Rachel Joins Me in the Cajas

We've been back from Cotacachi for nearly a month.  We left a part of us back there in the Imbabura.  It's not like life is standing still while we're in Cuenca, quite the opposite.  There is so much to do here it is sometimes overwhelming.  We have more freedom to do the things we've always wanted to do, including waking up each morning, looking out our bedroom window on the oft-shrouded Andes and watch this precious city come to life.  I had to use the word precious because it was a word used by a local who met us one day in Parque Calderon as she referred to her native city.  Precious has now forever been imbedded in our psyche as the appropriate adjective for our city.  So we wake each day savoring our coffee in bed while gazing at the Andean city waking before us.  Often we have a Kindle in hand and stretch our minds with a game of Scrabble or begin our day with readings from the Bible.  Inevitably we digress from the Scripture looking for applications in our life today and become a lot richer for it.  It's about placing priorities I guess.  We are getting stronger, wiser, and more fulfilled each day together.  We are ever so slowly learning a little more Spanish.  We are broadening our friendships and acquaintances.  Our Scrabble vocabulary now includes the word 'Qi' which is ever so helpful when you don't have a 'u' to go along with the 'q'.  We know how to ask the whereabouts and howabouts to the locals in Spanish and name most any object in our home in the tongue of the Latins.  We ride our bikes with confidence and delight in the traffic circles (remember Circles of Death?) and find our way easily from the far points of the city to and from our condo.  Rachel and I love each other and our life together in Ecuador.  We are passionate for the whole package.  So why have neither of us posted a single thing to our blog????  Where is our passion?  Where is our INSPIRATION? 

You don't have to look far in this blog to see that our bicycles are a big part of our life here.  Those Mongeese (two Mongoose bicycles must be known as Mongeese right?) have become our recreation, our transportation, our exercise equipment, and yes, vehicles of Inspiration.  If we only open our eyes, ears, minds, and especially our hearts as we travel around the city or the countryside, surely we will be inspired.  Bicycles allow you to turn your ambition to muscle, wonderment to vision, and on occasions, stretch your sensibilities to extraordinary senses.  They allow you to smell every smell, hear every sound, feel every bump, every drop of rain, and know intimately the path you travel.  For some weeks now I've been baiting Rachel with the idea that she should join me in a biking adventure in Parque Nacional Cajas, a somewhat oxygen deprived environment with challenging inclines and opportunities for unforgiving results should you make a wrong decision.  As with most risks, there are considerable rewards, usually commensurate with the degree of the former.  I've found Rachel not to be one who is shy about living her life to the fullest and knew that with patience she would eventually acquiesce to my invitation.  Our day was complete and we are safely home, a little richer, a little stronger, a little wiser, and yes, a little more inspired.

Our ride began where it always does, in front of our condo, Palermo, on Avenida Ordonez Laso.  The day promised great uncertainty in the weather department.  Recent abundant rains have swollen Rio Tomebamba, the geographic feature we would embrace in awe and proximity for the duration of our trek.  With clouds threatening even at our departure we opted for the shortened version of the Cajas sojourn.  There's no shortcut path to the Cajas, but for the cyclist there's a way to manage your strength, oxygen, and time.  It means (for us) selling our soul to the enemy, the Blue Angels of Death.  Certainly you remember the BAD!   Those big bad blue buses of belligerent belching and bicycle bullying behavior are certainly serpents of satanic intent, but this day we'll hold our nose and sleep with the enemy.  Our strategy was to ride bus #3 to the end of the line with our 'geese' in tow.  Bus #3 takes you out of Cuenca, past Sayuasi gaining in altitude to the west and gives you an enormous leg up on the already daunting thin air of the Cajas.  Usually I ask the bus driver if my bicycleta could be carried tambien (also) and usually I'm answered with an accommodating nod.  Generally the driver discovers that the bags of cobs in the on-board baggage area don't mind sharing space with the two wheeled 'goose' that I hoist aboard.   Even the startled looks on the indigenous passengers turn to amusement as I try to stay upright while holding my bike, straddling the bags of cobs and they often lend a hand as the bus driver tries feverishly to extract my feet from the floor with the jolting, braking, swerving bad behavior typical of the bad boys of the blue.    This time however Rachel and I doubled the trouble with not one but TWO geese of the wheeled persuasion.  Once on board we could sense the reluctance the driver had for allowing our intrusion and I knew that a solid $1 tip per bicycle was the only salve that could assuage the angst of a sworn enemy of all pedestrians, bicycles, and other drivers on earth.  Don't get me wrong.  There are probably some really nice bus drivers out there that don't purposely try to deck every elderly passenger unfortunate enough to be standing in their overcrowded bus.  I'm just afraid that if such a bus driver exists they will eventually certainly fail the annual Mean Bus Driver Fluency Test and be summarily fired.   When we arrived at the end point of the #3 route the driver took special effort to park the bus against a burm where we could extract our bikes only with heroic effort.  Ecuadorian bus drivers are such an anomaly.  Their non-bus driver countrymen are the sweetest, kindest, most accommodating people on the planet.  Surely the bus drivers must be from another country, perhaps planet.  Maybe just being a bus driver here in Ecuador turns your heart to stone.   Shaking off the efforts of this bus driver to spoil our day only took a moment and we were immediately enveloped by the enchantment that shines in the Andean Cajas.

I have ridden my bike many times towards and into the Cajas and the trip always seem to reveal something new and exciting.  This time Rachel was with me and it was like seeing it all for the first time.  What was ordinary before was extraordinary today.

It was wonderful to talk about what we saw together.  The tidy pastures showed how much care the dairy farmers put into their operations.  They picked up every rock out of their pastures and put them into enormous piles for later use in fences or other uses.  We marvelled at how the cows on some 80 degree slopes were able to keep their footing while grazing.  Knowing that most of the farmers milk their cows in the pastures where the cows stand, it challenged our minds to picture such a thing occurring at such slopes.

I'm pretty sure we were flirting with an altitude of about 12,000 feet before we decided to turn around and enjoy the EASY part of our tirip.  You see it was all uphill to this point.  Some of it was 'get off your bike and walk' steep so the progress was slow, laborious, and a little taxing on the lungs.  We stopped often to gather ourselves and enjoy the views and load ourselves with the carbs we brought along.  Rain was setting in and it was time to head back.  We didn't go far and the rain came in earnest.  We had mentally catalogued possible shelters on our ascent so if the weather turned on us we would have protection from the rain on our return.  We found a house under construction that served our purposes well.  In fact, we shared it with a couple young men who found themselves in the same dilemma.  We were grateful for the protection.  After a while we got so comfortable we decided to lay our blanket on the wood floor upstairs and take a little nap.  We simply laughed at our situation and marvelled at how our lives have changed since we were living in the states. 

After a while, the rain let up a bit and we decided to make a break for home.  The residual rain made our rapid descent a little less fun than it would have otherwise been and the drop in temperature made it a little more than chilly.   Cruising on these slopes you can easily reach 40 mph or faster but with the rain pelting you and the chill amplified by the wind, you naturally slow it down a bit.  We had agreed that we would stop for some pork at one of the one-table cafes near Sayausi.  We thought a little traditional choco and puerco would warm us a bit and add a memory or two to an already memorable trip.

 It was memorable.




The remainder of our trip back was uneventful and fast because we were dreaming of hot showers, dry clothes, and a real nap in our nice warm bed.  I'm pretty sure Rachel will join me again in another Cajas adventure but I think we'll opt for some fresh trucha (trout) on our next trip.

Return From Cotacachi

Rachel's ready smile belied what I know to be a deep sadness as we departed our beloved Cotacachi.  Our relatively luxurious condo awaited in Cuenca and with it the creature comforts we've been accustomed to: American TV, all the hot water we wanted, high speed internet, our CD music, DVD's, Play Station 3, our super comfortable bed, our own cooking, and maybe most important of all, our bicycles.  These living elements are available everywhere in Cotacachi but limited in the hostels where we stayed.  With all of those comforts and familiarities awaiting us in Cuenca, it was still difficult to say good bye to our friends, Mt. Cotacachi (behind Rachel in the picture above), and Mt Imbabura, the 'mother' and 'father' of the city of Cotacachi.  Our trip home was smooth and without a hitch.  No we didn't take the bus home!  Quito to Cuenca is less than an hour by air (vs 10 hours by bus), worthy of the extra dollars.  We did however hook up with the Quito bus on the Pan Am highway just outside of Cotacachi where Rachel had a fun time with the toddler in front of us.

Those of you who have travelled in Ecuador know how well behaved the youngsters are here.  They simply don't carry on and make a nuisance of themselves.  They are sweet, a little shy, but inevitably engaging and interested in the gringos that come into their world.  Rachel has learned to keep a package of cookies at the ready in her leather bag so that every little smile that comes to us gets a sweet return.  In some countries such an exchange might not be permitted.  The people of Ecuador still trust us.  I hope we never do anything to lose that trust.

We met new friends in Cotacachi and reunited with Cuenca friends who for one reason or another were there at the same time we were there. 

  

In fact, at one point we shared a table with four of our very best friends from Cuenca who 'coincidentally?' were in the Imbabura province exploring.  We didn't arrange for the meeting.  It just happened.  Six friends from 300 miles away meet by chance.  Would you believe me if I told you that it was in the Serendipity Cafe in Cotacachi?  The serendipity that we experience in Ecuador is so profound and frequent that we have become accustomed to and even expect it.  Only with careful reflection do we then realize that indeed there is something special and magnificent going on in this place called Ecuador.  I'm pretty sure that the epicenter of this mystical and cosmic place is indeed Cotacachi.  If you've never been to Cotacachi, give your heart, your spirit, and your mind what they long for and visit.  Rachel even had an important birthday (it's impolite to ask) while we were in Cotacachi.  Our good friend Bo from Cuenca (a new transplant to Cotacachi) and Reggie (our new Canadian/American/Cotacachi friend) and I shared Rachel's delightful meal cooked in our hostel's self help kitchen.         

Bo even bought a birthday cake for Rachel.  The serendipity part was that he didn't KNOW it was her birthday!!!!

Our trip to northern Ecuador had a two fold purpose.  We hoped to receive those elusive residency cedulas while in Quito and we hoped to find our new home in Cotacachi.  I'm pretty sure we were at least 50% successful!  Our cedulas can wait.  

We revisted a home in the country between Otavalo and Cotacachi.

The home showed promise, had great privacy, plenty of room, and was in many ways a great 'fixer upper' with unique character.  In the end however, it was the concern over our desire to bike from our home to town that created an insurmountable negative.  The road that passed by was simply to treacherous for our two wheeled passion. 

We spent a lot of time with our friend and favorite developer in Cotacachi.  I met Miguel Mora a year ago when I first came to Cotacachi.  Rachel and I hooked up with him again a couple months ago in our last visit to Cotacachi.  What struck us most profoundly about Miguel in that visit is his respect and passion for Ecuador and the Imbabura province.  His building projects around Otavalo and Cotacachi are done with sensitive care and respect for the indigenous people and the interwoven Spanish colonial culture.  Miguel believes that a development that in any way takes away from the integrity of the countryside or causes concerns among the indigenous should never be built.  Not all developers have this commitment.   His family of highly educated historians, artists, engineers, architects, physicians and statesmen permeate his personality and his vibrant enthusiasm.  Miguel's family reads like the Who's Who of Ecuador.  To Miguel, his good name is more important than revenue.  Quality build, magnificent views, and customer satisfaction are the hallmarks of Miguel's nationally prominent architect, Patricio Galarza.  I was introduced to Miguel's and Patricio's latest project, Yana Pamba, a year ago before they even had permission to build and months before Rachel and I shared our commitment of love for each other.  I knew then there was something special in this project.  Little did I know that I might some day be able to share it with Rachel, the woman I met as a girl of 12.  Then again, I should expect serendipity in major proportions here.

    

Miguel is careful to explain how his construction methods deny water migration from the ground to the walls of his homes.

and how extra care in engineering assures earthquake resistance

two obvious enemies to homes built in Ecuador.

Foundations are built with aeration and strength in mind.  They are broader and deeper than any other construction in the area.   An impermeable rubber membrane between the foundation and the home walls keep water migration and necessary wall maintenance to a negligible level.  Patricio does extensive soil testing before construction to insure foundation stability and construction does not disturb the soil surface except in the foundation channels.

Fire brick is used in the walls of Miguel's construction.  It is more expensive but ultimately much stronger than the more commonly used adobe brick commonly found in other local construction.

 Open beam ceilings are beautiful, strong, and are treated for another enemy of construction in Ecuador....termites.

Even the porch roofs are built with beauty and structural integrity in mind.

Awe inspiring views from Yana Pamba include pastoral fields speckled with dairy cows

The river gorge below

and the sometimes shy father of Cotacachi, Mt. Imbabura

  We intended to be gone a week to 10 days.  Three plus weeks later we returned to Cuenca.  I'm amazed that our plants survived the neglect.  The Imbabura experience still lingers as a dream yet slowly fades as we reacclimate to the faster pace of city life in Cuenca.   Rachel, my anchor and gift from God, shares my surealistic feeling about our latest adventure.  God willing, we will return to the Imbabura to build our home.  

I'm Home

My dear Jim has shared with you that I traveled back to the USA to see my family and take care of some personal business. It was a wonderful trip from the hugs and kisses received from my granddarlings, Cole and Brady, in Texas to seeing that my parents are continuing to fare well in their retirement home in Tulsa. The record snowfall that occurred the night before my scheduled departure back to Ecuador caused a three day delay in my return trip that allowed some extra days with my daughter, Bianca and her husband, Blake, in Broken Arrow, OK. We played in the snow. It was wonderful and took us back to days in West Chicago, IL, where Bianca and her brother, Brooks, were born.

When Jim initiated this blog he hinted that I should be a contributor. People write for a variety of reasons and sometimes that reason has nothing to do with the desire for others to read the product of our thoughts. I engage in therapeutic writing and that is what I do best, however, I promised him one entry. That is a promise fulfilled with this post. We shall see how this goes…perhaps more to come.

My experience with international travel is not virginal but is from many years ago when I worked as a flight attendant for American Airlines.

 

 

For a long time, however, I stayed put to raise my children and complete my degree in nursing. Time and the events of 9/11 have tightened security and customs everywhere since those fly days. You have to learn to go with the flow, or panic and frustration will constantly be your travel companions. The trip back to Oklahoma had that potential and I learned that being armed with a strong faith in God, my husband’s desire to have me return and tremendous patience with the process got me through what might have been a deterrent to ever crossing a border again.

Am I a shady character? What is it about me that ignites in the security folks the need to look past my non-threatening exterior to see if there is more to me than meets the eye. I have known that I carry this burden since 1973 when I drove my Karmann Ghia from Buffalo through northern Canada and was stopped at the Canadian/U.S. crossing on my way to Detroit. Customs emptied my Ghia of all my worldly possessions so it and luggage could be searched and sniffed. Since then, with the exception of the times I was able to bypass security as part of a flight crew, I have been stopped, patted and searched ad nauseum. I have learned the two hour rule of arrival at the airport doesn’t apply to me because to process me through will take at least three. I have learned to wear only slip on shoes, no belt and be absolutely sure my luggage is within established weight guidelines and even then I know it will be a long check in. Consider the gut reaction to hearing your name over the loud speaker to report to a search area in the airport of a foreign country. Yes, it did happen…my first flight out of Ecuador. The area I was taken to was under a jetbridge, dark and dank and secured by police and soldiers carrying automatic weapons and bag sniffing dogs. I was the only person in this group of hostages that didn't speak Spanish.

“Gooood doggie! Want a treat?”

It was obvious this was NOT a place to apply humor…not even the kind to ease angst. I have just entered the Twilight Zone. When bags are ripped open with knives and personal articles are sniffed by dogs and officials alike you know you'd better not blink. There was no touching of my person but somehow having my lingerie dumped and sniffed really did feel invasive. Don’t get me wrong, the times we live in require absolute vigilance in travel security, but, give me a break...

So, the foundation for my story has been set.

Knowing I was going to Oklahoma I played the game of guessing when and where the “let’s pull Rachel out of line for further investigation” card would be played. Would it be in Guayaquil on the way out? Would it be in Dallas on the way in? Would it be in Tulsa? The possibilities were staggering. Jim and I have applied for our residence visa. We were advised by our attorney that the application itself stopped the clock on my tourist visa which at the time of departure had exceeded the 90 day limit. Customs would pull up the information on the computer to confirm my pending change of visa status. Wonderful! No sweat… maybe for someone else. What we weren’t privy to? There had been a major upheaval in the Department of the Interior throwing the whole visa process into utter chaos.

I traveled to Guayaquil by myself feeling very confident that I was seasoned and I could handle anything until ... "Surely you jest!"... I was told by Customs that I wouldn’t be allowed back in the country because I had overstayed the limit of my tourist visa.

“If you would please just check the computer I’m sure you will find I am quite legal and that I am nearly through the process of becoming a resident.” I suggested, smiling innocently.

“No hablar Ingles, Senora.”

Oh, this isn’t going well. Do I get on the plane? Do I get on the van and return to Cuenca? Three weeks of visits to family and friends are on the line. I can't NOT go but my husband and my life are here in Ecuador and not being able to return for six months was unacceptable.

I went. As soon as I arrived in Dallas I contacted Jim and shared with him my/our problem. He said he would be on it as soon as the sun came up. I had a sudden feeling of calm that all would be righted and my return to him would be without trouble.

As I mentioned earlier my visit in Texas and Oklahoma was marvelous and the people who weren’t sure about my move to Ecuador were able to see that I was adjusting well and very happy. It was all good. I also knew that there were ongoing efforts to insure that all would run smoothly on my return trip. My darling Jim and our very capable attorney were looking out for me. I relaxed and just enjoyed my visit.

It wasn’t until a couple of days before my departure that I started planning the strategies of how to pack and how to dress to cause me the least grief at the airport. Slip on shoes, check, bags weighed and weighed again, check, check. All is well. This will be a piece of cake! Even the cancellation and rescheduling of my flight hadn’t tempered my positive mood.

The eve of my departure an additional six inches of snow fell so as I stepped out the door at five thirty I was faced with the possibilit the roads were going to be nasty. Glad I had an early start because I also had to return my rental car. The roads were bad but my earlier years in Chicago had taught me how to drive in winter weather. Slow and steady. When I arrived at the airport I knew I was on a roll. I grabbed my bags, made my way to the baggage check counter and was in line before the wave of passengers arrived. The curse, or so it seemed, had been broken. Just one more hurdle and I could breathe easily and that was to get through security. I was so within all the rules and regulations.

“Madam, you can step through the scanner now.”the agent instructed me.

“Just hold your hands over your head like the picture.” Time to exhale.

“Now please stand over here and place your feet in the yellow footprints.” No sweat! But why are these other people going on through and I’m still standing here.

“Madam, are you wearing a money belt?”

“Duh! Doesn’t everyone?” I thought.

“Madam.”

“Oh, PAALLEEAASSEE stop calling me that.”

“Madam we are going to have to take you to another place.”

My head started pounding, my face flushed and I wanted to scream, “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING. AM I PURPLE OR GREEN OR BLUE? DO I HAVE LITTLE ANTENNAE STICKING OUT OF MY HEAD WHICH, BY THE WAY, IS ABOUT TO EXPLODE."

I knew it was futile to protest. I wanted more than anything to get on the plane and get back to Jim and making a scene was the easiest way to insure that wouldn’t happen. I obediently followed the woman in the official uniform to an area about the size of a large closet. The short walk gave me time to decompress. My things were inspected and again I was patted down. The women that were handling the inspection were very pleasant and even a little apologetic for the inconvenience. At least no one or no thing was sniffing my personal stuff and I didn’t see any automatic weapons. That was a major improvement. At last after deeming me a non-threat I was allowed to proceed to the flight gate. I was finally in a stretch that I could relax and enjoy the flight and move as freely as any passenger. I was through security.

The flight from Tulsa to Miami and then Miami to Guayaquil was uneventful…blissfully uneventful. About forty-five minutes from landing in Guayaquil the crew passed out declarations papers. For those readers who don’t fly internationally they are forms that tell you what you can and can’t bring in and require you to declare value of incoming goods. No biggie. However, it was at this point that I began to feel a resurgence of anxiety knowing I would be going through the dreaded Customs area shortly. Jim had sent me a document provided by the Department of the Interior declaring me legal to reenter Ecuador but what is official and what is interpreted by the Custom’s agent may very well be different. I could be in for a long night. I had my phone charged, Jim waiting outside and our attorney’s number on speed dial. I was as prepared as anyone could be.

"Okay, I am standing in line."

Heart beating. Heart pounding. Breath shallow. Breathe deeply.

"Don’t call attention to yourself."

My turn.

“Yes, here is my passport.”…thump, thump, thump…”No, I haven’t been issued my Cedula.”….thump, thump, thump…”Sir, here is a document issued by the acting Minister of the Interior regarding my visa status. My husband is outside with the original.”…THUMP, THUMP, THUMP…”I will get him on the phone. He speaks much better Spanish than I do."

"Yes, I will wait here."

He leaves. He comes back. He looks at me. He looks at my passport. He looks at me again and drums his fingers on the counter then makes the gesture of a phone to his ear.

“Call esposo.”

I dial. “Jim, I am going to have to call Galo. They aren’t going to let me through.”

Just as suddenly as he tells me to "call esposo” he looks at me then waves me away and says in Spanish what I understand to mean I can go. OMG! I have always believed in the possibility of divine intervention and I have no doubt God worked out the details in this scenario. As I exited the customs area all I could see was the face of my beloved Jim ahead of me and the “I Love You” balloon he was carrying and I knew, "This is what really matters."

You might ask, will I continue to travel? Absolutely! Life is full of adventure and surprise mixed with challenge. Will I continue to be a suspicious character…probably. Must be something mysterious about me and that's kinda' cool. My philosophy is this: We live in dangerous times and I would prefer an extra measure of caution to the possibility that dangerous people have a chance to hurt others. Is it inconvenient? Of course but when you get “pulled over” as much as I have you begin to see humor in it and realize it's great fodder for conversation. The only thing I am going to change as I move forward in this great adventure is to pack my good underwear before I cross the boarder.

Yesterday I was on my way to the Coopera and I saw Mark and Connie out in front of their building and had to swing over to say hi.  Mark was on my 'must contact' list while Rachel was away.  We had promised each other a bike ride in the Cajas together.  Scarlet has now carried two strangers while Rachel was away and Scarlet is doing just fine! Mark hadn't been on a bike for at least three years since an accident on one of those narrow two wheeled cousins spit him out in pieces.  Mountain bikes are made for the rugged and biking around Cuenca is rugged.  You need a mountain bike here, period.  I'm not sure, but I think Mark is now a convert to the sturdy wide grip of a Mongoose.  Our starting point was going to be Palermo but we decided to do a little cheating.  We hailed a bus #1 that looked kind of empty heading west and asked the driver if we could take our bicicletas on his bus.  No problema!  This bus took us all the way to Sayausi where we said muchas gracias and knew that we had a leg up on the climb up the Cajas. 

We really didn't get too far as we ran into rain that put a damper on our enthusiasm.  It is still a treat for this farm boy to get out of the city though, so it's all good.  

Speaking of farm boy, I just had to have a look at these ladies and their pig.

They were having such a good time and when I came over to ask if I could take their picture with their cerdo, it just got more fun.  I really wonder how they can even roast their pet porkers here.  You know in the states pigs don't have near the people connection that they do here.  When I came over to offer to help I actually thought we were taking seniora cerdo some place where she was to become tocino.  I found out they were just taking her for a walk and I really wasn't needed.

But I felt grounded again knowing that cerdos (hogs) are pretty much the same north and south of the equator.  They are stubborn but kind of fun.

Waiting Patiently for My Bride

I really thought that a week or two without Rachel would be fine and that we would only appreciate each other all the more when she returned from the states.  It's been over two weeks now and I was to meet her as she arrives in Guayaquil tonight.  Mother Nature had other ideas.

Thankfully Rachel loves snow as she probably didn't get enough of it growing up in Sapulpa Oklahoma.  Well, even Sapulpa and neighboring Tulsa got the full force of one of the biggest blizzards in recent memories.  All flights are cancelled and the airport is digging out.  Nobody is going to work.  For some, like Rachel and her daughter Bianca, it's just an excuse to extend their holiday, play a lot of scrabble, Play Station 3 and eat a lot of popcorn.  Those of us from Iowa know how to handle these storms,  Oklahomans not so much.   Most Oklahomans don't even own a snow shovel so they look for spades, rakes, spoons, and other devices to remove that white stuff.  Some just wait for spring.  Like her mother, Bianca is pretty resourceful and an exception to the rule.  They both look like they're totally enjoying it!

I'm pretty sure they don't have the equipment in Tulsa to clear the streets like Iowa and Minnesota.  It's just a different deal.

Snow is snow and cold is cold whether you're a Hawkeye (Cyclone) or a Sooner (Cowboy).   It can be beautiful, annoying, a lot of work, dangerous, or a lot of fun depending on your frame of reference.   By now you know how Rachel and Bianca see it.  All I know is that Rachel isn't going to be on the plane tonight, and I'm ready to have her back in Ecuador!  Now you know how I see it. 

Ecuador Parades

Ecuador and it's people never cease to amaze me.  They love their parades!  A year ago on January 16 I was in Otavalo and there was a Christmas parade complete with Santa, Mary, and Baby Jesus.  I was told it was just to wrap up the Christmas season and that they do this all over the country.  I shouldn't have been surprised two weeks ago (also about January 16) when I was on my way to the Cajas on Mongo that my trip was pleasantly interrupted by an indigenous parade with all the same characters that I saw in Otavalo a year before.  Then today (January 30) I'm riding my bike down to Parque Abdon Calderon just to take in the warm day and sunshine and color comes flooding down Calle Presidente Cordova in the form of children on horses and yes, Mary and Joseph and the whole gang. After you've seen the really big Christmas Eve parade, El Pase del Nino Viajero in Cuenca, easily the largest Christmas parade in Ecuador, the parades that follow pale in enormity, but not in spirit.

I know I don't accidently fall into every parade that goes down the street.  I'm sure I miss at least 90 percent of them which means that there's a whole lot of parades going on that I simply never see.  I'm pretty sure that just like in the states, people work, go to school, play soccer and have four generations of family over for dinner every Sunday.  What's different however is that all the rest of the time Ecuadorians are planning or getting in costume for the next parade.  You've got to love a people that celebrate life like this. 

I honestly think some of the dads are just going along with it to be good dads, but the kids never seem to tire of it, even a month after Christmas and two months after the Christmas parades started.  They've all been decked out and parading the streets several times already.  The flowing dresses and the glowing faces seem just as fresh as they were in late November.

Merry Christmas one more time! 

Bible Study

It seems like when you want a little spiritual food it is there for you if you want it.  You just have to make yourself open.  I'm really missing Rachel while she's in the states visiting family and doing business so a little 'grounding' seemed in order last night.  Our friends, Gary and Sue Gaithers are full of life and the spirit and are willing to share it with a Bible study class.  The people who come to their Bible study are also full of spiritual food to share and our lives are blessed by each other's presence and words.  Joanna and Bob are like Rachel and me, newly weds with diverse backgrounds and passion for each other.  Joanna left her communist oppressed country of Poland in 1972  under the cover of stealth and darkness and with great risk to herself.  Raised Catholic, she was unable to practice her faith in her country.  Her father was a communist leader but had to keep his Catholic faith under a bushel and profess publicly his lack of any God-like faith.  Joanna just couldn't reconcile the dichotomy imposed by her country's government and by faith and courage alone, left with nothing but her wits.  Bob, a fun loving Texan adores his new bride.  Poland's loss is Bob's gain.  That's how God works.  Do you think this put things in perspective for me last night?

Yesterday was Gary's (62nd) birthday and Sue wanted to give him a little surprise in the form of a cake to share with all of us.  Gary's birthday was our collective gain.  At 62 Gary looks about 40.  I thought I was in great shape from my bicycling but our bike trip to the thin air of the Cajas revealed that this ancient being of 62 could keep up with me, the youngster of 60 just fine.  Gary and Sue just closed on a really nice condo here in Cuenca so it looks like they'll be staying a while!  Of course that's what I thought when I bought my condo in Cuenca!  Now we're headed to the country up in the Imbabura where God first gave me a sign almost exactly a year ago!  God has a sense of humor.  I should have taken his sign a little more literally and a little more seriously then and we wouldn't have to be moving there now.  I wrote a blog on September 14, 2010 entitled Please God, Is This Where Would You Lead Me?  To fully understand the humor, coincidence or God Thing about that event, you can read it from the blog archives.