Advice For Cuenca

One person's advice for visitors or new expats.

Weather here can be coolish to chilly, especially if cloudy all day and clear all night (mostly July/August though). I'd say that winter here is like early spring and summer here is like early fall, compared to western Washington state. Others say it's like spring all year. If you're prepared for a little coolness you'll be fine, though if you're from the U.S. southwest or Florida, you might not like it. And when the sun is out, it's REALLY out, and you can overheat quickly.

Overall, things have been mostly normal here, despite the pandemic. Get vaccinated, wear a mask, avoid crowds, keep your hands clean, be nice, and you're set.

Some possibly handy tips.

• If you have a small folding umbrella and room for it, bring it and you'll have it at the ready. Always handy. Also available to buy here cheaply after you arrive.

• A good place to buy things like the above (and food) is "Coral Hipermercados". The downtown location is "Coral Hipermercados San Blas". Map

• Also near downtown is "Supermaxi el Vergel" for food and sundries, recently remodeled and huge. Maybe worth a look as a tourist attraction. Map

• Find earplugs that you can live with, figure out how many you'll need for your stay, then double the amount, if you expect to sleep while here. You never know when some dog, some hand-grenade-sized firecrackers, or some car alarms will go off. And they do. All too often. Personally speaking, I'd rather sleep at night than be up swearing. Maybe you too.

• Plan on needing sunscreen too. On a clear day you can get the worst sunburn of your life in 20 minutes. Lubriderm hand lotion with SPF15 sunscreen in it is widely available here for $5-$6, or else bring a bit to get started with. Regular sunscreen can be quite expensive here, but the Lubriderm works for me, so hey.

• Check your bank and see if you can grab some dollar coins before you arrive. It's really hard to use paper money to unlock an airport luggage cart if the machine takes dollar coins. Anyway, the coins are used here in place of paper dollars. With them, you don't have to pull out a wallet, fumble around and maybe lose it - just reach into your pocket for coins. I've gotten to like them.

• There's a branch of Banco Central del Ecuador at the intersection of Calle Larga and Huayna Capac. Map

• Small change is handy, and may be hard to come by here. It wouldn't hurt to bring a roll each of pennies, nickels, and dimes to get started.

• ATMs are all over but to avoid lines I shoot for Tuesday through Thursday shortly after 9 a.m., or maybe between noon and 1 p.m., or mid-afternoon around 3 p.m. as a last resort. It depends. I carry my debit cards only when going to get cash, and go straight home afterward. I've had no problems with Banco del Pacifico (they have a $4 fee per transaction), unlike Banco Pichinca whose machines have hosed me more than once. Others have different favorites.

• Google Fi works, though I'm looking into another solution which doesn't involve paying $30/month just so I can authenticate while logging on to my financial accounts and maybe make one or two calls a year related to them.

• Safety: There are lots of loose dogs here, and some dodgy people too. The TSA allows you to have a container of pepper spray in your checked luggage. I read that as one per bag. Never had a problem. I bring it in its sealed packaging. Last time heading south I must have mis-counted, because I brought two in each of my two duffel bags. Still no problem. Recommended products, see: www.sabrered.com They make a spray that's hardly bigger than an oversized tube of lip balm. Almost disappears in your hand, if you want to hold it and be ready but not obvious, and I have small hands. It definitely stops dogs immediately. Recently a woman was attacked by a pack of them up at Turi. She got badly ripped up. Think about it.

• Going out onto the street is like entering a perpetual festival. Whenever I'm back in the U.S., one of my first thoughts is "desolation". Everyone there is in cars, the streets are almost too wide to cross on foot, and the sidewalks are empty. Here there may also be a lot of traffic, but the streets are narrow and full of other people walking too. Always something or someone to see, smell, hear, or even avoid.

• Also, dogs, again: loose, stray, crapping, barking, attacking. Pepper spray works wonders, but won't keep you from stepping into a pile of fresh shit while out walking, though that in turn is better than being treated for rabies, which is why I always carry pepper spray. Dogs here can get dangerously aggressive with no notice whatsoever. Sometimes just showing a folded umbrella or bending over to pick up some rocks is enough to make a dog shy away, but don't count on it.

• Expenses. I don't have a life. I pay rent, buy lunch and some food to keep at home, and that's about it. I do a lot of walking. Never use a bus, the tram, or taxis. Costs are somewhere between $700 and $750 for a typical month. Maybe $800, tops, if I buy some stuff that month. Someone recently said $2000 a month for them, which I can't imagine, even for two people, but no matter where you are there is no upper limit. You can check the link below for info on the place I stay at, which could be a good place to start.

• And if you don't yet have a place to stay, check out Hotel los Balcones. I have an apartment there. They're friendly and completely, thoroughly, absolutely professional. Disclaimer - I have a financial connection to them: They allow me to stay as long as I pay my rent. Hotel web site.

Random possibly useful resources

• CIA Factbook

• City-Data (U.S. info only, to compare where you are to what you can expect in Cuenca)

• Holidays: Holidays and Observances in Ecuador (and other countries)p

• Cuenca Weather

Weather.com

Weather Underground Cuenca

Keep in mind that what you see on each of these sites is forecasts and that aside from temperature, the forecasts are largely wrong. If people could make accurate forecasts, then we wouldn't need anyone making forecasts because we'd all be able to do it ourselves without thinking.

To see at least some information on actual current conditions (not speculative forecasts) visit this NOAA site.

It's pretty basic, but you'll get a rolling 24-hour summary including time, temperature, dew point, pressure, wind speed and direction, and maybe a brief description.

• Mail Forwarding Services

Lots of these outfits are oriented to RVers, especially those in TX, Fl, SD, due to location and state laws. (That's not necessarily either good or bad - just saying.)

I personally use USABox. They charge $10 per month plus $9.99 for each scan. Forwarding a piece of paper is around $30 via DHL, which takes about 36 hours from Miami to my door in Cuenca. Some outfits include scanning costs but have signup fees and higher monthly rates. There are lots to choose from though.

To have mail delivered to your forwarder from the USPS, you'll need to submit a notarized USPS form 1583 when signing up for one of these services.

Blank 1583 form (PDF)
Sample 1583 form (PDF)

Earth Class Mail
FL American Home Base, Inc.
FL MyRVmail.com
FL MyUS.com
FL St Brendan's Isle
FL USAbox.com mail forwarding
Getmy US mail
Mailbox Forwarding
Physical Address
PostScan Mail (many locations)
SD Americas-Mailbox
SD My Home Address, INC
SD South Dakota Mail Forwarding
SD Your Best Address
Traveling Mailbox
TX Escapees RV Club
TX PostalMethods
TX Texas Home Base
US Global Mail Mail Forwarding
USA2ME
Virtual Post Mail

Climate

Whenever I want to go somewhere I check out the climate. A good place to start is Wikipedia. Try this for Cuenca. See if it matches your needs. You can get a rough idea in about a minute.

I check the average highs and lows, the record highs and lows, and the precipitation. That way it's pretty easy to get an idea of how a potential new place compares with where you are.

I especially like this little chestnut: "The rainy season...is characterized by bright sunny mornings and afternoon showers." That really says all you need to know. That's as bad as it gets.

For more detail than Wikipedia has, try WeatherSpark. Look up whatever locations you want, and compare actual facts, one to another, though the graphs and charts require a bit of squinting and close reading to make sense of them.

Not long ago, a gent in Seattle wrote in to GringoPost, twice in fact, virtually wringing his hands and moaning about how weather sites like Weather.com and Weather Underground always showed Cuenca weather as clouds and rain, day after day. Clouds and rain, clouds and rain, and he had had too much of that in Seattle.

Obviously, he didn't care enough to do his own research, but those sites give only a rough, sketchy, blurry summary of what might happen during a given day. So he wrote in and asked a crowd of random strangers to reassure him without specifying what information he actually wanted or why. Many wandering replies in scattered degrees of vagueness ensued.

But anyway, let's take a look. January 10, 2022, when I started writing this here weather bit, for example, was sunny and a little too warm, but breezy too. Lots of clouds in the sky, but also a lot of blue, and more than enough sun to get a good burn on, but Weather.com said "Muy nublado" and "Lluvia, Las tormentas continuarán."

Nope. It wasn't so. Not at all.

Not "very cloudy".

There was no rain.

The storms were not "continuing", because there were no storms.

Weather Underground had the same report: gloomy and wet according to them.

Completely false. Totally, absolutely false in both instances.

We did have some rain the previous night, but that's the beauty of it — falls while you sleep, doesn't become annoying.

Based on my personal, non-quantified, unofficial experience over 10 years, at least 80% of rain here comes as afternoon showers, especially mid-February through mid-May. That's the "wet season". I don't call it a rainy season because it isn't, not to me.

You're more likely to see afternoon rain most days during this period than to not see rain. Maybe five or six or even seven days out of every seven, but 20 minutes or an hour or even an extreme two hours of rain in the afternoon, somewhere between noon and six — well, not bad. And often, things get sunny and beautiful after the rain, and it's all dry again within an hour, actually. Dry. Dry everywhere except the bare ground, and except for a stray puddle or two. All dry. Over and done.

You're out and about, some rain falls, you open your umbrella and keep going or you wait, and then a bit later it's done. Meh.

And if it isn't an afternoon shower, it's something overnight.

Very, very occasionally, maybe an average of one day a month, there is light rain all day. Calm winds, slow, episodic waves of mist, or drizzle, or light rain. It's a nice change of pace. Refreshing. Breaks the routine, and does not happen every month. It's an average. Some months in the wet season have two or three all-day wetness. Other months have none.

And there is no "rainy season" here, no monsoon, no dead gray dripping skies for months on end. In western Washington, for example, the rain begins the last week of October and quits when the calendar reaches mid-July. Depending on the year, you get eight to nine months of leaden skies and brain-eating endless rain, rain that sometimes continues for actual days without a break, but not in Cuenca.

No sleet, no freezing rain, no snow, no black-ice-covered roads. No storms here either, none that I've seen. No real storms. No "pineapple express", or "atmospheric rivers", of any kind, no "high-latitude hurricanes" like you see in western Washington. No winds that blow down entire forests. It's pretty mellow here overall, and the air is even dry most of the time. Too dry for some, in fact.

Even in summer, western Washington is humid, and then it's damp all throughout the fall, winter, and spring. There are those who have moved away from Cuenca because the air is too dry here. True. I can handle that. But it is cool here all the time. Pleasantly cool. I can handle that too, and even better, I love it. Good walking weather. Good sleeping weather. Cool and dry. No bugs. And sunny a lot. And lots of interesting clouds blowing through. And a few rip-snorting thunderstorms, especially in the summer and fall, but not many at all. Nice, nice variety. Not overwhelming in any dimension.

I personally call Seattle's weather "mid-latitude marine", and I call Cuenca's weather "tropical alpine". Seattle is located halfway to the north pole, at zero elevation, on the shore of an inland sea, on flat, boggy, estuarine land, full of lakes, just a few miles downwind from the Pacific Ocean, the world's largest.

Cuenca, on the other hand, is less than 200 miles south of the equator, so almost on top of the equator, 8000 feet up (2400 m), in the north-south "Inter-Andean Alley", very near the tippy-top highest ridges of the Andes Mountains. The city sits in the bottom of a well-drained, U-shaped valley plowed smooth by a long-gone glacier, and it has a nice little one-degree to two-degree slope to it, so the city is well-drained. At times a thunderstorm will get ahead of the natural drainage and there might be a bit of water in some streets, but Cuenca's three little mountain rivers take care of that pretty quickly.

Cuenca is on the opposite side of South America from the Atlantic Ocean, where the weather comes from. Any weather that does make it here has to first cross the whole continent, and then climb up the mountains to get into the city. It loses a lot of water along the way, but since this is mountain terrain, it's fine. We have mountain weather. How appropriate.

People refer to Cuenca's weather as "changeable". I disagree. I call it "unsettled". It's never strongly one thing or another. In a day you can have sun, then clouds and sun and then different clouds and more sun or less sun and maybe thunder and some rain and whatever, all in one day, and yesterday and tomorrow will each be similar but different too, with the pattern being some-of-this and some-of-that, randomly changing. In case you were wondering, a cloudy day in Cuenca is about equivalent to a sunny day in Seattle, and a sunny day in Cuenca can take your skin off while giving you the worst sunburn of your life in a quick 20 minutes.

So then, the weather is never just one thing or another, except that when the sun is out, it feels a whole bunch warmer than the air temperature says it should be, and yet it's always cool here. It's always cool, even when it's hot, because the air is cool, and if things feel hot, it's because you're in the sun.

So too hot in the sun? Try the shade. Might be too cool over there though, unless you're exercising. It happens. Since I walk a lot, I prefer cool dry air, and handle the sun by putting on a lot of sunscreen and sticking to the shady side of the street when I need to, when I can. Others can't handle the cool? OK by me. It's your call. Just pay attention to what you might be getting into by coming here, and then act accordingly. There are other places.

 

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Me? Recently nominated for this year's Doofus Awards. (Next year's too, maybe.)

How To Travel

So Mommy says don't put beans up your nose, but did she ever try it? Don't think so.

My mom came from a time and place where beans went into the ground (spring) or into the soup (any old time). And that was it. No nose beans, because everybody knew that beans and noses were not meant to be. No need to try it yourself. End of story.

A lot of things were like that where I came from. Common knowledge. Absolute limits. Duh.

• Look both ways before crossing the street, even an empty street.
• Wear your mittens.
• Brush your teeth once a day, right after getting out of bed, before eating.
• Always have on clean underwear, in case you're hit by a truck, so the people at the hospital won't be disgusted as you die.
• Never miss before-bedtime prayers, lest the god-thing rise to anger and reach for the whacking stick.
• Eat everything on your plate to make up for starvation somewhere.
• Respect authority. All authority. Everywhere. All the time.
• Rejoice in progress, for it will make us all happier, richer, and ever more content. Even if it hurts and is confusing.
• It's for your own good, so conform. Comply. Shut up.

If it now comes in a pouch, and costs less, and is never touched by human hands, and is harder to understand, and can't be repaired by ordinary mortals, and goes faster, and sluices you into the drain of complete faceless anonymity, then it's progress. So give up — you can't fight it.

I just finished a long airline trip. It was a miracle, a miracle of our age.

Imagine traveling thousands of miles in a single day, spending a day or two in a strange place, and then rewinding it all and magically returning home with all your original parts in place, albeit a tad tired. That's me, after an incident of progress.

And you know what? Poop on it.

Just poop on it all.

The best way to travel is the slowest. Not the fastest but the slowest. The most primitive, the most rudimentary, ordinary, most old-fashioned analog way you can. The way most open to fumbling, misdirection, error, and serendipity, with plenty of slow-motion time flowing all around so if something kinda goes wrong? You know? Wrong? Well, you still have plenty of time to fix it.

The way that gives you time to think, and time to feel. And time to sleep a little if you want to, and not be left stranded thousands of miles from home because your life, your self, didn't quite fit into an arbitrary schedule.

Multi-day, cross-country bus trips used to be an ordeal, but now that we have cross-continent and cross-ocean air travel, I long for a simple, agonizing multi-day bus trip, the sort of ongoing event that would let you get out and stretch your legs every now and then, and sniff the air, and hear a thing or two, and actually see, in person, whatever small town the bus happened to be stopped in, if only for a few minutes.

Air travel is fast, and that's all. Everything else about it is horrific.

I'm not big as people go these days, but sitting in my airline seat, I didn't even have room to cross my legs. That's bad enough. Two eleven-and-a-half-hour layovers, one going, one returning, were worse. It's now five days later and I'm still running into walls, and I have a head cold or something, and a headache and a sore throat, and I didn't even cross a single time zone.

I would much rather get on a boat and kill two weeks each way than to fly any more. I would much rather mount the stairs and board a gigantic fantasy airship that held a thousand people and cruised at 50 miles an hour and took a whole week or two, and be able to sit and look out the window and marvel at leisure, and walk around and be totally at ease than to sit, stuck in a tiny seat just barely big enough for my smaller-than-average self, for four-and-a-half-hour flights. Yes.

I cannot at all imagine a really long flight like the ones that cross the Pacific. I'm not even sure that humans can actually endure that sort of experience, despite knowing that they do. Some do — good grief how?

I'd even be willing to try walking or bicycling from one continent to another, if that could be managed. Perhaps not in the world as we know it, but it's a thought — in a better world, yes, maybe I could do that. Maybe I'd be willing to try. It would not be fast, but it would be real, a journey to remember.

But flying any more? Not really, no, unless I absolutely have to. Not any more. It's too much progress for me to comply with any more. I'm done complying.

 

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Have anything worth adding? Then try sosayseff+eff@nullabigmail.com
Me? Jetlagged, yet somehow not full of hope.

 

Etc...

so says eff: sporadic spurts of grade eff distraction
definitions: outdoor terms
fiyh: dave's little guide to ultralight backpacking stoves
boyb: dave's little guide to backpacks
snorpy bits: nibbling away at your sanity
last seen receding: missives from a certain mobile homer
noseyjoe: purposefully poking my proboscis into technicals

Scatter

I'm headed into my eighth year associated with Ecuador. I'm an Associate Ecuadorian. But I still don't know poopy-poo.

Still un-housebroken, still rough around the edges, still mushy in the middle, I stick out like a sore thumb, a thore sumb, a prickly stub, a discarded butthead.

Recently it's been different here.

We're coming out of a long lockdown, a time when it was illegal to be out on the streets in search of anything other than medical care, pharmacy goods, bank cash, or food. And super double plus illegal to be out on the streets before 5 a.m. or after 2 p.m. And the Fuerzas Armadas were watching. Also the police (the regular, city police), and the transit police, and maybe the civil guard, and possibly the provincial police and quite likely also the national police.

At the hotel it was just Waleed and me, two spooks in the dark holding down the fort.

He'd go out early nearly every day, and I'd hold back, hitting the streets only to pull cash from an ATM, and to buy food. But then he speaks Spanish well for an Arab-Canadian, and I can't, because deaf. Nearly deaf. And I'll never become un-deaf so poo.

I don't know what-all he was doing outside every day, but I studied my Spanish upstairs on the "terrace" (the sort of verandah-thing where there is a view and where there is also warmth on sunny days). For exercise I'd hike laps from my apartment in the building behind, into the hotel, around the lobby, up and down the stairs, and back to my apartment. Five laps took around 10 minutes, and required heavy breathing, so it was good.

Pretty good. Better than only sitting, and I seem to have maintained my strength and most of my fitness, for now that I'm free again I can go anywhere and still do whatever it was I used to do without suffering.

But others have suffered.

The hotel staff is all gone. Let go. Unemployed. I feel for them.

Originally the shutdown was to be for two weeks. But it was a hard shutdown and lasted close to two-and-a-half months, and many businesses have now closed, and many people are still at loose ends. The world has disintegrated. Turned to chaff. Is blowing in the wind.

At least the hotel hasn't closed. At least this one has not. I still have a place to live and the owners are in, cleaning, refurbishing, and planning to reopen when they get customers. Which may be a while yet. Maybe two more months. Maybe three.

Too bad.

Too bad for many reasons, but I am glad to see the hotel still open because that way I still have a home, though I've been pulling cash from the machine and lining my nest with it in case. I can move out if I need to, in case, if there is another place still open, if I really need to move out.

And I've managed to share some of that cash with the former employees — a little here, a little there, as they come around. As I can find them. But I really hope that they can all come home soon and make this a living business again. And reverse at least some of the scatter.

 

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Ever find a snake in your soup? Supposed to happen to everyone sooner or later.
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Gringo Poem

Sandwiches to distribute to street people in need. Quito Second-hand offers excellent condition items.

Laptops, Canadian money and withdrawals, treadmill. Large dog, found near Feria Libre.

I'm looking for turmeric as a supplement or pill.

Danny's Computer Service. Is an End of Life document necessary?

Need your knives and scissors sharpened? The best New York cheesecake in Cuenca.

For sale, small couch, Peach-Skin Midnight Fantasy Comforter, Duglis.*

Brand-new disinfection trays for home or businesses. Stay safe and clean. Warmth and comfort. Desinfection alcohol and antibacterial gel. KN95 masks.

Recommendation for Diana Vera, facilitator. Are you in for a treat?

Craft beer: growlers and four packs.

Mexican food: tacos al pastor, gringas and more delicious options. Have you tried our bagels yet?

El Rey del Burrito, the best Mexican food. Nuts for delivery.

Cuchi Suco BBQ pit is back.

Cozy, fully furnished one-bedroom apartment with balcony. Sourdough bread.

 

* Footnotes. (This will be on the test.)

Question: I want to light my 4×2×2 with T5 and LED, and to mitigate cost I want to do a little DIY. I have three ideas and am looking for advice or reviews. — Duglis

 

Possible answers:

(1)  Are you Duglis the Immortal?

(2)  What type of name is Duglis?

• I'm not sure
• Boy's name
• Girl's name
• Boy's or girl's name
• Last name or family name
• Pet
• Food
• Pet food
• Fet pood
• Poopoo
• You-know-who
• Other (Example: How difficult is it to pronounce Duglis? Another example: Do you ever have pains in all the diodes down your left side?)

(3)  How unique is the name Duglis? Out of 6,028,151 records in the U.S. Social Security Administration public data, the first name Duglis was not present. It is possible the name you are searching has less than five occurrences per year.

(4)  Weird things about the name Duglis: Your name in reverse order is Silgud. A random rearrangement of the letters in your name (anagram) will give Isuldg. How do you pronounce that? Go ahead. Just try.

(5)  But again, I do not know how you feel about it, but you were a female in your last earthly incarnation. You were born somewhere around the territory of USA South-Central approximately on 750. Your profession was entertainer, musician, poet, and temple-dancer. You always liked to travel, to investigate, could have been detective or spy. You should develop self-love and ability to implant hope into hearts of people. Ambition is not everything. True wealth is buried in your soul. Dig for it, Babe. (Click to save the high quality version of yourself.)

 

Yes — "Desinfection." I don't know either.

 

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Recently found lint on the ceiling. Didn't realize I was looking at the floor. All OK now.
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Post Of The Wild Gringo

We present you with a win, win, win, today only, only, only.

Language exchange is looking for a Dr. that is a specialist in treating sciatica, and hopes to import my US stuff to EC.

But Albert, well...Albert is as Albert does, which is shipping belongings to US, and so looking for XL bike, or looking for Pimsleur Spanish Level V, whichever arrives most intact or smells better.

Pet service!

Are you where you want to be for the second wave? Just ask for Bonobo Bob's Devil's Kiss craft shrub cocktail.

But lovers of ear, nose and throat Dr. beware: Nuts for sale, updated.

Meanwhile, the best New York cheesecake in Cuenca arrives on cue via Nathaly Vivas, personal chef, food delivery, and her Four Types Of Motion Sensing Lights.

Cameron Kayce, massage therapist, is open for business and offers domestic cleaning of your Yali, if you have one. Services provided exclusively by Manual Manuel's Digital Manipulation Services.

Well! No cover.

For sale or rent: Ladder, aluminum, 5-step (three up, two down).

Fresh chickens, fresh roses, fresh red hot chilis. Fresh wife not included.

The Birds of Ecuador — Field Guide — hard to find. 740 pages $35. Free clues, but bring your own feathers and magnifying glass.

Two older Roku units, slightly impressionistic. Cranky on Thursdays. Will trade for specific aromas or a slightly used syllogism.

Bar stools, complete with shoe disinfection trays. Brand-new. Stay safe and clean while drinking.

Nuts sale. (Again.) No other information available during daylight hours.

Roasted pig delivery. El Jardín Restaurant — Ask for Hornado. Will perform tricks for donuts.

Even kids with chicken pox love hot dogs at The Good Life Cafe, but sourdough comes in different flavors and is mostly not contagious and can be fun as well if you have some imagination. No kids allowed.

Extreme desserts: Breads, Bagels, and Biscuits delivered to you in Cuenca from a modern house with small garden in gated community. Watch for snipers.

Fully furnished apartment, 13 BR — 12.5 baths. Near earth orbit. Remigio Crespo and Solano across from the fulminating giant tunafish. Tell them the virus sent you.

Which reminds us of something...Ah, yes...Covid-19 plasma donations gladly exchanged for expiring/expired visas. Extra credit if they smell like catnip, or you do, or are lickable.

That's all for now. Remember to brush your pants.

 

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Currently, me...Washing wheat the Wild West Way.

Esther's Reflexology Garage

Starting next Thursday, Reflexology therapy is now available at Esther's Beauty Garage. Or will be next Thursday. At Esther's Beauty Garage. Next Thursday. Got it? At Esther's.

Esther is big on Reflexology. It's a thing. Reflexology resembles Plumbing Therapy®, in which a sensitive pudgy guy with a prominent butt crack thoughtfully massages your home's pipes to relieve leaks, squeaks, squawks, and creaks, without the inconvenience and associated high costs of having a plumbing license, business license, or anything other than a butch butt crack. Like Esther. She's butch too, Esther is, and she can reflex like crazy.

What is Reflexology anyway? It's a thing. That's about all anyone knows, so let's ask WonkyPedia. The WP knows all, eh?

• Reflexology is one of the most used alternative therapies in Denmark. (Wherever Denmark is, and does it actually count?)
• There is no consensus among reflexologists on how reflexology is supposed to work. ('K...Check.)
• Reflexologists posit that the blockage of an energy field, invisible life force, or Qi, can prevent healing. (Invisible! Qi? Quiche? Cheese? What?)
• ...no evidence found to support the use of reflexology for any medical condition. (Jeez — not again. Not this too...)

But a couple years back the Australian Government Department of Health & Stuff reviewed 17 alternative therapies to determine if any were worth paying for. Reflexology was in there but no one could figure out what it was, so at that point they all went out for cookies and beer.

All fine by us. If the cat lady down the block thinks it's a good deal, WTF then, I'm easy.

Come live the ultimate body care experience with Esther. Her reflexology massages will make you feel beautiful and healthy from the inside out. Different massages will make certain parts of your body feel a lot better.

Probably, especially if you catch Esther within a day or so after her monthly bath, and ask her for "The Special".

Do you want to try it? Just call Esther, she lived many years in the US and speaks English, so she'll be able to understand your needs.

Woof!

Bajada del Padrón 4-07 and Calle Larga, in front of Hostal Casa del Río. Monday to Saturday, 9 AM to 6 PM. Look for something resembling a garage. That will be Esther. Come prepared for a little friendly arm wrestling.

P.S.: How about a spring tuneup?

• Have your muffler probed for pests.
• Tinkle therapy by request.

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It may or may not help.

So, Monday

Category: Things my sister has apparently read all the way through.

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Yeah, so I got up Monday and had a reminder to myself by email notifying me that Tuesday was a national holiday.

Oct 9 Tuesday  Independence of Guayaquil   National holiday  <- See?

So I had lead time to buy some food, since you never know what's going to be closed. Mostly everything. But hey — I had a day to get it sorted out, so no probs.

I followed my usual lazy schedule, and after a late-morning shower I got dressed and went to lunch. All OK.

But then I noticed that things were really quiet. Not much traffic on the streets, not that many people. Some shops open, some closed. Eh?

Then I turned the last corner, the one only a few feet from el Túnel, and the menu boards weren't up yet. Well, it was a little early, so... But then I saw that the doors were closed up tight. Another oops moment. So I went back to my apartment, ate, and headed out for Supermaxi, hoping that they were open.

Luckily, yes. Coral was open last Xmas day even, but you never, never know, and Supermaxi is a different business, so I always feel lucky when something works. If one or the other is open, you can get pretty much all you need, though Supermaxi has a better selection of food, and at Coral you can buy tools, clothes, or a kitchen range if you suddenly feel a need for one.

So I loaded up on the basics and braced myself for Tuesday.

As it happened, I didn't bother going out Tuesday. Had plenty to do, and food, and the water didn't go out, or electricity, or the internet, which is excellent here after Henry worked things out while I was gone last summer. I don't know what he did though he said it was hard, but at least the wifi here has been stable, and that's a big deal. Like everything else, around here you just don't know what's going to happen next.

So the maid was still here, and I had to go hide while my apartment got cleaned on Monday, but I skipped hauling my pack full of dirty clothes to the laundry — wasn't worth the exertion. Lots of places take an extra day off when a holiday comes, Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday being a nicer break than just Tuesday. I figured that I'd try for laundry on Wednesday, which worked out, and I had two days off as well, though I don't have anything to do anyway.

So, aside from minor panics like not knowing where I'll find my next meal, things are generally quiet here. The weather suddenly warmed a lot after the end of August, and the sun is back, though a lot of the days are still cloudy. We're definitely headed for summer. Too bad I'm getting bored again.

I did take a one-month Spanish refresher, taught by an ex-teacher from the U.S. who's been here for seven years or so.

You can tell she was a teacher because she can go a full two hours without either closing her mouth or taking a breath, even once.

Edgewise was a way you could not even get a word in. I know, I tried. She'd stop and look dazed. But.

There were two others in the class, both new here. Holly, who I don't know much about, a pleasant woman who apparently is about 63, and trying to get residency mumbo-jumbo sorted out and get her cats here, which is easy but complicated, and Bones, a former 39-year Harley-Davidson dealership owner who spends a lot of time rumbling around the countryside on his locally-bought on/off road motorcycle.

Ultimately the class didn't amount to a whole lot, but I was able to get out a bit and talk to at least a few people for a few hours a week.

But bored, me.

I've been wondering if there's another place to go.

It still seems like Portugal might be one of the best places to relocate to. Close to the rest of Europe, good infrastructure, good climate, not too expensive. Then Hacker News had a piece on it. Still a possibility.

I've also looked at Santa Fe, NM, but then wondered about Flagstaff, AZ. It looks like the general climate in Flagstaff is milder, more agreeable, and it's closer to the backcountry in California, Nevada, Utah than Santa Fe is, and looks like it might have a more reliable water supply, which is going to be more and more important as the years go by.

You can tell that i'm thinking of making the same mistake i've made several times already — moving back to the U.S. and trying to be 30 years old again. Maybe, maybe not, but this time I'd buy a van and live in that. Last season living in my little Nissan wasn't that bad, but nowhere near adequate since I had to keep most of my my things in storage, and was tied down by that. And if I got a van, it would almost have to be a new one for mucho bucks, so there's that.

Might be better to take a "vacation" starting and ending in Cuenca, like touring Britain, or Iceland. But then Cuenca is a godawful long way from anywhere else, and expensive to commute from. Don't know. Will have to dither some more.

One thing that mostly worked was that I managed to dole out gifts pretty well. I had 18 bottles of Dr Bronner's soap for the nine girls, and 10 little LED flashlights for the boys, plus a few things for a couple people's kids. Unfortunately, there were two new women working at el Túnel, and one bottle of soap leaked on the way here. Then Paólo quit working at my hotel, and MaríaJosé and Oskar no longer work at el Túnel (they're both university students now) but I had things for them, and for MaríaJosé's daughter, but luckily I found out from Xavier that MaríaJosé is his wife now, and Oskar is her brother, and Xavier sees him almost every day, but with the two new women working there, I didn't have enough bottles of soap to go around (not to mention the empty bottle that leaked).

And when I talked to Henry about the children's books I brought (Sandra Boynton, translated into Spanish), they seemed too simple for Sonia's girls (8 and 10), but Santiago has a daughter who is about 4, so maybe, I thought, that would work. Santiago was covered (LED light) and I found out that he's married to Joanna, the other maid at the hotel, and I had her covered with soaps (one lavender and one rose for each, except for Eva, Anita, and MaríaJosé because I just didn't have enough to go around so I bought some semi-high-end chocolates to cover for that, and though both Eva Anita work at the hotel, they're part-timers, so maybe...).

So that left four frog lights for Sonia's girls (plus a sheet of Hello Kitty stickers), and I gave one to Santiago's daughter, and one for MaríaJosé's daughter, but I had enough LED rechargeable tube lights so I could give one of those to Xavier's son, who was hanging around at el Túnel while school was out. And since Paólo was gone, I had an extra, until I came back from lunch one day and saw Paólo at the hotel. He was picking up his last paycheck or something, and I felt a little bad that I no longer had anything to give him, but I got a hug anyway.

As far as I know, that about covers the story of the gifts, except for Janet and Luís, the owners, who were on vacation, but I kept their things in my closet until they turned up, so they got their treats too (LED light and soap). Arrr.

And then yesterday I was coming back from lunch and heard "DaBEED! Buenas tardes!" as I came around the corner. It was Sonia (Sonia from the hotel, not Sonia from el Túnel) and her two girls heading into the hotel, and that's how my name is pronounced around here. School goes in two shifts, morning and afternoon. She had her girls with her (Pamela and Carolina, in their spotless little school uniforms). I looked up, caught off guard, but mumbled something and waved just in time to trip over a nubbin sticking up from the sidewalk and almost fell, but mostly just bounced a couple of times on one foot until I recovered.

Sonia had gone into the hotel entrance by then, but her two girls were trailing, and one grabbed me around the hips and gave me a hug and also said "DaBEED!", and then the other girl gave me a second hip hug (they're really short, about the height you'd expect to see on five-year-olds except they're eight and ten). So anyway, I guess they got their flashlights and kitty stickers and I forgot what I was saying, but it sort of looks like things worked out so far.

Now I'm watching for those little six-piece boxes of Guylian chocolates so I can start hoarding them for Xmas presents. My bread store (Rey Pan) is gone but the laundry is still there (Kleenex Lavandería), and two of the three dwarves (haven't seen the woman, just the two guys), and the legless guy who sits begging on a skateboard all day on one of the streets near here. The dwarf guys really appreciate seeing me because I give them each a dollar coin every time I come by, and leave them their popcorn balls to sell to someone else (it's how they make their living and it must be a pittance). And the older wheelchair guy who tries to sell candy bars by the ATM — I give him a dollar too and just say thanks when he holds up a candy bar — he can keep that for someone else.

And then there's all the dog shit on the streets, but I at least know two friendly cats, when they're out, but other than that I'm sort of bored, so we'll see how this shakes out. At least there is always something going on around here.

---

Comments? Send email to hoofist@nullabigmail.com It may or may not help.

Los Balcones, My Home, eh?

Hang time, 3^rd floor.

So I'm back here. Cuenca, Ecuador, late winter (September 1^st). Loving it.

Temporary room.

My apartment wasn't ready so I was stuffed into one of the regular hotel rooms. Anything but regular, but that's why I like this place. One of the reasons. The people here, the staff, are Reason One, and the businesslike nature (i.e., honesty, fairness, predictability) of the whole enterprise is Reason Two. Or maybe it's the other way around. Anyway, it's good. Good here, and good to be back.

From another angle.

I spent my first 26 days in country at another place, Hogar Cuencano. It's OK, but I like it a bit less every time I stay there. I am certainly glad to give up the lukewarm shower and the dirty AC current, which scared the snot out of me (I thought my laptop had gone on the fritz but it was definitely the current — both the laptop and the electricity are OK-fine-and-dandy in my apartment).

View three.

The day I left Hogar Cuencano I gave the owner, Maggie, a treat of assorted chocolates. They have lots of gift bags here in various sizes. If you buy those you don't have to wrap anything — just find a bag big enough with an agreeable design on its outside, and plunk your thingy in that. Whenever anyone sees you pull out a gift bag they immediately know what's up. And then they can re-use the bag when giving their own gifts.

Obligatory bathroom shot (everybody around here photographs the bathroom).

So when Maggie saw me pull out a gift bag she grabbed it, held it tight, and scurried around to her bedroom, went inside and locked it up. This was in front of her employee, the person who does most of the heavy lifting of floor mopping, stair sweeping, toilet cleaning, and bed re-sheeting. "Yep." That's what I thought: "yep". Worst fears confirmed. Maggie is a real tight-ass. I don't think I'll go back there.

View through the doors from the balcony, on the building's corner.

It was good that I was conservative. I had brought two bags of assorted chocolates, one for Maggie and one for the young woman who works for her, but I only gave Maggie her gift and kept the other hidden. Good thing that I did. Maggie might have bullied her and confiscated the second give as soon as I got out of sight. (It's a thing here.) But it turned out fine in the end, better than I could have expected, and the maid got a treat too. (Keep reading.)

Looking west, up Gaspar Sangurima.

It was later that day that something magic happened. First, I hoofed it over to Hotel los Balcones and left my valuables. My apartment would be ready "later" they said, after 2:30, so I went to lunch.

Looking south, along Presidente Borrero.

After lunch and some messing around I was ready to haul over the rest of my things. I returned to Hogar Cuencano, where they were stashed in a closet under the stairs. I looked around. All quiet. Dang. Now what? Eventually I heard some tapping upstairs. Someone sweeping the steps. Eventually the maid came down. After waiting politely for her to finish I asked if Maggie was around. No.

Hmmm. I don't speak Spanish well, and she didn't speak English, which Maggie does. I needed a taxi. Now what? Again.

Looking east, also along Gaspar Sangurima.

So I tried my best. Something like "Necessito un taxi", with a few por favors thrown in. It worked. She understood, and was more than happy to help. But she couldn't manage to locate a taxi company by phone. She tried two phones, at least. Maybe three. No luck.

So she had to run outside, and down to the corner, and stand on the street to try flagging a taxi by waving her arms, which is the usual method around here. I waited.

A look north along Borrero.

It worked, but while I was waiting, standing over my three duffel bags in the hostal's entryway, I pulled out that second gift bag. It's good that I'm not always slow in the head. I'd given up on getting a thank-you gift to the young woman but this was my chance. Our chance.

I had it ready when she located a taxi. I was outside by then, and waved at the taxi and pointed at the street, indicating where to stop. Then I went inside to get my first bag, but the woman was there ahead of me, hauling it out for me.

I said something inadequate, on the order of "No, no — please.", and grabbed it. Then I set it down and reached for the gift bag. "Para usted", I said, "For you." "Gracias por su ayuda" — "Thank you for hour help." Then I grabbed that first bag and hauled it out to the taxi.

Across the street, kitty-corner.

By the time I got that to the taxi and headed back for the second bag, she'd already gotten it halfway into the street. I felt bad again, but could only mumble something like "No, no", pleading.

When I took it from her, she clasped her hands together and said something. It was almost like I'd saved her baby from a tiger. She was trying to thank me for being respectful, for paying a little attention, for appreciating her worth, for thanking her, for the little tiny gift I gave her.

Then the third bag got stashed inside the taxi and I was off. I waved goodbye. I only wish I could have done more.

But up on the roof, around back, it was laundry day.

So then I found out that my apartment wouldn't be ready until manaña, about 4 p.m. Arrr. But I got to see what one of the fancy rooms was like, which is where the photos came from.

Street style.

So that got worked out, and now I'm in an apartment. Not the one I wanted, but it works. I'm home. I have privacy, and room to wander around within my own walls, and hot water. The electricity is clean and it's always on. The internet works. One of my kitty-cat friends lives around the corner, and when I feel like I need being bitten, I drift by there and see if he's home. I rub some of his fuzzy parts and he gets happy and then he bites me. It's a relationship — you know how they work.

Across Borrero on the corner, from my balcony. A typical roof. A shop downstairs and WWII upstairs.

Now I'm getting settled in. Today is September 18 and I've been here since September 1. It seems like about six hours. It has been pleasant. Even though this is the "wrong" apartment (I'm in #3 and want to get back into #4, if possible), I'm OK. I'm fine. I'm content. I like it here.

West, a higher view, looking across the third or fourth floors at the mountains just outside the city.

But wait — there's more...

One of the smart things I did, if I'm allowed to judge myself, is that I brought back gifts. Two 2-ounce bottles of Dr Bronner's liquid soap for the ladies: Sonia, Jenny, Maríajosé at el Túnel, and Sonia, Janet, Joanna, and Anita at Hotel los Balcones. (One bottle of Rose and one of Lavender.) For the guys, one "Nitecore Tube Tiny Keychain USB Rechargeable 45 LED Flashlight" each. The flashlights cost more, but the cost for the ladies vs the boys is kinda-sorta equal.

The guys got toys and the girls got an experience. I tried to be as fair as possible and mostly, I think, I got it right, except that at el Túnel, Maríajosé and Oscar were no longer there, and they'd added two female kitchen helpers, and at los Balcones, there was an extra female staffer. And the children's gifts I had gotten didn't quite shake out.

So I fudged.

The top side of the "New Cathedral", with another church in the background.

Sometimes you have to fudge.

The children's books didn't go to Sonia's girls, but they got flashlights that looked like frogs and a bunch of "Hello Kitty" stickers.

The children's books went to Santiago's daughter, along with a frog flashlight. And I found out that Santiago is married to Joanna, who also works at los Balcones, which I had no clue about. Now I know that.

Maríajosé was gone, but she's Xavier's wife, and has a daughter, and I had planned for them, so she got one bottle of soap and some chocolates and her daughter got a frog flashlight.

Xavier's son got a rechargeable LED flashlight, just like all the grownup guys, and I had one for Oscar too, even though he no longer works for el Túnel, because he is Maríajosé's brother and Xavier's brother-in-law.

Paólo is no longer at los Balcones, so that freed up one LED light (Whew!)

Anita and los Balcones' new employee, Eva, each got one soap and some assorted chocolates instead of two soaps, so even though I didn't have enough soap to go around and one bottle leaked itself empty en route, that sort of worked out. Not all the ladies got two bottles of soap, but they all got something more-or-less adequate. I don't think that anyone felt left out.

And...I think I'm done.

The three blue domes — Cuenca's icons.

So now I can kick back a bit, and am mostly happy. I get up, read the news, go to lunch and try to end up having walked around five miles a day, and then I go back to bed. Pretty good so far.

---

Comments? Send email to hoofist@nullabigmail.com

Footing It

Today I walked six miles. I'm shooting for at least five a day, or 35 a week. It's a minimum.

A few months ago, during the rainy season here, I hit 45 miles one week. (Or was it 48?) That was tough. It takes time.

You get up, do things, then do more things, then remember that you have a commitment to yourself, wash, dress, and get out there. And then you walk. And walk. And walk some more.

It does feel good but it takes time. It does feel good and I almost always carry a camera, and find wonderful surprises to capture, but it takes time. It takes time. That's the main thing, but I always end up feeling better for it. Even if I'm wet, which happens. But then there is not so much time left for anything else.

Today I walked six miles. It felt good. I'm shooting for at least five a day, or 35 a week. It's a minimum, and this week I'm a bit behind, but catching up. And now the weather is nice again, though not so much this week — mid-afternoon rain.

When we get mid-afternoon rain, I can't go out for lunch, come back and work, and then go for a walk later to air out my head, because that's when the lightnings are out flying around the sky. Lightning does that. And there is the rain too.

Rain. Inconvenient.

So hitting 45 miles in one week (Or was it 44?) was hard. I don't know how I did it, but I did it. It's good for health, one way or another, but it seems that when I'm not home in my apartment or at lunch or walking, I'm standing in line.

I get to Coral at least twice a week: Apples, bananas, cheese, butter, yogurt, vinegar, tuna, hot sauce, instant coffee (should I run short of the real stuff), bar soap, disinfecting alcohol — whatever I need, most of it's there. It's a good place. I stand in line there, waiting for fruit to be weighed. They have to do that. Weigh it and put a price tag on it. Then I go and stand in line to pay for it.

Sometimes it takes weeks. I try to go early in the day. Afternoons are impossible, but still. You never know. Minutes, or weeks.

At times someone ahead takes 10 minutes. I can't tell why. People come and go, and stand there, and now and then someone comes over and puts a finger on the print reader and then nothing more happens.

Once I was quietly standing in line and a guy came along and slipped in ahead of me. I wanted to brain him but that would have slowed me down even more. After two or three minutes he left, and tried another line. I moved ahead a bit and repositioned myself so anyone else trying to slip in ahead of me would have to fight me to get in. But I got out of there that day without causing an international incident.

One thing I've noticed is that people sometimes work in pairs.

A person in line in front of me for five minutes or more will suddenly pull out and go join someone else in a different line. Makes sense. See who gets on deck first, then go with that person. But there's only one of me so I can't try that.

One day at Rey Pan, where I buy bread, there were several people there ahead of me. It's a narrow place, around three feet wide (true, with bread display cases on each side). I stood just outside, leaning against the doorway. More people came. They wedged themselves into the doorway so the people inside couldn't get out, and, of course, I couldn't get in. So the original people fought to get out (people climb over each other here), and then the new people wormed their way in, and then more people came. I waited. And waited.

It's like when the bus comes and everyone rushes the door. Whether it's Greyhound or Ricaurte S.A., that story is the same, but politely waiting to buy something and being recognized as already here isn't a recognized quality in these parts.

Yeah, so I don't have that much trouble just walking around, so that's what I mostly do, while dodging traffic.

Feliz, Eh?

It's almost N-Day. Coming soon. Next Monday, five days from now. Navidad.

Feliz Navidad, y'all. Merry Xmas, that's what I say.

I bought a bunch of gifts, all the same. Little boxes of chocolates, Guylian. Exotic.

Ecuador produces the world's best chocolate, but Belgian chocolate is exotic, so I bought that. Nothing says "thank you so much" like whatever it is that you can't normally get, or don't normally buy, or are unable to afford, or is foreign. Belgian chocolate is all of those.

I've never tasted it, but I've heard that it's good, so that's what I buy.

This chocolate is available in small boxes, four or six pieces per box, and costs $3.50. That's reasonable — I can afford to buy a bunch of those little boxes, and anyone on the receiving end knows that it's not a joke, not cheap, not a toss-off, not an empty gesture, but then again, it isn't wildly extravagant, and there isn't too much of it in one box, just a taste, enough to thrill without satiating.

So I bought around $140-worth this year, a bit less last year, about $250-ish in total for both 2016 and 2017.

The people where I eat lunch each got a little box, and the owner and his wife got a big box ($15). Same at the hotel where I live, though I haven't seen everyone yet. I still have lots of boxes to hand out, but I did get started.

Then I gave another big box to a legless beggar who works a corner about three blocks from here, so he and his family can enjoy all 16 pieces together. I'm glad I got to him before his annual Xmas vacation. He apparently gets by OK from begging but without "gifts" from random people like me, he's got nothing, so I dropped a big one on him.

The "bread lady" got a box. She probably earns minimum wage ($366 a month) at the panaderia, if that, so why not?

And two of the three dwarfs on nearby corners. The third one got away for now. I'll nail him later. I ran out and when I came back to drop a treat into his hands as well, he'd knocked off for lunch, so I strolled past a young female busker and tossed a dollar coin into her hat, followed by a little gift bag containing a box of chocolates. I'm probably the only one who's ever done anything like this. She exploded in smiles.

You know how it's said that it's more blessed to give than to receive? Eff that — it's flat out fun, a real kick in the head, keep the blessings. I don't want any.

I have two friends in the religion biz and they're both dicks. Two former friends, both very bright. Haven't seen much of them them since high school 50 years ago, but I've managed to update myself on their doings and whereabouts every few years. Yep. Religion Biz. Keep it, I don't want any. Nasty and dirty. Ugly.

I turned atheist about age 14, hung onto that for a few years, and eventually grew out of it. Now I'm simply plainly anti-religious. I don't want any of it. I don't care about it. Name your religion and I'm against it, whichever one it is. I'm even more hostile to the business of religion, but some of the ideas behind religion? Sure. One or two. Sign me up. What's right is right. I'm for that. Keep the hatred.

If I can do a little good, I'll do it, and refuse credit. Call me Mr Anonymous. That's fine. Screw the blessings. I don't want blessings, or awards, or recognition or a plaque, signed certificate, or my name in the news.

But fun, sure. I like random unexpected fun, especially when I can cause other people to experience it.

Giving stuff away is cool. I have more money than I need and since I'm going to die soon, if I don't spend it it will do no good at all. A few bucks here and there, scattered irresponsibly via walk-by charity, will make a few people feel good, and that makes me feel the same. Feeling good is good.

I wish I was this nice every day.

No, it's watermelons this time. For sure.

GrumpyPost

Surlandia's Best Gringo Forum, More Or Less.

Recent topics.

Subject: The new US $

Jim Wigglie (one of my favorites) has spoken of the dual currency coming up in the near future for the US.

The domestic version he calls the shises dollar. He says we'll get a 30% devaluation out of the gate, and more later. So. My question is, will we use that domestic $ or the international version here in Surlandia?

Also, what form will the international $ be? Gold backed? The petro $ is failing. That we know.

Jack / Tuesday, February 28, 2017

3 comments on GrumpyPost

Ken * 15 minutes ago

Jim Wigglie's sole goal in life is to scare you into buying physical gold and silver. Nothing more.

Dual Currency? Petro Dollar Falling? Shises Dollar? International Dollar? You got sucked in. How much have you spent buying Gold and Silver through his website?

"How do we know the Truth? Jim told us!"

Richard * 16 minutes ago

Did Jim Wigglie also predict when the Mothership will arrive to save us? Or do we just drink the Cool Aid now?

Juts Liek * 24 minutes ago

True fact: Everyone who predicts the future is right 100% of the time, so let's all run for the hills right now. Meet in the park at noon.

Bring only what you can carry, plus a knife. Or a teddy bear if that's all you have. (We need snuggles too.)

And snacks, if you gottem. (I for one am always hungry in situations like this.)

The rumor I heard is that the new currency will be marbles. Got any? If so, keepem. Whatever happens, everybody, DON'T LOSE YOUR MARBLES!

Yow!!!!!!, etc.

And, as always, keep humming this handy refrain:

When in trouble,
When in doubt,
Run in circles,
Scream and shout.

This works like a charm, guaranteed.

P.S. Don't forget to meet in the park at noon. Wear a sock over your head so we can identify you. The rest of us will be standing by the tree (the one that looks like a tree).

Bye for now.

Comments on this topic now closed.

And not a moment too soon.

Go away already. Scat!

Taking Steps

What's a prisoner to do?

Pace.

Luckily, my cell is large. I can take big steps.

I have room to rattle around aimlessly between the walls. I can go out the door, hit the street, and as long as I don't get lost, I'm OK. But this isn't really hiking, let alone backpacking, which I miss.

I spent most of the summer back in the U.S., sort of randomly backpacking around Washington State, living in a car I bought in July and sold in September, parked in nooks I found in the woods or in state parks when not on the trail. It was good enough. My time was limited and I didn't have any real plans other than to be there and enjoy summer.

My time was limited because I'm in the middle of a sort of probationary period defined by the Ecuadorian government. I'm kind of a refugee, a refugee from winter, so I'm now an Ecuadorian resident. An official, legal, recognized Ecuadorian resident. For the third time. Yeah, right — did this before. Blew it up twice. On my third round now. They let you do that.

The deal is, if you meet the requirements, which in my case is being able to prove that I have a permanent lifetime income of at least $800 a month, and no criminal history and so on, then it's basically a matter of filling out the paperwork and waiting a couple of months, and then you're in. You can stay. Forever. You can even vote. Such a deal.

And the climate here is crazy good.

Typical temperatures:

• Overnight low: 50° F (10° C)
• Daytime high: 68° F (20° C)

Wind: not bad, usually light. Sunshine: YES! Rain: Now and then, around 35 inches per year, or 889 mm, but things usually dry up shortly after a brief shower.

I'm also a former burrowing mammal from North Dakota (Land of the Frozen Dead), who moved to western Washington in 1979 and was amazed that winter never came that year. Things got darker and cooler and wetter and then started getting brighter and warmer and dryer. Summer turned to fall, which turned to spring, and then summer again. Wow. No winter, even though I grew my usual fur in anticipation, out of lifelong habit.

It was like that for a long time. A real treat for someone who grew up where the weather could kill you dead any time of the year, but especially in winter. Winter is an OK season too, but not eight months of it. That's nuts.

Well, eight months of cold or at least cool weather. In North Dakota my favorite month was October, when everything got dry and crispy and clean — no bugs, no snakes, no poison ivy, no humidity, no heat, no storms. Just progressively colder, and mostly calm-ish. Cool trending toward frosty trending toward frozen.

After that was November, which was more of the same, but a little closer to the killing edge, and then December and the holiday stuff, and after that January. I'm not sure what January is good for, but it was right in there like clockwork.

And then after January things got cold. Seriously, truly, uncompromisingly.

February was usually the coldest month in North Dakota. Brighter but colder. It's a characteristic of continental climates. There's a lag. It's like the earth way out there doesn't quite know what's going on, a communications lag or something, so the earth is always a couple of months behind, and keeps getting colder even after the sun begins getting hotter again. It's a thing. You have to deal with it. Or you die.

The last winter I lived in North Dakota, I worked outside. Delivering lumber and other building supplies by truck, around town. Just local driving. I walked to work. The coldest day was in February. Minus 35° F in the morning, minus 7 for the day's high (-37° and -22° C, respectively). Chilly. Not windy though. When it's that cold, at least the wind gives up and stays home in bed, so overall, not so bad. But North Dakota winters go on for friggin ever. That's the deal. You get tired of it.

And then you get older and it's not fun any more. So I left.

And after a few decades in western Washington I got tired of the gray winter skies. True, you can get by wearing only a windbreaker for most of most every winter (and by carrying an umbrella), but you start to go crazy too. In western Washington, it's the same kind of deal as in North Dakota, but with gray skies and drizzle instead of world-killing cold, world-killing cold and wind.

In western Washington, endless humidity and drippy skies drive you nuts by around January 4th, but things don't clear up until mid-July. Yeah, right. July 12th or 13th. I forget which. One day or the other. Like someone flips a switch. After that it's summer. Summer, and it all seems worth it once again. Summer's a killer in western Washington. In a good way. Best summers ever, anywhere. Usually lasting until the third week of October. After that, you start to see some rain again. Then more rain. Then November. November is the stormiest month, especially around Thanksgiving, but it sort of feels cozy. You get to stay indoors and eat stuff and watch the world blow around outside and the ground is suddenly covered in colorful leaves.

Which begin rotting pretty quickly. So they liquefy and then there is more rain and every day is a gray day, and later on sometime there will be a nice sunny day and you feel good again and then it rains for another two weeks after that, and so on. Yeah, right.

I spent several years living in Bellingham. Since I was busy starting over, learning math and physics and such I didn't pay much attention to the weather until I read the newspaper headline one day: Sun Visible for First Time in 60 Days (paraphrasing here, but a true story — from about 1982). It was actually front-page news.

It does make you crazy after a while, so when I got old enough I figured Hey, enough already, and moved to Ecuador.

And then got bored, and moved back, and then got bored with that and moved back to Ecuador and got residency a second time. And then got bored, and moved back to the U.S. and got bored with sitting around all winter (but summer was nice), and got a severe case of the galloping dreads looking at my second winter back there, and moved back to Ecuador and got residency an effing third time, and now here I am again. (Slow learner, wot? Cost me a bunch too, but money's free these days — it just rolls into my bank account toward the end of every month, so it's only numbers. I don't really have enough to live in the U.S. any more, but here I'm actually rich-ish. Can't complain. I'm free to do stupid things now and don't have to get up and go to work and be around morons any more.)

Oh hang on — I can complain.

First, I'm a dick. But then, someone has to be, so deal with it. I don't care. (Yes I do, but I'm trying not to whine.)

Second, there's this problem with Ecuadorian law. See, if you get residency, you have this probationary sort of period that goes on for two years. For those first two years you can't be out of the country for more than 90 days each year, or you lose your residency, and I've done that already, so this time I'm biting the bullet and living with it.

I was gone what was it, around 82 days in 2016. My anniversary date was December 7, so I have another 251 days to go until I'm totally permanent. After that I can be out of the country for 18 months at a time. That would work. Meanwhile, I can be gone up to 90 days again between now and next December 7. Happy Pearl Harbor Day, me.

After I see another year go by I can spend eight or nine months backpacking while maybe living in a van, and three or four months here, enjoying not-winter. (By the way, the UV index for today is 10. That means if you spend more than 12 seconds out in the sun your skin starts smoking and bubbling. After a minute or so your skin is fully cooked and starts to slide off. Been there, done that too. A week or two back the UV index hit 13, which will take paint off a cattle truck. But them's the benefits of living at 8000 feet or 2438400 mm. And no bugs neither.) For the rest of this week, the UV index will be just extreme. I'll write you when it's over.

But hey I'm bored again, even with all this bubbling, smoking skin going on.

The big humpy part of my day, the pinnacle, the acme, peak, summit, crest, crown, tiptop, the height, the supreme pointy part, is lunch. I do lunch now. That's my day, most of it.

After lunch, it's downhill. Not a whole lot going on, unless I go for a walk. So I walk too.

But I'm in a city. This isn't like hiking, let alone backpacking.

There are places I don't want to go, and places I can't go, and other places I shouldn't go, and then there's night. Days are relatively short here, year-round, since we're 2.54 degrees south of the equator. Sunrise at 6 a.m., sunset at 6 p.m., and then it's dark, and anyone with any sense doesn't go walking around after dark, and if you do, you quickly find out why not, so it's lunch and daytime tramping for me. For now. Though I'm still bored. And haven't figured out where or when I'll spend my 90 days of freedom during the next 12 months.

So I'm back where I started: What's a prisoner to do? Pace. Luckily, my cell is big.

And it has high walls. Maybe I can't quite escape, but I can climb up the walls. That's what I do sometimes.

"Cuenca" means "basin". The city is in a football-shaped valley. Officially, it's "Santa Ana de los cuatro ríos de Cuenca", Saint Ann of the four rivers of the basin, whatever that's about. Basin, watershed, catchment area, socket, bowl, hollow — take your pick. Valley. The city is in the bottom of a bowl-shaped valley.

To the north, the nearer valley wall. It's a short steep walk up to an overlook. Then it's a short steep walk back down. A decent workout that takes around 45 minutes if a person meanders around somewhat. Not too bad, but not a hike. But there are stairs. I like the stairs.

You can walk along streets and sort of make it an up-the-ramp walk or go the other way and end the ascent with about a hundred feet of stone steps (30m). Well, maybe 70 feet, but it looks intimidating from the bottom. Maybe only 50 vertical feet. Who am I, some kind of damn expert or something? It's a workout. Which is what I need. I go up and then come back down, huffing and puffing and snorting and farting with the effort.

But that's the toy workout. Nearby, accessible, quick, easy. Something I do when it's late and I have to do something but can't do the real thing.

The other one is the real thing: The Turi Trudge. This one can kill you. I love it.

Instead of going north, go south. See, the deal is, there is another valley wall over there. Conveniently, valleys have two walls. This second one is farther off and it's higher, and has extra special benefits.

Benefit Number One is, you get to tromp across the full width of the city. (Well, I live kinda to the north a bit, on the edge of what they call the "Historic Center", or el centro, so my walk covers most of the city's width.)

Benefit Number Two is, you get to work on your traffic-dodging skills. Which you have to do any time you step out of your door, anyhow, but let's gloss over that, 'K? And pretend that this here mess-a-words is, like, you know, imposing and important stuff. And that this is extra-special traffic-dodging.

So it's about a two-mile walk to Turi from where I live, starting with the across-town part and vehicle-avoidance, which includes running for your life and swearing, and all kinds of other fun things. But then you get there, to the south side of the city. And then the fun starts, because things suddenly get vertical.

Benefit Number Three is, stairs. Lotsa stairs. Stairs going up. To Turi. Turi is a sort of little town on the edge of town, and there's a church up there. (There's a church everywhere here — can't swing a dead cat without hitting several of them, even with your eyes closed on a cloudy day.)

Turi must be 500 feet up from the last road crossing, let alone the main part of Cuenca. Even in metric that begins to sound a bit imposing: 150 meters or thereabouts (152, eh? In case you're literal).

Cuenca from Turi.

OK, so first you walk the full length of Avenida Solana across town, and if you've managed to dodge all the deathtrap intersections, you get past the last traffic circle and there you are at Bocatti Tres Puentes. ("Hacemos lo que mas te gusta". OK, whatever.) In case you're in a deli mood and want to stop there and buy raw meat and just go home again. Again, whatever, all right? Get over it.

Which you do (get over it) by veering left and crossing the street. If possible. Because traffic, etc.

And then you take a right down the next street, and you begin ascending just about there. No fooling. By now the time for fooling is over. It's about to get serious.

And if you didn't think I meant it about traffic, well a year ago a bus ran into my hotel. Crash. Just like that. Slammed right into the corner of the building, maybe because it thought the hotel was issuing a challenge by not running for its life, or simply out of cussedness. You never know around here. Bang. Lucky for me I'm in an apartment in a separate building out back, so the first I new about all this was when I went out to to go lunch. (See the importance of lunch now? It teaches you things, like WTF is going on out here? I head out for lunch on a normal, quiet Sunday and here's this damn bus crossways in the intersection with its teeth sunk into the hotel and police all over, and about a million people all standing around waiting to see what will happen next, and all kinds of whatnot and you never know.)

So if you live long enough to make it that far, you go about a block more and there's a street going off to the right but you make a tiny jog left and enter what looks like a private driveway but isn't, and after another block the street ends and the stairs begin, but these are just the pretend stairs. They're there to fool you. To bluff you into going the other way, which will take you to a dirt road leading around the shoulder of the mountain and into some sketchy semi-farmland territory where it would be all too likely to find yourself facing a pack of angry dogs who need some tooth exercise. So guess who went that way once and lived to tell about it? Luckily the dogs were on vacation or something that time, but I'm not pushing my luck by going that way again.

Anyhow, the stairs.

Much nicer.

Houses on either side, with their gates and walls topped by barbed wire, but you mind your own business and stick to the stairs and that's work enough. Don't mess with them people and their barb wire, prolly they won't mess with you.

Just start climbing. Stop to catch your breath, turn around, and there's the city behind you, getting lower as you get higher, but that's not why you're here, so you get back to the stairs and climb some more, and after you're about ready to die you keep climbing and then you're over the hump and descend to the autopisto.

And it is a pisser. Four lanes, divided, death trap. But that's part of the fun, innit? Vehicles coming at you faster than light, with evil glints in their bumpers. You cross if you can.

After that, it's another block or so, and then another, smaller road to cross. Also a death trap, but what isn't around here?

And then...

A crude view of the Turi climb. (Can't find nothin better.) About a million times tougher than it looks.

The Stairs. The Real Climb. Death On A Stick. Pant-O-Rama. The Ascent Of Endless Pain. Around 500 feet up and no one to get 'er did but you and you feets. You there, with the legs and the attitude: Take this, Smartass. Just try.

So you do.

And after you've been there a few times (up once, down once), you think about doing two laps. Up once, down once, up again, down again or die puking. And then, later, you wonder about doing three laps. Hey, since you're already there...

You know. Life — something you do to kill time while waiting to die. Relieves parts of the boredom and whatnot and it's exercise.

So if I can't get out and do real hikes, or go backpacking right now, at least I've got this.

OK, sure, I should have friends and do stuff but I'm a dick, remember? So I don't get out much. I'm awkward, like a turd at a pizza party. No good at hanging out with other people and enjoying life. Haven't found them other people that gotta be here somewheres that I can do stuff with. I do know a couple of cats around here, and they're nice, but they've been avoiding me lately too, and one bites, but without them I'd have no friends at all, so I just suck it up and carry bandages when I go a-visiting.

I'm mostly deaf too. Did I mention that? On top of the rest I'm mostly deaf now too.

Yeah, right. More fun stuff. Mister Dick-O-Rama.

Woke up May 15, 2012 and my left ear no longer worked. I happens. Leaving me with my right ear, which is only slightly more useful for hearing with than a rusty shoehorn. So I'll never be any good at Spanish, or even at learning Spanish, which makes me even more of a dick whenever anyone on the street stops me and asks for directions, or just the checker at Coral or SuperMaxi trying to be helpful, and saying something, or asking me something, and I'm standing there like an ugly (though tiny) moose, with my tongue hanging out, all puzzled-looking and dopey. (Tiny — at least I'm not ugly and huge. Then again, neither is a tapeworm and you know how much fun they are.) And with moose, you know, you never know, even with the small ones, so I scare people once they catch on that I'm not actually a reasonably predictable human thing. So life in paradise. Ain't all you'd expect sometimes. For me nor them.

Somebody's working on setting up a Hash House Harriers chapter here, and that might help. "Drinkers with a running problem," they call themselves. Active people. I can't run (back problems) but I can walk like crazy, so maybe I could fake it. We'll see. No matter how fast they try to run away, there I'll be, coming up the backstretch. There's always hope, even for me. Woot!

Does anybody say Woot! any more?

Maybe just me.

Later then, if you haven't had enough yet. Maybe see you on the steps.

(Anything here you don't understand besides me, it's on Wikipedia.)

P.S.: Hey! Wanna go hiking sometime? Just kidding. Ha! Bite me.

Bye.

Kindly Walking In Cuenca

One of the things I vividly remember after spending my first six months in Ecuador and returning to the United States was a brief episode in a Safeway parking lot.

I was coming out of the store and heard angry male voices. I turned my head. I looked. To my left were two men, deadlocked.

One was in a monster truck, one of those jacked-up pickups with the huge tires, so high off the ground that you need a stepladder to get into it.

The other was in a wheelchair. He was trying to cross what they call the "fire lane" from the parking lot proper to the store. Apparently, this disabled guy in his tiny, hand-powered sit-up bed was an offensive inconvenience to the other guy in his thousand-horsepower muscle truck, and they were having it out.

I felt threatened. I cringed. My soul hurt. I left.

A few days before, a man angry about the placement of a fence fired up a bulldozer and began ramming into things. Depending on which account you read, he destroyed two, three, or four houses plus a truck and a boat. He did "knock down a utility pole, cutting power to thousands". I know this last part to be true. I experienced it.

The cause? "A long-standing property line dispute between two neighbors." Resulting in violence.

Life as we know it. Life as I used to know it.

Things seem to be different in Ecuador.

Last week, for example, I was waiting to cross a busy street. On the other side were two men. One was on foot, the other on a bicycle. They were both going the same direction and came to their own private, two-person bottleneck. One had to yield.

They stopped. The man on the bicycle stretched out his arm, holding his hand palm-up, signaling that the other man should go ahead. He did, and the bicyclist followed. Problem solved.

No fights broke out. There were no threats. End of story.

Last year I came out of Good Affinity, a Taiwanese/Ecuadorian restaurant where I frequently have lunch. There was construction in the area. The city is building a light-rail system and many streets have been torn up for over a year. Wires were hanging loose from the surrounding utility poles. That happens here. Things are different. You have to deal with it.

Back to the story.

I saw several people in a car. They were trying to get past the hanging wires. A man was in the street. He held some of the wires, lifting them up high enough so that car could inch forward and get past them. Done. Problem solved. But.

Now the man who held up the wires had to get his own car past the wires. He got into his car and began to inch it along. Hmmm.

I'm not quick on my feet as they say. I'm better at analyzing things after they happen than while they're happening, but I got it right this time. I walked over to the car, bent down, and picked up the wires. I raised them above the roof of the car so the driver could get past them without getting any part of his car tangled in the wires. He crept forward until he was clear, and then I dropped the wires and went on my way. Done. The end.

Things are like that here. No one stood in the street swearing or throwing things or making threats to the sky. We just got past it.

Another story from this week and then I'll get to the point.

I was taking a late-afternoon walk. If I don't schedule some exercise, it's easy not to get much. I walk to lunch, and, well, I walk everywhere, but I usually don't get out before noon, and I don't go out after dark, ever, so late afternoon is my last chance to do some moving around.

Anyway, I was walking near the Tomebamba River, a small stream flowing through town, and came to a place where some construction work was going on. The construction was separated from the sidewalk by corrugated metal. There was a gate, a doorway, of painted plywood. The gate was open. A man was backing his pickup truck out, across the sidewalk, and into the street. I stopped, waited.

Then I noticed that the right side of the truck was barely clearing the door on my side. Then I realized that the truck's right-side mirror might be close to hanging up on the plywood door. Yep. I reached out and pulled the door toward me — away from the truck — as far as I could. This helped.

The truck cleared the door and then the sidewalk and I was able to resume my walk. Another problem solved through cooperation.

The man had to get his truck into the street, and I had to get the truck out of my way. We worked together. Then it was all over. I don't know who he was and never will. Ditto for him. We just worked together to get past it. That's how it is here.

Now, last summer I saw something else.

Again, this was related to the endless light-rail construction, which should have finished last June, but shows no signs yet of coming to a conclusion. So anyway.

The street was torn up. You could walk on the right side or the left side, but down the middle was a muddy trench. This was fenced off to keep people out of it. At one or two spots down each block there was an opening in the two fences, and a plank-and-plywood "bridge" spanning the trench. That's how you got across the street.

These cobbled-up "bridges" were points of pedestrian congestion. You can imagine.

Right then, when I wanted to cross, it was busy. I held back a bit, unlike everyone else. People here don't stop and wait. They push ahead, rub elbows, bump into one another, jostle, work their way through somehow. I'll do some of that if I have to, but mostly I stop and wait. That works too, and I'm not so good at politely shoving others aside. I have yet to learn that art.

Right then, when I wanted to cross, things were busy. Especially so since an elderly woman was working her way up to the "bridge", supported by a walker. You've seen them. She and her walker took up two-thirds of the bridge's width. It was slow going too. One slight mis-step and she'd have been down, walker or no walker. But she had help.

Behind her and a bit to her left was a woman, guiding her along, steadying her, holding one hand against the small of the old woman's back. In front was a man, also guiding her and lifting the front of her walker over rough spots in the jury-rigged bridgeway. Eventually the woman was across. "Nice," I thought. "It's nice to see how people here care for their elderly relatives." You see a lot of that here. And a lot of extremely small children out walking with their parents too, all holding hands as they walk the streets.

So the way was clear and I began crossing the street too. And then I nearly lost it.

Once the old woman was safely across the street the man turned and walked away. So did the younger woman, in the opposite direction. They were not a family. They did not even know each other. They were three strangers. Two who were young and healthy, and one who was not, but who needed just a touch of help. So they helped, and that was it.

I had trouble crossing the street. You have to watch where your feet go but I couldn't. Because my eyes were full of tears. Just as they are now, yet again, remembering.

Things are like that here.