Young People in Ecuador

I was picking up a few things in Super Maxi the other day. You always run into gringos in Super Maxi. It's like flies and honey. We're the flies. We also enjoy exchanging pleasantries in our familiar tongue. We talk about our latest adventures, challenges, and joys. Mostly we run into young-old people our own age (50-75) and the connection is immediate, the brotherhood of norteamericanos in Ecuador. When we run into young-young gringos we get especially excited. We already know this is a wonderful place to come to spend your mature years, but what about your young-young years? So here is this happy couple carefully and frugally selecting some items not found in the open markets. The young man is wearing an OU (Oklahoma Sooners) cap. Anyone wearing a cap from the Big 12 Conference is already my friend, so I quickly anticipated a conversation about how many touchdowns the Sooners would kill my Cyclones with this year. Also, Rachel is a home-bred Oklahoman from Sapulpa, a small town outside Tulsa, so I thought it might be interesting to see if there were some common threads somewhere. It turns out Ryan was from Omaha but his wife Molly is from Oklahoma. I ask her "What city?", and she reveals that she is from Tulsa. I said "Wow, my wife is from Tulsa....well Sapulpa actually". Then there's this deer-in-the-headlight look from Molly. "I'm from Sapulpa!!!!" Pretty soon we find out she was born in the hospital (St. Johns) where Rachel was for many years a neo natal nurse. Molly's father is a good friend of an OBGYN doctor there that Rachel knows really well. It's old home week for Rachel and Molly and Rachel isn't even there! We chat for a while in disbelief and I promise that Rachel will connect with them in an email and we'll go from there. The picture above is from the encounter of Molly and Ryan's visit to our home. Rachel fixed a great meal of camerones (shrimp) and pasta and we enjoyed each other's fellowship, friendship, and the spirit of living in Ecuador.

What struck us about Molly and Ryan was that they weren't here for the economical living, the wonderful climate, or the beautiful countryside. They were here to immerse in Spanish and absorb the latin culture, to live in their hearts. They teach English to the locals and make ends meet on the wages. Their young increasingly wealthy friends and peers in the US are living the American dream.....well at least those with a job. For those it may be the American nightmare. They are gaining material wealth and are in the rat race of expensive cars, expensive homes, designer jeans, lattes, high taxes, and big debt. Not Molly and Ryan. They live within their means and their means isn't big. They are growing in experience of other world cultures and language. They are getting incredibly rich even if Paine Webber doesn't think so. They are helping others, stepping on no toes, living a responsible and Christian life. God Bless you Molly and Ryan. Welcome to Ecuador.

Too Good to be True?

Those of you who have been to Cotacachi and know that Rachel and I fell in love with it some time ago will immediately recognize the photo above to be the main church in Cotacachi with Mt. Cotacachi in the background.  Rachel took this photo on the terrace on top of La Cuadra Hostel where we are spending our short stay here.  To be honest with you, our readers, I have been so overwhelmed by the events that have happened in the last couple weeks that I can hardly contain myself, let alone put it into print.  I'm almost afraid that if I put it in print, the dream that Rachel and I have been dreaming for some months is just a dream and will go away with the ink!  In short, our condominium in Cuenca has sold, and we are building a house in Cotacachi!!!  For us, the first thing had to happen before the second was possible.  We let Miguel Mora (our developer/contractor) know back in January that we wanted to build in his development, Yana Pamba.  Miguel is a businessman and a good one at that, but he gave us a lot of lattitude to realize our dream.  He could have easily said "Go sell your house and then we'll talk", but instead he immediately went to his architect, Patricio Galarza and started working on plans to adapt our dream to a drawing.  This is called faith without a downpayment.  I met Miguel Mora a year and a half ago and knew he was special then, but didn't know at that time that he would one day build our house for us!  Heck, I didn't even know I'd be married to Rachel back then!  Things seem to move fast when you're 60.  One minute I'm an unhappy banker in Iowa and the next I'm married to the woman of my dreams and we're building a house together in Cotacachi Ecuador!  I knew God was good, but he's laid out the carpet for us to be here.  Now I guess we'll find out why.

Three days ago we became friends with Steve and Rebecca who were staying with us in La Cuadra.  We asked them if they'd like to see where we're building at Yana Pamba.  Steve and Rebecca had come to Ecuador to do a 'sniff test', not to look for a place to build.  Today they leave for the US, are putting their home on the market, and God willing will be building on one of the last lots available in Yana Pamba!  In the picture above they are looking out the front porch of the first completed home with Patricio Galarza, the architect looking on.  Patricio just happened to be inspecting the house builds while we arrived on the scene and took some time to point out his attention to detail in the builds.  It doesn't take a salesman, it takes quality work to sell homes.  We hope that our new friends Steve and Rebecca will also be our new neighbors in Cotacachi.

We were in Otavalo on Saturday, market day.  If you've ever been to Otavalo on Saturday you know there are thousands of people in the market and finding anyone on purpose there is like the proverbial needle in the haystack hunt.  Just how we ran into Rick and Eve Casto, our special friends from Vilcabamba is as Rick would state was purely a Godcidence.  For those uncomfortable with a spiritual explanation, think serendipity.  We know which it was.  Rick and Eve were on their way to the US for a three month vacation and family visit.  They manage the beautiful Terra Madre resort in Vilcabamba where we met them 10 months ago before we were even married.  You'll remember our infamous horseback ride in the mountains there!  Since that time in Vilcabamba Rick and Eve have visited us several times in Cuenca where we play cards, triominos, and tell lots of tall (but truthful) tales.  To hear their voices in the Otavalo market behind a stack of alpaca scarves was just amazing.  We were both a long way from home!  They have always blessed our life and our love and this time was no different.  After some really great hugs Rick and Eve immediately changed their plans to stay in Otavalo and instead joined us back at La Cuadra in Cotacachi where we spent a couple lovely days with them.  This morning they left for Quito and on to Washington state where they will have a reunion with their Harley Davidson.  We will miss them but know that they will be visitors of ours in Cotacachi when our house is complete.

I find it interesting that some people come to Cotacachi and are bored in one week.  The rest of us think we have died and gone to heaven.  We continue to find things to do and places to go.  Many of the places to go can be done over and over without any loss of wonderment.  Two days ago we went to Chachimbiro, a little village about an hour from here where they have wonderful natural hot springs.

I happened to have had a really sore back from a sprain.  I couldn't straighten up.  No Rachel didn't beat me up.  I'm not sure what I did, but life isn't the greatest when you walk like a 90 year old man.  One day in the hot springs and I'm pleased to report that I'm feeling just a shade over 40 again.  The weather in Chachimbiro is just a shade warmer than Cotacachi and we all got a little toasted under the Andean sun, but it was worth it.  The pools are arranged in such a way that as you go higher (closer to the hot water source) the hotter the water temperature is.  There is also a cold water pool next to the hottest pool where you can shock your system like the Polar Bear club.  I think it's supposed to be healthful to do that, though I'm not reading any studies on that matter.  I will report however that my back is feeling great and if I had a cardiac arrest, it was very short lived.

On the way back we stopped for some sugar cane juice, a local favorite.  It was very delicious.  They had this really loveable donkey yoked to a mill and they threw a stalk of cane into the mill and squeezed out a glassful of juice. The donkey got to eat the remaining squeezed cane.  Note that he is rather plump. Now that's entertainment!  For all of you who report about being bored in the Imbabura, eat your heart out.

Then a little farther down the road we found the quintessential Ecuadorian approach to motherhood in play.  We have found that mothers here put their baby first in those formative years.  When the babies want love and milk, they get love and milk.  It pays great dividends when the babies turn into 4 year olds.  The 4 year olds here don't whine and complain like most of their US counterparts.  The same theory holds for bovines here as well.  When it's time for some milk it doesn't matter what part of the road you're standing on.  It's time for milk.

 

Easter in Cuenca

Rachel and I went to church on Easter with our good friends Mark and Connie.  The service was in a huge new church building with all the bells and whistles of a modern protestant service.  There were overhead projectors for sing along Spanish music and we even had a short video clip from CS Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia.  It was a lovely service with a very engaged and active congregation.  Although this was our first time at this church, we had a strong sense that every service was of the same celebratory nature, not just Easter.  We still struggle with our Spanish understanding, but sometimes messages come through irrespective of language barriers.  Mark and Connie lived for years in Italy so their fluency in that romance language is a huge leg up in understanding Spanish.  I envy (and admire) multi-linquistic people.  There is such a dedication and special intelligence that goes with conquerors of languages not of their own.  Rachel and I are committed to one day joining that fluency club.

We had a very traditional almuerzo (lunch) on Parque Calderon.

We soaked up the sun that has been missing for the most part during this past rainy season April.

As if that monster lunch wasn't enough, we indulged in some home made ice cream at a fabulous heladeria over in San Blas.  After great fellowship, great food, and generous volumes of sunshine, we waddled over to bus #3 and with our 25 centavos were transferred to our condo gate, went upstairs and took a nap.  It's great to be a Hobbit.

Macas

Our life in Ecuador is pretty spontaneous.  I know that some retired people say that 'they've never been busier in their whole life', yadda yadda.  I'm not sure that we can say that exactly because some days we just have a leisurely coffee in bed followed by a similarly leisurely breakfast, followed by a leisurely bicycle ride....well you get the picture.  We woke up Tuesday morning and decided that we needed to 'get out of here'.  I'm not just sure what that meant exactly, but I think we just had it up to our eyeballs in leisurely.  I said to Rachel "Let's just go down to the terminal terreste (bus station) and jump on a bus".  "We can pack our toothbrush and a change of clothes in case we end up over night somewhere."  We took about 10 minutes to pack, were ready to go out the door and I said "Maybe we'll go to the coast or to the jungle and we'll need some shorts."  So we came back in to deposit a pair of shorts in my bag....Rachel didn't have any.  "I'll throw in these lightweight cropped pants" she said, and we were off.  You have to love her minimalist bent.  I think I could say 'lets go climb Mt. Chimborazo' and she'd pull out her light jacket, a rope, and we'd be off.  So we get down to terminal terreste without a destination but with our toothbrushes and a change of underwear.  We go to the window where Macas is displayed and the bus is leaving in 20 minutes.   I'm pretty sure Macas is on the edge of the jungle so I'm thinking we can maybe be wrestling with an anaconda by late afternoon.  I'm a romantic, give me a break.  A half hour before this moment we were finishing breakfast and not knowing for sure what we were going to do with our day.  Now we're boarding a bus that will go down a road we've never been on with a bunch of people whose languages challenge us.  We're going to a place none of our friends have been to and have no idea whether this is a good idea or not.  We're just on an adventure you know.

The first part of our trip was some familiar territory with Paute, Gaulaceo, and a couple other pueblos whose names weren't on the map or on a 'bienvenindos' sign somewhere.  We weren't far out of Gualaceo and we became abundantly conscious that this was not going to be a leisurely ride down a paved road to another charming little village at the end of the line.  In fact, the road we were on turned out to be quite primitive.  When I was in Alaska we called this a 'cat trail' which of course meant it was only for caterpillers.  Maybe I got that wrong.  Maybe it meant that the road would only sensibly be traversed by animals of feline agility.  In Ecuador buses qualify for these 'cat trails'.    We had been told this was to be a 7 hour bus ride so we came fully equipped with our Kindle, raisons, almonds, and Gatorade so we were ready for anything.  We were after all seasoned veterans of an extended 12 hour bus ride to Quito, so this would be a piece of cake.

I was pretty sure that this very coarse, rocky, road without guard rails was just a little detour that we would take before we got back on a nice hard surfaced road with all the safety amentities that we gringos think are so important.  Five hours later we discovered that this was in fact the main road.



The pictures I took out the window are no exaggeration.   The reason you don't see any shoulders or guard rails was because there were none.  In fact sometimes you could see the wheel ruts on the road edge that indicated a previous close call to the 2500 foot drop to the side.  Rachel was on the other side of the bus admiring the wonderful waterfalls as they cascaded next to the road on her side.  I thought it might be best if she stayed over there for the moment.

This went on for hours.  It was gorgeous and magnificent.  I truly felt like we were flying over a gorge because you could see no land beneath us whatsoever outside the window.  We were merely suspended in this magic bus to nowhere.

The road was obviously under construction (sort of) but there was no sign of the old road, so I guess this was it.  There was no turning back.  In fact if you met someone, you had to back up and on these roads that was a bit touchy because if you got too close to the edge it would end badly.

Peligroso means dangerous.  Funny.                 

But there's no way to describe the unspoiled virginal beauty that we experienced on the way.  There was no hint of civilization anywhere.  We were on our way to the jungle.  I was amazed that five of the seven hours of our trip was high in the Andes at altitudes probably at times in close to 14,000 feet.  We had to get over the Andes before we could experience the life in the lowlands of the jungle.  Macas would not come to us before the sun set.

When we arrived in Macas we were hungry and tired.  Of course we had no reservations and this did not appear to be a real upscale kind of town.  The abundance of nice hostels and restaurants in Cuenca kind of spoils you in that way.  Macas is the provincial capital of  Moronas Santiago and has a population of about 20,000 souls.  It is mostly indigenous and you hear the language of the Shuar and the Quichwa spoken nearly as frequently as Spanish.   We went hostal shopping and apparently started on the lower end at $15 per night for pretty seedy accomodations and ended up going a bit more 'upscale' for $25 per night at Hostel Casa Blanca where the showers were hot, breakfast of eggs, pan, and hugo were included, and for those who brought their laptops, WIFI was available.   I use the word upscale somewhat loosely, but I think for this city, it was pretty good.   We had supper at a Chifa  (Chinese food) restaurante and we were well satisfied.  We slept pretty well on that hard bed until we heard the rumble of the dough machine in the bakery next door about 3:30AM.  The smell was to die for however so we put up with the rumble.

After breakfast we began our search for a tour guide who could take us one day into the jungle.  We weren't too fussy, but I guess in retrospect, fussy would have been good.  We went to a bonafide tour agency where the fee was $50 each round trip and included some river time, hiking time, and return to Macas by 5:30.  We decided to take a pass on this and set about looking for other possibilities.  We ended up talking to a short young guide who introduced himself in broken English as a  Shuar http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shuar  (think head hunter).  His name was Tsunki and he seemed really authentic.  Since there were no shrunken heads dangling from his belt we felt safe and that he would give us the tour of a lifetime.  Cost was the same as the tour agency and was all inclusive so we thought this was it.  To his credit Tsunki showed up on time at 7 AM, but from there, things went downhill according to his promises.  Tsunki couldn't predict that we would have a downpour of rain the first 2 hours.  Luckily there were some people he knew that could share a roof while we waited out the storm.  Rachel made herself comfortable on some planks.  I never said anything about first class accomodations did I?

As the rain became progressively heavier and one hour stretched into two, she became a little more comfortable.

When the rain finally subsided, we set off on a very muddy walk.  Sometimes the mud sucked our boots off.

There were some pretty flowers

And we sampled some fruits along the way

After a while I knew why Tsunki recruited some help for the river leg of the trip.

Yes, this was our luxury river cruiser.  It was 3/4 full of solid mud and water and it's maritime worthiness was definitely in question.  We spent over a half hour bailing water and scooping mud, mostly with our hands and one small plastic vessel.  Each time we got a few hundred pounds of mud and water out we pulled the canoe uphill a little further out of the water until finally we had what resembled a canoe.  Then one of the helpers disappeared into the bush and appeared once again with two blocks of wood, our seats.  They were wet and muddy too.  We had long ago given up any idea of staying mudless.

We had to clean it up a bit.  It took an hour and I shared in the fun.  Did I mention this was a discount tour?

Rachel and I thought this beautiful and authentic dug out would make a much better craft, but noooooo......

We bailed the mud and water out of the canoe and set off to meet with the Shuar shaman who was upstream from our launching site.   The river current was very swift in places and we made our way upstream with poles rather than oars.

  This went on for about 45 minutes until we came to the place of the shaman where we thought we would have a little ritual and be on our way.  I know that Tsunki said something about Ayahuaska http://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ayahuasca and I knew what that meant.  I was also sure that neither Rachel or I would partake in this hallucinagenic exercise, especially with this unknown Shuar and his yet to be found shaman.  When we got to the huge thatched hut it was evident that no shaman was there to meet or greet us.  So far, things were taking on a rather predictable route here, and it was to expect nothing of promises.  There was a middle aged woman and a younger pregnant woman there and they spoke in Shuar to Tsunki and we were told by Tsunki that the shaman had gone (waving his arm towards the unknown) and would return at .........maybe o'clock.    So now we had gone upstream in a canoe for 45 minutes, landed at the shaman's hut.  The canoe and it's owner had already left, and we were there until the shaman returned from heaven knows where and when.   We were promised a meal and already that was a bit scary too.  I knew that whatever we were offered we should eat so as to not offend the Shuar.  After all, you don't offend the Shuar unless you want your cap size decreased substantially.  Rachel already determined that she was not going to eat what came out of that kitchen, so I was already concerned that her pretty face would appear in some gift shop.  As for me, I was determined to eat what was put before me, thanks to my midwestern-German-Iowa-farmboy heritage to do just that.  What came out of that cooking place was truly nasty looking.  We were told that it was tuna.  Yum.  By then we were joined by some little friends that were there to save the day.  Thankfully by this time Tsunki and the host ladies left us alone in the hut with our meals and the camp dogs, birds, and monkey came to investigate the luncheon.  I have a feeling this has all played out in this camp before.  Silly gringos come up the river to meet the shaman, the shaman isn't there, the silly gringos are fed some nasty looking gruel, the hosts leave the room, and the animals of various sizes and shapes swoop in for the spoils.  

 The parrot was a real crowd pleaser and had more personality than a game show host

and he slicked up my tuna really well....

but not before señor Mono (squirrel monkey) had his fill!

Rachel and I had Tsunki take our picture by the hut since we didn't get a chance to have our picture with the shaman.  We waited another hour for him and then instructed Tsunki we did not want to wait till dark.

We convinced Tsunki that waiting forever for the shaman wasn't going to be a good bet for us.  Tsunki did not have his own transportation back to Macas and we were pretty sure our return trip was going to be as predictably unreliable as our walk and river ride.  Our hunch was extremely accurate.  We waited over two hours at a cross road of two seldom used paths navigable by only the highest clearance vehicles.  After the second hour passed while we waited for driver #1, Tsunki called for driver #2.  Oh, I forgot to tell you that Tsunki's cell phone didn't work because of a dead battery.  I'm pretty sure he had lost his charger years ago.  Fortunately, my battery worked and we were able to make a call.  We were all pretty exhausted and the afternoon sun was starting to sap what little energy we had left.  We made our way to a nearby village.

The village was clean and tidy and the people were very friendly.  Tsunki had a shuar friend there who offered us chicha which is made from manioc and fermented with human spit.

As we waited for driver #2 some of the distant high level clouds started to lift

 and out came Vulcan Sangay.  What a gorgeous volcano!

Our trip back to Macas was relatively uneventful.  We were taken back to town by a pickup taxi that was filled to the brim in the back by the time we made our way back.  The scenery was magnificent all the way.

The next day we prepared ourselves for the seven hour adventure ride back home.  This time however, the driver took an entirely different route.  It was a hard surfaced road almost the entire trip, but it took almost nine hours.  Some of the trip was in the cloud forest and fog and we simply couldn't take good pictures.  We were amazed at how much hydroelectric power had been harnessed from these mountain waters.  The resultant lakes and dammed rivers were breathtaking from the road we travelled.

As in our trip to Macas, the return was at a high elevation, contantly looking down at the gorge below.  This time it was of a lovely man made lake that we fantasized about building on some day.  

When we got back to Cuenca we had the feeling of just awakening from a dream.  We were back home and we had to ask each other if what had happened over the previous three days was real.  It was.  Our hot showers were a delight. 

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.