Cuenca: Delightful and Enchanting

I have received emails from friends and family back home, who wonder what are my overall impressions of Cuenca, and do I like it here. Granted I've only been here in the city for four days now, but I have already done quite a bit of exploring. Therefore,I will share my initial impressions with you.

No doubt the weather is grand, and even more so when placed in the context that July in Cuenca would be the equivalency of the middle of January back home in Chicago. Yesterday was quite warm. Today began raining and cloudy. It was the first time I had to wear my jacket, which was over a short sleeve shirt and I was quite comfortable. Cuenca, much like we have back home, has its share of rain showers, scattered showers, or showers that are brief or prolonged. To date, I have not experienced any thunder and lightning storms. I will need to ask someone if Cuenca has such storms. However, I understand that all day drizzle and rain is seldom. Although it remained cloudy all day, it had not rained anymore after the early morning hours. What was also surprising was that it felt warmer in the evening than it did during the day.

Just as the rains in Chicago make everything very green, and contribute to keeping much of the haze out of the air when we get those rains. The rains in Cuenca produce the same refreshing effect. The vegetation is vividly green, the showers cleanse the city, and everything just stands out to ones sight in Cuenca. It truly is a city where a cloudy day or not, unless the mountains tops are enveloped in fog, you can see forever. The cars undergo strict emissions standards. Unfortunately, the public buses do not, and there are many buses in Cuenca. If the buses were required to follow strict emission standards, I would not be surprised if Cuenca would have the best large city air quality in the world. Cuenca is the cultural center of Ecuador, so there is little industrial pollution. Possibly, being high in the Andes is another contributing factor for its clean air. Some people take a few days to adjust to the higher altitude in Cuenca, but that was not a problem for me. I find myself naturally taking in deep breaths of air, because the air has such a clean quality to it. My lungs behave as if I have given them a great gift, and my entire body feels invigorated.

Cuenca is also the only place in Ecuador where the water is not polluted to any measurable degree, and where gringos can drink the water directly from the tap. I have always liked Lake Michigan water, and from my experiences found it to be among the best tasting tap water in the United States. Some people I am told have problems adjusting to the water in Cuenca, because of its high mineral content. I did not experience that problem, and find the water to be the best I've ever had. There is no fluoride placed in the water. I have read a number of medical accounts that attribute fluoride as a contributor to plaque build up in coronary arteries, as well as contributing to alzheimer disease. I don't need either. Cuenca water is pure tasting, and free of any kind of aftertaste.

Cuenca sits in a basin and is surrounded by elevated land and mountains, which provides a beautiful setting. In some ways, Cuenca reminds me of the main island of Hawaii minus the oceans, Waikiki, and central Honolulu with it gleaming glass shrouded high rises. As one moves away from the ocean side, and eventually over to the least settle side of the island opposite Waikiki one gets a real feel for the typical homes of Honolulu and the natural beauty of the hills and sandy beaches. This is the part of Honolulu, minus the beaches, that reminds me of Cuenca. The tallest buildings in Cuenca are only eight to ten stories tall, and that is a relatively new construction phenomena.

The mountains, the low lying nebulous clouds that almost form a dome over the city; I can almost feel as if I can reach out and touch any one of these flawless acts of creation. The light of the equatorial sun, which can be masked behind the large dark clouds when it is about to rain, can enhance the light reflected on the city's buildings at different times of the day--a reflection that gives an entirely new mood and atmosphere to the city. From the vantage point of my condo balcony,the houses and buildings under these atmospheric conditions appear like little dioramas. The city does not follow a simple grid pattern, and parts of it is hilly. Streets oftentimes curve and meander. As evening approaches, and dusk sets in, the street lights appear to flicker as if they were lanterns which gives an enchanting feeling to the night time city

The mountains are most inspiring, and continuously changing as the lighting of different times of the day give an entirely new look and feel to what I see. From greens, to reflected streaks of sun light, to bold black hills that are sometimes blended with grays. Each moment speaks to the ever changing perspectives of the mountain views. As I snap photos with my camera, I fear that my lens is not capturing all the subtle shadings and moods of the mountains that I see with my naked eye. I guess you will just have to come to Cuenca to capture the experience of which words can only hint. There is also much more to what makes Cuenca so exceptional besides its biosphere, but that will be for another day.

Walking on the Wild Side and Riding the Bulls in Cuenca

There is a wild side to Cuenca while walking its streets. It's called "taking on the bulls", which this pedestrian and every other pedestrian matador unfurls every time anyone crosses its streets. There are few traffic lights, and not many stop signs—not that either of them matter. Whether I wish to cross at the intersection or in the middle of the block, the goal is to cross the street without being gored by the mechanical bulls. Rarely anyone in Cuenca simply walks across the street, even at the intersection. It is you or the bull. Scurry at a minimum, but better yet just run across the street. The bulls are the masters of the roadway, and our fate is in their hands, and if not careful our hides can become permanent hood ornaments along the roadway of life.

It is amazing how autos just ignore stop signs with regularity and at best just slow down to a roll through the intersections. As soon as a traffic light changes, it is like New York City, everyone is on their horn. Coming from Chicago, where the pedestrian has the right of way; stepping off the curb, and crossing against the lights are common. That kind of mindset will get you killed in Cuenca. Many of the streets are narrow, since they were built before the days of automobiles. Yet parking may be allowed along one side of the street, while the other lane is used for traffic. Therefore, space is a precious commodity, and the drivers like the bulls of Pamplona, grasp for whatever inch of pavement they can get as they meander through the narrow passageways of Cuenca.

I took a taxi ride yesterday to the Del Rio Mall. It was just after a shower and the streets were slick. Cars were constantly bobbing and weaving in and out of traffic for the advantage. In that respect, it was like riding on the Dan Ryan in Chicago. Although even I was surprised at the number of drivers who ride two lanes simultaneously, as if deciding which lane will give them the advantage before relinquishing the other lane. At one point, I thought my own driver was going to skid into the back of a truck on the slick pavement, when he miraculously maneuvered around the truck as if it was nothing. Of course, it’s always more nerve wracking in these situations when you are the passenger and left to be dependent upon the skills and foresight of the driver. Being known for my own heavy pedal to the metal driving style, I think I could hold my own on the streets of Cuenca. I much prefer Cuencano driving styles to the slow motion driving in Honolulu. A driver behind the wheel could be dead for years, before anyone in Honolulu would ever notice that the driver was no longer viable. But being a pedestrian in Cuenca, not so good.

Street Walking in Cuenca

As my plane arrived in Cuenca, I had my jacket out in preparation for the 60 degree weather I was anticipating. Folks, keep in mind that I am in the Southern Hemisphere near the Equator. We are in the middle of winter here. Well, I certainly did not need my coat. It felt like 85-90 degrees outside, without the humidity we experience in Chicago. The temperatures may have been in the 70's from what I can ascertain from the weather links, which would be unusually warm for this time of year. The average temperature in Cuenca in July is in the upper 50's, the average high temperature is about 63 and the average low is in the upper 40's. The temperature averages throughout the year do not vary more than five degrees warmer than the winter averages for July and August.

I have heard Cuenca weather referred to as perpetually spring-like. However, with the intensity of the sun, when it is not being hidden by clouds; temperatures in the 60's feel a great deal warmer than what we are accustomed to back home. The 60's feel more like back home when it is raining here. Temperatures vary widely throughout the day. Today was not as warm as yesterday and more cloudy, but still a nice day. I have not worn my jacket either day, although by evening a jacket is needed. If this is winter Cuenca-style, I'm lovin it!

Yesterday was very busy for me. I was picked up at the airport by Pablo, who works for Cuenca Real Estate through whom I am renting a condo in what is referred to as a new part of the city, as opposed to the colonial part of the city, which is in walking distance of my residence. Pablo was very helpful. I had no problem finding my way to the Maxi-store about four blocks from where I am residing. People refer to it as a Walmart-like store, but I find it more the size of a large supermarket back home, with about the same offerings one would find in a supermarket.

After I delivered my groceries back to the condo, I headed in the opposite direction toward the downtown and colonial section, which was about a mile walk. I had no problems finding the Information Center and procuring a map of Quenca. I then walked over to Cuenca Real Estate where I met Chela, who handled my transaction for rental through email and PayPal. Despite some early misunderstandings in communication in our use of PayPal, we were able to clear that problem up and eventually finalize the rental transaction. If anyone is planning on coming to Cuenca for an extended stay, I would recommend them to you. I know anxiety levels can arise, when transmitting funds to a foreign country to businesses of which we know little. The people at Cuenca Real Estate can be trusted, and they are well established in Cuenca.

On my way back from town, I stopped at a pizza restaurant to order a personal pizza. The restaurant was of neighborhood vintage, one that we would refer to back home as "a hole in the wall" type of eatery. The couple working there may have been husband and wife. She was obviously very pregnant and well into her final month or two. Neither spoke English. I sat at the counter, although there were tables to the back of the restaurant, where one young couple enjoyed their pizza and each others company. From my vantage point, I watched the lady take the flour out of a vat the size of a barrel and run it through some dough processor, which she turned by hand. The oven was located right next to her. Luckily, for me I can read Spanish much better than I can speak it. I was able to point to the individualized pizza from the menu on the wall, and the selection of toppings I wanted. For only $1.50, I had an individualized pizza that was delicioso. The crust was between a deep-dish and a thin crust. It was light and flaky. The toppings of pepperoni, salami, a vegetable I couldn't identify, and queso cheese made for a very tantalizing feast. It was surprising how good pizza can be with queso cheese. You can bet I will be visiting their eatery frequently. I don't know its name, but I will have no problem finding it. Believe me, their pizza would have no problem competing with Chicago's finest.

The sidewalks along the streets are quite narrow as are most of the streets. Sometimes the walks are so narrow only one person can walk by, while the other must step into the street. The walkways can be cobble-stone or just concrete that needs fixing. While I definitely have to watch where I am walking, it becomes difficult for me. I am always looking around absorbing everything in sight. As I walk along I see old homes, new homes, nicely painted homes, and structures not so nicely painted and in need of work. All of these structures side by side in the same neighborhood.

It is interesting to be in a city of 600,000, that bustles and yet has a small town feeling to it. A bus goes down the street, and along the way there are chickens and roosters--large chickens and roosters. In fact, at one spot along the walkway, the roosters greatly outnumbered the chickens. I imagined those roosters must make for a rather noisy time in the neighborhood,which goes beyond the simply early sunrise crowing. I pass every kind of business--some that seem to operate out of the front of their homes to serve the needs of the local neighborhood population, some are restaurants, some are small businesses that employ a craft of one kind or another. Then there are the shops where you can enter and select your own coffin, as the very colorful coffins are stacked vertically in racks along the wall. Then there will be goats. Yes generally in small front yards. Live lawn ornaments. The modern and the traditional--the urban and the rural--coming together to make the present. This is Cuenca.

From Chicago to Cuenca

My arrival in Ecuador was uneventful and leisurely, which was a good thing. I stayed overnight in Guayaquil, which is the largest city in Ecuador—about a million and a half people. My stay was at a Hampton Inn near the airport. It was a very nice room, particularly for the money. My brother, Leo, would have been proud of me, since my usual travel fare is more of the Day’s Inn variety. The gentleman who took my bags up to the room and got me situated (I don’t know if calling him a bell-hop would be appropriate, since he was in a uniform blazer, dress shirt,and tie.) did not accept my tip. I knew that tipping was not generally done in Ecuador. However, under the circumstances and being an American-owned hotel, I thought offering a tip might be the modus operandi. Instead, he said, “No sir, that is not necessary.” He took my hand in both of his and shaking it said. “I hope you have an enjoyable stay when you arrive in Cuenca. Welcome again to Ecuador.”

I received little sleep on Sunday evening, but was amazed how rested I felt on Monday. Even when we arrived in Guayaquil and had the two hour ordeal of waiting in line to complete everything through customs and procure our luggage, I was amazed how the entire day seemed to go by quickly. Lucky for me I did not have the usual type of restlessness, when trips are four hours and longer. The jets were small, so there was no hanging out near the restrooms like in my United flights to Hawaii, where one could stand, stretch, and talk to other passengers.

I already know from all my research that one has to be patient in Ecuador. Once I made up my mind that this processing through customs was not going to be quick, and despite the fact I was tired; it was easy to alternate between zoning-out and discretely studying people around me. Just as it was about to be my turn to place my carry-on baggage on the conveyor belt for its x-ray. I saw a line of wheel chair disabled begin to align along side of us. I knew we were in for a prolonged wait, but how could I begrudge people who were handicapped? Then an unusual thing happened. A hombre brings a long line of travelers and their baggage, and they are allowed to go ahead of us. The one man appeared to be responsible for both the luggage of the handicapped passengers, and their wheel chair movement forward as he lugged their luggage on the conveyor belt. Whenever he put luggage on the belt and then moved a wheel chair forward, the other man would begin to throw baggage on the belt from his new line of people. When the one man had finished with about ten or twelve wheel chair travelers, then we had to wait for the other man to finish with his group.

I could tell that the guard who supervised our placement of baggage on the belt, initially from his hand motions and body language seem to question this new group proceeding ahead of us. However, he soon told me and the others we would have to wait. I was waiting for the reaction of the young and feisty Ecuadorian woman standing behind me in line. She had been quite impatient, and was quick to ask me to move up more rapidly in line, whenever I left more than four feet between me and the person in front of me. As the people proceeded to place their luggage on the belt while we watched, I turned to grab a glance at the woman behind me. All she did was shrug in resignation. I may have perceived this entire situation wrongly. I assume, however, that from what I read of how business is frequently conducted in Ecuador; someone was given a financial incentive to move certain clients along more rapidly and conveniently at the expense of others.

Needless to say, Monday evening, I slept solidly. I arrived at the airport in Guayaquil Tuesday morning to learn that our flight to Cuenca had been delayed for two hours, because of technical problems. I got some more shut-eye while at the terminal, after I talked for awhile to an Hispanic man from the states and his Cuencano wife, who were traveling to Cuenca with their two young children. Their trip aboard Delta was a nightmare. I had problems with Delta as well when I flew out to Atlanta a couple of years ago. Delta was terrible at keeping us informed as to what was happening, and how long and when delays would be addressed. I traveled American Airlines into Guayaquil, and it was a pleasant experience. Lan Air was responsible for the two hour delay. It was funny, because the trip to Quenca by air was only twenty-five minutes, almost the time it took the flight attendants to explain to us what to do in an emergency.

The Ecuadorians have an interesting custom, when we flew in from Miami and landed in Guayaquil, and then landed in Cuenca; as soon as the jet’s wheels touched the landing strip, they would break out into applause. I don’t know. Maybe, they were holding their breaths the entire trip.

Blessings and Curses, Curses and Blessings!

I had such an easy time (well, easy time for me) formatting my blog that I deluded myself into thinking this blog posting is going to be a piece of cake. Wrong! I never learn. Nothing new for me on a computer ever comes easy. While some of you have wondered; "Jim, where's the blog you promised?" "Jim, did you forget to email me with the link to your post site?" I just wasn't ready to post beyond the first posting, until I learned how to download photos. I hear you snickering, "Oh that's easy." It's always some simple step I fail to see, or when I apply someone's written directions they just don't work the same way for me. After spending three hours Monday evening, another two hours Wednesday evening after my son, Marc, demonstrated to me what to do, and another hour Thursday afternoon attempting to follow my son's email instructions; I still can't download the photos from Photobucket to my blog.

I finally had lunch with Marc today before he travels to Maryland, so we could go over my transferring photos from my camera to my laptop, and so we could see what my problem is with downloading photos from the computer. Well, as you can see, I managed to get two photos posted. Neither of them is the same size. But this is the closest I'm going to come to a victory. I lost a third photo into cyberspace, which is probably lost forever. I ran out of time to post the fourth photo of Marc. Unless another miracle happens, maybe I'll get a photo of you, Marc, posted as well when I'm in Cuenca. I've worked on those photos for six hours today, since Marc and I parted. I guess I'm stubborn as a mule, because I should have been packing for Monday's trip.

Quite frankly, I have little experience with wifi and laptops. If I have connectivity problems in Cuenca, this may be the last post you'll see until I return. If this obstacle infuriates me beyond my breaking point, I may also steam-roll the computer into a permanent part of the road pavement.

I have little patience with all this technology, but a great deal of perseverance. It never fails that after I struggle with some software, someone will then come along and lickity-split, "That's all you had to do, Jim." I love computers when they function as they should, which means not expecting me to do anything more than what I already know how to do. Marc soothingly says, "Dad, the computer is not your enemy, it is your friend." "Don't let it get to you." Yea sure, coming from the computer whiz kid. I know growth often requires trials and tribulation. However, it gets frustrating when there is no gain for the pain, until someone instantaneously shows me what to do. Blessings and curses, curses and blessings.

Whither To and Fro

Last summer on my return trip from Hawaii, I spent a few days in Monterey, California visiting with my eldest son, Marc, who was residing there. There is no doubt that the Pacific coast is awesomely beautiful. The colored-hew of the jagged rocks lapped by the ocean waves, the beauty of the trees and forests, the sandy beaches--all like scenes I remember from "Play Misty for Me", and from a previous travel along the Pacific coast. Of course there were towns like Monterey and Carmel to experience and enjoy. (Sorry, folks, didn't see Clint Eastwood anywhere.) My son and I had a very good meal at an Italian restaurant. Italian pasta is not something one would recommend for lite eating. I think most people would agree that a plate of pasta is a meal in itself, although you can not tell that to an Italian. The meal was particularly memorable for its dessert. I was brought a slice of carrot cake that was at least a quarter of the entire cake, complemented with huge double mounds of vanilla ice cream. As the waitress approached our table the site of that cake was obscene. I saw the owner smile and look approvingly as the dessert made its way down the aisle like a bride at her wedding, and captured the attention of every eye in the restaurant. I humorously, publicly offered to share "the slice" with everyone present. I can be a real sucker for desserts, so I generally stay away from them. Like an alcoholic, it's all or nothing with me. In this case, it was all; and yes, I did eat every last bite of that sumptuously delicious cake. The two women sitting next to us smiled when the cake first arrived, but upon my completion of dessert gave me the most disgusting sneers, which screamed "glutton!" Guilty as charged, with no iota of guilt feelings. If given the chance, I'd do it all again!

In September, Marc had made his way for a month of travel and study in Egypt, where he was able to see all of the historic sites and immerse himself in the culture and history. Needless to say, Marc enjoyed the experience immensely, and had the opportunity to make new American friends who accompanied him on the trip as well.

By January, Marcus was saying goodbye to Monterey and traveling by car to his new assignment in Texas. His brother, Chris, was doing desert training in the Death Valley area, and Marc stopped by the isolated base, and by chance actually caught Chris at a time when he wasn't doing a mission simulation. No one can contact the soldiers while they're training, and Marc if he had not been military himself never would have gotten beyond the gate. The two had about an hour to visit at the base's Burger King. Chris was totally surprised, wearily tired from the little sleep he gets in training, and found their meeting to be totally surreal. What were the odds of pulling off such a meeting in the desert of California, while one brother was on his way to Texas and the other would soon be returning to Hawaii.

Marc recently completed his assignment with the Air Force in Texas, and is now at home before he leaves this Saturday for his new assignment in Maryland outside of Washington, D.C. Since he was seven and took a Saturday class in French, it was obvious Marc had an ear for languages and sound discrimination. At seven, he had already sounded like a little Frenchman. It was no surprise that this highly verbal kid would later choose to be a college English major, study Spanish in high school and in college (If only his dad had done the same--welcome gringo to Cuenca.) Now as Marc heads out East, and looks forward to everything the East Coast has to offer, I'll head southeasterly this Monday for Cuenca. What an age in which we live; where life, space, and time are all compacted into a one big swoosh. In turn, my sons have truly been raised to live in a global world.

E KOMA MAI (Welcome)

This has been a year of extraordinary change for me and my sons. Last summer I had visited Hawaii for the first time. How do I describe the beauty of O'hau without sounding cliched. I can't. If it isn't paradise, then it is truly a wonderful imitation of the real thing. The month of May brought me back to this land of enchantment for my son, Chris' wedding. Chris had been stationed in Honolulu after completing his first tour of duty in Iraq. Like a story out of a fairy tale, he met the girl of his dreams, and she the boy of hers. From the first time they laid eyes on one another--they knew. On May 22nd, the were united in Holy Matrimony and began their lives as Chris and Maria Mola.

People find it amusing that the couple who married in "The Land of Enchantment" honeymooned in Las Vegas. But that they did, and now Maria will face another year of college in Honolulu, while her Chris has returned to Iraq for his second tour of duty. The Yin and the Yang of life. It's tough on newlyweds to be away from each other after such a short time together. Hopefully, the longing for one another will strengthen both their love and their bonds.

My parents were apart for two years during World War II. My dad departed only a week after the wedding to serve on the Pacific Front. What beautiful love letters my mom and dad wrote to one another during his absence. As a kid I would sneak into the old military trunk in the basement, see and touch my mother's wedding gown and veil, cock my dad's old army hat to the side of my head,and read the letters my mom and my dad had exchanged. One of my greatest disappointments was to learn from my father before he died in 1996,that he destroyed the letters in the belief that "these expressed devotions of love" were my mom and dad's own private conversation, and that no one else would be interested in "some old love letters". While I can respect my dad's first point, how wrong he was about the second.