odds and ends

Odds and ends, in no particular order.

Cahuasqui 5 PM. Oct 31. Up at the house en la loma. It´s a beautiful day, and I´m punching 10 inch diameter holes through the 2 foot thick rammed earth walls to see just how hard it´s going to be to put a few windows in the place. Right now there are none;imagine generations of the same family living in a house almost continuously for almost 100 years and never once thinking “hmm, a window over there might be nice.” Well maybe they did think about it, who knows. Perhaps so many hours were spent outdoors in the daily routine that when sunset came it was a relief to go inside, shut the door and forget about the damned fresh air, the sun, the heat, the cold, and the rain for a little while.

Down below in town the weekly soccer game is in progress, the rivals to the locals having come in by bus from Pablo Arenas or Urcuqui. The sound system as usual is blaring away, and everyone up and down the entire valley is at this very moment listening to “Call Me” by Blondie. I wonder who chooses the music at these things. . .


Ibarra 6.30 AM Oct 1 - The day after the “attempted coup” and I am in the Ibarra bus terminal on my way to Natabuela to work at the hogar de los discapacitados. President Correa has made his triumphant return to the palace and given his rousing and defiant speech, denouncing the striking police and as well his political foes. In the “battle for his release” from the police hospital 4 or 5 young men have been killed, several more badly injured. Correa calls them heroes; he takes no responsibility for the series of events and his own provocations which led to this senseless, and some say choreographed, violence. In Guayaquil, Quito, and throughout the country dozens if not hundreds of stores have been looted, banks robbed, automobiles burned or overturned, etc. etc. Correa, standing late last night on the balcony of the presidential palace - with large screens, cameras and sound systems somehow, mysteriously, already in place - pounds his chest and vows to punish those responsible. . .

The terminal, normally bustling at this hour, is quiet. Wafting sweetly from the overhead speakers, heard only by a few and likely understood only by me, comes a poignant lament from the band REM - “Everybody Hurts.” So true, on this particular morning.



Salinas de Guaranda 1.30 AM Nov 5 - Someone is ringing the church bells. The Padre is out of town, in Ambato, so I figure that one or two of the local delinquents or borrachos are out having a lark and a laugh - but the peal of the bells is so sweet and soulful, totally without malice, honestly one of the most beautiful sounds I have ever heard. On and on it goes, or so it seems in my half awake state, and before the mysterious bell ringer tires of his folly I drift back off to sleep.

A day later there is an afternoon mass. A matriarch of the town, 90 years old and whose name is unknown to me has died the night before, about 20 minutes before the sound of ringing bells gently roused me from my sleep. And although it is not at all original, I found myself for several days thereafter recalling lines from John Donne “never send to know for whom the bell tolls, it tolls for thee.”

November 5 2010
And now, all of a sudden, I find myself back in Salinas de Guaranda for a few days. 150 miles from Cahuasqui as the crow flies, the trip consumes almost 10 hours in bus. Today was a very bad travel day, 2 accidents on the Panamericana north of Quito, and to the south heavy and slow traffic, leftovers from the week of feriados to celebrate el dia de los santos y el dia de los difuntos.

I hadn´t planned to return here until mid or late December, but I received a phone call telling me that two separate groups of potential project funders will be coming from the US and Austria this weekend. So on short notice I very reluctantly left Cahuasqui and made my way here. Hopefully all will go well over the next few days and we will end up with some thousands of dollars to build a few more greenhouses . . .

Talking to the Padre this evening upon my arrival he noted that it might be difficult for me “to have my heart in two places”. I assured him rather quickly that my heart was fully in Cahuasqui, but that it held in it a special and very warm spot for Salinas.

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And it´s true. I´m very happy to be maintaining a relationship with Salinas and my friends and co-workers there. At the same time, little by little, the realization that I am no longer a Peace Corps Volunteer, o algo como asi, (or something like one) is dominating my thinking. I am ready to move on to building a life of my own here in Ecuador, with a place I can call home and a little piece of ground to take care of. While in the US for 3 months this past summer my thoughts were, almost daily, of mi casita propia, a little garden and a few chickens wandering around on the front porch. I am ready, at the ripe old age of 55, to settle down. At least for a while, anyway.

The life of a Peace Corps Volunteer is a good one, if you take it seriously and make earnest attempts to do the job you are charged with. What exactly is that job, well that´s a good question. For your first 6 months you think your job is to save the world, and for the next 6 months you more or less lock yourself in your room brooding and wondering why you have failed. With luck, on the first day of your second year, you open your door, let some of the mustiness escape, then walk outside and say “the hell with saving the world, I´ve got to save myself!” And then you get to work, and 12 months roll by like nobody´s business and you find yourself ready to stay. Maybe for another 6 months, maybe a year, maybe a lifetime.

Which is more or less what happened to me, except that I really did not sit in my room brooding for 6 months. Although for a while there my consumption of cheap rum did increase precipitously . . .

So I completed my 2 years of service, traveled a little, then returned to Ecuador and got a job here in Salinas, and it was almost like being back in Peace Corps all over again. As much as I like being a “do-gooder” after a few months I began to realize that enough is enough . . . I wanted my own life, my own schedule, and most importantly, work that I had total control over, inasmuch as that is possible. Enough of waiting for meetings that never happen, enough of sitting through interminable meetings that do happen, enough of depending way too much on other people to care as much as I do, enough of just about everything.

Entonces, I bought my little piece of land in Cahuasqui with a house built of straw and mud sprouting from the ground like a great extension of the earth, ready to plant and rebuild, ready for some chickens, a rocking chair and a refrigerator full of cold Pilseners. Ready to eke out a living, on my own terms . . .

And here I am again, in Salinas de Guaranda. Where we all sit around the table together for breakfast, lunch and dinner, talking in Spanish and Italian and French and English about lofty goals and likely impossible dreams. Where a room and a comfortable bed have been set aside for my exclusive use, whether I show up once a month or once every 6 months, and quite frankly at the moment is the closest thing in the world I have to a home, at least until I get my little Cahuasqui house in livable condition.

So maybe my heart really is in 2 places, as the Padre suggested a couple of days ago. And maybe that´s not so bad, after all.
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The US funders, (potential funders that is), have come and gone. Mostly Rotary Club members, they were a friendly bunch of people and I think we might have a chance to make use of some of their money some where down the road. The Austrian contingent arrived on their heels, and I gave them my little song and dance late this afternoon, with a repeat performance scheduled for tomorrow. During my presentations I found myself talking up Cahuasqui, and as my lips continued moving I was startled to hear myself suggesting that perhaps one day they will have the opportunity to visit and consider funding some projects that my friends and I are considering for Cahuasqui and environs . . . Dammit, still acting like a Peace Corps volunteer – and again, maybe that´s not so bad, after all.

24 de octubre

Fever,headache and chills. Just 2 days ago I was marveling at how good I felt, just goes to show ya . . .

Back in Ibarra after a week in Salinas and another week of visiting friends and some side trips outside of Riobamba. Salinas was very cold, and as I was packing light was totally unprepared for it. When the sun did come out it was as spectacular as always . . . but mostly it was cold.

One day while in Riobamba I hopped on a bus to parts unknown, one of my favorite things to do. My destination was a small pueblo called Alao, at the foot of the Sangay National Park. There were no direct busses, so I caught one to Licto, and then hiked the several kilometers to Pungala, where I had heard I could catch a bus on up the valley to Alao. The weather was clear and cool as I hiked down the sendero from Licto to the bridge where it looked like I could connect to the road to Pungala.

After 20 minutes or so of slipping and sliding down the loose rocky footpath I made the bridge, and as I slogged back up the steep highway to Pungala, passing by a small hydroelectric plant and a Catholic sanctuary, it began to rain. Luckily my friends in Riobamba had insisted I take a raincoat with me so I reached into my pack and grabbed the trusty thrift store jacket my son Joe had brought for me a couple of years ago. My god I was glad to have that raincoat! As I climbed the temperatures dropped and the rain poured, and when I arrived in Pungala the only thing I could think about was a cup or two of very hot coffee.

Now, as I have no doubt mentioned before, Ecuador is a country full of friendly people. And on this particular day it appeared to me that the friendliest of them all live in Pungala. I drifted into town, feeling like the first gringo to ever lay a boot on the brick paved streets. Of course I wasn´t, as it turns out a young Peace Corps volunteer from New York City lived there for 2 years back around 2001. I learned this from the first person I encountered in Pungala, after inquiring about a cup of coffee. Mariano is a storekeeper/pharmacist who runs a little botiquin, selling 10 cent bags of snacks, 25 cent bowls of chochos and on occasion an aspirin or two. After first inviting me to stay at his house for a few nights (I thanked him and suggested I would stay with him and his family on my next visit to Pungala), Mariano took me by the arm to the little bakery across the street and ordered la dueña to boil some water for un cafecito. We returned to the botiquin and while we waited the half hour for the coffee to be ready we talked of life and the obvious advantages of living in Ecuador as opposed to anywhere else in the world. Well, according to Mariano anyway, who has never been anywhere else in the world, but who does go to Quito every now and again. Midway through our conversation Mariano pulled out his cell phone and had me call the former Peace Corps volunteer, a young woman whose number was on his speed dial. I did, and left her a rambling message in English saying that I was also a former Peace Corps volunteer who had just happened to wander into town and that Mariano and his family wanted to say hello and that they missed her and hoped she would come visit soon or at least call to say hello . . . I wonder if she did.

From across the street the bakery lady called out to say that at last my coffee was ready and I took my leave from Mariano. La dueña, a very round and pleasant woman, sat me down at a table and brought me my coffee, along with a couple of hardboiled eggs and some rolls. We made small talk for a little while and when I was ready to leave, and to pay, she refused me, saying that this was comida de la amistad, a meal of friendship. I argued weakly, and solved the dilemma by convincing her to sell me a bag of cookies and a few pieces of pan for the road.

I still had an hour or so to kill while waiting for the one o´clock bus to Alao. The day had warmed up and dried up, so I stuffed my raincoat back into my pack and wandered around town, which took all of about 8 minutes. I returned to the botiquin where Mariano and I ate cookies and bread and solved all the worlds´ problems until the bus came.

A weekday bus around noon or 1 PM in Ecuador is not usually where any sane person wants to be because they are very often jam packed with about 100 students, give or take, returning to their homes in outlying communities after a grueling academic day of playing soccer and marching in place. My bus to Alao arrived in Pungala already packed to the gills, with about 25 kids on the roof and 6 or 7 more clinging to the ladder. I muscled my way into the bus, and as we slowly got under way an old woman who had a seat pulled at my pocket and told me that she was getting off soon and if I acted fast I could have her seat. So the moment she made a move to stand up I maneuvered my ass into position, and was ready to violently block any one of the little urchins who had ideas of beating me to the seat. Fortunately all went smoothly and I settled into the seat, opened up my sack full of cookies and bread to share with the 10 or 12 kids nearest me who were plastered together like sardines, and we all headed up to Alao, becoming more comfortable along the way as the bus stopped every 40 seconds or so at some random sendero to discharge a kid or two. I imagine many of these kids had another hour or so of walking in front of them, because until we reached Alao I saw only 2 or 3 houses dotting the rugged countryside.

Alao was cold and rainy, very green and very beautiful. It reminded me a lot of Salinas de Guaranda, except that Alao has the advantage of a relatively large and relatively clean river passing through it. This rio is known for its trout fishing, and someday, when I go back to visit with Mariano and his family in Pungala, I hope to get a chance to wet a line and try my luck.

Almost 3 weeks now since I have been back in Ecuador. I´ve made a few attempts to write something interesting here on the blog, to no avail. And this short entry will not win any prizes, but maybe it will break the ice . . .

Not that life hasn´t been interesting since I´ve returned. A few wonderful days wandering in Quito; time spent catching up with friends in Ibarra, Ambuqui and the Chota Valley; riots by the police; a suspected (and suspicious) “coup attempt”; 9 days I´ve spent volunteering in Natabuela (just south of Ibarra) at a home for children and adults who are mentally or physically handicapped where I cleaned up vomit and shit, spoon fed breakfast and lunch to those who couldn´t feed themselves, changed bed linens, and took the children who were able out for long walks in the countryside, built a small greenhouse and oh yes where I cried a little but laughed everyday maybe as hard as I´ve ever laughed in my life.

Last but not least, I bought a small piece of land called “la loma” in Cahuasqui. There are still a few scraps of paper to sign and a few dollars left to exchange hands, but it´s a done deal. It´s small, only about an acre, with a 100 year old rammed earth house (in need of repair) and 360 degrees of some mighty fine views. In November I´ll get up there for a few days to plant avocado trees and to figure out how to tackle the remodeling project.

Today I reluctantly leave Ibarra, which has regained its standing as my favorite city in Ecuador, and travel to Quito and then Riobamba (formerly #1). By the middle of next week I should be back in Salinas de Guaranda, where I will find out what they have for me to do down there.

Today was one of those rare days when just about everything goes about as good as it can go. I will be leaving Ecuador soon, for a few months, and in recent days have been wrapping up my workload. Almost daily trips to Verdepamba, Pambabuela, and other communities to check on existing greenhouses and to check measurements of those still pending. Today was spent out in the plaza here in Salinas cutting plastic, doling out seed and compost, and answering a ton of questions about just about anything.

Some of the gardening questions are so basic - - how do I plant this seed? When will I know when it is time to harvest? I am always surprised by these queries until I remember (again) that almost none of these campesinos have any experience at all in growing vegetables. How could they, after all, living in the paramo at 4000 meters, or more?? Nothing grows outdoors except paja and some scrubby stunted potatos.

Our project has been wildly successful in terms of numbers. With a budget of 10,000.00 dollars we have overseen and helped in the construction of 150 family sized (5 meters x 8 meters, on average) in-ground greenhouses. The project goal was 100 greenhouses in one year, we’re in the 8th month, 150 and counting, and there is still about 1000.00 dollars in the account. That was the easy part. The hard part lies ahead – teaching people. Not just how to plant a seed, but how to imagine the unimaginable, how to make possible something that seems impossible. How to experiment, how to accept failures as part of a process and not as an excuse to quit trying something new. We might need more than 10 grand for this part . . .

I try to imagine telling a group of people in the US -- “OK, listen up! We, your benevolent benefactors, are going to give you – absolutely free! – a big piece of plastic so you can build a greenhouse and grow vegetables – absolutely free! - All you all have to do is dig a hole in the ground, 16 feet wide by 24 feet long, and 5 feet deep. Then you have to cut some trees or find some wood to make a frame for the plastic --- y nada mas!! After that, we will give you – absolutely free! – this big piece of plastic worth about 50 dollars!! Whaddaya say – who`s interested??¨

I am pretty sure 100% percent of my imaginary audience would call me a madman, or worse, and leave the room, sorry they had wasted an hour or two. Here, it is a different story. The enthusiasm and energy of the people is so . . . so . . . pure. Unaffected. Honest. I don`t know what to call it. It is something, I think, that I have never known - - maybe something that many if not most of us have ever known. How lucky I am to see the light in the eyes of a man or woman who cannot even sign their own name, as they head back, usually on foot, to their communities 2 miles, 4 miles, 6 miles away, with a big piece of plastic strapped to their back. Happy, they are.

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I`m happy too, about my coming trip “home”. Is the US home to me still? Yeah, I suppose it is, but I am also very happy to have a return ticket to Ecuador for September. Slowly but surely this is becoming home as well.

From the journal of Henry David Thoreau 22 January 1852: “But why I changed? Why I left the woods? . . . to speak sincerely, I went there because I had got ready to go. I left it for the same reason”.

It`s not the first time I`ve thought I`m ready to leave Ecuador. Some days I think about it all day long. And sometimes weeks or more will pass and the idea never crosses my mind. There`s no particular reason, really, it just feels like it’s time to go. Will I go? Don`t know yet. If I do, where? Well, most likely back to the US, where I hope to earn a few dollars to fund another year or two here. Will I come back to Ecuador? Yes. Soon.

All is well here. I love my work, I like the town I live in, ma o meno. But I want to see my kids, my brothers, my nephew and a handful of old friends. I want to drink good beer, and I want to go somewhere to hear good live music. I want to play with power tools, go for a walk with my dog, and float in a canoe. I want to spend a few days or weeks framing a wall or a house, and I want to hang some drywall and then tape it, mud it, and paint it. I want to drive down a long straight highway with the windows open and the radio blasting. I want to be somewhere for a while where it doesn`t get dark at 6.30 every night of the year. Go to a baseball game . . . eat pastries at The Hungarian Bakery in Manhattan and then wander around the Cathedral of St. John the Devine . . . just to a name a few of the things on my list . . .

Salinas was recently in fiestas. 5 days straight of marching, dancing and drinking. A cattle show and bullfights and cockfights too. On the main square huge piles of freshly cut green pine were stacked daily, and each night gallons of kerosene or other combustible was poured on, a few hundred matches applied, and after a smoky beginning in about 45 minutes there was a roaring bonfire. Bottle rockets and fireworks went zinging about in each and every direction, and some of the best entertainment was had watching people spin and jump and dance to escape a wayward projectile. In a normal universe at least half a dozen people every night would lose an eye, or suffer burns of some degree or another – but a small town party in Ecuador is anything but a normal universe.

There have been at least 4 major fiestas here in Salinas since January; Fiesta de los Tres Reyes in January, Carnaval in February, fiesta de San Juan Bosco in March or April, and the fiestas of local autonomy and national independence are the ones we are all still recovering from. Come to think of it, it would pretty accurate to say that Salinas is always “recently in fiestas”.

By the fourth night of this latest bout I had had enough. I live just off the main square, and each night had bandas playing until 5 or 6 en la mañana, entertaining the few borrachos who were left standing and annoying the hell out of the rest of us who were trying to sleep. Ecuadorean party bands deserve a salute, not necessarily for their competence as musicians but rather for their endurance. These guys will march into town the first day of the fiesta, (already playing) and continue virtually nonstop until the crack of dawn. Then they will march out of town (still playing), their sad shuffling syncopated music trailing off behind them . . . and then 2 hours later they are back! And as good as new! It`s really something. Something awful.

So I did the only reasonable thing and got the hell out of town . . . up to the sleepy and peaceful little pueblo of Simiatug. The silence and tranquility was pure pleasure – I went to bed about 8 PM (nothing much in the way of nightlife up there) and slept straight through until dawn. I stayed for the day, worked in a friend`s garden and took a beautiful hike. I returned to Salinas that night, the last night of the fiestas, to find that the stuttering rhythms of the banda had been replaced by an incredible high energy salsa band. The green pine fire lent a smoky and sultry haze to the plaza, people were dancing (really dancing, not just shuffling) the moon and stars were shining brightly, and the music ended at about 11.30. Perfect . . .