To Cuy or Not to Cuy: That is the Question

Today was a work day for me. I have quite a few things to get done with finances and other matters that particularly required computer time. As a result I was intending to fly solo today. However, some Ecuadorian amigos surprised me today with a stop-by and a trip out into the country for dinner.

We stopped at one of the roadside restaurants where the pig, chicken, and cuy were grilling. I really didn't want to eat the cuy, and it wasn't because when you see them alive in the markets it's because they look like cute little furry pets. However, after the grotesque photos of the cuy loaded with cocaine recently reported in "Hola Ecuador", the last thing I wanted was to eat cuy. Usually I'll try anything once, but it was too much to see these guys being literally grilled. When they are grilling their faces look horrid and it’s like they are gritting their teeth, and filled with rage. If I were a movie writer, I’d write a film screenplay entitled, “The Attack of the Cuys”. I expected at any minute, these no longer furry, pet-like creatures would become animate and scream out, “Look what you’ve done to us”, and take their revenge by lunging off the grill with those horrific teeth ripping out my jugular.

Once I stopped letting my imagination run wild, I agreed to try the cuy if it was served to me without the head and feet. The waitress brought the cuy broken into pieces. My friends ate the feet. The head was dearly departed, and I ate what was safely presented Norte Americano meat, which is meat that is unrecognizable from any actual animal form. The cuy wasn’t bad. Not much meat on it, and I had to pick it up with my fingers and basically eat off what I could from the bones. The skin was quite crispy. I took a poll, and all three of my Ecuadorian friends voted for cuy as their favorite meat, not to mention the one couple’s very beautiful three-year old daughter who appeared to out eat all of us. I myself enjoyed the pork more--succulent, more flavorful, meatier, and the skin was not as crisp as on the cuy but to me tastier.

After an enjoyable dinner, and what was for me a new experience; we headed back to town on a bus, and for me it was back to work. I can’t wait until friends and relatives come from the states. I already have their cuy reservations made. I’m going to have so much fun!

Transversing Through the Maze of Finances, Furniture and Appliance Purchases in Cuenca

Once one has sold and dispensed with everything one once owned, once one has arrived in a new country to live, once one has found new living accommodations and signed a lease; then begins the process of refurnishing everything all over again. The furniture, appliances, and décor items can be fun to seek out and choose. Buying new is a good deal more enjoyable than trying to sell everything at the beginning of one's moving adventure as one departs from home. Replacing all the kitchen utensils, etc is just for me something to get through and get settled. While on my return to Cuenca, I increasingly paid attention to furniture stores and what had become the latest fashion styles, I found shopping like so many things in Cuenca to be an uniquely Cuencano experience. Here are some suggestions:

First, get to know the expat community and their bilingual liaisons:

Let me begin by informing anyone who seriously intends a move to Ecuador to really get to know the expat community both before you arrive through reading the blogs and through interaction of emails for enhancement and/or clarification of information. Once you arrive, be observant of who the expat community recommends to you as possible Ecuadorian bi-lingual liaisons between the expat community and the Ecuadorian financiers and merchants with whom you will need to deal. Most expats when they arrive in Cuenca, no matter what smattering of Spanish they may think they mastered, are in no position to do serious negotiation and logistical forays on their own. It’s one thing to bargain for a dozen mangos, but it’s something all together different to open a bank account, setup utilities, make oneself understood, and in return understand the Spanish-only speaking clerks whether for the shopping of linens, or the negotiation and financing of furniture and appliance prices.

It is not sufficient just for you to have a bilingual liaison, most importantly, does your liaison have contacts who can procure for you the best deals, so you are not just paying the “Gringo prices” or even in many cases the prices Cuencanos may be paying themselves in upper-scale stores? Keep in mind also that if the liaison is recommended by a number of expats, you will be dealing with someone who has developed a level of trust from past use and experiences within the expat community.

Second, I want to share with you what a “wonderful” ten days I am having with the financial world.

I went to the bank with my bilingual speaker, who has had a great deal of experience helping expats open bank accounts. I have yet to receive my sedula, but “no problem” my interpreter says: “I have never had a problem in the past, even as late as a week ago, I get an expat without a sedula an account.” Ah, but all good things must come to an end, and I get to be the first casualty.

This same bank would not allow me to open a savings account primarily because I of all things didn’t have a sedula. The next bank allowed me to deposit a hundred dollars, and when that cleared my bank in the states, then I could deposit more and withdraw from my new savings account as well once any later checks cleared. The check cleared, but then when I wanted to deposit more checks, suddenly we were informed that the headquarters in Guayaquil would not approve further deposits. I mean who ever heard of a bank refusing a deposit? It’s not like it was laundered money. It seems banks are only in the business of wanting to deposit money given to them by the government, since they won’t have to pay that back.

A day or two later my liaison spoke with different higher ups in the first bank, and magically I was able to open a savings account. I wrote the check to place the amount in my new savings account, and now the Ecuadorian bank has been informed that the check was being returned. At this point, the Ecuadorian bank had no idea why the check had been rejected, and had to wait until they receive the check back for an answer.

I notified my bank in the states. My American bank informed me that they never received the check. Th bank's customer service representative said that either the odds were for some reason unbeknown to them a delay or rejection of my check by the FEDS(everybody’s friend, especially if your name is Goldman-Sachs or Jamie Diamond); or the check may have inadvertently been sent to the wrong bank, and it was being returned. We shall see, but this has been going on for over a week now, and will drag into next week as well. While it has been time consuming, I am so glad I am retired. The time available to me makes it easier just to go with the flow. Eventually everything will work out, and I have been blessed with some wonderful Ecuadorian friends who have been of great financial help to me while all of my financial travails are worked out.

The important point from this episode is that if I had entered this bank alone, I would have had no idea what was taking place, and surprisingly in a city the size of Cuenca, not one bilingual worker was on staff, although I discovered later that bilingual speakers are available at most main bank headquarters. More importantly, it was not enough for me simply to negotiate business through a bilingual speaker, but to have a bilingual speaker with contacts and some influence. Ecuadorian society probably more so than even in today’s United States still is and has had a long historical culture of networking and negotiating favors, better prices, etc. based upon who you know.


Third, now what you ladies especially have been in waiting, the selection and buying of furniture:

What I find interesting in Ecuador is that I can see a furniture set for sale on the display floor, but if I prefer it in a different fabric, color, wood-trim tone or style, or even size dimension changes, it can generally be ordered as desired. I may have to wait a month before the custom-designed furniture will be ready, but I generally don’t have to take it or leave it based upon what is available in the store showroom. Usually prices are not tagged on the furniture. The customer has to ask a clerk the price of the interested item, and the clerk pulls out a hand-held calculator, tabulates some numbers, and magically conjures a price. Because the city is full of furniture and appliance stores, in some cases literally blocks of them adjoining one another, the competition allows the customer in most cases the opportunity to negotiate a reduced price.

I bring to your attention one furniture store in particular, because I don’t know if this is unique to this store or would happen in a number of furniture stores in Cuenca. I could not make up my mind about the fabrics that would go with my accent wall and floor tile in the living room. I also wanted two of the living room chairs reduced in width from 44 to 38 inches, which the owners said they could do without distorting the design of the chairs.

The lady and her husband who owned the store informed me that their daughter would soon be arriving. They would have their daughter take me to her home to see the two chairs in a home setting, as well as see another set that I had already rejected as a choice in the showroom. The daughter who spoke English and her older sister took me out to the younger daughter’s home, which was very large and exceptionally beautiful. After showing me the chairs, the two ladies drove me to my condo at the Palermo. They brought the fabric pieces I was considering, and they began to measure and lay tape on the floor exactly where I wanted the furniture pieces to go. What a difference to see the fabrics along the accent wall and in alignment with the floor colors, than trying to choose what might match back at the store just from memory. The taping also helped me to realize that even when the two living room chairs were reduced in width, they were still too big for the space. I decided to go with the other two chair designs I had originally rejected. They were smaller chairs, and I decided the two chairs may add more class by not being the exact same design as the love seat.

Can you imagine such service in the United States, especially without paying a fortune just to have someone come out to the client’s house? Can you imagine the dealers inviting the customer to their home to see the furniture of interest in a different context? Can you imagine a family in the states sending their daughters out with a male stranger?

My furniture will be made to specifications. I know because of the assistance and time of these two women, I made the right choices, and I will be happy with those choices. I knew from the moment I entered the store and met the owners that they were a couple with grace and class as where their daughters, but I never could have imagined the high level of quality service I would receive. The business is named “Luriq”, and is located at Luis Codero 10-38 y Gran Columbia.

Norte Americanos also have a liking for recliners, which are very rare in Cuenca. Cardeca is the name of a furniture store located south of Parke Madre at Alfonso Cordero s/n y Florencia Astudillo, which is also a designer high-end store, which carries a selection of recliners. The owners only had three or four recliners on hand, which may be the largest selection of recliners you will find in any one furniture store in Cuenca. I bought a very nice one, which was the least expensive recliner available. The other recliners included vibration speeds, heating, and other gizmos that doubled the price from the one I bought. However, in the one I chose I had to take as is. I assume it was to be a discontinued model. I was concern that the beige coloring may be too light for the T.V. room, but after it arrived, it wasn’t as light as I thought, and it blended just fine with the room colors.

I could mention some other businesses that provided great prices, but once again in these stores negotiating the best prices requires the use of a liaison with whom the businesses have developed a relationship. Special deals are provided when certain liaison persons bring expats to these businesses. The liaison person may simply get whatever hourly rate you agree to, or they may get additional favors from the business when they make a purchase, or possibly some financial kickback from the sale as well. Don’t begrudge them these kickbacks. You are still getting a good deal. A good liaison can take you to places of business for fabrics, linens, and mattresses that generally only deal directly with retailers or large businesses like hotels.

Finally, as you walk the streets of Cuenca you will see small shops/industries everywhere, where for example, furniture is being made by hand. In fact, these are usually the places the furniture you see in many of the stores is being made. If you see something you like, or have a picture or photo of a designer’s model that appeals to you; you can take these photos to one of these craftsmen and negotiate a price much lower than what you may pay in the retail furniture stores. You may have to do some searching to find an artisan’s work that impresses you, or one that is willing to make the kind of design you have in mind, but it can and is done all the time. Once again, the right liaison can know the most quality craftsmen with which to refer you and negotiate for you the best price.

I have all my appliances and mattresses, as well as a couple of pieces of furniture from two different stores. Everything was delivered within twenty-four hours of purchase. The bulk of my furniture will not be delivered for approximately a month, since the pieces are being made by hand to my specifications.

In my next post, I will share with you the people who have been the most helpful in assisting me through the maze of real-estate, bank accounts, and procurement of furniture, appliances, etc.

Palermo; The Third Stage of Transition

As I said in my last post, despite my roller-coaster ride down a flight of stairs, I had way too much on my agenda to accomplish to take time to rest. My second phase of my return to Cuenca, which involved living in an El Centro studio apartment ended after two weeks as I finally decided upon a more permanent residency. I moved to the Palermo, which is a new building, and also the tallest in the city at seventeen stories. I definitely decided that living in the heart of the city was not for me, as much as I enjoy the area.

As an aside, If anybody in Cuenca can explain one thing to me I will be most appreciative. Why on earth at approximately 4:30 in the morning does music come from what I am almost absolutely sure are the loud speakers in Parke Calderon? The music is beautiful, varies from day-to-day, plays for about ten minutes, and then goes silent. Of course by this time, not only have I been awakened, but also the rooster has been awakened and keeps his cock-a-do-da-dooing up for the next hour. I just really would like to know the answer to the purpose of this early morning concert series from Parke Calderon?!?

What was I looking for in living accommodations? What did I gain, and what did I sacrifice in what I ideally desired as I moved to the Palermo?

The gains were great. I have a 1,700 square foot apartment on the seventh floor with a narrow balcony and large scenic windows that face the city with the mountains as a beautiful backdrop. The condo has three bedrooms, living, dining, and kitchen area. It includes three bathrooms and a maid’s quarters, as well as a separate, spacious laundry room. The condo comes with all the amenities that are common in much of the new construction in Cuenca: expansive inset ceiling lighting, artistically-done ceiling architecture, all porcelina floors, except for all hardwood floors in the three bedrooms. The cabinets in the bedrooms are all hardwood as well, and make the need for closets and dressers obsolete. The master bedroom is huge with its own extensive cabinet area that serves like a walk-in closet and leads to the master bathroom. All three bathrooms are elegant with ceramic floors and ceramic walls that extend all the way to the ceiling. The fixtures are deluxe, and all the two baths and the one shower come with glass enclosed doors. The kitchen is large, and a cook’s dream, which quite frankly is way bigger than a guy with a microwave and a crock-pot needs. I have storage space here that I could not fill in a hundred years. Once again, the kitchen is outfitted with beautifully grained hardwood cabinets, and granite counter tops throughout. My rental also comes with a bodega (storage space in the garage area for my apartment) and two parking spaces. Since a large number of Americans live in the complex and do not own cars, the two garage levels are anything but overcrowded.

Many buildings even among newer construction in Cuenca often come with propane gas tanks for cooking, which need to be replaced monthly. The Palermo has central gas, which eliminates what is basically a minor inconvenience. The Palermo is also located in a part of the city where for whatever reason the toilet paper can be flushed and not placed in a separate container as is very common throughout Cuenca. The water heats quickly and gushes from the shower heads, which provides showers like I haven’t experienced in years except in quality hotels.

I am located within walking distance of Supermaxi, a supermarket within an enclosed min-mall complex of over a dozen upscale stores, which include Sukasa, which is a larger store that comes closest to an American-style department store in Cuenca, and which may be described more on the level of Macy’s in quality of goods but nowhere near as large.

I am also within walking distance of Coopera, a large organic produce and meat store of very high quality food and quite reasonable prices. One has the advantage of Whole Food's quality without the expensive prices that go with it.

Feria Libre is also within walking distance of the Palermo, and it is the largest indigenous open-air market in Cuenca. Wednesday is the biggest day each week with the largest amount of vendors. The market is mammoth! The produce, meats, fish, live animals, as well as every kind of clothing, jewelry, and electronic items imaginable are on display. All involve haggling over prices. While there will be the “gringo prices”; if you are not intimidated, the competition is fierce among so many vendors selling the same or similar items. Finding bargains are not difficult. Produce and meats are easier to haggle and get a better price if you’re patient, than the willingness of vendors to come down much on other consumer products.  Fiera Libre has food court area of every variety of Ecuadorian foods and juices. The food court is an excellent place to order the pork right off the whole cooked pigs displayed before you, and to sample the sizzling, crackling skin of the pig which is cooked with a blow torch. The pork is succulent and sumptuous, and the cooked skin is delicious as well. All of the meals come with some variety of potatoes, rice, and plantain and cost a mere $2.00 to $5.00. Seafood meals usually being the higher-end priced meals.

Along with these aforementioned conveniences, I live less than a block from the Rio Tamabamba, which is one of four rivers which flows through Cuenca. The river affords a beautiful walk area along the green park-like setting that runs the length of the river through the city. It’s a serene area, and I am impressed by whomever had the foresight to plan these beautiful green-ways, which so help to enhance the integration of the city with nature both from within and from without as Cuenca is nestled in a valley surrounded by mountains.

So what compromises have I made with the vision of what the ideal place and location would be if I had the total freedom to choose my ideal?  First, I am further from El Centro and its heart, Parque Calderon, than I prefer. When living at Cuadra Dos I was within a twenty to twenty-five minute walk to Parque Calderon. Now it takes me twice as long to arrive on foot to Parque Calderon from my new location. Buses at twenty-five cents a ride or taxis at $2.00 a ride are bountiful along Calle Ordonez- Lasso, the street on which Palermo is located. Therefore, convenience to Parque Calderon is not lacking, and I can exit a bus or taxi wherever I want in order to maintain my level of walking three to eight miles a day.

Although the following statement is an exaggeration,it demonstrates a point. The Palermo by Cuencano standards is like living in the Trump Towers. I have learned not to tell taxi drivers to take me to the Palermo, unless we have to enter the underground garage when I have a large number of packages with me that need to be unloaded. As soon as they hear Palermo, they want to up the cost of the taxi ride.

There is more of a feeling of living in the suburbs in the Palermo. The housing in the area is generally upper scale, and does leave me with a psychology of being somewhat removed from the more mixed classes of people found in El Centro, as well as missing the endless neighborhood tiendas (stores) that exist along the way on my walks to Parque Calderon. Yet even at the Palermo, I see cows and sheep pasturing below outside my window. There are family compounds of five or six upscale homes all within the same close proximity to one another. The dogs, like in my previous Cuadra Dos neighborhood rule the nights. I am certain that when friends and relatives come to visit from the states, they will not experience a full night of uninterrupted sleep unless it comes from total exhaustion. I have long acclimated myself to the almost endless barking of the dogs. I can now either sleep through their midnight serenades, or roll over and go back to sleep. In fact, I sometimes find the whole vocal concert funny, and can’t help but lie in bed laughing. I relish with great anticipation the day of the full moon this month. I’m sure it will be a crescendo of a howlarious evening. Heck, the dogs have been rehearsing all month for it.

I would have preferred a larger balcony or terrace, but at least I have a balcony with sliding doors. The architects played to the aesthetics of the appearance of the exterior of the building, and chose to make small semi-circular balconies where maybe one sitting person and a small table can be accommodated. Yet large decks could have been made running the length of the living room, and two exterior bedrooms like I had at my rental at Cuadra Dos. I certainly have more space than I need, but finding rental condos and houses with less than three or four bedrooms is difficult, particularly rentals with modern amenities. I also wanted extra bedroom space for friends and family when they visit from the states.

After touring homes that were way out on the edge of the city with sporadic bus schedules and few taxis, the distance to El Centro from the Palermo did not seem so bad. There is also a strong South American tradition of enclosing property with high walls, while gringos want to see and enjoy the wide open vistas. As one expat told me, his Ecuadorian neighbor wanted to know what the big deal was with viewing the mountains, “they’ve always been there”. I rejected another condo that offered three terraces and was located on a river, because the terrace walls were so high, I couldn’t see anything when I sat down. It was like sitting in a prison cell without the ceiling. Meanwhile, two young Ecuadorian ladies told me they wanted to visit the states, because they would like to experience the change in seasons, “It’s always the same the year-round in Cuenca”, they said. Well, the climate may always be the same in Cuenca, but believe me the daily weather is changing about every two minutes. Nevertheless, it’s all a question of personal perspective, and the belief that things are generally greener someplace else. (I’ll also bet that if those two young ladies had the opportunity to experience northern winters and summers for one year, they will gladly return to the monotony of uniform seasons year after year in Cuenca.)

My monthly rental fee is $500.00 which is more on the higher side for an unfurnished apartment in Cuenca. I also pay $47.00 a month association fee. The fee includes twenty-four hour security, a workout gym, dry and steam saunas, and garbage disposal. The fee also includes a theatre with a large flat screen, and yes, literally thirty theatre seats in three rows that anybody can use to watch a D.V.D. or one of the endless fotbal (soccer) games, over which deeply impassioned Ecuadorian males get deliriously excited. Utilities for water, electric, and gas are so low that when included with my rent and association fees should be about $600.00 per month. Even my fees for Internet WIFI connection and Satellite television totals $45.00 less than what I paid in the United States, and I get premiere movie channels like Cinemax which were not included in my package back in the states.

Rent, association fee, and utilities in Cuenca are equivalent to what I was paying for just rent back home for a one bedroom, 750 sq. ft. apartment, with none of the amenities I have delineated in today’s post. A friend of mine from Manhattan said a place like mine would rent somewhere between $7,000 and $12,000 per month in Manhattan. Friends of mine from San Francisco, who were living in one of its more desirable neighborhoods, said they were paying $3,500 per month for a space one-third the size of their now 1,900 square foot apartment for which they now pay $500.00. Remember, the condo rental includes two garage parking spaces, which generally are purchased in cities like Chicago for $10,000 to $50,000 each, depending upon the pedigree of the building tenants.

Of course, in Cuenca, we do have to buy our own appliances for our unfurnished apartments. If we move, we take our appliances with us. However, once one factors in the cost of appliances and furnishings; after two to four years, which depends on how high-end you go with your furnishings, you have paid the equivalent of a furnished apartment in Cuenca. The rental differential from that point onwards is yours to spend or invest as you see fit.

Once again, everybody has different needs and different desires. My advice to you if you choose to move to Cuenca is get to know the neighborhoods, decide what your ideal would be, and then begin to ascertain what are your priorities. Finally, you need to decide what can be sacrificed or compromised from your ideal and in alignment with your budget. Don’t be impulsive, and decide to buy or to sign a long-term lease without spending quality and quantity time in Cuenca. Don’t simply come as a tourist. If you have any serious inclination of moving to Cuenca, experience Cuenca as if it were a place like home, where you would do your everyday living. Most of us are not wealthy. Without the proper research and planning, if it doesn’t work out for you, moving to Cuenca can turn into a very financially costly nightmare.

 The telephone number at the Palermo is 0774073267.  Senor Estuardo Rubio is the building administrator.  Senor Rubio is normally in his office until 4:00 p.m. during the week.  His English is limited.  One of the three security guards will answer at the security desk, whenever Senior Rubio is not present, or they will transfer you to Senior Rubio's office phone when he is present.  Once again, two of the three guards speak no English, and one speaks only a little.  To those who are English speakers only, it is best to have a Spanish speaking friend to contact the Palermo for you.  Unless you only need to give the name of a tenant/owner and apartment/condo number. 

If you wish to see an condos available for sale or apartments available for rent in the Palermo, contact Pepe Ajorgudo at joardudo@gmail.com.  Pepe is the contact person for most sales and rentals in the Palermo.  Pepe lived in the United States.  He speaks both English and Spanish, and he also lives in the Palermo.  With approximately 165 units in the Palermo, there are always a few units for sale or for rent.

Medical Care and Life's Surprises

The last two weeks have been hectic to say the least. Just as clearing away one’s home and belongings in the states can be time-consuming and pressure-packed,finding a more permanent place to live and to furnish can be another busy period after one arrives in Cuenca. At first, I had the comfort of returning to Cuadra Dos, which was fully-furnished and in a neighborhood with which I was familiar from my visit of last summer. This made the first month basically a vacation month of making new friends, getting reacquainted with friends from last summer; and getting reoriented to the layout of the city, the street locations, the locations of new and familiar haunts, and walking neighborhoods I had yet to visit as I searched for an apartment.

Moving into the studio apartment in El Centro became the second phase of resettlement, as a temporary way station until I found a more permanent home. My two weeks of living in El Centro was spent getting oriented to living amidst numerous churches and monasteries, especially during all the pageantry of Holy Week. Luckily, my studio faced the monastery gardens, which was the more quiet side of the building from the street noise.

Normally, I would take the elevator up to the fourth floor to my studio, and walk down the stairs when descending. Another example of how Cuenca reminds me of the 1950’s was just about to be experienced. As I began my ambitious stride down the stairs ready to begin another exciting day in Cuenca, my feet suddenly took off from under me just like when one loses his balance on ice. I traveled down the stairs on my back side with my rump taking the brunt of the fall, but with my back striking one edge of the step in particular. Luckily, I believed the worse moment of impact was above my kidneys and below my shoulder blade, as such I assumed my ribs were protected.

What contributed to this calamity? Was it my own clumsiness? Actually, a worker was down on the next flight waxing or polishing the wooden, parquet-like stairs. First, I did not see him as he was on his hands and knees as he worked. Second, there were no signs placed at the top of the stairs warning of the slippery condition of the stairwell. Obviously, since no one is scheduled to work at night, the only “appropriate” thing to do is wax the steps during working hours while people are using the stairways. Third, if Ecuador was the United States circa 2011, the owners would have had one hell’uva law suit on their hands for failing to put up those plastic “beware of slippery stairs” signs, or better yet, “slippery stairs, use elevator only". The U.S. attorneys have not transformed Ecuadorians into a litigious society yet. Here the attitude is one of self-responsibility. I should have been careful, and while people came to my aid, as one lady added, “You should hold the railing when using the steps.”

At any rate, I was a little sore, and assumed I would be sorer come manana. Otherwise, I figured it would just take time for the soreness to dissipate. I went about my business for the next few days, but by Saturday I was in a great deal of pain in of all places, my left side. Now I was concerned that maybe I did fracture or at least had a hair-line fracture to one of my ribs. I decided, not being a great lover of pain, it was time to see a doctor. I didn’t know what to expect in terms of doctor availability, since it was a Saturday and the day before Easter. I went to the Mt. Sinai Hospital emergency room. A physician who spoke English was found, and he was later followed for whatever reason by another physician who took over from him who also spoke English. My waiting time was short, and would have been quicker if I did not need an English-speaking doctor. The nurses spoke little English, but we managed to make ourselves understood to one another, and they were very conscientious to my needs. An x-ray was taken, and as I had thought there was no bone damage, just some meshed, mash of muscle tissue that would take two to four weeks to heal. To relieve the intense pain, I was given a shot, followed by another shot which the doctor explained was a shot specifically for the local area of pain. I was also given patches to wear daily over my side that provided time-released, pain-relief medication throughout the day; and I received a prescription for Celebrex, another pain killer. Even though medication can dull pain, pain still has a way of wearing one down. However, I had way too much to do to just sit around and relax for a few days, and now after ten days it’s as if I never suffered an injury.

Many of you who read the blogs regularly will not find the following information as anything new, since it has been reported repeatedly by expats who have needed medical attention in the past; but for those of you who don’t read other blogs on Cuenca or Ecuador the following should prove quite informative:

Medical care in Cuenca is generally excellent. The doctors will take time with you in a way that generally does not happen in the United States assembly-line production of patient care. The modern facilities at Mt. Sinai were very good, and on par with the best hospitals in the United States. Mt. Sinai Hospital is not an exception to the rule as some kind of show-case hospital. There are many quality hospitals in Cuenca. When I first called my primary care physician that Saturday, I had left him a message. When he failed to return my call, that is when I decided to go to the emergency room. The next day on Easter my doctor called me to apologize for being out of town on Saturday, and not being available for me, and he wanted to know how I was doing. Physicians in Ecuador are known for making house calls as well when necessary. For those of you old enough to remember--Marcus Welby is alive and well, and living in Ecuador.

The cost for both of the physicians who treated me in the emergency room along with the x-ray, two shots, the patches, and the Celebrex was just under $150.00. What does it cost just to step into an emergency room in a United States hospital? I had a follow-up visit with the emergency room doctor at his office a week later. There was no charge.


The following article appeared in "Cuenca High Life", and provides an excellent account of medical costs in Cuenca:

Medical tourism industry sees Ecuador and Cuenca as a hot market; say costs are among the lowest in the world

Posted By Admin | Published: April 15, 2011 11:37

Although the low cost of health care in Cuenca has long been a draw for foreigners relocating to the city, it is beginning to catch the interest of international medical tourism companies.

Alex McClellan, a former U.S. hospital administrator, says he expects to see increasing numbers of foreigners take advantage of Ecuador´s low medical costs. And, he adds, Cuenca is poised to capture much of the market. McClellan, who has worked in the medical tourism industry in Mexico, Inida, China and Malaysia, says he is forming a Quito-based company and plans to center much of his service in Cuenca. “We have brought our first clients to the city and have been very impressed with the results.”

According to Ecuador´s Investment Corporation (INVECE), costs for major medical procedures generally run just 7% to 10% of those in the U.S. and many European countries. McClellan adds that medical care in Ecuador is substantially cheaper than that in better-known medical tourism destinations, mostly in Asia and Central America, often by as much as 50%.

INVECE director Xavier Patiño has compiled a cost comparison list of medical procedures in the U.S. and Ecuador, including:

A heart bypass: $130,000 in the U.S. vs. $10,000 in Cuenca. A heart valve replacement: $160,000 vs. $15,000. Repair of a cerebral aneurysm: $200,000 vs. $10,000. Insertion of a heart pacemaker: $150,000 vs. $10,000. Hip or knee replacement: $43,000 to $51,000 vs. $8,000 in Cuenca.
Patiño says that it is not just foreigners coming to Ecuador for medical care. “We see many Ecuadorians who live in the U.S. come home for services.”

Xavier Crespo, a Cuenca native working as a financial advisor in Miami brings his family home twice a year for medical check-up and dental work. “The savings more than pay for the trip and we get to spend time with our family.” He adds: “From personal experience I can say the care is actually better here than in the U.S. The doctors are able to spend much more time with paitients and don´t have to rely on all the tests that doctors are required to perform there.”

Dentistry is another area where patients see a large price differential. Cuenca dentist Nelly Sacoto says she has seen a rapid increase in the number of foreigners coming to her practice for care. She points out that she can install a porcelain crown for $200 while the procedure costs $2,000 in the U.S.. “Because many dentists in Cuenca have training in the Europe and the U.S., foreign patients have a higher degree of confidence in the local dentistry.”

Another Cuenca dentist, Marcelo Guillén, says he is seeing many foreign elderly patients. “There seem to be more and more retirees moving to the city and many of them are pleased with the dentistry here, especially in the area of aesthetic reconstruction. For them, it is very economical in Cuenca.”

McClellan, who says he has established relationships with two Cuenca hospitals and more than a dozen medical specialists, cautions that there is much more to good medical care than cheap prices. “It is important to work with an organization that has a solid track record in medical tourism. For potential patients, it is definitely a buyer-beware situation.”
http://www.cuencahighlife.com/

The Passion of the Christ

The Holy Week (Semana Santa) begins on Palm Sunday ( Domingo de Ramos).

Today, April 17th, was Palm Sunday in the Christian world.  I was surrounded and immersed today in the activities and crowds of the beginning of the Passion or Holy Week, since I recently moved into the heart of El Centro.

While the New Cathedral, the largest church in Cuenca is only a half a block from my residency,  even closer and across the street from the New Cathedral (1899), the Immaculada Concepcion, is the Church de Carmen de Asuncion, a small church, whose square is the location of the open flower market.  Across from me is the San Francisco Square which to the south of this market is the San Francisco church. All three churches within a block of one another, and an adjoining convent to the east of me, with my residency right in the heart of it all. I feel like I am living in the center of Little Vatican City.

As my friend and I walked past the New Cathedral as mass was letting out, I was amazed at how the people continuously swarmed out of the cathedral for the next ten minutes. The flower market had expanded far beyond its usual boundaries as sellers of palms became the priority over the usual selling of flowers. The palms were large and arranged in elaborate weaved designs; some were braided into crosses or into baskets, other palms were interspersed with flowers. The palms were taken into the churches by the worshipers, blessed by the priest, and taken home to be put on display—possibly arranged around a crucifix or holy picture or painting on the wall. When we were kids, we were told to place the simple palm branches under our mattress where they remained until replaced by fresh palms during the next year’s Palm Sunday. I don’t recall why we placed the palms under our mattress, possibly the blessing of the palms was to protect us while we slept.

The evening mass at the Sanctuary of Carmen was overflowing with approximately a hundred people standing outside the front entrance and another hundred standing outside the side entrance of the church. These overflow crowds reminded me of a typical Sunday in the 1950’s and 1960’s in the United States when church attendance was obligatory under the pain of mortal sin, and attendance at Catholic masses was very high.

For those of you unfamiliar with Catholic and Protestant practices, Palm Sunday is the beginning of the Passion Week. Jesus entered Jerusalem as Jews from all over Israel entered the Holy City to make their way to the temple, the focal point of the Jewish religion. The Jews were coming for the celebration of Passover, which was in commemoration of when the Angel of Death passed over the homes of the Hebrews who had as Moses instructed sprinkled the blood of a lamb over the door post of their homes so that they would be spared death, while the eldest son of each Egyptian was slain by the Angel of Death.

According to the teachings of the New Testament evangelists, Jesus was glorified by the crowds and palms were laid before his path as he entered Jerusalem riding a mule, thus the reason for the feast day known as Palm Sunday. The Passover Week always made the Romans nervous, because of the large gathering of Jews in one place. There was always the fear of riots or rebellion against Rome, particularly when there was talk of a "king of the Jews".

Thursday, known as Holy Thursday or Maundy Thursday by some Christian groups celebrates the Last Supper, which was the Passover Feast. Keep in mind that Jesus and his apostles were all practicing Jews.

The Catholic Church may still have the custom of the priest at Thursday’s service washing the feet of twelve men. The twelve men represent the twelve apostles. Today women are included in the washing of feet as well.  The priest re-enacts what Jesus did at the Last Supper as an act of humility and servant-hood, which he modeled for his apostles and disciples.

Many Christians in recent years have setup a Seder Dinner, which is a replica of what makes up the traditional Jewish Passover meal, but with Christian overtones and prayers. Shortly, thereafter, Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane, where ultimately the evening led to his betrayal by Judas and Jesus’ arrest.

I do not know if Seder dinners are held in Ecuador. On Thursday, however, Ecuadorian families may bring food and beverages to their relatives’ graves at the local cemeteries, this custom is very similar to All Souls Day (Nov. 2nd). I would imagine that the visit to relative’s graves is practiced in Cuenca as well.

Cuecanos do have a celebration of Holy Thursday, which is unique to Cuenca in Ecuador.  The devout Catholics will visit seven churches in El Centro where they will briefly pray and continue to the next church.  Tens of thousands participate.  The churches are open for the evening, and it is also a great opportunity to see what the interior of many of these churches look like as well. Don't imagine that this is a long trek. There are so many Catholic churches in El Centro, that one can easily visit seven of them within a three to four block area.

Good Friday marks the remembrance of the trial and crucifixion of Jesus. Upon Jesus death on the cross, his body had to be removed from the cross, readied for burial, and placed in the tomb before sunset, which on Friday evening was the beginning of the Jewish Sabbath. According to the scriptures, Jesus rose from the dead on the third day, which has been commemorated for almost 2,000 years as Easter Sunday.

According to Travel Ecuador (3/8/2011), On Good Friday through the streets of Quito runs the parade of flagellants hurting their bodies with scourges, men carrying big wooden crosses and disciplinants called ‘cucuruchos’. This parade of flagellants is not practice in Cuenca. 

The tradition of cone-head robes started in Spain during the Middle Ages, when the capirote hat was placed on the head of a person before the execution as a symbol of public humiliation.

Capirote has been also used by the disciplinants during the processions as an act of faith in God, who they believe will appreciate their pursuit for the inner change, leading to salvation.

Similar processions are commenced in several Latin America countries, in Ecuador besides Quito the tradition is vivid especially in Chimborazo district (towns Yaruquies,Tixan,Chasmbo and Chunchi).

While Cuenca doesn't celebrate

Eastern Sunday is the most important Christian Holy Day of the year. Easter commemorates for the Christian, Jesus’ victory over death and over sin. Jesus succeeds where the original Adam failed by being fully faithful and obedient to the Will of God, his Father. Christians, therefore, believe that through faith and repentance in the saving grace of Jesus Christ, they too can experience redemption and salvation of eternal life. God the Father, through the sacrifice of His only begotten Son, reconciles through His love for mankind the relationship that had been shatter when sin first entered the world through Adam and Eve. God, not man, alone could make right what man had made wrong.

No doubt the churches in Cuenca will be even more overflowing this upcoming Easter Sunday. The color purple is used to shroud the statues and paintings in the Catholic churches during Passion Week, and will not be removed until Easter Sunday. I imagine that there will be many re-enactments of the Passion story this week in Cuenca, as well as many processions.

What becomes very evident to me in a nation where ninety-four percent of the population is Roman Catholic, is how the church continues to have a stronghold on the minds of the people. A hold which still continues to be a primary factor in providing Ecuadorians with a cohesiveness of faith and culture. There are no Easter bunnies, Eastern baskets, or Easter eggs in Ecuador. The secularization of religious holidays in the United States, which had once been a strong Christian country, has not taken form in Ecuador. In the United States today it has reached the point were groups are attempting to eliminate the word "Easter" altogether, to spring bunnies, spring baskets, and spring spheres (not even the word egg is allowed). Whether Ecuador will follow the same parallel pattern of secularization as the United States and much of the Western world, or whether it will move toward a different path of national identity and destiny, only time will tell.

The Only Permanence in Life is Change

Today’s post will be a catch up of what is going on with me, because I just can’t keep up with all the emails from back home with questions.

First, I moved from Cuadra Dos today, after spending my first month back in Cuenca there. I will miss it. The site at night, in particular, I enjoyed; and there is still some mountain scenery to behold. At $850.00 per month, it’s less than $30.00 per night, and includes everything, nicely furnished, and all utensils, appliances, bedding, everything. This 1,200 sq. ft. apartment is a beautiful three bedroom, two bath, with living, dining, and separate laundry room with washer and dryer. Another nice feature in this seventh floor penthouse is the balcony that extends across the living room and two of the bedrooms. Cuadra Dos is nicely located, and only about a mile and a half from Parke Calderon, the heart of El Centro and the city of Cuenca. Try to find a deluxe hotel room for less than $30.00 a night in Cuenca, let alone an entirely furnished condo with twenty-four hour security.

The apartment is currently available on Cuenca Real-Estate.com

http://www.cuencarealestate.com/Listings.aspx?type=2

Today I temporarily moved into a studio apartment across from the San Francisco Market in the heart of El Centro until I find an unfurnished apartment to my liking. The studio has been completely refinished from an office space, and with all new furnishings. I am the first to use the studio and furnishings. I am on the quiet side of the building facing of all things a large square composed of an extensive garden of vegetables, fruits, and flowers. The garden is part of a monastery, which completely surrounds three sides of the square. I believe the order of nuns who live in the monastery are cloistered, which means they do not have contact with the outside world. While I have no balcony, I do have a view of the New Cathedral which is angled less than a block from me. At night the view is most impressive as the towers and the three large domes which are the hallmark of Cuenca are all flooded in lights. It will be interesting to see what it will be like to live in El Centro and only a block away from the beautiful Parke Calderon. I hope my close proximity does not curtail all the walking I have been doing. I want to continue my five to eight mile walks on most days, although lately we have been getting a great deal of rain. March and April are on average the highest precipitation months in Cuenca during the year.

Martha Abril San Pedro is the young woman who was responsible for helping me find the apartment, as well as having done the nice interior design herself. Martha is working on a similar apartment just below my current studio. Martha speaks fluent English and Italian. Her email is jos_amy@hotmail.com, and her phone number is 089 489 541, if you should need assistance in finding living accommodations, or help in purchasing furniture and applicances. She is warm, honest, and wanting to please her clients. I highly recommend her for assistance.

I have been adding to a restaurant list a friend shared with me, and already I’ve added a half a dozen more restaurants to it. We just had a three day festival celebrating the 449th year of the founding of Cuenca under the Spaniards. So yes, I’m basically eating my way through Cuenca with friends; doing some searching for a permanent residency; and walking and exploring the sites, furniture, and appliance stores. No, I still haven’t eaten cuy. I did have a sample of the pork at Feria Libre, but not with the sizzling skin. The pork was exceptionally juicy and flavorful.

No, I have not taken any photos, sorry. My new camera is still sitting in the luggage unopened. My Kindle is still sitting in my luggage untouched in its original package. I don’t have time to read right now, and I have been so happy with minimal electronic mayhem in my life with which to deal. The cell phone down here has been enough to figure out. If you buy minutes from one phone company, then you need to buy additional minutes to make calls to numbers using different phone companies, which cost more when one calls the number of someone who has a phone company different from the company you may be using. Not to mention, every time a recording comes on, I have no idea what the computerized voices are saying in Spanish. At least I was able to set the date and time on my phone all by myself. I now know how to put my contacts in the phone. When I’m not completely forgetful, I can almost remember how to retrieve my messages.

My cell phone has no camera, but it does have an A.M./F.M. radio with ear plugs. Yes, you’ve already guess, “hell will freeze over” before I figure how to make the radio work, and I would have to be nuts walking the streets of Cuenca with sound blasting in my ears as crazy as many drivers fly through intersections in this city. I don’t need to be bopping along the streets to “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” one minute, and after stepping off a curb to the screeching of brakes hearing, “Ain’t That a Shame” the next.

I did take my Franklin, English/Spanish Translator out. After three battery changes, I still could not get it to work. I don’t feel too bad about my not getting it to operate, however. It took a highly intelligent, Ivy League grad to figure out what the problem was. When I moved in to my new pad today, the T.V. worked, and hallelujah, the WIFI worked without a hitch. I’m going to quit while I’m ahead. The Kindle and Nikon can sit in the luggage for a while longer.

That’s about it for now. Oh, I am plugging away with my Spanish on my own, which would be just fine, if I would just discipline myself to be consistent daily with my lessons. My son, Chris, finishes his second tour of duty in Iraq in early June. Whether or not he intends to visit family at all during that time in the Chicago area before reporting to Hawaii will affect whether I come home to visit in late June/early July. Otherwise, I will probably not make a trip to the states until August. Cui’date! Life in Cuenca has been good-very good. Jim Mola

The Rememberances of Another Time Found in Cuenca

When I first came to Cuenca in the summer of 2010, I often heard expats who had lived here for a time say that Cuenca is like living in the United States in the 1950’s. One couple in their 70’s compared Cuenca with living back home in the 1940’s. I had always wanted to explore in what ways modern day Cuenca compares with the United States or Canada back in the 40’s and 50’s, but I never found or made the time until now to do so. Obviously, I can reflect back to what I remember of that time period, and also, keep in mind, that I am writing from the perspective of my experiences as a young boy.

I was born in 1946, which was the first year of the beginning of the onslaught of the baby-boomers. The oldest of three boys, my life began by living in an apartment above my paternal grandparents, both of whom were immigrants from Sicily. My dad’s sister and her family lived next door in a home also owned by my grandparents. My dad’s oldest sister lived a block down from my grandparents, and his youngest brother and sister were living at home with my grandparents and were in their mid and late teens at the time of my birth. My dad’s youngest brother lived at home with his parents until he married in his 30’s. My dad’s youngest sister would never marry, and lived at home taking care of my grandmother until her passing in 1970. My dad’s two married sisters both wedded men who were born in Italy. My dad and his two brothers, on the other hand, all married non-Italian girls. His older brother, Tony was the only sibling who when I was born did not live in the Italian neighborhood, but lived on the other side of town in the Polish neighborhood, which was the ethnic background of his wife, Julie.

Like in Ecuador today strong family ties and close-by living proximity of parents and their adult offspring was typical and expected. My grandparents took that proximity a step further, because there were two sets of Molas. We were the Olcott Mola’s, because we lived on Olcott Avenue. Then there were the Todd Avenue Mola’s who lived on the opposite side of the block across the alley from my grandparents. My grandmother’s sister and my grandfather’s brother were also married to each other and they constituted the Todd Avenue Molas. Each time my grandmother’s sister had a child, then when my grandmother had a child, my grandmother would give the same sex child the same name. Therefore, the Molas had two Jimmy’s, two Rosies, two Carmelas, etc. Since I was named after my father that made three Jimmys, and yes as I grew older all the same names at times became confusing for people.

Living in an industrialized satellite city of Chicago, all the ethnic neighborhoods were staunchly Catholic and life was centered around the church. The Italians built their church during the depression, and they built it themselves. They named it the Immaculate Conception. The pastor of the church was from the old country, and while the Italians were late comers to other ethnic groups in the city to building their own grade school, by 1952 they had opened a new school and the Pastor had brought nuns from an order in Italy to the United States to staff the new facility.

What I remember most about the church, which made it unique not only to Catholic churches in Cuenca, but also to Catholic churches in the United States was the fact that when the church was built the parishioners also built a bowling alley behind the sanctuary. The alleys had pin boys whose job it was to remove the bowling pins that had been knocked over in the previous roll. From what I can remember, the pin boys would brace themselves above the pins with both feet on side beams, and after the roll they would jump down, and clear the felled pins. I imagine that although not exactly the Italian lawn bowling game known as Bocce, which originated with the Romans, there were cultural carryovers that led to the church’s construction of the bowling alleys.

On an occasional Sunday morning, at the age of four or five, I would sneak into mass by myself. I would look back and up at the choir loft, and wave to my aunt who sang in the choir. There was a round stain glass window above the choir loft, and I remember on a sunny day the eastern sun radiating through the glass and into the church. When my mother found out from my aunt that I had been to church, my mother scolded me because I was dirty from playing, and from wearing only my play clothes, which were not exactly the proper “going-to-church on Sunday” attire. I guess my mom was concerned about what the neighbors would think. I think God was just glad to see me in Church,

Some of the immigrant Italians made efforts to learn English, and some like my grandparents chose not to. Unlike Ecuadorian homes here in Ecuador where grandkids can communicate with their grandparents without a problem. I was rarely close to my Italian grandparents in part because of language barriers. A mixture of English and Italian was always used in my grandparent’s home. My uncles and aunts used Italian to communicate with their parents, and they used it with one another when they didn’t want us kids to understand what they were talking about.

Whenever my grandmother would talk to me, I would hope my dad or one of my Italian uncles or aunts would be close by to translate for me. However, when the occasions arose as they inevitably would when I was on my own with my grandmother, all I could do was smile and nod my head and say yes to whatever she appeared to be asking me. My grandmother would smile and whatever I was agreeing to was certainly making her happy, and she would grab me by my cheek (sometimes both cheeks) as she continued in Italian. I was always nervous because I knew it would just be a matter of time when I would respond to something with yes when I should have responded with a no. Nana’s smile would disappear, the tone of her voice would change, and here it comes, the slap across the face.

In Cuenca, I can see cows grazing on open lots; walk pass goats grazing in front yards; or occasionally observe goats being herded along the streets to possibly other grazing lands, or to market, or possibly to shelter. I may spot chickens in the front yards of Cuencano homes, sometimes of breeds unfamiliar to me in the states, or I listen to the howl of dogs at night and the crow of roosters in the morning. Not all of this domestic animal excitement existed in my Italian grandparent’s community. However, my grandmother and I would go down to the next block and enter a store filled with live chickens each in its separate cage stacked upon one another--just stack after stack of live hens. My grandmother would buy one chicken, take it home and feed it until it became nice and plump. Although her next action was never done in front of me, my grandmother would make the hen an offer it must have refused; because suddenly in typical Italian style, my grandmother would ring its neck, pick the feathers, gut the bird, clean the chicken, cook it, and serve it for dinner.

One time, my grandmother bought a goose, which she kept in the basement. I being only four or five years old was scared to death of the bird. It was as big as me. I thought it was an ostrich, and if I so much as entered the basement that goose would take after me hissing. I’m embarrassed to admit how old I was before a relative enlightened me that that bird was no ostrich.

My grandparents had a small back yard, which was used exclusively for growing garden vegetables and fresh herbs. There was also either one or two cherry trees, which radiantly blossomed in the spring, and were resplendent with cherries in the summer. When my grandparents were not working in the garden, my grandmother would be busy working in the kitchen; baking, peeling potatoes, making sauces, doing the myriad of things that was required for her to feed her family for each of the three meals per day. She particularly would be busy preparing for the Sunday meals when all of the family would generally be present. Like any good Italian mother, she took delight in her family enjoying what she had prepared. Much of life and celebration was centered around food. No matter how much one ate, Nana, was always there to encourage everyone to eat more. To say no, to her solicitations, would bring out of her one of those rare phrases of English, "What, you no like"? I was an adult before it was finally explained to me that in an Italian home one never completely clears one's dish. Always leave a small portion on the plate to indicate you are finished eating. Somehow I'm not sure if that practice would have stopped my grandmother from encouraging more, "You like? Have some more."

My grandmother developed stomach cancer in the summer of 1970. In the final months she lied in bed as family members would take turns staying with her. On a few occasions, I was with my grandmother, just the two of us. The barrier of language could not stand in the way of empathy that existed in her last months. That little lady, who had endured so much during her life, would continuously rise off of her bed and stacked pillows with a hacking cough from the cancer. Yet she would still be able to smile at me and say to me whatever she would be saying in Italian. It didn’t matter what it was or that I didn’t understand hardly a word. Just the tone in her voice denoted to me that whatever she had to say was pleasing. It was at these times when I was closest to my grandmother. We buried her on New Year’s Eve, 1970.

The primary point of interest in my grandfather’s basement was the fact that he had his own wine cellar. I can still till this day remember the aroma of the wine, the vats and kegs, and how the aroma had permeated itself into the very wood of the structures. My grandfather died at the age of 76 in 1958, so if there was any chance of learning how to make my own wine the old fashion way, it died with him.

My grandfather’s generation of men, most of whom worked in the brickyards of the railroads, spoke little if any English. They would gather outside the local corner grocery store of Mr. Morelli’s. I would hang out with them, running about, listening to all the conversation swirling about me in Italian and never understanding a word, except the occasional word of English, or "capish" (you understand) and “you son-of-a-bitch” (pronounced "you son of a beech"); which believe me when the appropriate emphasis is placed upon the vowels as only Italians can do, and the fingers come together on the one hand, raised, and shaking in the direction of the intended, the latter becomes a very Italian word.

There was only one day a week during the warm seasons when the old Italian men, each in their caps that distinguished them from their sons’ generation, would abandon the corner. That was the one day each week when the Salvation Army band came to play and sing praises to the Lord on the corner. These “Onward Christian Soldiers”, the men in their military style uniforms, and the women with their long skirts and blue bonnets that tied into a bow along the side of their faces would play music with their drum, guitars, bass, and brass horns. The sound of this band and the singing of the “old time religious hymns” had to be so foreign to the ears of this Italian community that was cultured in the pop music of the likes of Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin, Rosemary Clooney, and Julius LaRosa, on one hand; and Gregorian Chant, and Enrico Caruso and Mario Lanza on the other. Yet in a sense that Salvation Army band was a part of that community just by the fact that it was faithfully there on that corner in front of Mr. Morelli’s store that one day a week, week after week, and year after year during the warm seasonal months performing what they felt called to do.

I remember the sticky fly paper strips hanging from the ceiling on our enclosed sun porch at the back of the apartment. The small screens that opened horizontally and were placed between the open window and the window ledge to let in whatever breeze could be found among homes that were only a few feet apart from one another, and which did a poor job of keeping out the mosquitoes. The closeness of the homes in the summer also made family arguments the neighbor’s business whether neighbors chose to listen or not. I remember my mother heating water on the stove in a huge galvanized bucket, so we could have hot water for bathing, and how the sunlight reflected off the water and onto the ceiling and bounced about the ceiling as the water came to a boil. I remember the junk man coming down the alley with his buckboard and horse to accumulate whatever junk people had for him. I remember the milkman daily delivering milk in reusable glass bottles, the mail man who everybody knew by name, and the insurance man who came to personally collect his monthly premium. I remember the knife man, who came to the corner with his knife sharpening cart which had one wheel that allowed him to lift his cart like a wheel barrel and move it from place to place, clanging a bell to get the neighborhood’s attention that the knife man was ready to ply his trade. He would pedal, and the straps and grinders began to move as he held the knife handles and their blades in place for sharpening. The iceman would arrive to bring the large blocks of ice for the iceboxes of neighbors who had yet to own a refrigerator. I remember the occasional visits of the coal man. The back of his truck filled with coal as he cranked it up, and the coal would slide down the shoot into a huge pile on the basement floor. I remember my grandfather shoveling coal into the roaring fire of the monstrous furnace during the winter months. I also remember the lickings I would get when I was covered with coal dust from playing in the pile.

Many of these jobs may not exist in Cuenca today, but there are many comparable jobs that allow Cuecanos to have jobs in this society—jobs that could quickly disappear in Ecuador as they already have over the generations in the United States as technological change not only altered employment shifts, but also made the need particularly for massive numbers of unskilled labor obsolete. In the 50’s in the United States all a man needed was a strong back. He could find gainful employment, and with that the dignity of being a breadwinner for his family. It appears to still be that way in Cuenca.

The sense of community was also there in the 1950s. People knew their mailman, the milkman, their insurance man, their doctor. These were people who came into their homes on a regular basis, and in a sense became an extension of the family, and definitely were a part of the community.

As I see Cuencanos make their way to the cabinas, the local barber or beautician, the little neighborhood family-owned stores and bakeries, or just watching neighborhood women gathering to chat; I see the kind of community that once existed in the United States. Today, the local folks have their amuerozo (mid-day meal and usually the main meal of the day) and cena (supper) in the small local neighborhood restaurants or at home. The midday breaks from school and work offer families the opportunity to be together for a couple of hours, as many Ecuadorian businesses close for about three hours in the afternoon. A tradition that for the most part still continues to a large extent throughout Ecuador. I watch as the mothers pick up their young ones from school or meet them at the bus; and it reminds me of living in a community as a child where we could walk home for lunch, our mother there to greet us and have lunch ready, talking with family, and as we got older maybe some T.V. watching before a return to school.

The local ice cream man who bicycles his ice cream carriage through the current neighborhood where I live in Zona Rosa is reminiscent of the ice cream boys who bicycled down the streets without the built-in umbrellas the Cuenca bicyclers have today. The boys would pedal and while pedaling would ring by hand the bells built into their handles. I always marveled as a kid as to how the inside of the casing was cold and all this smoke would come out of the casing that held the stored ice cream, and yet it didn’t melt the ice cream. Later, I would come to understand the phenomena of dry ice.

Like most families in the 1950’s we were a one car family. When my mother wanted to go shopping to larger business districts than our local downtown; the bus, just like in Cuenca, was the main means of transportation. The buses were often very crowded especially during rush hours, and it was not unusual to find ourselves standing during much of the trip, particularly when homeward bound from a day of shopping. And just like in Cuenca, the bus left behind its calling card of exhaust fumes. Disembarked passengers or those waiting for a different numbered bus may shrivel their noses in a pinched-type manner or look away in the aftermath of the fumes. However, no one in the 1950’s and 60’s expected it to be any other way. Exhaust fumes were just something you endured.

As I observe kids play in the neighborhoods and out on the streets of Cuenca. Sometimes I have been surprised at how much they can be on their own with little supervision. Yet that was exactly the way it was for me growing up. I had the run of the neighborhood. My mother often did not know where I was as she was in the upstairs apartment. This is no criticism of my mother. She was and is a wonderful mom. It was just the way it was for most kids in the neighborhood. We could be gone for hours on our bikes as we became older and no one worried. One day in Cuenca I saw a little guy who didn’t look any older than four years old standing behind a parked pickup truck on Avenue of the Americas, a very busy street. The adults were talking and obviously loss sight of him. Yet, it reminded me of when I was that age and would walk one block over to a street as busy as Avenue of America. The neighbor lady would call my mother and inform her of my whereabouts. Everybody knew everybody in the neighborhood, and everybody felt a responsibility for everyone, particularly for the kids in the neighborhood. Crime was so low that people did not lock their cars and often did not lock their homes when they were away. Why, one could grab hold of the lip on the ignition and start the car without a key. I know. I did it many times.

When I was on the street, I was everywhere in the neighborhood. I was across the street from my grandparent’s visiting with Frank the shoemaker, or upstairs above the shoe shop visiting with my baby-sitter, Jean, and her dad, who made a living hanging wall paper. I might be down the block talking to one of the parish priests with whatever conversation a four or five year old had on his mind. There were my frequent trips to Mr. Morelli’s store talking with him and his wife, and buying some penny candy. I might be down the block at my uncle’s bar and restaurant. My Uncle Al was always good for an eight ounce bottle of coke, and my favorite, Hershey bar with almonds. The booze was off limits to me. Above his bar and restaurant lived my Uncle Mike and Aunt Carmela and my three cousins. My uncle and aunt had at one time owned the restaurant below. I can still remember one day of studiously focusing my attention on the picture of the mammy on the box of Aunt Jemima pancake mix, as my aunt went about her business making me a stack of pancakes. Why that image would become imprinted on my little mind, I have no idea. I would hang out at the Ricardi’s. My parents would tease me that the Ricardi’s youngest daughter, Catherine, who was much older than I, was my girl friend; because I spent so much time with her. Catherine’s younger brother, Joey, who after returning from one of his local fishing expeditions would bring the fish home—blue gills, bass, sun fish. He couldn’t get me to gut them, but I would try to help Joey scrape the scales off the fish with a knife. Just in living everyday as a kid, there was so much to learn from the adults and older kids around us. Like osmosis, I took in the culture around me without ever thinking of it as learning. I was just simply being.

I don’t know what kind of festivals and processions my grandparents left behind in Italy in the early part of the twentieth century. Nor do I know to what extent these events are as prevalent in Italy today as they are in Ecuador. I do know that our Italian neighborhood, outside of the annual church carnival and rides that are so prevalent in Catholic churches even today in the United States of any ethnic background or none at all, did not have the festivities and religious processions so common in Ecuador.

However, holidays like Christmas and Easter were big celebrations. The family gathered at my grandparent’s. The tree covered in lights, ornaments, and silver metallic ice cycles. Typical of a distinctively Italian flavor was the large Nativity scenes of stable, manger, and statues of all the characters of the Nativity story that were portrayed prominently in the home.

Of course while turkey and dressing were served, an Italian Christmas dinner would not be complete without pasta, a huge platter of meats that had simmered in the sauce, and no one made meatballs better than my grandmother, and there was still the Italian bread, and Italian-styled potatoes and all the trimmings.

The dining room buffet was enshrouded from one end to the other with Italian cookies and pastries. All made fresh by my Italian aunts—hard as rock genuine, Italian style biscotti (twice-baked cookies), which were made for dunking in hot beverages or in wine; an incredible assortment of cookies and cakes of various kinds, cannoli (stuffed with ricotta cheese), chocolate and vanilla pudding- filled cream puffs that my Aunt Rose would make, and which were always one of my favorites. Carbs and sugar were definitely the hallmark of the day of feasting.

Of course, those meat dishes of my childhood were the prosperous years of the post-war era. My father would remind me that gourmet meals of simple pasta cooked in garlic and olive oil, which had become a rage in restaurants in the 1990’s, and for which people were paying big bucks, were the depression meals upon which my dad and his siblings grew up and were glad to have.

At the age of five as I was about ready to begin school, my parents moved from the apartment above my grandparent’s home, and bought their first home on the other side of town in the very heavily Irish neighborhood. Although we were only a mile from my grandparents, and my other aunts and uncles had or would also leave the old neighborhood in search of their own homes, which eventually would lead to the movement out into the suburbs. A movement that began in the 50’s, but would accelerate in the 60’s. By the end of the 70’s the old timers had passed on, and the younger generation had moved on to be replaced by new waves of immigrant groups. Today, the Catholic church is still a church, but no longer Catholic. The school was closed in the 90’s, and two years ago the last family associated with the old neighborhood finally moved away. A neighborhood which was once so safe is now so dangerous.

The people living in this once Italian neighborhood today have no inkling of the life and community of people that once lived there. Nor would they care. This vibrant community of my early childhood exists today only in the memories of a dwindling number of souls, and in the cemeteries where one can see so many of the Italian names of those who once lived their lives out in this diminutive neighborhood of a by-gone era. I wonder how much longer, the aspects and values of Cuenca that are similar to that time period in my early childhood neighborhood will endure in Cuenca, itself?