Quito, Cotacachi, and Return to Cuenca

I was determined that Rachel should experience Cotacachi, my first and most impactful exposure to Ecuador. You never know how that is going to work out. Would it be the same feeling that I had one year ago when I first visited the Imbabura? Would Rachel feel the same way as I did? Was there some elusive 'mystical presence' in that village that captured me before and would never be felt again? Would the long bus ride across the Andes dampen our spirits? I knew that Rachel was up for almost anything. Experiencing life with the 'locals' was part of our commitment to each other and to this country. Believe me, you experience Ecuador life up close and personal on the bus ride from Cuenca to Quito! It's a cultural thing to ride the bus you know. Those with 'culture' get on the jet and in less than an hour you're in the capital city. I've traveled the bus before. It's 10 hours one way and if you take the day bus there are many stops and there's no limit to the number of people they can cram into the bus. The first time I did this it wasn't too bad and the people compression was very short and not too confining. This time we weren't so lucky.

I'm sure that we gringos have a smell about us that isn't very pleasant to those who aren't gringo. Likewise, there is a prevailing aroma that permeates the air when you are mashed like potatoes in a bus full of indigenous families that have recently gutted and smoked their pigs. God bless them all. They are hard workers and have faced much adversity with a stoic and single purpose mindset. I'm sure that clean clothes and body is a luxury that is neither practical or even possible before jumping on the bus. I was an Iowa farm boy after all and anyone who has worked with pigs knows that hog smell becomes a part of you no matter how many times you shower. Add a shot of smoldering ash to that flavor and you have a smell that will overturn a sewer rat's innards.

So here we are, most reserved seats filled, chugging merrily along in our underpowered bus crawling up the insane inclines of the Andes. The views along the way are at times spectacular with the carpeted slopes of vegetables and fruits. It is best not to look at the side of the road where littering is not yet a cultural taboo. More on that later. Up ahead I see a crowd of indigenous massing at the side of the road, obviously intent on sharing the stagnant confines of our mobile vessel. The bus stops and the people crush ensues. I am reminded of a food processor and we're all in the tube with the giant's hand pushing the plunger down. The remaining unbooked seats quickly fill and like the locks in Panama, our canal is brim full and two times human capacity in moments. Red lights, traffic lanes and legal bus capacities are largely a suggestion in Ecuador. Sitting on the aisle seat, memories of high school wrestling filled my brain. Your adversary was sweaty and sticky and there was no polite 'space' provided for your personal comfort. Like wrestling, this was just a competition to survive and not be pinned. Unlike wrestling, there were no winners. Everyone gets pinned. You were already on your back, so a neck bridge seemed like the only defensive answer. After a while though, your neck just gives out and you get pinned. I kept waiting for the whistle to blow so I could breathe at last, but the whistle never blew. The pungency of the aforementioned odors was now being branded into my clothing and skin and I was one with the slayers of hog. I knew we were only two hours into our ten hour odyssey. Enter claustrophobia. Could the breasts of my matronly tormentor, perfumed au swine be suffered on my breathing orifice for eight hours? I confess a bit of panic. Thankfully Rachel was on the window seat and was still smiling from the adventure. She pulled the little camera and snapped a picture of the darling baby strapped to the back of the woman whose maternal organs were slowly suffocating me.

I shared my thoughts of panic and nausea with Rachel. "You have to have rain before you can enjoy the sunshine" she said. At last the sun broke. The bus ground to a halt, the driver kept his foot on the brakes, and the bus regurgitated it's excess human contents to the countryside. I could breathe again! The sun was shining at last! Rachel was right, again.

This adventure however was far from over. We're rolling along about 50 mph on a relatively shallow downward glide and KABOOM!!! The bus rocks and rolls and it feels like we lost the underside of the bus altogether. Fortunately the bus driver knows NOT to lay on the brakes. I'm sure the countryside has swallowed more than one or two buses with bald tire blow outs. As we rumble to a halt the remaining passengers show mixed feelings of glee and dread. There is no way the bus driver would keep passengers on board when fresh air beckons outside. The opportunity for escape is an unexpected relief from the aromatic vestiges of smoldered carcass left as a gift from our former passengers. The dread is the unknown attached to how long we’ll be delayed at the side of the road. I’ve discovered my farmer background comes back frequently now that I’m in Ecuador. I can’t explain that, but suffice it to say, I wanted to help with this countryside breakdown. When I looked at the exploded tire, the lug nuts on the wheel, the tool the driver had to remove them, the feeble jack, and the bald replacement tire sitting in the spare tire compartment, I knew we were sunk. Well, not sunk like the Titanic exactly, but the iceberg definitely did some damage. I’m pretty sure this tire was previously used by the 16th century Incans and certainly the lug nuts were smelted in their cauldrons. After about a half hour of futile struggle on rust welded lugs with a wrench salvaged from the sea floor, the bus driver gave up. We reloaded the bus and thumped away to a nearby service station. The attendant there took one look, winced, shrugged his shoulders, pointed vaguely in another direction, and we were once again thumping along. Finally we found a place with a real wrench, a real jack, and the driver once again unloaded the spare tire with the rubber thickness of a ten cent balloon. Satisfied that we once again had something resembling round under the bus, we roared off arriving in Quito only two hours behind schedule. I’m sure that bus is still out there with that thin tire. I'm guessing that exploded tire is also still in the spare tire compartment also. Next time you decide to use Oriente Turismo, check the tires before you board. I’d suggest Imbabura Lines if you can manage it.

Our arrival in Quito was a little daunting as we’re small town folk from Cuenca. You can take a taxi from one end of Cuenca to the other in a half hour. Quito is a BIG city. I had Ximena’s new address in my pocket and she gave some additional information that would hopefully be helpful to the taxi driver that would take us to her new apartment. The taxi driver was without clue as to the whereabouts of the streets that described her address and when he and four others of his colleague conferred for several minutes, each scratching appropriately and inappropriately their bodies so as to stimulate recognition, my confidence that we would see Ximena this night began to ebb. When they broke up, I asked “Claro?” in my expansive bilingual repertoire, and he of course answered Si! The compadres of accomplice quickly vanished so as not to have a remembered part in this conference of confusion. I was pretty sure this was going to be another Odyssey. Rachel in her calm and oblivious demeanor was enjoying the sounds and sites of the big city. I didn't want to spoil it for her by telling her we might be camping in a yellow taxi this night. Some day I’m going to make a million equipping taxi drivers in Ecuador with GPS mapping so that they can find their way. As long as pedestrians exist, they will resist my sale however. The driver stopped to ask at least 8 different pedestrians where Borja Lavayen and Ignacio Santa Maria streets were and later where Edificio Metropoli was. Taxi directions I've concluded is an Ecuadorian social project and would certainly be ruined with clear street signs, maps, and other gringo-like abominations. I’m really not sure why there aren’t street signs in Ecuador. There ARE a few signs posted on some buildings, but they’re usually pretty obscure. Street maps aren’t big here either, so if you have one, you must be a gringo. If you know how to read one, you're absolutely a gringo. I’ve tried to put one in front of taxi drivers in Cuenca and when they turn the map over about three times I know they'd not score high on Iowa Tests of Basic Skills Map Reading. I’ve heard the taxi drivers are going to have a strike, so I hope they’re asking for street signs, maps, and GPS too. I’ll even march with them if we can find the street corner to start marching on. I know I sound jaded a bit about the senseless-honking, merciless maniac marauders of the Yellow Hornet variety. As a bike rider in Cuenca, you'll remember that death stalks you in the form of the two great tyrants, The Blue Angels of Death (BAD buses) and the Yellow Hornets (or should we call them the Yellow Horn-Honkers) both of whom despise anything smaller than themselves. These are vehicular predators to be sure. Thank heavens the majority of Ecuadorian drivers are civil, kind and courteous to their two wheeled friends. God Bless all of you!

Seeing Ximena and Miguel was definitely old home week (yes, we found our way before dawn). I was excited for them to meet my new bride, and for Rachel to meet the people that treated me so kindly for five weeks in Quito. Ximena said it seemed kind of like a dream that I was back in her house. I know how she felt. It was sort of surreal. Our grand prize for visiting them was enjoying Miguel as our city guide for the entire New Years Eve day. Miguel is a first year medical student that I confidently predict will one day be president of Ecuador. Miguel Perez, remember that name. You heard it here first. Move over Correa, this country is ready for a unifying, healing, and God-guided hand. I hope for Ecuador that I am right. Miguel is brilliant in the sciences and writing, accomplished in music, but his passion is the history, culture, and politics of the people and country he loves. As he took us around the historic district in Quito he told us the history of each cathedral and every colonial building of import. We learned of the great battle on Pichincha where Simon Bolivar, Mariscal Sucre and Abdon Calderon helped win independence from the Spaniards. You see these heroes’ names on parks, streets, and buildings everywhere in Ecuador but when you hear about them from Miguel, they become old friends and your heart swells with pride to know them and feel their spirit in every cobblestone.

There were two main sites I wanted Rachel to see after we visited the historic district. El Panecillo, a statue of a winged Virgin Mary stands high above a hill that overlooks the historic district and you can literally see the 50 mile long city end to end from the tower.

 I guess I like high places because the other ‘must see’ was the exciting ride up the cable teleferico (mountain gondola) to have an even more panoramic view of the city and also to have fabulous views of Pichincha. At around 14,000 feet, you need to limit your time up there both for the cold and the thin air, but the views are worth it.

Rio Amazonas is the street to be on during the New Year’s Eve early evening hours. It’s like Mardi Gras with children. Yes, the little ones are out too, whole families old and young alike. As you flow with the crowd you pick up the essence of the people of Quito.

Returning to Ximena’s after the walk with the masses was a bit of a relief and we knew that good food awaited in the traditional midnight feast. Turkey was the holiday bird and Ximena knows how to cook. Joining us for supper were two of Ximena’s sisters and brothers in law, 2 nieces and a nephew. Miguel and his double cousin Alejandra are both medical students. Ximena’s sister Anita is Quito International Airport manager, her daughter an attorney for the airport, and her husband chief of security. There’s no lack of ambition or brains in this family. This is the kind of family that presidents come from.

We went outside at midnight to watch the fireworks. This city likes their fireworks. It must be that every family that can afford one buys a fabulous firework and shoots it up at midnight because they were going off all over the city and it was crazy colorful and beautiful. On the streets were little fires of burning effigies. There’s a lot of traditions here around the effigy burning, but mostly I think you burn your political enemies, your most disliked teachers, the taxi driver that tried to run you over, and anyone else that you need to get out of your mind before you start the new year. You see racks and more racks of masks of all types and demeanor that are for sale before New Years. It is your duty to buy the mask that looks most like your adversary to put on a scarecrow-like figurine and soak it with a bit of blazo for holiday cheer. It truly seems like an odd custom, but they do it all over the country, perhaps most especially in Quito. Perhaps that's why Ecuadorians are by nature such kind and sweet people. They wholly expunge their angst each year. Next year I'm making a cardboard blue bus and yellow taxi and I'll have a fire that will foster a calm in me that will surely make me as my kind Ecuadorian brothers. Nah.

The next day, New Years Day, we were off to Otavalo by bus from Quito. Our intent was to make it to the major indigenous market before it closed. Saturday is the biggest day of the week by far, so everything had to go right for us to arrive in time.  The enormous $6 alpaca scarves beckoned.

This time our bus was really clean and nice and no crushing excess travelers. We decided we’d better take the short taxi drive from the Otavalo bus station to Cotacachi to dump our bags at Hostel El Arbolito before we doubled back to Otavalo. We met my old friends, brothers Roman, Francisco, Edgar, and Jaime Galindo. The Galindo brothers and their wives rally at the family owned Hostal El Arbolito. Jaime and his wife Ida operate the hostal full time with the other brothers and wives contributing when then can. Edgar watches the family owned internet cafe next door when he's not at his government administrative job in Otavalo. Roman and his wife Beatrice also help on weekends when Roman isn't at his engineering job in Quito during the week. Francisco just happened to be visiting from the US for a month long holiday to Cotacachi. We were glad he was there because his English is excellent and he was able to bridge the barrier for us when needed. Francisco will some day build a house on his lot in Cotacachi and retire there.

We made it to Otavalo before the big market day closed, but barely. We simply dawdled too long in Cotacachi. We'll go back there again some day soon. The Imbabura province simply offers much of what we are looking for in our semi-retirement. Remember my earlier comment about trash on the Pan Am Highway between Cuenca and Quito? When you drive north out of Quito leaving the Pichincha Province and enter the Imbabura Province, the roadside immediately becomes pristine. Maybe there's a reverence here for Father Imbabura and Mother Cotacachi. Whatever it is, you will notice the difference and you will be amazed and proud of what the people of this province have accomplished. It kind of makes you want to just live there.

We found a yet unnamed start-up cafe next door to El Arbolito that served us well when we wanted our extended morning coffee and breakfast. Blanca was an exceptionally sweet gal who treated us like we were her only customers. We were. I'm really not sure many people know they're even there. We had huevos (eggs) con queso, tocina (bacon), jugo (juice), and multiple hot queso sanduches along with unlimited coffee for $2.

Cotacachi hasn't changed much since I was there a year ago. It is still extremely clean, quiet, friendly, safe, and the views of Mt. Cotacachi and Mt. Imbabura are just incredible. I fell in love with it a year ago and the feeling hasn't changed. It is certainly NOT for everyone. If you like night life, it's not for you. The streets temporarily roll up for siesta at 1PM, again at 6:00PM, and don't exactly get up with the roosters either. Commerce is an accidental biproduct of pedestrians walking by the right tienda at the right time. Too much commerce would cause chaos, and chaos isn't wanted here. The quiet streets are safe to bicycle on, the sidewalks safe to walk on. There's no buses belching their toxic fumes and the sky is so clear and blue you'd swear your life is in high definition. The streets are paved in brick and cobblestone, the sidewalks in a colorful and tasteful mosaic. Calle Cuero (Leather street, officially Diez de Agosto) is teaming with clean, modern, tiendas tastefully presenting articles manufactured by local artisans. I simply had forgotten how nice these shops are. There are droves of attractive cafes, some quite upscale with prices approaching the gringo level, and others that offer really good food at a very reasonable price. One night we each had a thin personal pan pizza with a drink for $1.

What really separates Cotacachi and the Imbabura Province in general from everywhere else we've been in Ecuador is the number of available properties in secure settings with gorgeous views, huge yards, infrastructure, and quality construction for nominal cost. There again, if you like the nightlife, this place isn't for you. We decided that while we were there we would allow ourselves the notion that two country people like ourselves are really meant to be living in a setting where the biggest event of the week might be Pedro's errant cow running loose in the street! I could help Pedro rope that vaca and become a local gringo legend. We've been in Cuenca for months where culture, music, fine dining, history, and colonial architecture pulse through the city like the Tomebamba and we simply don't use it. We ride our bikes, but it's with the understanding that we must be on high alert or perish. As we sat on the bench in the quiet little park in Cotacachi with the warm Imbabura sun drenching us we took pause, looked at each other, and with a knowing look submitted to each other what was already in our heads and hearts. This was home.

El Pase del Nino Viajero

I know there are other places around the world that hold to the traditions of Christmas in a way that resonates the Spirit that can be felt, seen, and heard.  Place Cuenca on your must-see celebratory Christmas venues.  I know it's easier to impress the Iowa farm boy that I am because the parades in Iowa are always replete with the incongruous entries of combines, terragators, firetrucks, ambulances, and yes of course the local saddle club that brings up the rear.  It doesn't matter what the holiday is, they're all there and the subtle differences might be that the parade marshal wears a Santa hat on Christmas and a red white and blue tie on Independence Day.  But let me tell you, this is different.  There wasn't one combine, one firetruck, and no one was advertising State Farm Insurance either.  It was all about a little Nino in a far off place called Bethlehem.  The costumes were bright and beautiful and the childrens faces were...angelic. 

    

Suffice it to say that the children of the city and the surrounding area are not only in attendance, they are the Christ-like focus.  I remember being dazzled by the colors on the street in Otavalo on market day.  There is a sort of optical inebriation that occurs that makes you glad you are alive to witness it.  So it was on this day.  You know that you can never really describe it to someone in a way that they can picture it, so you pull out your camera and discover that even Sony can't do it justice.  You just have to be there. 

For more great pictures, please go to Chuck and Nancy's site where they captured some great color:
http://watsontravels.blogspot.com/

Sometimes the parade got pretty slow, but it never seemed to stop altogether.  Crossing Mariscal Sucre on foot was a feat.  Crossing it with a bicycle was Mission Impossible.  We parked and locked our bikes on the garden railings in Parque Calderon and sprouted feet.

After watching the parade for a couple hours Rachel and I decided to join friends at California Kitchen for a pre-arranged lunch. We unlatched our bikes and walked them through the human gauntlet.   After crossing Mariscal Sucre I looked back and Rachel was no where to be seen.  She was swallowed in a sea of humanity.  How  hard could it be to find a gringa with a bright red bicicleta I asked myself?  I turned around, Mongo at my side and dove back into the swarming mass, and found the going even more difficult.  Still no Rachel.  I knew she was ok, but where was she?  Pushing around in the crowd was useless so I found the highest spot in Calderon and still no white blouse with a red bike in sight.  I had told Rachel that California Kitchen was only a few blocks away on Gaspar Sangurima, so that would seem to be the logical place to find her....eventually.  Mongo and I pushed back though one more time and I rode my two wheeled black steed over to Cali Kitchen and waited for a bit.  After ten minutes I decided to leave my bike and to retrace steps back to where I had lost my bride.  I knew that Rachel really didn't know her cartography here very well, so she could have taken any of about 4 different routes, or perhaps she was simply was 'stuck'.  Eventually I found her walking her Scarlet, still beaming her smile, and engaged in conversation with someone who looked like a gringo (but wasn't).  She knew that gringos would  be the best hope in guidance to a place called California Kitchen!   I think there was a little Christmas spirit that guided me to her in that moment because I might still be looking for her without a little 'luck'.   Our lunch with friends was grand and their hugs were heartfelt and warm.  We got a standing ovation for finding each other but of course I got taken to the woodshed for losing her in the first place.  You might ask about why we didn't call each other on our cell phones.  That would simply be too easy.  Her cell phone was in her purse.  Her purse was in my back pack.  My backpack was where it was supposed to be.....on my back.  I'll never again make light of the Ecuadorian dairymen who milk their cows in the pasture and carry their milk in buckets for miles.

By comparison, the dairyman method of milk transport is genious.   

Needs

Sunday several of us gringo types went to visit an orphanage here on the outskirts of Cuenca.  Twenty three little souls are surviving there mostly I think on the love delivered by the two (that's right...two) women who care for them on a daily basis.  Two months ago funding all but dried up when the government decided to back off on the help.  The other orphanages in Cuenca are apparently run by the Catholic church and have better resources.  There's a lot more to learn about this place and see where we can help.  Food is the most obvious need right now.  The kids are not getting 3 meals and the one they get is not going to make them reach their genetic potential.  Believe it or not I think 3 or 4 dairy goats would do wonders for their long term survival.  There is grass to eat and I think the older children could milk the goats.  Next week there are some chickens being donated which will also help.  There is a small core group of gringos that have taken up this cause and there is some clothing and food trickling in to give some hope to these abandoned children.  There is enormous needs here just for the children's survival so if you have an interest in helping here, even just giving a little love, please talk to George and Carol next time you have lunch at California Kitchen.  

Our Container Arrives

I woke this morning at 3:00 AM, not disturbed or restless, but thoughtful.  I had a dream last night and the characters included important people in my life.  I guess we all have those dreams.  There was something profound in it though and I feel compelled to write.  I’ve been away from our blog for a while.  I think most people that read our blog want to hear something about Ecuador and Cuenca and I will get to that, but for now it’s going to be something a little more ethereal.  Rachel and I were at Gringos and Friends last night at DiBacco’s Restaurante and had supper with some special people.  I looked around the room and realized we were surrounded with special people.  Most people say I talk too much, so it’s probably true.  Last night I just listened and watched.  It wasn’t just a bunch of 60-somethings tipping their brewskies either.  There were families there with young children.   I took special care to watch the kids play.  They were little white children, gringlets.  Their blonde hair, fair skin, and blue eyes were an anomaly in this country, but their spirit was one with the little people of the darker condor persuasion.  They were content and happy.  Not one of them was fussing, whining, or demanding their parent’s attention.   Then I looked at the parents and discovered the why.  The parents were here to live a different life with the focus on family and all things important, not material.   They were going to educate their children in a rich life that could never be afforded at even the most expensive schools in the US.    Those young parents were also reaching out to all of us gray panthers, not because they wanted to know the best restaurants in town but because there was a common spirit that transcended our linear chronograph.   Ok, enough of the ethereal. 

Last week was a special time for Rachel and me.  Our container arrived.  Now if you live in the US and you are living vicariously through gringo blogs in Ecuador you might wonder what a container is.  If you live here in Ecuador, you already know what a container is.  A container is either a 20 or 40 foot metal box that rides on a semi truck flatbed, a rail car, or gets hoisted to an ocean vessel where it is carried over the the big water to faraway places like Ecuador.  North American expats (gringos) view these containers with equal parts joy and disdain.  Generally, you make a decision that those things you left at home in Iowa or Oklahoma were either expendable or not.  I came to Ecuador with two suitcases, but then I’m a man.  If you are a woman, your sentiments for objects of affection run a little deeper.  This all flys in the face of the nonmaterialism I speak of above, but then I think of Out of Africa and the fine china and the Edison phonograph that Meryl Streep brought from Denmark to the Masai in 1914 and I guess I think it's ok in 2010 to bring your subwoofer.   One of the first decisions of this newlywed couple was whether it would be worth it to bring those sentimental and creature comforts here to roost.  I can tell you that after seeing the warm glow in Rachel’s eyes this past week it was worth it.  Rachel’s mother’s special glass trees sit atop Rachel’s French Armoire in our living room.   Her elegant wing backed chairs nestle in a corner of our kitchen and dining area.  Her massive and luxurious queen sized bed coddles us to sleep at night.  The little clay creatures fashioned by Brooks and Bianca in their formative years are here safe and ready to express their story to anyone who will listen.  The loveseat where Rachel and I first kissed is in the man cave and welcomes Rachel and I to a repeated experience of love and comfort.  Rachel is the daughter of a hardware store owner.  Do you think her tools are important?  Well, I’m pretty sure she can do some amazing things with them and will.  

 Art is important too and things crafted by Rachel’s talented and now deceased brother are a constant reminder of his abilities and passion.  Let’s not forget the heavy cookware that helps those fresh Ecuadorian vegetables reach their culinary zenith.   Then there’s the side by side LG refrigerator that makes ice, dispenses it, and holds enough food for the Ecuadorian army.     Yes, we’re both happy with our decision to ship things here.  If you want to know a good formula for getting things here we believe we can make some recommendations.  Give us a call.

Rachel's Bike is 'Scarlet'

We all leave things behind when we come to Ecuador.  Some of those 'things' are harder to leave behind than others.  Rachel's turbo charged Miata 'Mazda Speed' (remember 'Zoom Zoom') was her most difficult possession to leave behind.  She dubbed her car 'Scarlet' for the red color it so appropriately wore and also for her heroine in 'Gone With the Wind'.   

 Rachel's new heroine 'Scarlet' rides on two wheels with disc brakes, 24 gears and has a suspension that evens the cobblestones and 'locks out' for the really rugged outings.  I don't think we're ready for rock climbs on our bikes yet, but we'll be ready when our bodies and spirits say so.  Juan at PaPikes made  special accomodations for us to buy this bike.  That's the way Juan is.  He is a good friend, a very fair, honest, and generous business man.  When you are ready to buy a bike, come and see Juan. 

Our first ride with our bikes 'Scarlet' and 'Mongo' was to visit some friends who just moved to a lovely home just off Doce De Abril.   Rachel quickly learned the technique of timing to get in the one lane tunnel under Avendidas de Americas keeping an out-of-the-shadows profile and a merging speed that allowed for safe dispatch to the other side.  Rachel and Scarlet are unscathed and happy.  Rachel's confidence is growing quickly and I have no doubt she will soon be going everywhere in town with or without me.  She still misses her Scarlet Miata but the memory is fading.    

Waiting for This Day

First a note to Rachel's mother and dad:   Rachel is alive and well.  In fact she rather embraced the ride down Doce De Abril! 

There's no bounds to what Rachel can and will accomplish here in Ecuador.  I'm so proud of her.  In this city of 500,000 there are probably only 5 women cyclists riding the streets here. Actually, I think that count is very generous, but count Rachel among that elite handful.  A while ago I shared on this blog site my first harrowing day on two wheels in Cuenca.  Gathering my wits after some close brushes with the Blue Angels of Death (buses) that day I was determined that I would one day ride comfortably and confidently in traffic here.  I am proud to say that I am doing just that but it took a lot of fortitude and single mindedness to get where I am.  Only in the wishful recesses in the back of my mind did I believe that one day Rachel would join me as well. 

We had a great time!  Our friend Juan from PaBikes was kind enough to let Rachel try out another Mongoose for a couple hours.   The 'goose' that Rachel is pictured in here is not what we've chosen however.  Rachel had the opportunity to ride my Mongoose as well and this one simply didn't measure up.  Juan was more than happy to upgrade our choice.  We ended up special ordering a smaller framed twin to my Mongo, so it is on its way from Quito.  Rachel's Mongoose will be appropriately christened Monga.  The fact that we will both have independent two wheeled mobility in this city will greatly expand our footprint and keep our bodies firm.  You can only begin to imagine how this expands our life here.  While other people are jumping on the Blue Angel buses (they are Blue Angels of Death when they are rasping and belching their diesel fumes beside me on my bicycle) we are like free birds swooping in and out of traffic diverting only when the spirit moves us to occasionally ride the sidewalks.  It is magical to surge ahead of the Blue Angels of Death and the Yellow Hornets (taxis) in traffic and laugh out loud as we eschew their fares, retain our muscle tone and feel the warmth of the breeze.   It was great to share learned strategies with Rachel about which streets, which sidewalks, which tunnels and the myriad of self imposed safety rules I’ve learned to keep yourself in one piece in this town.  I love Rachel and her safety is numero uno.  Her freedom is numero dos.  The bicycle is freedom.  Thank you Juan.

Today Rachel is with Dr. Edgar Rodas, one of the most highly esteemed doctors in all of Ecuador.  He is a former Minister of Health in the Ecuadorian cabinet.  He is the founder and leader of a nonprofit health organization that brings surgical procedures and wellness programs to the poorest of the poor and the remotest of the remote in all of Ecuador.  He is the Dean of Surgery at the University of Azuay.  He is a modest, warm, talented, unselfish and kind man.

http://cinterandes.org/


Dr. Rodas’ staff of medical volunteers shares his vision of sustained health and wellness for all of Ecuador.  For Rachel to be invited to participate in this philanthropic medical adventure is nothing short of a God Thing.  How she came to be connected with Dr. Rodas is another story best left for another time.  Suffice it to say I am enormously proud of my Rachel for her courage, grit and determination.  Keep her in your prayers.


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Visitors from Vilcabamba

You'll have to go back several months to find Rachel's and my trip to Vilcabamba on this blog site.  It was an enchanting trip.  We weren't married yet.  We were still trying to determine whether our love for each other was enough to make us safe and viable as a couple.  We were still needing to know whether our tempos and rhythms would gel.  We had not yet been on 'the ride' together.  On that trip Rachel and I rode horses in the mountains on a gruelling and harrowing adventure.  Rachel got some kind of stomach bug on that trip also.  'The Bug' lasted for four days.  We also met and became friends with Rick and Eve Casto. Rick and Eve just follow their hearts and their hearts lead them to Ecuador and into the Valley of Longevity in Vilcabamba.  They are helping to manage a wonderful resort and spa in Vilcabamba known as Terra Madre.   Rick and Eve are missionaries.  They are the kind of missionaries that make you want to become a Christian if you're not one and if you are already a Christian, you're really proud to be one and will be inspired to be more like one. 

Yesterday Rick and Eve came to Cuenca and stayed the night with us.   They are the perfect guests and make hosting a total pleasure.  We talked about Ecuador and why we love it here.  This seems to always be a topic of conversation among gringos here.  Go figure.  We talked about matters of the heart.  We talked about our families.  We talked about food and how to prepare it here.  We even broke out a deck of cards with different pictures from Ecuador on the face of every card and played a new game for Rachel and me called 'Golf'.  It was really fun.  Rick and Eve touched our hearts and our souls and today we're better and happier people because of it.  It's kind of like that here in Ecuador.  You meet people here every day that enrich your life and make you realize that you're never alone.  You talk about things that you never dreamed of talking about anywhere else.  Whatever you were before you came here doesn't matter.  Ecuador is a new start for everyone who comes here.  You can become the person you've always wanted to be.  You might suggest that is possible anywhere....even in your own home town.  Try it.  Good luck.  When you're frustrated and had enough, send me an email.