Family Tree

Shot of family photos starting to go up the stairwell:

Typical Cuenca

Apropos of nothing, Parque San Sebas(tian) in Cuenca, photo by John Griffiths. One of the few spots in Centro Historico with outdoor dining options.

Dog & Pig Day at Mass

Don't see no pigs.

Today Mass started late because the priest was busy in the narthex blessing all the dogs (and one pig) that folks brought to church today. It's the feastday of St. Martin de Porres. Others brought Martin statues for blessing, and one woman in the pew ahead of me had a little homemade diorama of a farmyard with Martin supervising the animals. Big Martin (with his broom) was set up in the front off to the side, and after Mass was carried out on poles. We walked in a procession around Centro, accompanied by a brass band. About every 100 yards everyone stopped, and the porters energetically whirled Martin around and up and down. Someone would repeatedly yell 'San Martin,' and the crowd would respond 'Que viva!' Folks threw petals on him, and going around the central park, the procession attracted additional participants. Of course all this blocked the passage of traffic, but nothing was done to hurry the process along.

Right after Mass, a woman introduced herself to us, Teresita. After a bit of chatting, she invited us over this Wednesday. Very gracious of her. We've had trouble getting connected through the parish, as the social dynamic is nearly exclusively family-oriented.

A great morning.

More Cuenca

1. Last night we attended the grand opening of a new park, La Libertad. It's a flat 3-block walk from our house, on the former site of the City Jail. Live music, hizzoner, fireworks, food. Among other structures, there's a substantial 3-story community center/ art museum. The main streetside entry opens into a reception space. Rooms on either side have 4'x6' windows opening into the reception. Oddly, one of these rooms is the men's restroom. So you can stand in the central space and look at mens' backs while they take a leak. If no-one is using the urinals, then you see the urinals. Another window lets you see who is coming in and out of the stalls. I have to assume that blinds will be installed at some point.

       Even if the men don't care, I can't imagine women want to have that view.

https://www.eltiempo.com.ec/noticias/cuenca/2/parque-libertad-cuenca-azuay

2. In the grocery store checkout line today, I chatted with a German mother and her kids. She has taught at the local German school for two years. So here's the odd thing: usually I have no trouble speaking a language I know without English leaking in. Today I couldn't keep Spanish out of German. English didn't show up at all.

       This is progress- of a sort.

3. Yesterday walking home, a man a bit older than I was ahead of me. As he drew abreast of a house for sale, he stopped to take a look. It's one we had considered a couple of years ago. I had measured it and drawn plans, but we decided to to look elsewhere and didn't make an offer. When I caught up to him, I said we had shopped that house. We talked about the price, the layout, the relatively busy street. That led to a discussion about the house we did buy a couple of blocks away, why we chose Cuenca, etc.

I noticed he wore a very particular dress shirt: closely fitted, and made of two striped fabrics. Same colors, but different types of stripe; such that, say, the sleeves were a bit different from the cuffs. I asked his name, it was Cristian Brito. I couldn't believe it! I said, "You're in the Brito family that makes shirts, right?" He said he was. "I read an article about your family at the El Tiempo newspaper website a couple of years ago." I had heard back then that custom shirts were pretty affordable here; and a websearch had found the piece in the paper. Three generations (Cristian's 80+ year-old father was at that time still working) in different shops across town. I asked if he was still working, he said sure, and gave me his home address and wife's phone number. As it is, I have a tailor as my next door neighbor. But I might still get a shirt from Cristian someday.

Aeropuerto Empanada

Cuenca excitement before noon:

Walked to the airport to pick up wife & daughter, who will be living with us & going to school at the Universidad de Cuenca. It's only 1.5 miles, no big deal anymore. Got there early and paid airport prices for breakfast in the waiting area: a big homemade-style chicken empanada (in-bread-ed), and cafe con leche (cf. lactos, galaxy) for $3.50. In small places like this, cafe con leche means a cup full of hot milk with instant coffee added to taste. Today they had added the coffee; other places may give you the instant in a little bowl. None of the dishes match; it's a thrifty country.

The restaurant business here is competitive (of course). Restaurants will often have a greeter outside with a menu. At the airport there are three little fastfood joints in a row. If they aren't busy like today, when someone comes in a worker will strike a Vanna White pose and feature the food, e.g., a platter of robust empanandas. No kidding, except for the unfancy attire, they look just like this:

The women said they prepared the empanada. I didn't ask if they made them at home, but I will next visit. The typical small eatery is a public space off of a domicile, so unless the restaurant is a full-blown business, the food is essentially home-cooked. In general, Ecuadorian food is seasoned, but not spicy. If you want spicy, you're better off at a Mexican restaurant. Yep, there are such things in Ecuador.

 I sat at a window-wall and had a lovely view across the runway of the nearby mountains. I watched the plane land, park right under my nose, and let Janet and Francie out. In the cab home I had a nice time defending the US not allowing folks to walk across the border. I pointed out that Ecuador doesn't allow it, even for starving Venezuelans. No ID, too bad; and this even though V and E have free-passage rules like say the US & Canada. Etc. Anyway that wasn't the only topic while the cabbie fought traffic, we had a pleasant visit.

 As we approached home the cabbie says, wow this is a nice neighborhood (which it is) and a nice big house (also true). I responded that we sold the house in the US and used that money to buy this house, and that it's the biggest, nicest house either of us has ever lived in. We think it's almost a palace. He thought that was interesting: that a gringo's house in Ecuador could possibly be nicer than its American counterpart. It was intended as a compliment of sorts, and I think he took it as such.

The Glamorous Life of the Expat

We've had workmen in & out of the house for months, including times when we were out of town; nothing was ever amiss. We seem to be done with mods now, so it's time to get main locks changed.

I walked into Centro to a small locksmith shop (photo) that's across the street from where I pay the "light" bill. A few people were ahead of me, getting keys made. As it got to be my turn, a young man in an official jacket and big shoulder bag came in. He saw I was next- what did I need? Well, I need locks replaced on two steel gates at my house. We take off right then, a 15 minute walk up to the house. We have a nice conversation the whole way. This is the longest one-on-one chat I have had so far, it was pretty painless. While we are looking at the front gate, Mauro, my Italian neighbor, walks by, smiles & says hello. He's headed home from the tienda where he got his one cigarette for the day. Instead of saying 'como esta' I say 'como va su cigarillo/ how goes your cigarette?' He laughs, says 'muy bien!' and walks on.

Security locks can't be re-cored; the whole assembly has to be cut off each gate and new ones welded on. Apparently they are very hard to defeat. Total cost, $70, Patricio will come back tomorrow morning to do the job.

***************************************************************************

The new locks are in. Turns out they are welded to the backside of a plate that remains part of the steel gate, so from the front it's intact. The backsides need a little touch up painting. My house and its electrical system are 40 years old. I had to stand by the circuit breaker box, and every time the welding machine tripped the breaker I'd reset it. This was after switching off everything in the house including the fridges and computers. I turned it back on about 25 times.

Locksmith lower left. It helps to already know where it is.

Lluvia, lluvia, fuera de aqui!

Bourgeois life in Ecuador today:

I'm doing a crossword in the family room, which is a former courtyard with a glass roof. It's raining and I hear an unfamiliar drip sound. That is, as opposed to the usual drip sounds. Because the glass roof overlaps older tile roofs, two now-interior walls have gutters & downspouts. There's lots of rain-noise, but no leaks since we re-glassed the roof last Spring. I look around- don't see any issues.

But the the rain gets heavier, and the unfamiliar drip changes to a gush- water is pouring into the room from an overflowing gutter. But one can't see into either gutter from inside the room. I run up to the stairwell so I can look through its window into the stopped gutter from the outside. 

Nominal view of virtually-inaccessible gutter though stairwell window.

I can barely see a plastic bag, which has gotten into the gutter; no small feat considering the roof layout, but obviously not impossible. But I can't access the gutter from the outside- that would mean creeping over a 40-year-old terra-cotta roof. I run back inside, grab a stepladder. I can just squeeze two fingers into the gutter from the inside, and by feel pull out the bag. A mess, but not a catastrophe. Thank God that we were in Ecuador; that we were in town; that I was in the house; and that I was in the room to hear the trouble.

Interior gutter & downspout. Pushing hard, I could get fingers into the gutter from this side.

My whole life as a homeowner has been a war against water- either it's where I don't want it; or it's not where I do want it.

Rain, rain, go away!