along the way. All had degrees of erosion to show, many amazing the onlooker with tremendous ability to balance huge rocks upon edges, smaller rocks, threatening to let go as we rafters raced by, looking upward and hopefully backward, to find all was still intact, though at the same time wishing to be around, at a safe distance, when the grip would finally be released, to observe what would be one heck of a show of force and energy and noise.
The ride on the river was for the most part fairly fast. There were occasional challenges with waves, rocks too close, narrowing entries, and the cliffs on either side. One rapid was sufficiently scary to require a beaching first to observe the energy, contemplate the risk and the challenge, develop a plan, and then finally to try and implement that plan. Despite the initial worry, all, including myself, succeeded without incident. On this particular rapid, I was only a passenger. A wise decision, based upon my display of limited skills with oars on the raft. Granted this was my first experience, but there was a bit of personal disappointment in my limited development over the week. I am not yet decided as to whether I am not all that symmetrical, if I am decidedly stronger on one side, or what the issue may be as to why I could not direct the raft on a straight course. If I rowed backward, the problem was lessened considerably, though not entirely eliminated. Still, it was an experience enjoyed, and if given another opportunity I would indeed do it again.
And, even though not the Colorado, or the Grand Canyon, it was a wild river and a trip through beautiful canyons.

LastHurrah_05/08/08

One last excursion in Ecuador. I finished my classes on Wednesday last, and with my remaining days proceeded to two destinations.

The first was to Chimborazo, a volcano which has been inactive for the last few years. It is somewhat isolated and is not hindered in its presence to those below by other peaks competing for attention. The mountain is special, because al cumber (at the peak) it can claim to be the most distant point from the center of the earth, a fact that Everest cannot claim.

I departed Cuenca on Saturday morning for a seven hour bus ride, which was somewhat similar to my first bus experience. There were the frequent stops at unmarked places, contstantly changing the interior presence of people, packages, foods, chickens, all of different colors, kinds and descriptions. I must wonder about the system, as I have no deep understanding before my departure from this country. I am impressed by the creative energy to make a minimal amount of money in this third world nation. At the most popular of stops, the usual occurrence is for vendors to step on the bus selling papas fritas (homemade potato chips), or banana chips, choclo (cooked corn), dulces (sweets), empanadas, and other food items. This is often done while the bus is in motion. After they have made a few centavos, hopefully, they then tap the door behind the driver, depart, and I assume work their way back in the reverse direction doing the same. Of less frequency, is the occasional person who appears at the front center aisle, then gives the most elaborate of speeches or presentations to sell some minor product. I am not developed enough in my Spanish to understand if this is for a ¨cause¨or just a personal salesmanship effort. Perhaps some of both. But, I have observed pitches for herbal medicine, magazines, DVDs, and charitable contributions.

Anyway, my destination was a small crowded city, Riobamba. Part of the mystery to the transportation system is knowing where to start or end. I expected a terminal upon arrival, and as there was none I soon suspected I was leaving Riobamba. Luckily confirmation of my dismay was not too far out, and I was able to catch a taxi for one dollar back to the town and my hotel. There indeed is a terminal, but not one visited by this particular bus.

With the noted correction, I spent the night in Riobamba, then met my guide the next morning. We proceeded to Chimborazo, and with the ability to drive to about 15,000 feet at one of two refugios used by climbers, we left the truck and began a short climb. We made it to the second refugio, which is at approximately 16,500 feet, about 2,000 feet higher than any mountain in Colorado. That still left us short of the 20,000 feet plus peak. Normally it is an eight hour push from this point to the top, usually accomplished on the second day. Of interest is the depth of snow on the mountain, knowing we were not too many miles south of the equator. Fortunately the clouds observed from below did not reach to the top. We left the clouds below and were gifted by the sun and a clear view of the top of this wonderful place.

Afterward we retreated down, and skirted to the western side where my guide´s house is. It sits across the tracks of a train no longer in use. But, the view of the area around was wonderful. This area is farmland, and the beauty of the surrounding fields as they creep up the sides of these mountains was truly pastoral. Unfortunately the clouds, hanging midway around Chimborazo remained, so a full view of the charm was not to be had. But, what I did see and experience is a memory for me.

The next morning was another bus ride. This time I carried the fear of missing another stop. However, my fears were unnecessary and I arrived at a true bus terminal in a town called Banos de Agua Santa. As with every sight I have seen in this country, outside the packed cities, the land is mountainous, but totally green to the tip. Amazing is how the farmers can grow crops on the sides of these wonders. I know some of the grades have to be greater than 45 degrees. No wonder I have only seen two tractors in two months. The land is tilled by hand, or if one is fortunate enough to be technologically advanced, they may have an oxen to dig and turn this fertile area. I do believe that this small country could feed half the world, if a distribution system could be developed. Of course, the developed countries would also have to alter their system of subsidizing agriculture.

The town is wonderful. Very tourism oriented, but I am fortunate to have arrived at a nonpeak time, such as the months of June through August. The town contains a hot springs, very similar to what is in Pagosa, though presented differently. Likewise, there is also a river that runs through. Somewhat bigger than Pagosa, and like almost all towns here in Ecuador, it is built from the center out, creating a square effect, so that to know the town requires a circular walk, starting from center and proceeding out. So much different than in the America I know which is essentially linear, where the towns, at least initially, seem to start and spread out along a main street. Such it is with most small Texas and Colorado towns, at least from my observation.

After enjoying the slowness, the quiet of this town, and its central parks, certainly different than my home base of Cuenca, I enjoyed my stay at my hotel. Next morning, with a guide, we toured one direction into the surrounding mountain valleys via bicycle. Our efforts took us along rivers, and gave us wonderful views of cascadas (waterfalls), seemingly one after another, with wonderful latin names, such as ¨thread of milk¨, the ¨virgin veil¨, and of course, the ultimate, ¨El Diablo¨. We even took one cable crossing over one river, hanging (colgado) over the rapids below, several hundred feet above, only by one tightly wound steel cable. Knowing how much of the country does not do extremely well with maintenance issues, there was a bit of doubt about the reliability of this particular infrastructure. However, it was a bit exciting. This tropical area is certainly a place that one could find inspiration, creative or inspirational. I hope some remains with me as I return home after two months in a different world.

These last few days are a good way to leave. Less hurried, more observation, less contact, but more communion, I am glad to have reserved a few days for myself after the two month duration of instruction. Both have ended well. I have been rewarded with breaking a barrier, personal and social. I no longer need wonder or assume about conditions elsewhere in this world. A wonderful country, beautiful people, for some reason challenged, but surviving.

I will carry thoughts with me, and once settled, perhaps on the plane, maybe I can sort some things out, note my questions, and do something with the gift of these two months. No answers, yet, but this experience has happened, and it must be for some reason. I hope one more blessing comes, in that I discover that reason.

Vilcabamba 04/23/08

Thanks for those who make comments or email. Just short of two months without any ingles conversation, so all contact is appreciated.

I have now taken my first, solo, out of town bus ride in Ecuador, and now have experienced some of the wonder of a third world (tercero mundo) country. My destination was to a small pueblo north of the frontier with Peru, where reportedly many live to 120. Even NASA scientists have studied the area to get an idea of why longevity exceeds all others. It took nearly eight hours total to cover maybe 200 miles or so, with a one night stay over in Loja. Partly due to the potholes in the road, which the driver, I am pleased to say, was careful to avoid. Roads are mostly asphalt, and with the heavy rains typical in the area, there were a number of holes. In addition was the evidence of land, or mudslides, which reduced the number of lanes from two to one. There actually was some new construction, where concrete was being laid. Not much, but it will be an improvement. Of interest to me was the organization and compliance. As in USA there was the person with the Stop and Go sign, directing traffic while access was restricted. Our bus driver actually stopped to wait. But, soon after, one, then another, vehicle, just passed by and kept on going. The signal guard, did his best to get out of the way. I was not too surprised observing how people drive in Cuenca, but I did have to shake my head. My professor later, just shook her head in understanding of my dismay.

As for the ride itself, the bus was modern and comfortable. For awhile. My arrival and departure was always at a terminal, and I received an assigned seat. But, I soon discovered only the lucky get a seat. Although there was a sign saying capacity was 40, I think the translation is 40 to the front, 40 to the back, and 40 up front with the driver and ticket salesman. But, at least no one had to ride on top. Another reason for the length of voyage is the number of stops along the way. Knowing that the majority of citizens here do not own a vehicle, bus transport is a requirement. To catch a ride, get to the street, stick out the hand, and get on, as the bus will stop and open the door. Conversely the reverse works as well. Want to get off, let the ticket person know, and a stop soon follows. I do not only refer to stops in the pueblos. Many stops were made where there was no evidence of residency visible on the mountain sides. I discovered that many walk one to two hours from their homes in, behind, the mountains to get to the road, then catch a ride. I have no idea how prices were determined. Mine, with a definite starting and stopping points was fixed. But, I observed what had to be bargaining between the pasenjeros and the ticket salesman (boy, as I sure the lad on the return trip was no older than 12) over the price. Oh well, at least I got a seat, which most did not. Needless to say the comfort level at departure, reduced to nada shortly after as more were added, and space was minimal. And yes, at least on the return trip, there were chickens, among the fruits, vegetables and other items. The lady next to me, for part of the trip, likely was indigenous, or mestizo, had no shoes on, and likely was one who walked two hours to get to the bus. Yes, an experience I likely will have again in two more weeks.

As for my destinations, which were two. The first was Loja, not too different from Cuenca, except a little smaller. After seven hours on the first leg, I spent the night, and only a couple of hours in town the next morning. The central park, activity, beautiful churches, a museum, then back to the terminal for the final leg, which took a little more than an hour. Similar bus experience. But, got to the town, which followed the same layout, of central park, beside the primary cathedral, with the growth outward from that point. Very small, less than 30 blocks total. My hosteria, was two km up the road, above town. Along the way as I walked, I met walking toward town, a man who greeted me with Buenas tardes, the first time a stranger greated me warmly since my arrival (remember I live in a city). I returned the greeting, was feeling good, then another shortly after repeated the good will. Then, not too much further I passed a mother and young girl, and I got the first greeting in. I knew things were going to be good, when I got a giggle from the young girl. I took my time, as the countryside, in the mountains was beautiful. Totally green. I reached the hosteria, named Izhcayluma, which is Quichua for “two hills”. What a great place it was, perfecto. Above the town below, you had a wonderful 360 degree view of the mountains. For about $25 for the night, I got a room, similar to a cabin room with private bath, but the grounds were like a high dollar resort, gardened fully, with hundreds of varieties, including banana, orchids, palm, cactus, flowers galore. Also, meandering through were fountains and cascades around the outdoor restaurant with a million dollar view. I checked in, then returned to the restaurant and took my time with spaghetti and Pilsner, very happy at last. Totally at peace, the place reminded me of Colorado, maybe even a decimal point better at this point in time.

Having enjoyed my late lunch, I returned to my quarters, where a hamaca was provided on the deck outside. Hammocks were invented here. I placed myself inside and admired the butterflies (mariposas) and dragonflies, while I listened to the rooster, the dog bark, and the bray of the burro, in the distance. Not so close as to be annoying, but far enough to bring a smile and a picture of the animal activity beyond. I have been so busy, with study and activity, that this truly was the first time since arrival that I found peace and my favorite of all Spanish words, tranquilo (second is corazon). Sometime thereafter I traveled one of the trails that cross the area, but I did not have time to cover the required distance to find a puebolita, even smaller than a pueblo. But, that was okay. I returned to enjoy more of the grounds, take more photos, then take an intermittent hot and cold shower, the only minus of the experience. A little study, then back to the restaurant for something to eat. By this time night had come, and the lights of Vilcabamba were visible below in the distance. Unlike some places, where lights of a city can be viewed from above, but those lights seem to have no end, as subdevelopments spread out beyond the inner city. Here, there were no suburbs, only the close sequestered lights of this wonderful village. No wonder one could live so long here. Wonderful climate, no traffic, no noise, friendly folks, and the perfect pace to spread out every minute of existence. I did not want to leave. One day, one night, was not nearly enough.

Half-way 04/12/08

For some reason, this disappeared, so I am reposting it.

A somewhat active week, outside of the classroom. The week marked the beginning of the second half of my school term. Luckily I am not taking credit hours, so exams were not given and grades provided. Otherwise I may have been one sad student. Self assessment would attach a B+ for effort and a C- for result. I still remember that first class, when my professor came in, and after the opening Buenos dias and Como estas, I did not recognize another word for the next 15 minutes. It has gotten better since, but I still have this feeling, like a deer running through the forest with a pack of wolves behind. Except they are not behind, but around me. I am bleeding in the haunches, and if I stumble once more, its over. Was it Satchel Paige who said, “don’t look back, ‘cause they might be gaining on you”?.

Outside of the classroom this week I was able to get into the mountains. A friend of my Cuencano father is both a veterinarian and a professor at the Universidad de Cuenca in the agricultural department. The university has a farm in the mountains outside of Cuenca and gave me an invitation to see, which I gladly accepted. I did not brush up on my metric conversions, so I do not quite know the elevation, but since Cuenca is above 8,000 as a starting point, we had to be above 10,000 feet. The road up is not too indifferent from the forest roads in Colorado. Were it not for the exchange of vehicles at the university to four wheel drive, I am not so sure we would have arrived, due to rains that have been occuring daily. Amazing to find little hamlets along the way. Not totally desolate and isolated, but certainly difficult to imagine a daily trip up and down. Expecially since so few here have personal transportation. Economy size pickups are frequently packed with passengers in back.

Equally amazing is the common sight of newly constructed houses in all kinds of places in Ecuador. Despite the poverty of the campos, these new homes, certainly in excess of 3,000 square feet, with three or four stories, with beautiful mountain views, are often empty. They belong to Ecuadorians working in the states, who build these homes with their American earnings, which easily surpass what one could make here. Such homes, have been reported to me as costing between 60 and 70 thousand dollars, for those curious. We passed several along the way.

Once at the top, I met several students prepping some cows for a weekend festival in celebration of the Foundation of Cuenca. Next I visited and watched the milking operation of the farm. Despite my Texan heritage, my personal observation of cows being milked was nada. But, I am proud to say that I got milk in the can, after only my second squeeze. Fortunately for the cows, however, the operation is not totally manual. They do have milking machinery. I will say that the process, particularly with the rains in the mountains, is not clean, and it is not a job that I would want to depend upon. Popo, nickname of the veterinarian, was there to inspect a couple of the cows. One had some type of infection causing a “leak”. He administered the appropriate treatment and shot and we returned to town, fully packed with students and adults. Fortunately the weather was exceptionally good during the afternoon. As soon as we returned to town, however, the rains began again.

A couple of days later, on the weekend, I did my best to see as much as I could during the Fiesta celebrating the Foundation of Cuenca. There are events everywhere, in town and on the edges. Crafts, music, dance, art, races were everywhere. Saturday morning I watched my first parade in many years. I watched about an hour, and missed far more than that before I arrived. From my observation, it consisted mostly of high school students, but there were some universities represented and several children groups as well. A few small adult groups, but it certainly was mostly student participants. Bands and dancing groups, dressed in colorful costumes only added to the brightness of one of the few sunny days I have seen since my arrival. The costumes and colors were as varied and as multiple as one´s imagine would allow. Guessing only, but I would say the course of the parade was easily a mile and one-half. With the sun, the full costume dress, the stress of not missing a step or a beat, the thousands of spectators that lined the full distance of parade, no wonder how few showed smiles. But, there was that occasional champion who did try. And all did wonderously in their performance.

The parade had group after group representing the large number of schools in the city. I have not yet discovered how the school system works here, but there are schools throughout the city. One is only a few steps away from my school, and for the last month there has been the frequent sound of drums in their patio, bum bum, bum bum, bumbedee bumbedee, bum bum. I now understand it all, as tambores were the dominant instrument, and indeed most of the groups I saw were totally drum. And, they were good. There were two particularly that had me looking for a dance partner, but alas, no. Several years ago Paul Simon had a record where many of the songs were backed by drummers, many from South America. These two groups reminded me of those. The beat moved up from toes to top. How so many could learn drums is amazing. In the hundreds, thousands, of percussionists. Easy to understand the latin rhythm, where it starts, where it takes you. With my class hours, are four gratuity free salsa lessons. I do acknowledge some difficulty, and therefore my appreciation of the students and their street performance is truly sincere. I think too many of us have steel rods inserted in our backbones.

Besides the bands and the dancers, were the required presence of floats and selected princesses. Among the crowds were the hawkers of foods and drinks, parasols and hats. I was fortunate to have a small square of viewing access, squeezed between umbrellas and viewers. Pressed in with all the others trying to get a sight, or photos, no wonder I did not feel the hand somehow get my billfold. How, I have no clue. It was in a front pocket, zippered and my rain jacket squeezed in. I am glad they only took the billfold, containing around $35, and put back the jacket. It cost me $60 at REI. I do not carry cards, license or passport, so only money, and a few numbers and references were inside. If anyone gets a strange South American phone call, you may be able to assist in discovery. That was pretty much the only damper in my day.

I followed later in the day with a watch at the finish line of a competition race of local firefighters. Then later at a nearby park I watched an outdoor concert, one of many around the city this weekend. I have seen Andean music before, but never an electric performance. Quite enjoyable. Other music groups both preceded, and followed the groups I observed. All presented some aspect of music associated with the country and gave a different perspective of the cultural variety found here.

Cuenca trabajando para ti.

¬

Gualaceo_04/05/08

This weekend was a destination for the pueblo of Gualaceo, a little more than an hour drive from Cuenca, into the outlying mountains, but actually at a lower altitude, into one of the many valleys. Two stops were made prior to entry into Gualaceo. The first was a brief stop to watch one of the artisanos weave a shawl. We did not spend much time here, but long enough to note the care, skill and great length of time to create beautiful shawls by hand. Apparently, like in many parts, due to the time involved in creation, many of the young choose not to learn the skills of the parents. So, there will be a time to come when there will be none to follow.

Next stop was at an orchid nursery. Orchids are found wild in the mountains of Ecuador, but this venture not only was reproducing native plants, but was also in discovery and creation of hybrids. Not sure if I have my facts correct, but recollection is, depending on the variety, that up to three years could be involved in growth of a plant. They sell worldwide via internet and must do quite well based upon the facility and grounds of the operation. In addition to the nursery itself, was a small fruit orchard and a few parrots, bright and bold. The orchids themselves, that were in bloom, were as expected, beautiful and richly colored. Some had aromas to match. One even had the smell of chocolate. My favorite orchid was the ‘monkey face’.

Next stop was Gualaceo. This visit was on the big market day, and streets were crowded, not only from the locals, turistas as myself, but also many from surrounding towns like Cuenca, to enjoy the delights and make purchases. One of the town’s significant attractions is the clothing it sells, much from artisanos like our first stop. However, we skirted the shops selling such items. First we walked into the food market where all sorts of items were being cooked for the hungry. Though a covered shelter, it was open to the air. I believe this site was the source of the idea for food courts in malls around the US. One could buy carne of all sorts, beef, chicken, pork, fish, and of course, the favorite of Cuenca, cuy. Cuy, is roasted guinea pig. For those with special attachment to the critters, you may want to consider the options you now have. There appears to be a fair amount of meat upon the fat little fellas. I have not yet tasted the delight, but I have promised to find out if they taste like chicken before I return. All the foods are cooked right there in front of you, and meats are for sell, cooked or not. If you wanted to see the whole animal butchered, there they are for inspection. Besides the meat entrees, there are many other items as well, many with corn or potato as primary ingredient as those are staples in all of Ecuador. I myself had an Ecuadoran version of tortilla, which is far more like a pancake than our version of tortilla. And, yes, it was quite tasty. It only lacked maple syrup.

Next stop was the open air market of fresh grown fruits, vegetables, grains, and flowers. The place was immense and covered the entire block. The place was packed with people shopping for produce. There are fruits here I have never seen, plus virtually every other that I have. First impression is about the huge quantity of produce found here. Much is grown on the nearby farms, others from the coastal area which produces fruits too hard to grow at high altitudes. Bananas are the number one export of Ecuador. The size of the individual fruits in particular is striking, many almost twice the size of what I find at the grocery. Another interest is the vendors. Many, though not all, ladies richly dressed in color. I am told that most are mestizo (mixture of native and Spanish blood) not strictly indigenous peoples. They are very watchful and quite beautiful. A lasting impression is the total color of the place. Fond of color, the mixture of the bright clothing set among the colors of bananas, citrus, roses, corn, and so many others, certainly attracted my wonder and amazement. It is impossible to believe that such an amount could possibly be sold within the weekend. What happens with the rest? No idea, particularly since freshness is essential to the lifestyle I have observed. And, though refrigeration does exist, not much is kept for any length of time.

This is not the first Mercado I have observed since my arrival in Ecuador. All are busy, colorful, some at risk t pickpockets and full of interest. However, this one was a bit more special, perhaps because it was outside and the day had not yet produced rain (though that did come in buckets). I hope the photos give at least a hint.

cajas 03/30/08

This weekend brought the enjoyment of hiking in the Cajas Nacional Park The park is near Cuenca in the mountains to the east of the city. It is administered differently than others due to its importance to Cuenca. Its watershed accounts for 70 percent of Cuenca’s water supply. As a result, management of the park, despite its “National” classification is the responsibility of Cuenca. As best I can tell, from discussion with the guide, is that this is a good thing. Cuenca has more rangers and personnel assigned to this park, even though others may be larger in area.

Departure was in the morning and we drove up from and out of the city into the surrounding mountains. The further from the city, the more the area turned to agriculture and I could see clearly for the first time, the mountains which have almost always been hidden by clouds. People were already walking the roads, or waiting for one of the many buses that travel the roads. Not sure the percentages, but many, if not most, of the people rely on public transportation it appears. I was feeling good as we moved into el campo, the country.

One of the first spots pointed to by the guide, Juan, was a pilgrimage site outside the park. Story told, is that a 16 year-old had a visit from the Virgin Mary, and was given instruction on where a spot was to be selected for prayer and worship. This was the spot selected. Soon thereafter, literally hundreds of thousands of people came to the site. Miracles occurred. Prior to that time, the road here was minimal, and unpaved. Due to the enormity of the attraction, the road to Cajas was constructed and paved. Busloads of people continue their journey to the site, despite the vision not being officially recognized by the catholic hierarchy.

Soon thereafter we made entry, paid our fee, and proceeded to the Continental Divide, separating flow of waters in the Cajas to the Pacific or Atlantic. If you check out a map of South America, and carefully look, it will be noted that the straight line from here to the Pacific is less than 100 miles, and the distance to the Atlantic is the furthest of all points in South America. Waters to the east flow into the Amazon. While here saw a few wild llama, then we headed back down to begin a hike.

There are hundreds of lakes that step stone down the valleys, each collecting rainwater, spilling down into another below, as they escalade to one of the many rivers fed by the rains here. We parked above a larger one and begin our slosh. Overcast and threatening as near most all my days here in the wettest season of the year, the ground was saturated. The area is thoroughly green, and where mud was not, was groundcover, perhaps lichen, that was like sponge when walking. Juan pointed out numerous plant species, many flowering. Very much, in a sense, like the Colorado mountains, differing of course for the most part by species, plus the completeness of plant coverage. There was even a species of lupine, similar to those found in Texas and Colorado. In the distance, to the south we could see parts of the Incan trail, once used by those people for trade routes between the coastal and sierra areas.

The views from our position when the clouds occasionally gave opportunity were beautiful as expected. Unlike the Rockies, for the most part, the mountains are not rugged, rather rounded, somewhat smooth. At our altitude forest presence was minimal. Some yes, but not thoroughly covered. But, there were some that are referenced as hanging forests, due to their appearance to “hang” from the sides of the mountains. About half way around the lake we entered one. Bosque de Polylepis, the trees are also called “paper trees”. Not due to their use for making paper, but instead, due to their bark, which peels off in layers almost as thin as paper. More inspiring to me was their rich red color and the sheer density of the forest. Each trunk twists around others or rock to seek the richness and warmth of the sun, for underneath the canopy there is no sun. My camera switched to flash mode, as an indication of the darkness. I easily concluded this was the home of elves and trolls and others. Could have been the home of hobits even. We were fortunate. Though a light rain came and went, for the most part, we avoided encounters with cloud cover and fog. There is an American student in the area who to date has been missing for six days. Apparently was slightly behind the group, a cloud came upon them, then when cover cleared, he was gone.

But, the trolls did not get us, and we reentered open space, made our way back down and around the lake and returned to the van. Next spot was for lunch at Los Dos Chorreas, two waterfalls. I had grilled trucha, i.e. trout, which was wonderful. The Ecuador favorite, Pilsner cerveza, was a nice addition.

Our final excursion was lower down, also near a lake used for bird watching. We walked again through tree cover, but not quite as dense as the previous bosque. I spied one beautifully colored bird, but was slow with the camera. Not a toucan, but equally large and covered with color. In the area one often receives visit of “ghost clouds”. These are puffs of small clouds, that magically and instantly appear, move quietly across, then as quickly disappear. Sure enough, saw a couple. Don’t know the scientific explanation, but assume some temperature and humidity contrasts between the plants and the air. The first I saw looked as if a plant was exhaling its warm breath into a cold autumn air. Poof, then gone.

The lake was beautiful, tranquil. We were too late in the afternoon to benefit from bird sightings, but we did get descriptive explanation of the difference between alpaca, llama, and the crossbreed from several grazing in a field next to the lake. Advice is to get alpaca wool as first choice. Also, inspected the ruins of an old abandoned brewery, which must have been one heck of an operation in its time, by the size and number of buildings. Water source would be from the pure waters of the Caja. I wonder how Coors would stack up in comparison.

Returned safely to the van, awarded by the beauty of Cajas and new discoveries. Got back to Cuenca, fingers often gripped tightly, due to Juan’s driving efforts to pass slower vehicles on the mountain road. But, otherwise a good day indeed.

Ingapirca 03/22/08

Today was a trip to Ingapirka, which is an Incan ruin perhaps two hours drive from Cuenca. It was an all day adventure, with stops in towns, at the site, and for lunch. Pablo, the guide, did his best to make highlights to a mixed group from Germany, Switzerland, Argentina, and me alone representing the old USA. I was a bit disappointed with my group for the first half of the trip, as noone but I had questions about the interests, particularly Ingapirka. At that, I would have asked even more, but had to back off to a degree due to studied efforts of Pablo to speak English.

First, the description of Ingapirka. To some extent less than I anticipated, due to a smaller size than I erroneously presumed. Comparison to such places as Mesa Verde and Chaco Canyon, with the vastness of the territory they occupy, is unfair. This site covered not much more than a few football fields. Despite the smallness of size it still drew my interest. Only the footing of the walls remain, or have been restored. However, one small representation of the character of a room had been created. Comparison to the building structure and style of the anasazi of Southwest US showed large differences, even to my ignorant understanding and knowledge. For one, is the use of stone, much from the area, some perhaps from areas as far as Peru. The size of many is massive. Since the time preceded the Spanish, the only means of transport was with manual effort. Daunting.

I did not catch clearly the explanation, so I may be way off, but I believe that part was constructed by the Canari, who preceded the Inca in the area. Style changes were obvious. The most impressive was the later structure added by the Incans. Again, massive rocks, almost perfectly cut, squared and laid upon each other in overlapping patterns, with the outside smoothness of ceramic. Explanation of cutting technique was placement in fire, intensely heated, then incised by cold water. Hard for me to imagine. The rooms were also much taller than even I would need. Not sure why.

The placement of this wonderful ruin is in the highlands area. A tremendously beautiful place to which for the first time in my two weeks I was given sunshine for longer than a glimpse. This being the rainy season the area is totally green. Beautiful valleys, muchos rios, and rounded mountains surrounded, and easily viewed for miles from the ruin’s perch. Sometime in the 60s, Ecuador made decision to split all large farms, and redistribute the property to far greater numbers. The result is small farms spotted on every mountain, from the lowest valley bottom, to the highest points above. I wonder if special attention is given to farmer at the top. The farms are mostly given to corn and potatoes, or grazing for the dairy cows, pigs, and sheep, that were chained to their eating assignments. No fences used here for the most part, and the occasional livestock on the road gave cause to slow down driving speed.

The roads are also numerously occupied by people walking, or those waiting for a bus ride. I do not know the heritage, or the mix, but people of all kinds, certainly many of indigenous heritage. Colorful skirts, shawls, hats, worn by woman and man. Others of different tribe, different approach, but all together, on country road, in town square and market. A true mix of color and kind.

The setting truly pastoral. Or, with an often used Spanish word, tranquil. From Incapirca, farms surround, and touch the border of this historic site. Only an imaginary line divides. Certainly a different style of protection to national wonders. Not sure how the farmers survive with such small plots, all farmed by hand, not one tractor have I yet seen. In fact, an issue here is the immigration of people in this area to the US and Europe, leaving the area behind, to make some degree of income elsewhere, then send money back, or return with enough to get ahead. The area is full of new home construction, which I am told is almost totally due to the return of money earned abroad. The impression I receive is, with the exception of the individuals involved, that it negates the intent of the land split and is a significant problem for the area, and the country itself. New York City is the third largest city in Ecuador, a fact often told, as NYC has over one million residents of Ecuadorian heritage, whereas Cuenca, behind Quito and Guayaquil, only holds half that.

From a subjective, naïve, way of observation, however, the place is a refuge, from traffic, noise, crowds, and the craziness of too many people, trying to do too many things, in too little time. The grass is green here, and not greener on the other side, as again, there are no fences. Demarcation lies where one corn field stops, and the tethered cows graze. A quilt of shaded green patches, laid over the gently rounded mountains, save where quakes or water laden slides have moved tons of rock and dirt. From any patch, one could sit, watch the neighbor in their agronomic effort, or wonder at the clouds as they roll up from river valleys along the continental divide, or rise above the fields as if a series of grass fires had been started to remove stalk stubble. But, obviously, the people are poor. So, the setting belies the hardness of the life that exits for these mountain folks.

A good day in the sun.

Town of Çuenca, 03/18/08

A bit of description for the town of Cuenca. I have now been here over one week and have had some degree of interaction and exploration. The town is indeed special, albeit a bit confusing and contradictory, with many contrasts within itself. There are really two towns, the old historical El Centro, and the new Cuenca. The southside, which I traverse daily between my house in the new Cuenca, and the school, in the old town, is bordered by the Tomebamba River. The river is flowing roughly and rafting on the rapids is offered in April as more rain comes at the peak of the rainy season. I cannot currently identify the other borders, except to say that when one leaves cobblestone streets and sets foot on asfalta (asphault), you have left the old. The old historical district is totally cobblestone. I can imagine the expense for maintenance to shocks, alignment, brakes and such.

The town is sparkled with churches, some within a stone throw of each other, all beautiful in architectural wonder. Within each, and I have peaked inside several already, are art and craft masterpieces. Beautiful altars, most with excellent carvings of Jesús on the cross, various religious paintings surrounding the walls, often decorated ceilings. Thankfully the climate here is relatively consistent and mild. The spacious areas inside would otherwise consume the donations of its patrons for temperature control. Most are open during the day, and seldom is the sanctuary vacant. Each church exists in separation to serve a different bario, a unique neighborhood with its own variation in Cuencan custom and religious alignment. The town is hugely catholic, though in the last 20 to 40 years other religions have made a presence. Though not catholic myself, I have attended two services with my family. I am impressed by the acceptance of all levels and the dedication to the tradition.

Other architecture in the old town is old World, stucco type exterior walls mostly, iron balcones, some with heavy wooden doors. Reminders of the French Quarter in New Orleáns. I am in process of understanding the commercial ventures. Few stores are any larger than living rooms in our homes. Some no bigger than a walk-in closet. It appears that shoes, knock offs, and pirated CDs are the big interest here. I was surprised to discover that Reebok makes a fine Italian line of black leáther dress shoes. Guessing only, but those two products together seem to amount for half of the businesses. The remainder devote to other clothing, electronics, panderias (bread and pastries), and convenience store types, Internet cafes, and cafes. There are many tiny tiny convenience stores, you could operate from your car. There are also numerous vendor carts with candy and a few more things. Small inventories, many competing with another only a few feet away. Many vendors operate behind an iron gate, and you slip money and goods between bars. Almost all businesses pull down ´garage doors´ when they close, similar to shopping mall stores when they close. Petty theft is an issue here, and I assume this is one way of protection. The second is the large quantity of armed guards, policia, and military that are found throughout the city. Not to be too offensive, but memories of Barnie of Mayberry and Boss Hogg´s posse come to mind. Warnings of how to safeguard your goods from pickpockets and common theft are frequently given. I have met two fellow travelers that have been victims, but in Quito, not here.

The town is full of people throughout the day and evening. The town is between 350,000 and 400,000 inhabitants, in an area not bigger than Pagosa Springs. Where people fit themselves is a secret to me, though from the use of building space I must complement the people for their efficiency. Only a few buildings rise above three stories, and these, except for the church towers, are in the new sectors. There is more than adequate supply of labor for construction, and high technology use for building does not appear necessary. I pass the current building of a five story apartment on my way to class. I have paused to watch the laborers pass cinder blocks by hand from the ground level to the top, just like the stars of western movies passing the water buckets to put out the fire in the barn.

Despite traffic it is obvious that most people walk. The streets are crowded, and the sidewalks way too small to allow three bodies to pass. Brushing against each other is just part of being here. One strangeness to me is the total lack, total, of eye contact. I have had sufficient experiences in large cities, all over, and have not seen disinterest to this extreme. Not sure why. On the other hand, when contact is necessary for business matters and so forth, particularly with my instructors and family, there is nothing but the ultimate in friendliness. The people on the street are all kinds. Business suits, student uniforms, indigenous heritances colorfully dressed and topped with the panama hat, an export of the city. I feel like a giant here. Exceptions, but generally I am taller than all around me. Many are lucky to top five feet. On the other hand, today was the first time I have seen an overweight person and the only one. So, a fair tradeoff it seems.

As evidenced by the markets and my personal experience with my family, freshness is supreme here. Few packages or processed foods found here. I wandered into one of the largest mercados, 10 de Agosto (many places and streets are named after famous dates), that would make Central Market or Whole Foods look like a convenience store. It is huge. Foods of all sorts and many, stacks upon stacks. Fruits and vegetables seemingly in the hundreds, grains, herbs (for food and medicine), a few living animals, and just about any part of a dead animal you could want as well. I think this is where the Godfather got the horse head. Cows, pigs, heads hang clearly for inspection. I could go on. I subsequently found out it also is a great place for the professional pickpocket.

The city is certainly interesting and more remains to be discovered. It appears I have time, and perhaps more will be written later.

March 10, 2008

Okay, I am alive indeed and all is well. Some minor problemas, such as late flight arrival (3:00 AM) in a coastal barroom town of 3 million, and a hotel reservation that was lost, but they have been handled well enough. I am very immersed. I have had hardly a single minute to myself since I have arrived in Cuenca. Much to say from my observations, but I must skip much as my computer use is very uncertain. First limitation is time itself, second is access, and third is trying to learn how to use a computer in the southern half of the world. Keys do not work the same. I have yet to find the delete sign, and forget about spell check. I have not yet figured out how to input the ´at´ sign, so I may never get to read an email again while here. Needless to say, all the icons and indicators are in Spanish. I only hope I am saving this to the flashdrive.

I will skip description of Guayaquil, (but I will try and load photos to this sight) my initial arrival port. It deserves a separate book in itself. Instead I will go to Cuenca, my home for next two months. As noted, since my arrival on Friday night at 3:00 in the morning, three hours late, I have been with Spanish speakers almost every hour, excepting bedtime and shower of course. Thankfully my family waited for my late plane and did not give up on me. A beautiful family, Jorge, Sara, Maria Dolores at home, Monica, her husband, and ninos, Nicolas and Domenica outside. I have been fed so much I may get sick because of the volume, not the quality, which has been wonderful. I have had more fresh juices for meals than I knew there were fruits on the planet, and all freshly (fresca) made. No concentrates here. And complete meal, muchos platos. (many courses) I have been guided by hand to a tour of the city and surrounding area, given both direction and warning.

Of the city, what a joy. Much like Pagosa in setting, high in the mountains with a beautiful river through it, the Tomebamba. Climate is nearly the same as well, cool mornings, warm afternoons, excepting rain, which is often. However, the town is 400,000 personas, very packed. Riches and poverty intermixed without zoning laws. It seems people are everywhere, but in a pleasant way. Austin and its use of condos could take great lessons here. Transportation is a real sport. I have been told to avoid the busses, as not very professional. Indeed they seem to be looking for bodies. Only use approved yellow taxes, a ride through town, one dollar. However, most of my travels will be by foot. All transportation is risky. Everyone for themselves. No pedestrian rights here, few signals and signs ignored. As a walker, look for an opening and run. My advice, chase the rear bumper and by the time you get there the car will be gone and you will be half way there. That assumes there is not another behind. When there are lane makers, and very few exist, they mean nothing. Cars jockey for spots. Muchos pitos, that is, horns are a constant. Best I can tell is if there is any suggestion that someone in front or beside will impede your progress then honk. And, frequently honk just for the heck of it. So far, no bruises though. I wonder how the many children of the city make it to adulthood. I need to find out how many schools there are here and how the system works. All dress in uniforms, I assume each color is a different school. And there are many.

Churches everywhere and all beautiful. I attended a modern day catolica service for my first time with the family, and it rocked. Course I understood nada, though I could understand the written scripture of the program, a passage from Juan (John). But, churches are everywhere and I could consume two hundred photos of churches alone. If it is built, it will be a beautiful structure. Quite obviously the church is a central pride of the people.

The people are so interesting and beautiful. And animate. The men exressive with their hands and the ladies with their faces. You can guess the tone without one word understood. Very touching too. Arm in arm, very common. Even men arms around shoulders. For a guy who only found hugging comfortable near age of 50, getting used to the cheek to cheek greeting of woman to woman, woman to man, and child to all, will take time. Both greeting and departure. But, just a sign of the friendliness. And, despite the traffic, it seems everyone walks. The streets have people upon them from dawn to who knows how late. Works for me.

Must stop. Hope to find better access later and will try to find át´sign. Also, will make first attempt to load photos. Fingers crossed. Well I have tried to load photos. I think I succeeded with only one. I will need help. Maybe another time for photos, I hope.

Greeting friends and family. Once again I will try and get out of a hole and confront fear and stagnation. Despite near best efforts to progress and move forward, it seems almost inevitable that I get to a point, look forward and see where I was, in front of me, rather than behind. So, it is again that I must challenge myself again.

As some of you know, and new news to the rest, I will leave Austin here this coming week, and fly to Ecuador. Scheduled stay will be just over two months. There is anxiousness and anxiety, curiosity and reluctance, certainty and confusion. I am not fully prepared mentally or emotionally, but, “I can’t wait”.

“Someday we’ll roll away the stone
That we have carried for so long
And all our burdens will be gone
I can’t wait.

We will find our way to
An understanding of all views
And no prayer shall be refused
I can’t wait.

It seems that we have gone too far
And now we don’t know where we are
I believe we’ll find a guiding star
I can’t wait.

If faith is the final place
Where all fears have been erased
And the locks have
Fallen from the gates
I can’t wait.

Someday we’ll roll away the stone
That we have carried for so long
And all our burdens will be gone
I can’t wait.”
(Kieran Kane/Sean Locke/Claudia Scott)

What are my realistic expectations of this encounter and exploration? Primero, hopefully some capability to speak, hear and read the Spanish language. This immersion may be my best chance. Then, to discover a different culture. We are blessed with many freedoms, some of which have “gone too far”, but maybe (quiza’), there are some things to admire, even envy, elsewhere. New sights, sounds, smells, and tastes await. Can I survive, do one more thing, still learn, still grow, still move?

My destination is Cuenca, a mountain town in the Sierra of the Andes, even higher than Pagosa. It is the third largest of Ecuador, a UNESCO World Heritage Trust site. Some speculate it is the El Dorado (golden city) of Spanish myth. Drug lords, rebel guerillas, kidnappers and thieves. Teachers, priests, merchants and children. Incan history, Spanish conquest, independencia, and modern world. Snow topped peaks, active volcanoes, Amazon jungle, class five rivers. Cobblestone streets, stone cathedrals, colonial plazas, historic ruins. And, somewhere lost in it all will be me.

I will be a foster child with a family of five. Father and mother, near my age, and two adult sons living at home. A third adult son lives outside the home. A prayer to myself, that I am a good visitor, take full advantage of the consideration and care given by ones willing to share a home. And, if “fear is erased”, then friendship will be given and accepted in both directions.

As the time ahead gets shorter, the numbers of chances diminish. Not so much spiritually, for which there is always possibility, but physically, and for those on state retirement, also financially. There will be a time when there will be no more roads travelled, no more miles, the equipment worn, and retirement has a different definition than cessation of working for a living. The time will indeed come.

“I watched them push it
In the backyard
A year ago July
No one’s trimmed the grass since
Now it’s covered up the tires.
They took out the battery
Drained the gas and left the oil.
Them wheels don’t roll anymore
Them wheels don’t roll anymore.

After thee hundred thousand miles
The upholstery’s lookin sad
Who knows how many tires
But the last ones look pretty bad.
It’s a shame the way the rust
Is eatin up the old floor boards.
Them wheels don’t roll anymore
Them wheels don’t roll anymore.

It’s probably got a million stories
But I don’t care what they are
Don’t wanna know the history
Just love the lines of that old car.
The chrome, the glass, the steel
And the locks on all four doors
Them wheels don’t roll anymore
Them wheels don’t roll anymore.”

(Kieran Kane/Sean Locke)

So, one more road, a few more miles, and maybe a blown tire along the way, to add to this chassis. ‘Cause these wheels ain’t stuck just yet, and the clutch still works, even if the brakes do squeak and the windshield is cracked. Hitchhikers welcome, passenger seat’s empty, and there’s room in the back as well. The map has holes, but the sun will light the way. I promise to avoid high speed, and coast when I can. And, I’m gonna roll down the windows, and honk the horn too. So, my challenge to you is get in and lets go.

Someday we’ll roll away the stone
That we have carried for so long
And all our burdens will be gone
I can’t wait.