It Rents Itself

For Rent signs are all over Cuenca, per above. "Se Arrienda" means "it rents itself," from the infinitive "arrendar." The pic below is from Staraya Rusa, Belorussia. It says "Аренда / arenda," also meaning rent. It's a Romance borrowing. Small world.

Grapas

Cloudy now, but the sun could attack at any time.

Putting up solar LED lightstrings in the courtyard. I had been thinking of using electrical alligator clips, but these fence staples (grapas) were cheaper and easy to friction fit with a rubber mallet. The balcony belongs to my neighbor Laura. My wife was on our balcony praying a rosary, and daughter Francesca was having a cigarette (alas) in the courtyard, while I was up & down on the ladder. Laura came out to air blankets. We had a nice visit. We're odd ducks in our no-gringo neighborhood, so Laura is interested in what we're up to. 

We refilled our hummingbird feeders a few days ago. While I was putting the lights up, a hummingbird came by for a snort. They're about titmouse size here, and not as skittish as the North American ones.

Can't wait to see how the lights will look tonight.

Salud!

Janet & I, as legal residents in Ecuador, have signed up for National Healthcare. It costs about $90 a month for us both. But as long as we don't have a crisis, we'll continue to pay out-of-pocket for private healthcare. We can afford to, and there's no point in crowding folks who don't have our options.

For the last few days, Janet has been coughy and achy in her chest & lungs, which in her case might suggest pleurisy. Or worse, pneumonia. She was too worn out to walk to Clinica Latino, so we splurged on a $1.75 cab ride.

I explained Janet's symptoms to the receptionist, who referred us to a pulmonary doc. We waited about 10 minutes to be seen by him, a personable and serene kinda guy. After a gentle and thorough exam, he said it wasn't a lung ailment, but mild sinusitis which was causing her chest to work harder to inflate the lungs. We sat at his desk while he legibly wrote out a prescription for 3 meds, and some recommendations for treating symptoms, including gargling with apple juice, which like most juices is thick and pulpy here. Once he was satisfied that I got it all, he gave me a card and said it was fine to call him anytime on his cell. No paperwork, no intermediaries, no hurry.

We paid $40 cash, and headed to the farmacia, where a week's worth of meds cost another $27.

Life is good.

As an aside, I used to wonder why it's "Clinica Latino," instead of "Clinica Latina." It's because the whole name is "Clinica Latinoamerica," and shortening the adjective doesn't change the implied feminine gender.

Cuenca Eye Candy

When we run errands, we usually reward ourselves with a drink, snack or ice cream. Walking home can involve a 250' climb from some parts of town, so a break before that labor is nice. This is a pic by daughter Francesca on the back terrace of Cafe del Museo. The museum fronts east-west Calle Larga (long street), the south limit of Centro Historico. On the back it overlooks the Rio Tomebamba, one of Cuenca's four rivers (Santa Ana de los Ríos de Cuenca/ Saint Ann of the Rivers of Basin).

One of the few places where I can get a Manhattan

The short way to the back terrace is through the museum, whose front door on Calle Larga is about 40' higher than the Tomebamba. One walks down stairs in the museum about 30' to arrive at the terrace which is about 10' above the river (which can seriously flood during rainy season). It's a very tranquil view across the river to the newer town. Even though there's a 2 lane highway on the other side, the sight and sound of traffic is obscured and muted by the greenery and fast-moving water.

Pic looking north across the Tomebamba. This isn't a shot of the Museo, as trees block that view, but it's typical. Buildings that show two stories on Calle Larga will have six on the river side. There's a walk along the river, so people can stroll and stop at one of many places to eat and drink. We had idly considered buying a condo overlooking the river, but Calle Larga is loud until the wee hours, and we're basically house people anyway. Cuenca's only 60 miles from the Pacific Ocean, but on the east side of the Andes, so the water in the photo flows into the Amazon, and empties into the Atlantic.

Panela? Canela?

Panela

I don't remember seeing panela in the States. It's unrefined sugar that's very common in Ecuador. We use it in coffee, sweet & sour pork, etc. when we might have used brown sugar in the US. Hard taffy is made from it as well. I've been having trouble distinguishing panela from another edible, canela, finally got them straightened out today. Panela literally means "little bread." Canela means "little cane." But in Spanish, canela says "cinnamon." I kept thinking that the unrefined sugar was canela since it comes from sugarcane; and then would get confused about it being cinnamon. And panela would just mean roll or biscuit.

But panela isn't typically sold in milled (granulated) form (panela molida) but in small hard bricks. Little loaf sized, hence panela. That also explains Queso Panela, small hard cheeses. Got it.

Back to canela. Canela's a cognate of Greek 'kanna,' cane. The root form shows up in all sorts of languages: Arabic al-qandi, candy; kanna, a measuring stick, e.g. canon; and cannon, a tube. Like panela, cinnamon is not typically sold in milled form here either. Instead, it's the raw inner bark product that comes rolled up. We'd call it a stick of cinnamon, but due to the shape it's called by a version of 'canuto,' which is the Spanish word for 'little tube.' Canela, little tube. Similar to cannoli and canneloni. Got this too.

Canela

Bellavista

Photo by Gilber Tacuri looking down Calle Benigno Malo toward Catedral Nueva. From our house we'd be headed to Mass or Happy Hour depending on the day. We looked at a house on this street, but bought one further up the hill in a quieter neighborhood.

No Más

A couple of months ago after Mass we bought some groceries on the way home. The bagger, a man maybe in his late 20s, was asking me where we were from etc. I asked if he was a Cuencano. He said no, he was from Caracas, Venezuela. We talked about the situation; he was a professor back in Caracas, taught Portuguese. I know dabs of Portuguese, we did some basic chat in that. I asked if he was teaching here. No, he just had the grocery job, but it was good, and he was one of the lucky ones.

In the meantime there's new graffiti along our walk into town: FUERA VENEZUELA (Venezuela Out). Too many refugees getting low level work in a seriously underemployed society.