We're Married!!!!

There’s a part of me that would like to get back to a ‘routine’ of sorts.  I think we all crave familiarity and ‘safe zone’ living.  For me, safe zone living is going around the ‘circles of death’ in Cuenca in my Mongoose, but you get the picture.   Instead of high wire gymnastics on Mongo, I’ve taken on my life with the love of my life, Rachel.  It has been magical and magnificent, exciting and exhilarating, and yes at moments frenetic, frenzied, and even freakish.   Now before you accuse me of wilting into some sort of alliterative gibberish, please understand one thing.  It’s all good.  The woman I fell in love with 47 years ago is real and not a dream.  She is everything and more than what any man could hope for in this world or the next.  I am blessed.  We are blessed.  Life is so good.

The first order of business (well, at least the first public order of business) in arriving at the airport in Tulsa was to assess Rachel’s progress in consolidating her life’s accumulation of things for moving to a more simple and humble life in Ecuador.  The progress was good. 

The second order of business was to get married.  We’ve both been in white marriages before.   This one was brown, well blue actually, as in jeans and sandals.   We chose Tennessee as our legal entity for recognizing our intent to savor our lives together.  Why Tennessee?  Well, you see the Volunteers see getting married as an act of love and life changing intent rather than as a significant legal event.  It fit our purposes well.  We got married in a county courthouse with a licensed Baptist minister.  Our legal documents were completed in 20 minutes after we answered some rather difficult questions about our histories.  I don’t mean difficult because we were embarrassed or sorrowed, I mean because dates are hard to remember when you’re 60 or close to it.  Well that’s my age now anyway.  We had our wedding dinner at Kentucky Fried Chicken and proceeded to Mark Twain National Forest in Missouri where our nuptial nirvana awaited. 

You have to picture us ripping through the winding highways and byways of Tennessee, Arkansas, and Missouri in Rachel’s red turbo Miata, rag top down, her hair flowing and billowing in a poetic and graceful dance.  My own three hairs were ecstatic as well.  We were in bliss.  We looked at our hands where our new found hardware gave reality to our act that we had just culminated.  We are married!!!!!! 

The trees were just reaching a zenith of color, and yes, when you’re in love autumn leaves are just a little more beautiful, songs are just a little sweeter, and the person sitting beside you is even more radiant than what your wildest dream can conjure.   You see I have history with Rachel.  We were 12 when we met.  I was in love with her then but she was unattainable.  She still is, but God is good.  The person I had always dreamed about was finally at my side and we are ready for writing a new chapter in our lives. 

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We spent a couple nights in a log house out in the boonies.  Well, we didn’t exactly rough it.  There was a private hot tub, a Jacuzzi tub, a loft with a queen sized bed, and yes we packed some wine and rib eyes too.  We strolled along our own private river where we skipped stones and found lucky rocks with holes in them.  We drove around the countryside looking at breathtaking color in the trees and the color of the locals.  Was this wedded bliss?  I’ve heard about this before.  For a few moments there  was an absence of bliss, but I discovered afterward that it was merely an adjustment period of recognizing the divine nature of the woman I married and the magic words ‘you’re right dear’.  How easy those words can be said.  Why is it that men hold on so strenuously to the notion that we could think otherwise?  Does it really matter who is right?  I’ve thrown away the scoreboard. 

If you read my blogs on a regular basis you know how I extol the beauty and grace of Ecuador and its wonderful people.  I confess that coming back to Middle America was both a wakeup call and a reminder of our roots.  America is beautiful.  Her people are good.  I am proud to be an American.  I also confess that when our time in the States is completed, I believe we will be able and ready and excited to come home.  Home is where the heart is.  My heart is where Rachel is.  We can live anywhere, but our new home and our new life together is in Cuenca.

The Warmth of the Ecuadorian People

In just a couple days I'm heading back to the States to get married.  I couldn't be more excited!  Rachel is the best thing that could ever happen to anyone, let alone me. 

 Tomorrow some long lost friends arrive here in Cuenca and I get to be with them for a couple days before I leave.  I've been reflecting tonight on how things happen here in Ecuador.  First, you must understand that people here truly have a warm and forgiving heart.  They MUST be forgiving to be kind to us silly gringos! I was thinking back to my first days in Ecuador back in January when it first occurred to me that I  knew this was where I was going to spend the last chapters of my life.  I encountered the locals in Cotacachi that simply took me under their wing and showed me their heart.  The owners of Hostel El Arbolito and the restaurant owner next door became my friends.  They looked out for me.  They helped me with my pitiful Spanish.  They called taxis for me and told me exciting and beautiful places to explore.  They fixed my eggs the way I liked them.  It wasn't just the perfect climate.  It wasn't the majestic and mystical Imbabura.  It wasn't just the pan pipes that still bring tears to my eyes from a recognition of a spiritual resonance that permeates this country.  It's the people.  

Another thing happens when you come to this country with your senses and your spirit open.  You meet other people who who have come here from far away places like the US and Canada and Switzerland and Germany and they sense what is going on here too. A comraderie is quickly established. Suddenly you have more friends than you've ever had in your life!  I look at the pictures I took of the people that were on my tour in January.  They were all here for a visit.  More than half of them are now living here! 

Some special friends, Bob and Freida (see above), stayed in touch with me over the last 8 months and have found their way back to Ecuador from New Hampshire.  They came into Ecuador this time to expand their search for their new home.  Like me they fell in love with the charm and the tranquil life in the countryside of the Imbabura.  This time they also wanted to experience the beautiful pacific coast.  While exploring the sandy beaches north of Salinas they accidentally ran into some other friends of mine from Cuenca who just happened to also be touring over there.  Bob and Mike are both former military pilots and share a passion for world history, politics, and the things that make the world turn.  They aren't the kind of people that just sit back and watch the tide roll in.  They are engaged and passionate about life's experience.  Bob had an engineering business fostered at the University of New Hampshire and MIT.  Mike was a career Air Force pilot in special ops and has lived all over the world.   Mike and Bob immediately became great friends and their wives, Patty and Freida also became great friends.  It's like that here.  Believe it.  Mike and Patty are passionate about Ecuador too.  You can visit them at  http://grimmstraveltales.blogspot.com/

Tomorrow Bob and Freida will be here to stay with me and experience Cuenca.  They will stay in Rachel's and my condo and keep watch over our home while Rachel and I make our way around the midwest visiting family, get married, and honeymoon.  The day Bob and Freida arrive in Cuenca Mike and Patty are throwing a party to celebrate their birthdays down at the California Kitchen.  I am invited.  Bob and Freida are invited.  I know I will see other familiar faces there too.  If they aren't yet friends, they soon will be.  Life is so good.



A Stop at Peliqueria Azuay



One of the expenses that I always hated to endure in the states was a haircut. Shelling out $17 for a haircut at a Walmart just rubbed me the wrong way.  They never took more than about ten minutes on me. I never got my neck shaved with hot creme and a straight razor either. Granted, I don't have a lot of hairs to cut, but the ones I have I want cut with some care.   This morning I  went whipping by Peliqueria Azuay on on my bicycle.  Impulsive that I am, I figured  I could just as well get a haircut since I am after all getting married in about a week.  My Mongoose brakes grabbed a hold of the cobblestones and in a minute I was invited in (my bicycle included).  The street was busy and you can see from the picture how much space there is on the street for a highly prized bicycle.  With Mongo at my side, I felt comfortable inside and the man having his hair cut immediately engaged me in conversation in Ingles.  Eager to exercise his dormant English, Jorge was at once friendly and inquisitive as to what brought me to Cuenca.  Jorge's darling 4 year old daughter, Diana looked on with her big brown eyes.  Carmen, the barber just kept cutting Jorge's hair and started giving him a fabulous shave.  I knew I had hit a gold mine here.  After visiting with Jorge I found that he had lived in the US for a number of years but was back living once again in his beloved Cuenca.  Cuenca is his home.  He didn't say so, but I think he built his nest egg in the US and now he's back where he wanted to be in the first place.   We talked about the people of Cuenca and how they have this special friendliness and acceptance of foreigners and anyone who might be different from themselves.  We talked about the Cuenca climate and the politics surrounding last week's noise in Quito.  I think that topic is pretty over with.   He showed me pictures of the rest of his handsome family.  Then I found out that this was his father's peliqueria (barber shop).  Pretty soon his dad comes out.  Padre has been at this for 40 years in this shop.  I got the impression that he now cuts hair when he gets the urge and not necessarily so much in between urges.  It seems like this is how it's supposed to be when we're over 70 or so.  Work when we feel like it!  Most Ecuadorians love work and are hard at it well into their 70's or 80's.  I guess work isn't such drudgery when you like what you're doing,  take a two hour lunch and engage the people you come in contact with all day.  Time flys and life is good.  

     When it was my turn on the throne I came to my moment of paniced but practiced translation, 'Corte por favor sólo un poco' which I think means just cut a little but I've had mixed results in that interpretation.   Sometimes that seems to mean just leave two or three short hairs.  I never know whether I'm telling them to cut just a little or leave just a little.  In any event, today is my lucky day.  Rachel will not be embarrassed after all!  I'm fortunate to have Jorge at the ready to translate my desires to Carmen.  Jorge seems to give a much more eloquent rendition of 'cut just a little' and Carmen is obviously taking in the apparently clear and precise instructions.  Jorge could have left at this point but instead stayed to visit while Carmen worked on the detail of my ever-thinning scalp. The result was highly satisfactory and my neck feels clean and sleek.  Afterwards I wanted to take their picture.  I'm not sure they were wholly into the picture thing because their smiles were constant and flowing without the camera and not so much as I took their picture.  I wish you could have seen Diana's smile because she could melt the Sphynx.  

Next time you're needing a haircut in Cuenca, consider Peliqueria Azuay, $1.50 well spent.

      

Ecuador Makes Headlines

Well, by now most everyone has heard about the 'difficulties' we had here in Ecuador a couple days ago.  I need to write about it before I forget it.  I don't mean that it was totally forgettable; I just mean that in about a week I will have no idea about when it happened or how it changed anything.  This was not 9-11, folks.  This wasn't the Watts riots of LA.   This was not a great tsunami flood.  This wasn't even an Iowa blizzard or flood.  World events are things that change us and how we perceive the world in general.  This was not a world event.  So what was it then?  Well, I'm not really sure.  I think it had something to do with some people not making as much money as they wanted.  Imagine that.  If a group of people (policia ala Barnio Fifo) decide they don't like things a certain way and they have guns and were issued a bullet today, trouble is always a possibility. Now how these collective Barnios got the 150 collective Gomerio Pylitos in the military to side with them is beyond me.  I think it must have been a mixture of:   "Damn, we haven't run this president out of office yet and he's been in here for FIVE YEARS!"  and "Hey, guys, if we do a demonstration maybe we can get a raise and we'll get that new Samsung!"

It is true that Correa is a bit of a theatrical peacock, but I'm actually on his side on this one.  The motives behind this uprising weren't the sorts of things that stir your soul like 'Remember the Alamo' or 'Give me liberty or give me death'.  The bad guys in this case were the ones that raised the trouble in the first place.  They're all fired, some or most of them in jail, and who knows how many got hurt or worse.  Is there some angst against Presidente Correa in this country....you bet there is.  Does everyone love President Obama in the US?  Not.  Does Correa control the press?  Well, pretty much.  Television journalism in Ecuador doesn't have the same 'standards' as in the US.  But there again, change your channels from CNN to Fox News and you'll find a different flavor as well.  Who tells the truth?  You decide.

I'll be glad when this all blows over.  It already has here.  For us in Cuenca it was a late morning and early afternoon of 'what’s going on?’  The banks closed for the afternoon, most shops closed, the schools let out, and I wasn't able to buy my delicious Ecuadorian bacon.  That was the extent of my inconvenience and horror.  The next day I got my bacon and the girls at the meat counter in the Coopera were as friendly as ever.  The streets and shops were all back to normal.  Life goes merrily along and yes the dogs still bark.

For those of you who have altered your thinking about whether to retire in Ecuador because of this put it all in perspective.  If you read a little history, you'll see that Ecuador has a unique but total democracy.  If things get bad here, the president is gone.  Trust me.  I finally found it in print the other day and I wish I had got a quote on it, but it goes something like this:  'The military and the police are not allegiant to the President; they are allegiant to the People'.  Before you start thinking anarchy, don't.  It works here.  It always has.  Ask the Incas, ask the Spanish.  It's not about a society of people that want to impose their will on the rest of the world.  We're too small for that here in Ecuador.  I don't think we even have an F-16.   But don't try to invade Ecuador either.  We'll send the Shuar after you and you'll definitely regret it.  Ask Peru.

Sunrise in Cuenca

This morning Rachel called me at 6:00 AM from the states on Skype.  We have coffee together on Skype.  It's not the same as holding her hand, but it's all we have right now.  I looked out the window and the sun was rising over Cuenca.  This scene repeats itself daily and each day I almost gasp.  This day I got to share it with Rachel because I took the web cam and showed her.  Of course a $60 webcam doesn't do it justice, nor for that matter does a $100 camera.  In fact, the only way you can appreciate it is to be here.  Rachel's not here with me, so for right now, it's just a pretty sunrise.  Well, that's not entirely true either.  It is a reminder that we have been blessed, not only with each other but with good health, wonderful friends and family and the God given ability to just enjoy life on earth.

In 13 days, 3 and a half hours, and a handful of long minutes Rachel and I will be together again.  In a turbo charged Miata moment we'll be be ripping down the highway, top down, hair on fire, looking for a preacher.  We're getting married.

We met when we were 12.  There was something very special between us then, but neither of us knew the other felt that way so time and life in general kept us apart for 47 years.  We raised families and our marriages had sad endings.  Then she caught wind that I was going to Ecuador to live a different life than what I had been living.  Perhaps she's just a romantic like me, but she wanted to know more.  She wanted to live vicariously in my emails.  I asked her why it had to be vicariously.  I crossed several states to see her again, our friendship blossomed and that 'thing' that we had when we were 12 was discovered to be real.  Like that sunrise with bold blues, reds, and pinks we knew that we had been missing something most of our life.  I was reawakened in Ecuador.  I was reborn with Rachel.  Our time is now.

We have much to do.  Rachel wants to bring some of her personal things that will surely give life to our otherwise sterile condo.  I'm looking forward to the warmth and calm her things will give our abode.  But of course that means shipping.  It means going through the customs gauntlet in Guayaquil.   Already I hear groans and gnashing of teeth.  But we've got the best shipper in Ecuador looking out for us, so we'll be ok.  Rachel's having to bear this burden of packaging what she wants to ship, and selling the rest.  If you are in Ecuador and you came from somewhere else, you know this drill already.  She's also closing down her last days as a neo natal specialized registered nurse and she's saying goodbye to those blessed little babies whose lives may be owed to her.  All this to be with me?  I've got a big commitment ahead.  I want Rachel to be happy and fulfilled.  She deserves only the best.  I will do my best.

We will be traversing the middle of the USA to see her parents, our children and families, our siblings and families,  some special cousins and some very special friends.  Most of them think we have totally gone off the deep end.  They are right.  By the standards of our former lives, we have definitely gone off the deep end.   We have traded loneliness for companionship, emptiness for love.  We have traded responsible careers for passion.  We have left our cars for....bicycles, walking and fitness.  We have left our beautiful homes for ..... a condo that will never need heat or air conditioning,  ever.   We are leaving $150 doctor visits where the doctor sees you for five minutes for a doctor that actually sees you for an hour and charges you $25.   What were we thinking?   Now if I could only do something about the barking dogs!

Mongoose and the Blue Angel of Death

When it is blogging time I put down in words the very emotion that drives me at the moment.  I own the moment, but I want to share it with you.  To get you in my 'moment' requires a certain level of 'willing suspension of disbelief'.  First, know that I will take you where your senses are asked to remember.  Did you know that your nose has the best memory? Your nose (olfactory sense) is very primal and essential in mating mother and child at suckling time.  The reality is that if that first smell of your mother could be kept pristinely preserved for your reference today, you would likely have some pretty early visual, tactile, and auditory remembrances associated with it.  So now, sharpen your senses, let go of your daily woes, and ride with me on your imaginary mountain bike because we all need some exercise!

Yesterday was my maiden voyage on my Mongoose, hereafter to be christened Mongo.   My good friend Juan at PaBikes, just down the street from Palermo arranged to have Mongo set up for me at 3:00 just as he promised.  I had an important appointment at 4:30 downtown and wanted to make sure that I had enough time to break in Mongo en route.  After a brief safety briefing with Juan (it should have been a bit longer, but I’m the whacko who was antsy to get rolling) it was my turn for questions.  “Juan, is it ok to take Avendida Doce de Abril to my destination?”  Notice I didn’t ask “Is it safe?”  I wanted it to be ok.   I could tell by his fixed gaze that he was sizing me up for a coffin.  “Well, its ok, my friend, but you must be very careful.”  I keep forgetting that in the Latin culture when asked a question, the answer is never ‘NO’.  The polite thing to say when the answer is at best dubious is ‘of course’, or ‘mañana’.  Latinos are way more courteous and polite than we gringos.  It’s a culture thing.  Ok, I’ve been here long enough to know as a polite listener that you add up the speakers’ facial expression, their encouraging positive words, and take their intent entirely from their face.  Juan's intent was very clear.  “You silly gringo, you are out of your mind!”  But I AM a silly gringo, so I listened to his words and ignored his obvious intent.

So I’m down the calle (street) on Mongo checking out the gears for the first time.  I’m in my own little world of mechanics and the thrill of new equipment, oblivious that the grim reaper was muffling his laughter.  My endorphins making me drunk beyond the legal limit, I’m careening down a quiet street to get my bike legs and I leap a curb and go headlong down a busy street that immediately goes into a tunnel.  Whoops.  This is pure lunacy.  There’s no turning around and traffic is going 45 (that’s mph) down a single lane with high curbs on both sides and with a total width that gives just enough room for Rachel’s Miata.  I am so screwed.  Ok, the traffic is going 45, there’s no way to turn around or stop, so the only thing I can do is pedal my ass off and hope I can get through the tunnel before a fumy metro bus devours Mongo with me on him.  Of course I’m brand new on this bike and as I feverishly go through the gears to make this mountain bike a world class touring bike I throw a chain.  Sh-t.

God is forgiving.  Jesse Ventura said you can’t legislate for stupidity.  I’m glad God was watching me this day.  Rachel prays for me every day to clear the way because I don’t always look and think before I lunge forward.  (See horseback ride in Vilcabamba).  Between Rachel’s prayers, God’s forgiveness, and my stupid luck (that Jesse never made a law for), I survived my first test and solid learning.  Tunnels are not for bikes silly gringo.

My second test:  traffic circles.  Otherwise known as circles of death, the traffic circles in Cuenca are uniquely designed to reward the brave and severely punish the courteous or faint of heart.   For the bicycle rider, well, remember the grim reaper thing?  His laughter is no longer muffled.  So I’m going down the side of the street so close to the curb that my tires are rubbing and I hear the Blue Angel of Death (BAD) behind me (metro bus) belching (whatever they belch) chortling, and spitting out the last bike rider, hungry for fresh two wheeled meat and we’re nearing the Circle of Death (COD)..  For the life of me I’m in a tizzy because I know the toilet water swirls clockwise below the equator so I’m thinking the same must be true in the circles of death.  I therefore prepare myself for a right hand swirl.  Wrong! Irch.  Brake time.  I don’t mean break time, I mean BRAKE TIME.   Ok, I’ve got the gears down pretty good now, but the brakes……I think I you already know that a good mountain bike has disc brakes.  That means when you throw on the brakes you….stop.  If your right hand is stronger than your left and you lay it on good you can do forward summer salts with your bicycle.  Well, not to worry.  I’m a silly gringo, but not stupid.  I put equal squeeze on both wheels and I stopped and jumped on to the dubious safety of the sidewalk.  Now I’m socially screwed.  The metro bus driver that was hungry for fresh Mongoose got his laugh in, the other drivers already in the circle of death are paying attention to their own possible demise, and the pedestrians on the sidewalk that I so rudely claimed a sharing piece of are incredulous that I didn’t stay the course in the COD.    Now I know how the matador feels when he leaps over the fence.

Ok, lesson #2 in bicycle riding in Cuenca:  stay the hell out of the traffic circles.

Still alive and wiser to a magnitude of ten, I wait for my moment to join the fray once again and see my opening.  You thought I was going to jump back on the street didn’t you!  I am a silly gringo, yes, stupid, no.  Awash with relief and the satisfaction of a gained sense of normalcy I become once again the cool suave bike rider now that I am the predator, not the prey.  With my chubby knobby mountain bike tires I am king of the cobblestone.   I am the Lion King riding a Mongoose.  If the irony hits you, that’s good.  Of course even the Lion King must be kind and courteous to his subjects, so I’m dodging fruit vendors, school girls (where are the school boys anyway?) and find that power poles are put in the most unlikely places on the sidewalk.  Ok, the pedestrian route is not without challenges either. 

I am safe and unscathed.  My bicycle is like new.  I was taught the skill of street survival on two wheels and I’m here to tell you about it.  Life is good.  I love Cuenca.

Wheels Beneath My Feet!

I am a walking maniac.  I love to walk and since I've come to Cuenca I walk about 6 miles a day on average.  I take the long way to downtown along the Tomebamba.  It keeps me fit and my encounters are wonderful.  Here's the problem.  I'm wearing out my shoes fast. I also love bicycling and find that it gets me to places much faster and with less effort than via Sketchers.  If I want to get the same exercise as I did walking, I will simply go farther and faster on my bike!  My shoes will thank me!  Well, maybe not, but you get the idea.  Rachel plans to bring her bike from the states so we will both be very mobile.  A couple weeks ago  I made friends with Juan Vintimilla, owner of PaBikes, a great little bike shop right down the street on Ordonez Lazo.  Today I walked in, talked with Juan, and test drove a Mongoose mountain bike.  It is awesome.  I had a cross over bike before, but this one is the real deal.  It's the two wheel version of a Land Rover with plenty of horsepower (me).   It has disk brakes that could stop a Mack truck and shifters that are as tight and sure as Rachel's Miata.  The front forks are made to take some pretty severe bumps and are adjustable for riding street or in the sierras.  This Mongoose will outlast me and I'm planning on at least another 30-40 years.

I had the double pleasure while visiting with Juan to meet an associate of his, Mauricio Carrion.  Mauricio has been living in New York City and promoting cycling there but has come back to his roots in Ecuador.  He is going to be organizing bike rides around Ecuador.  How cool is that!  Mauricio is an ergonomic specialist so he works with Juan and Juan's customers to make sure they are fitted with the right type and size bike and to make accomodations for people with special needs.  For example, I have a bad lower back, so he is recommending a more upright posture and hence a longer post on the handlebars.  I don't think I got quite this much attention on the last bike I bought in the states.

Well here's the really good news.  I told Juan and Mauricio (above)  that there aren't any secure bike racks in the underground garage at our condo,  Palermo.  I told them that if they would help me lobby the manager to have one installed, it might help them sell more bikes to those of us at Palermo.  It just so happens that Mauricio's cousin is the building's owner's manager!  Tomorrow Mauricio and Juan will come down here and we will get this arranged.  I am very excited, because that was my biggest concern for having the bikes in the Palermo underground garage which to me is where they should be stored.  I believe this is what you call customer service.  If you're in Cuenca and need a bicycle, see my friend Juan.