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.

 

---

Recently found lint on the ceiling. Didn't realize I was looking at the floor. All OK now.
Comments? Send email to sosayseff@nullabigmail.com
See if that helps. (The commenting system quit working for some reason.)

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

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!

Cuenca Is

Cuenca is like a long exploration of Grandma's enormous old attic. To me. But what do I know?

Not that much, as world travelers go.

I've been to Canada a couple of times, along the southern border (or along the U.S.'s northern border, if you will). I've been to Bismarck, North Dakota, to Minneapolis, to Denver, and Sante Fe and Tucson, and I lived in Seattle for a while. Almost two years. Just two blocks north of Seattle's city limits. That qualifies. And Bellingham, Port Angeles, and Olympia.

So I don't get around. Not that much, but I've seen a bit. I've seen more, I think, than my former friends and acquaintances who never left Bismarck, who never left permanently anyway, or who left but didn't make it outside of North Dakota. For long.

It's odd what a backwater will do for you. A backwater place, a quiet corner of the world, like Bismarck, like North Dakota. In a way — odd to me. I had friends there who moved in from Chicago, for work, and became permanently affixed. They went native.

Maybe it was already in them, or maybe the place changed them. I don't know now and I never will. I've lost them. We have no more contact, not for 11 years, since they decided they no longer wanted to have anything to do with me.

In a sense that's good, though I'm still a dick. I'm not easy around people, even people I've had long-standing relationships with. Friendships, working relationships, relationships with relatives — all the usual. I'm still awkward, and sometimes I don't meet expectations, or I say the wrong things, or miss the cues, and come off as a dick. So I'm a dick. That's who I am. Stand back then.

But for a while, while I still had friends, I noticed something, especially with Nick and Patricia, my friends from Chicago. Though I never could stand Patricia. She came with Nick. Part of the deal, so you had to put up with her. But back to our story.

I returned to Bismarck after being away six years, and went to visit Nick. At that time I was still welcome in his home. I went there, was welcomed in, and sat down. Nick and I began talking. We picked up our conversation from six years earlier, as though we'd last seen each other just a week before, instead. The place is like that. Friendships last forever. People don't change much. They don't grow either.

That's one thing I noticed while visiting Nick and Patricia, and Norman, my former boss and co-worker, and John, former friend and former co-worker. And my parents. And others. I had changed and they hadn't. I had changed a lot and they had only gotten older, and were still talking and complaining about the same things as always. In 1993, Norman and John were still complaining about the same problems at work as when I'd left that job in 1975, and John had not worked there since 1974.

Cuenca is like that too.

I can feel it. I am not an expert, and nearly deaf, so I can't converse to any extent. But I've seen some evidence.

Two years ago my Spanish teacher chided me when I related a story of trying to enter a department store by walking in through the checkout aisle (you know — the passage between two cashiers — in the U.S. you go through backward when it's handy). "What if everyone did that?" she said, annoyed at my gringo ways.

I had been stopped halfway through by the cashier and made to go back "out" where I had to loop way around and enter the store's inner sanctum via the official entrada. Even though nothing was going on — it was slow that day. There were no customers trying to pay for things. The coast was clear. Which is why I decided to do it. But I had to go back and enter the right way. Because.

The whole city is like that. It is full of old buildings and old ways. The old is piled on top of the old, with some new sprinkled here and there. Both customs and things. Sprinkled. It is charming in a maddening way. I notice things nearly every day.

At one place I eat, when locals enter, they leave the door open. A staff member has to go over and close the door. I eat there three times a week. This happens four or six or eight times during each half-hour period I'm there eating. Every single day.

It's how things are done. They just go over and manually close the door again and again. They've always done it that way. It doesn't look like they'll change. Even with my help.

I tried.

I bought a pair of cheap door closers. Really cheap. Five bucks each. Simple springs that you can affix to a door at a hinge. I brought these along and when I had a chance to bring up the idea, I gave them to the restaurant's owner. He was happy to get them. This was eight months ago. He still hasn't used them. He and his staff prefer to stop what they're doing, walk over to the door, grab it, and close it. And to repeat this all afternoon, six days a week. Rather than to use what I donated, or find something similar.

I knew a cat once too, in Bellingham. It was the neighbor's cat but we were buddies, and the cat came to visit me every morning, climbing up the half-ladder, half-stairway fire escape below the back window. It had learned to do this on its own to get to the roof of a shed where it would nap. It continued this way to visit me, first climbing up as high as the roof of the shed, hopping off the step to the shed's roof, then immediately hopping from the shed roof back onto the stair it had just left, and then climbing up the rest of the way to my window. It worked.

But there was no reason the cat could not have climbed up the whole distance to my window without making a stop on the shed roof. Except that the first time the cat had gone up the ladder it went to the shed roof, so that was how it was done. The trip to my window got added later, and the roof detour remained a part of the routine, even though there was no point in it.

Got it?

Living here is like that.

"If it ain't broke, don't fix it" is probably the maxim I hate the most. Or it's at least close. "We've always done it that way" is another great one, and is interchangeable. I think I hate that version even more. It's rolling stupidity. My home town is full of it. My relatives were full of it. Everyone is full of it. People do what they've always done, because. Just because, you know?

Don't question. Don't cause trouble. Don't make us think. Why do you always have to make trouble?

Because I'm a dick. It's what I do. Though I'm not complaining about Cuenca. I like it here.

Because I don't have to be a part of it. I'm a perpetual passer-by. Because I can be. Because I'm rich.

I'm philosophically opposed to being rich, but I am, here. My income, relatively small by U.S. standards, puts me roughly in the top 10% in Ecuador, though there are many locals who have far more income than I do, but still I'm hanging with them, statistically speaking.

And since I'm rich, because I'm rich, I don't have to belong, so I don't have to play by the accepted rules, so I can be an outsider as long as I want, though I think I can understand some of how this all works. It works because people don't want to lose what they have. They're poor and isolated. The poor and the isolated are conservative and seldom think new thoughts.

I learned this from North Dakota.

Taking a chance is taking a chance. Taking a chance is dangerous. You don't want to do that. There is no reason to do that, if what you have gets you by. If what you have gets you by, then fine. You do that. But you don't get creative and risk it. You don't dare. You stay the course, conform, fit in, do it the way it's always been done, and then your children take over, and then your grandchildren, and on and on.

And Ecuador is not North Dakota. Which is why I'm here. Ecuador is much more of what I liked best and liked least about North Dakota. My friend John used to say (when he was still my friend and when we talked) that North Dakota was 20 years behind the times, and that was what he liked best about it. Ecuador, until the last half-century or so, was several hundred years behind the times, and I'm right in the middle of the slow region. Inland, in the mountains.

Along the coast things were never so slow, never so isolated. There was contact with the outer world. Ideas flowed. Cultures mixed. Change was a constant. Inland, no. Things stayed the same for half a millennium. Then they changed. But slowly.

OK by me. I like the climate. I wander around in the balmy bug-free weather at 8000 feet enjoying the sights. I like the peeled paint and cracked adobe walls, the broken pavement, the sounds. It's fine. Even the dust and the dogs. It's interesting, especially so since I don't have to be part of it. There is always something going on up and down the pedestrian-choked streets. I can use my imagination, just like I did exploring my grandmother's basement and my grandfather's garage. Looking at all the odd stuff and trying to imagine how people could live that way.

Which is what I'm doing here, in between trips out to lunch, or naps. So who am I to complain?

Monkey Mind

I can't say I'm special. Everyone is special. Just like everyone else.

But I try to notice things. Goofy things. Even my own goofy things, my own goofiness. But especially yours. It's like a hobby.

If there is one thing I'm really good at, it's keeping track of inconsistencies. Even my own, I must say, though I'm a bit slow on the uptake of the latter if you will. All that lack of perspective, viewing from the inside, emotional involvement, vesting. And so on — you know it too.

It could be due to my upbringing, plus a few natural predispositions. I won't go into my family life except to say that I think there is a connection. One of my parents was erratic, tempestuous, threatening, blustering, contrite, bullying, repentant, immature. Like a typical alcoholic, but without the alcohol. So I had to keep a sharp lookout on the moods, and the clues about when the next eruption might be rolling into the station. For self-preservation.

Pattern-matching is important, and inconsistencies matter in a world like this. It's like weather forecasting, or you could say whether forecasting. Whether this, or whether that, today. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe not. Maybe it will blow over, subside, or build up to something terribly ugly day after tomorrow. Without paying attention and developing the right forecasting skills, a person is totally clueless, and survival is a less likely outcome. And I was alone.

My sibling didn't come along until eight and a half years after I did, so I really, really needed to be on top of this game. So I notice things.

I'm not highly social. I am socially inept. Partly I don't care, partly I can't. I don't do it well, but I have some skills. It's akin to mind reading. I can read people if I care to, even people I've never met before. It's a matter of opening up and letting the broadcast be received. Everyone broadcasts but usually the broadcasts aren't worth receiving, except sometimes.

Starting a job, meeting your boss, your co-workers. Checking out a potential landlord. Meeting someone at a party — Maybe she...? Maybe he...? Maybe they...? Maybe now, maybe later, maybe not. File the mental notes for reference. First impressions count. They are fresh and clear and the signals are all there, waiting to be swept up by the armful and stuffed into the sack of memory, in case.

So, as I said. yesterday. Nothing much around here surprises me any more. And that's true.

Just seconds before I was to step into the shower, I found that the water was off. Thirty seconds before that, the water was not off. If I'd been only a little faster yesterday, I would have been in the shower, wet and soaped, and then the water would have gone off. They normally don't warn you, they just do it. It wasn't the city this time.

This time it was the owners of this place. They are doing some remodeling. They are running late. They should have had the apartments ready I guess two days ago, but they blew it. I imagine that they have tenants waiting at the door to move in. They said I'd have new neighbors last week. But no. Things aren't done yet. So they have been working both days and evenings, up to nearly nine at night, so the niceties of planning and courtesy have to run thin. They had work to do, had the work bubble up to the top of the stack, had the workers on hand, and the fittings, and went for it. Which included shutting off the water because they needed to, which left me without the possibility of bathing. And by luck and by luck only, I wasn't wet and soapy.

And that dismayed me in a minor way, as it does, but did not surprise me. It happens.

Sometimes it's the local government shutting off power or water to whole sections of the city. They just do it and then later it's over and you continue with what you were up to at the time it happened. Which is why I wash in parts.

First wait for the shower water to warm. Then step into it and rinse. Then wet my hair and soap it and rinse. Then repeat. Then wash and rinse my torso, rapidly. Then lower. Then, if the water continues to run and still happens to be hot, or at least passably warm as it is someplaces no matter how long you let it run, keep rinsing and enjoying the feeling because now it's possible. Following a wash and a rinse, all over, the rest is gravy. By then if the heat runs out or the water does, it's all over anyway but the towelling.

But before then it's a crap shoot. So it pays not to fully commit — wash this, rinse this. Wash that, rinse that. A bit at a time, so you're not all-in, completely soaped, blind, slippery, and screwed. It works so far. I'm ready for surprises, and so they don't surprise me. Much. You never know.

Roll with it is a good approach.

Like crossing the street yesterday after lunch at Place Number One, on the way to Place Number Two for dessert. The bus came, and slowed, but seemed to have an aversion to the near curb. It stayed out in the middle of the street. It blocked traffic. Hmmm.

Maybe I could cross now? No wait. Wait a bit. Yes. Definitely. Traffic backs up behind the bus. The other traffic can't squeeze around it. Check the bus. Still there, still stationary, good. Make my move, across the street quickly threading a path between stopped vehicles. Safe. I made it. I'm on the far side and then the bus pulls forward, accelerates, frees up the street, and all the traffic moves again but now I'm across and it doesn't matter. Fine.

Inside Place Number Two there is a bit of hubbub. A bit. But it is real. Real hubbub. Something about the street, what is going on in the street. The one I just crossed. There is an issue.

Of course it is a slow day at Place Number Two or they wouldn't notice anything at all because it is a small thing, but still a thing because business is light. Monkey mind at work. If you don't have anything to do, you do something anyway. Little things become big. Like that motorcycle parked in the street. I didn't notice it, but the owner of Place Number Two goes out to see why the traffic is slow and sees a parked motorcyle. Ah, so. A parked motorcyle then. No wonder.

Owner returns inside, alerts staff. Staff of Place Number Two go outside with owner to observe parked motorcyle. Owner of other place next door comes over to talk about it. It's a police motorcycle! Policeman is inside third business. How interesting. Something. Definitely. Unusual. No parking in street, here, but there is a motorcycle parked. In the street. And it's a police motorcycle. Most unusual. Most surprising. An event. On a slow day.

Meanwhile, I eat a piece of pie. The pie is my big event of the day, and the rest? It takes more than suddenly missing water or a parked motorcycle to surprise me any more, but the pie is always there, always surprisingly good. The rest I don't really care about any more.

Just roll. Just roll with it. Whatever it is, it will be over soon and the monkeys will move on to the next thing. At least I had two liters of bottled water in my apartment. I heated the water and was able to wash my hair and face and that was good enough. No need to be surprised or startled or annoyed or make a fuss. Roll. Only roll. I turned an aborted shower into a smaller but adequate cleaning event and got on with it, had lunch, had pie, saw a motorcycle parked in the street and got over it. Without being stranded, wet and fully soaped, in the shower.

For that, let us say, I'm pleased. That was enough excitement. Close enough to a close call to rate a score. I call it five out of a possible five. The rest I didn't need to get excited about. Let the monkeys range elsewhere. I'm at ease over here.

But that is also what expat life is like. Just like it is everywhere else. Full of monkeys.

A Recommendation for Robert Dog's Obedience School

Dear People Out There: I want to say a big Thank You!!!!! in the direction of Robert Dog's Obedience School.

The staff at Robert Dog's Obedience School are absolutely the best!!!! When I dropped off my two kids last week I was at Wit's End. I had no idea what to try next, so when a friend suggested Robert Dog's Obedience School, I said Why not???? and called Francisco, my facilitator. He picked up the kids, put them in a bag, and trucked them over to RDOS right away.

I love Francisco. I never need to call him twice, and he's always on time. Maybe I should buy him instead of renting. I'll have to think about that. Anyway, there I was at Wit's End, fasting, having a piña colada, getting my weekly fingernail massage, and waiting for my spirit cleaner to arrive.

I tell you, Rosa, my spirit cleaner, is the best. A few minutes spent with her, receiving a light whipping from a bundle of herbs (santa maria, eucalyptus, poleíto, chilchil, walnut leaf and various wild blossoms), and you know you've been cleansed of stress, for sure, and maybe more, if she's in the right mood.

And then Donald called, disrupting everything. He's my son. I've had it with him and his phone calls for help. He always needs something. It's not like I haven't already given him everything, but he always wants more. Last week it was a hug. Me? He thinks I have time to hang around with him?

First it's Mommy, read me a story. and then it's Mommy, let's play a game, or Mommy, why don't we go to the park. Always something, you know? It's a huge drain on my energy level just listening to that all the time.

So this week I finally had enough. Time for Robert Dog's Obedience School. One call to Francisco and both Donald and Clarissa where whisked over there for some training. They'll be put up in separate kennels for a couple of weeks and after a few rounds of daily training, I expect to get them back acting like proper young children. (Sometimes I have my doubts about Clarissa — all she seems to do is sit in a corner and moan — so we'll see about that.) Anyway, I'm free of them for a while and will have time to focus my limited resources on the important things again.

My ex-neighbor, Francine and her now ex-husband first told me about Robert Dog's Obedience School. They had a daughter who just wouldn't potty train or calm down, and sometimes she'd bite or howl all night — the situation looked hopeless is what they said, until they shipped little Doris off to Robert Dog's Obedience School, and then things were suddenly different. You know, mostly from not having the kid running around the house all day and night, but when they did get Doris back she was totally different.

Hair color, eye color, skin color, all darker — and lots of other things. She was a foot taller and quite a bit heavier than just a month earlier, but now she obeyed every command — fetch, roll over, bark, shake hands, clean your room, do the laundry — the whole nine yards. And no more accidents on the carpet either. She understood what that newspaper in the corner was for (finally), and used it diligently.

I'm looking forward to similarly spectacular results with my two. I can only hope I'm as lucky as Francine and Walter. It was Walter, right? I forget. Well anyway they're still thoroughly satisfied by the outcome of their situation even if Walter isn't around any more. If there was anything even remotely like an issue, it was that when they got their daughter back, somehow she didn't understand English anymore — it was only Spanish. How that all happened in one short month no one is sure, but even that's a plus.

Besides keeping quiet, providing entertainment on command, and doing all the chores, Doris is now helping Fran and Ed (Fran's new live-in) with their Spanish. So, yet another plus.

Based on what I've seen, I can't recommend Robert Dog's Obedience School too highly. Know what I mean?

Sincerely and ta-ta,

The Fabulous Deanna

US Ambassador Locates Ecuador

For U.S. Ambassador to Ecuador Watt C. Muffly, it's all about relationships and opportunity.

Apparently. That's what he says.

The new U.S. Ambassador to Ecuador speaks softly and has an easy smile that generally makes him immediately approachable, but today it's somewhat different. He's still speaking softly but (for a while) his tone was uncertain, evidencing perhaps a slight amount of trepidation. Perhaps confusion. Disorientation. He was not exactly sure where he was, exactly. For a while.

True, the Ambassador has heard of Ecuador, a smallish country sitting on the left shoulder of South America, and did know that he had been posted there, and was sure that his plane had been pointed in that direction. But he wasn't sure that he had actually arrived.

The map, his map, didn't seem to match up with anything he saw, which was initially somewhat confusing.

But this was all straightened out when he turned the map over, and then things got even better when he put north back where it belonged — on top. Everyone sighed. Some with relief.

According to those who know him, the Ambassador is is the kind of man you would invite to dinner at your house, just because you know he would be a good addition to any mix of company. Which may be why he got the job. Or maybe his map-reading skills indicated that a posting to France could be problematic for various reasons.

Anyway, he's here (or there, depending on where you're standing at the moment), and things are looking better now.

Last week the Ambassador was in Cuenca, a city known as a U.N. World Heritage site, due to its funky old buildings, and also known as possibly the cleanest city in all of Latin America, and the one with the best drinking water. All good things.

Once in Cuenca, the Ambassador introduced himself to local authorities, expats, and members of the news media while becoming more familiar with the city. By stepping in a pile of dog excrement. Which happens, even in Cuenca, because clean is a relative ranking, compared to other places, which can be much worse.

But it happens. You have to get past it. Which he seemed to do by way of a short hop following a brief utterance. Before wiping his shoes on the mayor's lawn.

Coincidentally, and possibly felicitously, Cuenca Mayor Marcelo Cabrera was traveling, out of town at the time, so no one other than second-rank flunkies saw any of this, and an introduction to the mayor will have to wait for another time.

This is also good, most likely.

Other than that event, as noted, the Ambassador said that he has had a smooth start in building those relationships that he views as critical to his work. The prefect and the governor presented me with no complaints, he said, smiling with a satisfaction that presumably represents his government's views about right and wrong.

I really tried to get them to tell me if anything was not going well, and they said 'no, the American expats who have settled here are all great — they seem to do nothing but eat, and deposit gobs of money from their retirement checks, right here in and around our city streets, and since they had to leave their guns at home, we mostly don't fear them so much any more'. And that's wonderful to hear — just the way we like it, the Ambassador concluded, pretty much amicably.

In an expat media interview Saturday morning, Ambassador Muffly continued to express his approval, suggesting only that U.S. citizens could advance the work of the U.S. State Department a bit by integrating themselves even more into the city and its efforts at improving education, health, the stray dog situation, whatever, like helping to fix up some of these old buildings, maybe getting a Walmart or two out there — that sort of thing. Couldn't hurt, as long as we bring here only the best that American culture has to offer.

Also, of course, whenever anyone coming to a new country experiences things that are a bit different or that we don't like, the Ambassador said, continuing to wipe his shoe after moving to a fresh patch of lawn.

I would hope that expat media would not use its platform for complaining about Ecuador. Saying 'why don't they have this here' or 'why don't they do that' makes our job as relationship builders more difficult, he said, seeming to be only slightly distracted by this time.

And now, a full two weeks after arriving, how does Muffly feel about his new posting to Ecuador?

I'm excited. Terrifically excited. Really. I am. Just going on a brief walk around Quito (where the Ambassador resides) I found two shoe shops that carry footwear in my size. I can't wait to get back there and do some serious buying, he said, shaking his left foot as he spoke, perhaps unconsciously. I'm definitely not looking backward, or downward, only forward toward a successful resolution of all issues, he said, continuing to smile weakly, though diplomatically.

Which might be why he got the job.

Cracker Dance

Nibble your way to enlightenment while moving to the music.

We have them all here: whole wheat (trigo integral), barley (cebada), oats (aveena), quinoa (trendy bits). Take your pick. Nibble away. Become all you can be. Join the Enlightenment Force. Sing and dance your way to happiness while enjoying healthy snacks.

Your Heavenly Facilitator this week (fresh in from St Tropez) will be Carla Venn Diagram, famous graphic artist, stylist, fashion statement, and Spiritual Guru ™, still almost warm from the sunny shores of that fabled little French village that has so much to teach us, the place where Carla VD as she likes to be known recently participated in celebrating the life of the town's patron saint, Torpe de Pizza, well known to the history books for his mozzarella breath and propensity to harvest intense sunburns while sleeping off lunch during long afternoon naps on the beach.

Which you can also do in Cuenca, but not this weekend, because this weekend, (This one only!) we're welcoming Dr. Carla VD and her famous instructional hand puppets to show us the way to enlightenment without any B.S. or need to suspend any disbelief whatsoever.

Yes, folks, it's Carla Venn Diagram: MSW, MFA, Ph.D., Transpersonal, body-centered psycho-spiritual therapist, registered expressive arts therapist, visual artist, dance and improv performer, comedian, and certified Picnic Party Consultant. And she's here for us. Just us. And anyone who can spring for the low-low admission fee of just $99.99 for a twelve-step, twelve-minute, hands on all singing, all dancing instructional session that will change your life forever while it lasts don't be late.

Trained in Action Theatre, Authentic Movement, and Body-Centered Expressive Movement, Dr. Carla studied with shamans and van dwellers and was certified by and worked with Stanislav von Graf (Spee) and Jackson (Jackie the Peanut) Smallnuts in Holotropic Breathwork and plant therapy. (She herself has single-handedly and without regard for her personal feelings or safety and with no need to ever mention it or seek recognition solely and alone among all the peoples of the world who have ever lived saved many radishes, carrots, rutabagas, and several ailing pumpkins to boot from serious depression, evil spirits, and leaf rot, so think what she can do for you.)

This week only at the Four Centered Rivers Center for the Creative Centered Arts — come one, come all. Come early and often. Only $99.99 while the spiritual energy lasts.

Just look for the door around the back of the gray and orange building between Ed's Spanish Recycling and the Good Eats Cuenca Weenie Hole.

Bring a friend with money and get your very own free aura tuneup and miracle brow-wiping cloth and if you have recycling to drop off, well Ed will be glad to see you too. We start on time and don't take kindly to laggards since we have appointments in a bunch of other gringo burgs all up and down the Gullible Coast and then we have to hop over the border into Peru before dark. Just so you know.

Please send an email to let us know you are coming, and how much money you plan to be carrying, and if you are armed. Thank you very much. See you there if not somewhere else.

True!

Dip-Shitz

Life isn't perfect.

Did you know that? Did you ever expect to hear that? Is it news to you?

I'm a dick, and so are you.

I try not to be. A dick. When I remember. But mostly. I'm thinking about other things.

Like lunch.

Or those flies. Always the flies. Why do they hang around me?

Flies, I can do without.

So what were we talking about? You, I guess. Why are you such a dick?

Can't you try harder, keep in touch with my feelings, stand up straight and act more like a responsible person? It would help.

It would help me. I have enough problems without bringing you and all your baggage into the equation. And it isn't really an equation either.

Which maybe is why some of this doesn't pencil out, trying to fit everything that happens into a formula like stuffing trash into a bag but with all the odd ends and points and dribbling it doesn't turn out so neat. So neatly.

Precision instruments do not function optimally in this world we have wandered into. I wish. But no.

But I think the problem is mostly you. Without dealing with you and your friends and relatives and most of the other people around here I could do OK, do better at least. If you weren't such a dick, at least that's what I think.

Am I wrong to think this?

Don't bother answering I don't care what you think since I'm always right. So think it over and agree with me.

But you don't need to bother telling me about it. I don't want to hear from you any more.

What more can I say?

The Fat Ones Are All Aliens

You see them all over these days.

A lot of them are tall, but wide. Wide is the key. And pasty, as in pasty-white.

Nominally they are either tourists or resident gringos. Either way, they come from outside.

And if you were wondering what is the difference, sir, between tourist gringos and resident gringos, it is that resident gringos don't go home quite so soon. It takes a while to grind through the gloss of glittery newness and for the grit to build up in their shorts.

Then they go home.

After they've given up and decided to blame their despair and fatigue on the place and not on the crabbed and seeping, infected nature of their own expectations.

Which feels like grit in their shorts.

Because it's a place. Here. Here is a place with skies and clouds and sunrises and sunsets and dirt in the streets and stinks and noises like any other place at all and it isn't paradise, not even a little. What it is isn't bad.

That is to say it (here) is Not all that bad for just another place, mostly because it's different from what I'm used to. And there's no snow. And lunch is cheap.

My first thought on arriving was grubby, which was also in my head as I was leaving six months later. Grubby describes it, but is too small a word to cover everything. Me, for example — I fit in there too. You could describe me as grubby, and who would argue? Who?

It's all in your head, after all, and if your head is pointy or flat or spherical or covered in spikes, well I'm certainly not going to come over to get acquainted, even if it is to set you straight.

And besides, I don't care. You don't interest me, not even a tiny amount. I have my own problems to hack at without adding you to the list. You are from outside anyway. Way outside. Outside my circle of giving a flying duck. No — I don't care about you or what you think or where you came from or how much grit you carry in your underpants.

You are as much an alien to me as to the people who were born here and have then lived here forever. You are only strange meat hanging on another odd carcass.

Three heads? You actually have three heads? And you expect what kind of reaction from me? An award? Congratulations? A little gold star? What?

Go away. I'm bored.

By you, of you, with you, at you, and all the rest. I've seen you, all of you, all my life. You are my people. You are my relatives. I know you and I don't care. I'm working on other things now, so come and go as you will and leave me to work at my own work.

Which is mostly trying to pass for someone who isn't totally crazy or stupid or inept, and also who is trying to just enjoy the sunshine.

That's about all I can handle, and if I can keep two of my three heads hidden from view, then mostly I'm still having fun. On my third try at this. Here. At this here.

Seeking Dessicated Thyranomine Root

I know there's some out there.

So far I have not been successful. Suggestions are appreciated.

Husband and I recently returned from our semi-annual Shamanistic Holiday Retreat where we spent a half-week chanting, breathing, and inhaling medicinal herb powders with a great collection of other Seekers and Initiates (the Canalic Water Treatment was especially enlightening).

Now that we're back home in our condo we've realized that we left our bag of medicinals behind. We were counting on that to see us through until May. Does anyone have a local source for T-Root? Doesn't have to be top quality — we just need some soon. (You know what I mean.)

Also, we have a 12-year-old grandson who should get out of the house for a while. Our Personal Shaman and Spirit Guide, Mungoo, doesn't take anyone under five feet tall, so he's out, and we do need someone pronto.

Little Harvey will be with us until February. We'll have to bleed off some of his excessive aural emanations before he peels all the paint off the walls and we lose it entirely. His parents haven't been able to manage, obviously, which is why we got him, and the situation is about to go critical.

Prefer an ecolodge jungle experience appropriate for pets or problem children, so we can send the H-Monster back to Wisconsin with a few stories but no visible scars, and a fair amount of plausible deniability on this end. Please let me know about low or reasonable cost Ayahuasca or Waa'Tiutnic Shamans you know personally. Moderate criminal record not a problem. (Misdemeanors preferred.)

We did look online and thought we had found a fairly reputable shaman suitable for pre-teens, but it turned out to be a Mr. Dieter A*** moonlighting from his regular gig at Rent A German.

True, he seemed nice enough at first but quickly formed what we decided was an unhealthy relationship with our Portuguese Weasel Mutt, TuTu. And he shed caapi bark all over the sofa. We couldn't have that either, so it was auf wiedersehen then, Dieter.

We're also looking to ditch TuTu. Beautiful dog, really, but getting to be a bother. Cosmic eyes, especially by candlelight. Very deep spirit. Looks good in pants, so a great dinner companion. Great around people too, especially the elderly, though will sometimes fall asleep on grannie's face (must remain alert for that, obviously). Children OK, mostly, depending on breed.

Likes his calico cat chew toy, so you will need to maintain a goodly supply of them. Stuffed water buffalo chew toy will do too, but has to be life-size. TuTu gets cranky otherwise and may attack without warning, but this is pretty rare now.

His only flaw, if you can call it that, is that he occasionally sneaks out at night to kill one of the neighbor's horses. So far no one has traced it back to us, but you ought to be warned. Sometimes goes after chickens too, maybe smaller children as well, but this is unconfirmed, so we're assuming the best.

Mostly lovable otherwise.

Respond to ad 23 at Gryn-N-Go Post or JHChryste@jahoo.com

Change Me Change

How do you look?

I know I'm getting old. It happens.

But I still have hair. And it's still the right color.

Got a bit of gray in my beard but I can grow one. A beard. Which is nice. Hides my face.

I waited all my life to grow a beard, waited all my life until I could, and I'd hate to go chin-bald right when I got enough fuzz to make it happen.

But I'm OK there. Things are decent on my underside. And like I said, I still got hair on the other end of my head too.

And I don't have to work any more, but I'm still interested in lots of things and there are many things I want to do, and quite a few of them are new. I hear that there is an endless supply of things to learn and do, so I don't feel rushed. They can come along as they will and I'll pick and choose. Grow into this or explore that or become the other thing.

As I see fit.

As I change. Morph. Grow. And age some more.

Though it isn't just me. I know people. Have known people. Have picked up friendships along the way, starting wayback, somewise back to second grade. That's about since age six in human years. At least that far back. And funny thing.

A lot of those people haven't changed hardly.

They got older and bigger and eventually got jobs and marriages and houses and wrinkles and stinky feet and drinking habits but mostly they became simply different versions of what they'd been as small children.

Even the people who moved to my home town as adults from outside somewhere. I had some friends like that too.

Ted Q and Steve S go way back, to the beginning of my gradeschool days. Ted: loud, boastful, obnoxious. Steve: funny, gregarious, needy of attention. Still the same. Even now. Steve has to be the center, Ted must have the best lie to tell. They both stayed. They became adults and assumed responsible positions and haven't grown much at all.

I just looked up John B. I first worked with him back in 1970. Dang. He's still painting the same paintings he was painting then, and the same ones he has been painting since. Still insists that he's "out of the loop". Still plays at being a farmer and a rugged individualist and a home mechanic and knows the correct answer to every question. Still wears the same clothes and has exactly the same ideas as he did then. Has been going to the same events with the same people for decades.

Similarly to Norman P, who used to be my boss, and John's boss at the time.

Twenty-five years after, I visited Norman and he was still at the same job, still complaining about the same things, and though John wasn't working there any more, he was complaining right along, and so was Nick F.

Nick came in from the outside. Raised in Gary, Indiana, settled in Bismarck, North Dakota as a mid-aged adult, and stopped growing right about then. The same twenty-five years after I was no longer working with Norman and John and Nick, Nick and John and Norman were still doing the same things, spending their days the same way, complaining about the same damn things.

But I wasn't.

I wasn't in that scene any more. No longer a figure in that diorama. No longer subject to the rules of that universe.

I had moved away. I had been other places and seen other things and met other people and faced different challenges and kept moving in that direction.

Instead of living in one smallish city in the middle of an anonymous state separated from the rest of the world by long reaches of flat grassland, I had lived in a large city and then a smallish one and then another smallish one and had, having finally finished one college degree, turned away from it and had pursued another in a totally different field. I had left fishing and photography and had picked up backpacking, and then bicycling, big time. Both big time.

And then I moved on from there too.

I had gone from being an unemployed English major who delivered lumber and worked as a clerk-typist to being a mainframe computer programmer who then transitioned to client-server development and then into web development. I got a physics degree. A hybrid physics/computer science degree with minors in chemistry and math. Plus one quarter-hour in volleyball.

I changed.

Now I've changed some more. I'm here.

I'm on a whole nother continent, south of the equator, in a place where I don't speak the language and don't know hardly anybody and am not sure at all of the rules. It's different.

So am I.

Unlike all the people I used to know. Who haven't changed. Much. During the last half century.

Which is something to think about.

Being an expat. I think it changes you.

Or is it that if you can change and grow, then becoming an expat is a thing you can do.

Either way.

Either way you change and grow because of it.

I couldn't go back to that small stuffy life.

All-American Flushing, Still At Local Prices

Get an inner tube checkup now.

Here at Don's Colon we provide only the finest cuisine and All-American Colon Showers. If you haven't given us a try yet, hey.

Maybe it's time.

You've heard of Vegetarian. We do that.

You've heard of Vegan. Ditto, and it's OK.

You've heard of Raw Food Vegan. Well, guess what? Yep.

And so on.

But where's the limit? Can you spend your whole life searching for the perfect diet?

Yes, and we cater too.

But what's the end game? Well, it's a wild tofu chase, folks. Once you start that hunt you may end up feeling like the Pope in the woods some days.

Food has its limits, and of everything you eat, only so much gets processed. And then, you know what happens next.

That's were we come in.

Here in lovely Cuenca in lovely Ecuador we have a paradise.

A paradise of weather, of low food prices, of gringos stampeding to get the last $800 rental before it goes up to $1200. And if you're looking for a $300 rental, it's now the $800 rental.

Food is one of the last bargains, so people go overboard, especially Social Security recipients hoping to make it here on that monthly check. Once they find out what rentals cost now, they eat to compensate.

No, even if you're on our Raw Food Vegan Plan, you can still use an occasional tune-up to remove impacted residue.

And that's were we make our entrance into your scene.

Stop by any time.

No reservations needed. We have the conveyor running 24/7, and it'll take you straight through our Flush 'N Wax and deposit you out the other end in no time.

And after your Flush, what then?

Go for it.

Try the choice petit filet mignon or fish special, with garlic bread, onion soup, Caesar salad, potato, and veggie. Regularly $10 + tax and tip, but fully covered by the $99.99 Flush Price.

In other words, the best of all possible treats after a vigorous treatment, and a great antidote to all that crunchy raw food you've been gnawing at in frustration.

To your health then, from Don's Colon.

Duh

Some things, they puzzle.

I can tell you one thing.

And that is.

There's a lot I don't understand.

Take the immigration office here. It's busy. Really busy.

Because why? Because people have questions.

I understand that part.

And where do you go with your questions? To the experts.

I understand that part too.

Definition: Expert - Someone who can have your butt thrown out of the country if you don't play by their rules.

So here's the deal then.

The immigration office is busy because people want to retire here, and they have questions, and being reasonably smart, they read up and talk to people, and then they go to the experts for the final cut.

And the experts subsequently become busy.

The solution to which is to reduce their hours by half.

And to put up a sign notifying everyone: "The immigration office communicates that the attention to the public will be from 08H30 to 12H30."

Which has the effect of what, for example?

Of making people cranky, and ornery, and irritable, and of making some go away.

Where they go is no one's concern. If they go somewhere.

Else.

Dontcha see.

Which reduces the pressure on the immigration office.

So that part I understand.

It's the rest I don't get.

Expat Association Coach Of The Month

Do it our way or you may possibly incur regrets.

Name: Barny "Knuckles" Pederson

Title: Expert, Expat, Educator, Real Estate and Loan Counselor

Business Name: The Paradise Within Real Estate for Retirees and Expats

Niche / Specialities: Natural Healing, Shung Fui, Divination, Home Tours, Loans

Expat Experience: I have been living abroad for several months now and pretty much have it figured out. Reasonable fees. Satisfaction highly likely as I am well liked by many, and treated with respect by the rest.

Life experience: Since finishing my studies with the State of Louisiana's Department of Prisons and Paroles I have been traveling on a borrowed passport, which helps me keep a low profile. Before that I was a high school counselor, janitor, short order cook, preacher, psychotherapist, snake handler, author, father, husband, and mental health expert. But mostly I was in sales, loans, and enforcement.

Accomplishments: I have Mastery of Public Administrative Processes from the School of First Hand Experience, based on my interactions with various leading attorneys, judges, counselors, psychiatrists, and law enforcement figures. I have attended or led many pep talks and sales meetings. I once had a license in the State of Texas, which is a fine place.

For a while I was a Professional Loan and Loan Enforcement Officer for a multi-state business conglomerate which has in recent years successfully taken over most of Las Vegas.

Relationship Therapy, Sexual Addiction Therapy, Multiple Addiction Therapy, Post Induction Therapy and Somatic Experiencing are all interests of mine, as is the whole Alcoholics Anonymous philosophy, which I am learning the value of as time goes by. In my few spare moments I arrange flowers and send them to bereaved families of former business associates, in case they encounter unfortunate circumstances. Which happens, you know?

I have three years of experience in Home Appraisal and Remodeling Techniques and often made Top Real Estate Turnover Expert of the month in the Tri-State Area before beginning my studies within the Law Enforcement System.

I have just finished pouring my broad experience in psychology, divination, and sales and loan negotiating tactics into a new book titled "Top 10 Reasons to Buy Now!", which you can get direct from my web site for only $29.99.

Sure, this sounds like a lot, but it is refundable when you sign up for one of my affordable The Paradise Within Retiree and Expat Home Tours in any of the top retirement countries I serve. Call for details as my exact location changes daily.

Coaching Style: I believe that it is in everyone's best interest to own real estate, which is why I like to concentrate on welcoming newcomers into our own private world of Retiree and Expat Home Ownership. I teach people how to empower themselves and discover their hidden talents for picking and investing in Retiree and Expat Home Ownership opportunities, how to transfer their money to my bank (new this month), and how they can help their friends, neighbors, and relatives from "back home" to make the transition to Living the Retiree and Expat Life Style on little or no money down.

As I like to say: We transform daydreams into Retiree and Expat Real Estate Ownership Realities. Cash only.

Running A Country

I'm going nuts here.

I'm looking for a place to move to and things are squirrelly.

I did a bunch of research and had it all figured out pretty well, and then one day I thought about checking Ecuador. Hey, I don't know why. Really. I can't remember why that happened, or why I hadn't thought about it earlier, but wow. Number One Place Of The World.

I did huge amounts of research, i.e., sitting at my computer reading blogs. OK, so what? That's how I do huge. You go and do it your way if you want, but this is my story. So huge. Huge amounts of research.

There are all kinds of good things about the place.

On the equator, so there is plenty of sun, but kind of humpy in the middle with the Andes Mountains and all, so it's pretty cool, temperature-wise. Decent infrastructure, good water and clean streets, at least around the place I was looking at. And a fair number of people already there speaking my language.

Sure. I am learning Spanish. But, you know. Well, you should. It isn't all that easy to pick up a language sitting at home, even in front of your computer. Even trying hard. So yes, I'm getting there, but I'll have to be on the ground as they say before I can really hammer at it.

So, getting back to the place thing, it was nice that there were other English speakers there already. And all that stuff. Sounded great.

Finally. Enough research. (I read some books too. The paper ones. OK?)

And then when I figure I ought to go for it, although this isn't the cheapest place and it's going to be a little stretchy, money-wise, for the next couple of years, I say hey - do it. (Talking-to-myself-wise, you know. Which is mostly in my thoughts, but not moving my lips or anything.)

So then what happens? Nothing much, it seems, because it all happened a year or so back and is happening again. Bribes. Corruption. Flagrant disregard for the law. Not by me, you should know. By them. The people there running the show. So that kind of crapped out. The system is locked up solid.

There is one blog I found which is pretty good even though the author prays a lot. Like he prays about where God wants him to go do lunch. And he lost his keys and prayed to God to tell him where they were. Not my personal style, but if the world wasn't full of crazy people we'd have to invent them so they could see us as crazy too and we could all snicker back and forth.

Which is beside the point.

The point being that, this guy, and his wife, were there and loving it. They had a nice apartment in a nice city, were settling in, making friends, exploring, eating meals. They had submitted all their forms and all the apostilled doodads and the notarized signatures pasted over with official seals and the seals on seals and triplicate copies, all submitted in correct form to the correct places at the correct times under supervision of a local attorney specializing in all this to make it super correct.

OK, cool. Back to corruption. Which is the main point right now.

So the head of immigration gets busted for corruption, which happened to someone else just a year or so back, and he and a bunch of other people get booted out. And the whole system is in an uproar. Heads are rolling here, people. Majorly. Got serious head-rolling going on.

And this is about the time I had finally decided to make my move, to start making my move, and then it all craps out.

And this other guy, the praying one, who really does have a pretty decent blog despite that, well he says he thought they were just basically sitting there and waiting for their final approval to come through - a formality at this point - well, they were simply swept out of the system. Foof.

Big rubber stamp with a skull and crossbones on it. DENIED. Denied with prejudice.

That's it.

And he tried submitting an appeal, through his lawyer and all, but I guess the good news is that though they have made no progress so far they haven't been escorted to the airport at gunpoint. Yet.

So crap.

Central America. South America. They kinda work this way.

So I'm looking at other places now.

Running For The Exit

America, leave it.

A year or two back Mega-Omni Corp. told its employees they had a wonderful new employment option. Move to a randomly-assigned foreign country at half pay or be cut loose.

More recently GloboPlex proudly announced that because of the rebounding U.S. economy they would start adding thousands of new jobs in Singapore.

A lot of Americans, enticed by the giant sucking sound but skittish of continuing to work for corporate overlords, are trying the idea on for size.

For example, take an engineer with six or eight years of college and 25 years of experience. Obviously this person is unemployable in the United States because:

• They've seen every kind of crap there is to see, and won't take it anymore,
• They want to try doing something fun for a change, and
• While having fun they want to make a difference, and
• Education and experience make them too expensive to keep on the payroll.

All good reasons to bail.

All kinds of people are doing this, not just engineers. Accountants, plumbers, doctors, bus drivers, professors, librarians, electricians. You name it, especially if they're over 40. You know what they say: "Too old to work, too young to compost."

So these people, a lot of whom have Social Security checks amounting to a few hundred dollars a month and boxes full of unfulfilled promises from former employers and government, are vacating the premises.

If they were 20 or 30 years younger and foreigners, they'd have corporate sponsors pounding on the doors of Congress to let them into the U.S. as contract workers. But since these people are experienced adult citizens it looks like their best chances for a life are elsewhere.

In a press conference about its Singapore move GloboPlex spokesman Bert Stench said, "We've outsourced just about everything. Maybe we have to start putting people on planes and dumping them at sea. We're working on it as we speak."

Meanwhile things are happening in other countries. "There's a feeling among more entrepreneurial Americans that if you really want to get anything done, you have to get out of country and away from the depressing atmosphere," said Bob Adams of America Wave.

He lives in Panama.

Hi. I used to be Ernie.

By Ernesto.

Well, I guess I wasn't paying attention. I just showed up for work every day, did what I was supposed to, had lunch, and went home. It was like that for 18 years.

Then one day my boss came over and asked me who I was and what I was doing there.

"Hal," I said, "Quit the joking." But he didn't seem to recognize me. It was like he'd been replaced by a robot. A Hal-bot.

He didn't really say anything else, just reached over with a pair of scissors and cut off my tie. His eyes were all glassy and empty, and it seemed like I heard some clicking noises inside him. That was about it.

The security team came and escorted me out of the building. They were actually pretty nice about it. They gave me a roll of toilet paper as a thank-you gift for my years of service to the company and then shut the door. A couple of weeks later I heard that they had all been taken out back and executed, so overall I guess I got off pretty well.

So after that there wasn't much going on in my life.

I couldn't find another job because I didn't have any marketable skills. That's what you get from being employed for a long time. I guess it's true because I can't remember anything I did at work. I have a box full of pay stubs, but no memory of what I might have been doing there for two decades.

Then my wife left me and my dog died.

For a few months it was just me and the TV. I spent my evenings drinking beer, eating potato chips, and watching reruns of Mary Tyler Moore. I remember when the show first aired. Things were different then. For me it was the golden age of television. Mash, All in the Family, Mary Tyler Moore, and The Bob Newhart Show ran back to back on the same evening. Those were my glory days.

That, and having a job, and being married.

I missed my wife. And my dog. And an income.

After a few months of this I got pretty tired of it. I had enough money to live on but every day was the same.

I put an ad on Craigslist. I offered myself as a dog walker. At least it would be something to do.

I got a call from Joan.

Joan didn't have a dog but she knew me. She met me once. At work. She recognized my name on Craigslist. She was looking for a friend. Just companionship. We started seeing movies together. Sometimes we had coffee or went on walks. That was in the fall. Fall is a good time for walks. I like walking.

One day Joan asked how I felt about Surlandia. I'd never heard of it. I had no idea. Then Joan started talking. Surlandia is a country. Who knew?

She was thinking of moving there, and asked if I'd want to come too. I didn't really know what to say.

That was eight months ago. If I remember right. Remembering isn't my best quality. It can be a blessing, not remembering. You can see it that way. I kind of like not remembering too much.

What I do know is that now I'm in Surlandia, actually. With Joan. We're renting a small house and I'm learning Spanish. I never expected that. Things happen, you know?

Life is good. The days are warm but not hot and the people are nice.

They don't do things the way people do back home, wherever that is. But they seem to get by. I'm not sure how they manage but they manage. Maybe I'll learn from them. Knowing the language should help. I'm working on that.

Some others, I'm not so sure about.

Last week I was at the bank. It's different here. It takes about half a day. Which is strange if you're expecting something, but not so strange if you just go there and wait to see what happens.

There was a guy in the next line. He wasn't from here either. He looked a lot like the people I used to work with. After standing in line a half hour or so without moving, he just started yelling.

"Let's move this line right now," is what he said. What he yelled. Several times.

All right. We'll see.

No one much paid attention to him but I noticed a lot of people looking at their shoes. If shoes were lethal weapons then a lot of shoes got cocked, and had their safeties flicked to off. Or not. I'm not too sure how they really think around here.

I hope I don't do that, what the guy did. I've thought a couple of times. About doing something like that. But then I stop. I think again. Maybe look at the ceiling. Wait. See what happens. After a while, something does. Somehow it works.

So far, not that bad.

I'm learning. I feel like I might belong here some day.

I'll have to wait and see.

So What Else Is New?

It's weird here too, and I grew up with it.

I read and hear about differences between Latin America and the United States. People move away and find things they don't expect, expect things they don't find, and don't find things they do expect. And so on.

There are differences. So far, for me, these are hypothetical. I can imagine, I can guess, I can suppose. And read, and listen, and think.

But some things aren't all that different.

The United States isn't static, nor is anywhere. A case in point is that the United States that I am in now is radically different from the country I was born into, and since I've been thinking about it I realize that the United States I'm in isn't the United States I've been assuming I was in.

Many things are going on. Some get better and some get worse. And some are not that different from what people encounter in Latin America, only offset a bit. Slightly rearranged, so people do feel a difference without an actual underlying distinction.

Take a few:

• Architecture: Building construction is different. Sure. But where isn't it? In the U.S., commercial buildings are standard across the country but the rest is all different. I grew up in the northern plains, where there is winter. The first "winter" I experienced in western Washington saw temperatures dip briefly below freezing and all the pipes froze solid. People said I must be used to that. Nope. You don't lay pipes three inches below the grass where temperatures drop below zero for weeks at a time.
• Sensory stimuli: The smells are different. People eat strange meals. Sushi vs. sauerkraut, potatoes, and pork sausage. Bacon-wrapped oysters as big as a fist vs. roast beef. Eh.
• People: People definitely behave differently. Right. They're much more polite here, except while driving. And fewer of them go out each fall to shoot large mammals. I haven't had to leave the States to experience that.
• Mañana: When someone says that something will happen "mañana", they do not necessarily mean "the day that follows today." I can see that. Definitely not standard operating procedure in the U.S. But not so different either. One thing I strongly remember from my work is people telling me just to wait. Eventually one thing or another would happen. Never did, not even eventually. Granted, if you had set up a business meeting or agreed on a delivery date, generally you'd expect it. Unless you're talking to your mother, or brother, or a friend, or an incompetent. "Well, one of these days," they might say, and that would be that. You learn who and when not to push.
• Avoiding confrontation: Better to disappoint than confront. In the sense of getting wrong directions when the person you ask doesn't know, or of getting a promise when the person can't, or won't, or might not be able to deliver, or doesn't want to. This is a variation on "mañana". Catch anyone flat-footed, receive a polite lie from them, and follow through with cross-examination and see where that gets you. It's a matter of learning tact. Or of growing up you might say. No stranger owes you anything, not even directions to the next corner. Maybe it isn't always the response that is wrong but the asking. Or demanding.
• Personal space: The way that you will find people blocking the grocery store aisles, the sidewalks, and the roads. As if. What exactly is polite and sedate about U.S. society? True, generally "Americans" do not like to touch strangers, at all, ever. Except for certain situations. It depends. True?
• Noise: Barking dogs, crowing roosters, car horns, loud music. Hey. Depends on your neighborhood. No, fireworks are not a daily occurrence in most U.S. towns and cities. We have jet airplanes, trains, 10-lane freeways, motorcycles. And some of those cars with the 800-watt subwoofers too.
• Poor customer service: People prefer to be positive and tend to say things are possible when they are not. Whereas in the U.S., businesses ignore you altogether. Every try calling customer support? Ever get an answer? I had to sue the telephone company to get them to quit lying to me via their representatives in India and actually communicate. In fact my first job was with a transplanted Texan who was the most unreliable, devious, disorganized, nicest, most agreeable and polite person I have ever known. I finally had to quit because he wasn't paying me. And somehow I don't hate him, though I will always hate the phone company. Forever. And. Ever.

Possible advice:

• Always be respectful. Agreed. This is smart.
• Learn the language and use it. Agreed. A requirement.
• Be observant. Agreed. Or die trying.
• Try not to take things personally. It's business. You may happen to call it life, but it's still business.

Basic rules:

• One: Don't get mad. Don't get even. Get what you want.
• Two: No matter what happens, learn from it.

How To Become An Expat

Try harder.

So you want to try that greener grass thing. It isn't as easy as just leaving one day and announcing your arrival at Sunny Wherever.

For example, where is it?

First you have to find a place to move to.

One way is going to the library and stealing a map. Then take it home and throw darts at it. But what if you forgot to steal darts? You go to Plan B. This is getting a copy of the internet.

A copy of the internet can be expensive even in paperback, so if you get lucky and find one in a trash bin, good. Or try the recycling center before the grinder gets to it. An older copy is fine. Countries don't change all that fast anymore.

So take your copy of the internet home -- dog-eared is OK, and a few missing pages is OK too -- and flip through it. For every country that doesn't look too bad, tear out that page. After a while you have all the good ones (there aren't too many), and you get down to research.

Once you pick your country, begin loosening your ties.

A good first step is paying off your debts. Even better is tricking someone else into doing it for you.

For a good talker this is pretty easy. Just borrow money, pay the bills, and vamoose. It isn't like they'll ever find you, the way the IRS can. To be extra safe, change your name en route.

Don't plan on coming back for holiday visits either, even if Mom lets you.

Given no other option, get a job, work hard, build up a reputation, and then go for the cash drawer as soon as they trust you.

Or do it the really, really hard way and cut back on your beer budget until you've paid off all of your debts. However distasteful that is. But if you go this route maybe you aren't sharp enough to live with foreigners, so give it some thought.

Now to get "overseas", which is the kind of lingo that true expats use, you'll need transportation.

Most people use airlines, and you have to buy a round-trip ticket, even if you can't come back because of all the money you weaseled out of Big Eddy. But on the bright side, maybe you can sell the back half of it to some gullible local and at least get pocket change out of it.

Details: Make sure your passport is up to date and you have all your shots.

Save a few bucks on the medical by going to a willing veterinarian. You probably have lots of them in your home town, no matter how small it is, and they all need cash. Plus, they're trained professionals. They just don't have the fancy license that "allows " them to work on people.

This is yet one more layer of government bureaucracy that is driving you away, and learning to step around it is good practice wherever you end up.

So, once all that is done, have a good breakfast, shower up, and put on clean clothes. You want a running start.

And, before we forget, be sure to take along a few essentials.

Hard as it is to believe, firearms are frowned on in most places, even on planes, so you may have to let someone else smuggle your hogleg in. Better they rot in a 4X4 cell for 10 years than you, anyway. Right?

Generally, you want to pack as light as light as possible, and there's nothing with a better value to weight ratio than $100 bills. Make sure they're genuine.

Carry them in your underpants. Preferably taped right to your skin.

If your last job (the one where you built up a good reputation) had a lot of change in the cash drawer, or better yet, had a vault, you're probably set on this account, as long as you manage to hang onto it.

Take extra socks. You can never have too many clean socks.

Finally, say goodbye to anyone who will miss you and won't help the bounty hunters track you down, no matter how high the offer goes.

This is likely to be close relatives who will be glad to join you and help with your export business, though the Mexicans really have a lot of the options bolted down pretty tight by now. Still, there's always room for someone with seed cash, good ideas, initiative, and a few expendable relatives.

And then get on the plane and go. Remember not to make any jokes about "skyjacking" or "crashing" or any of that stuff.

Buckle your seatbelt. Appear amiable. Keep your mouth shut.

That's about it.