Azucena,tending bar, is the only person in the Bar Imagine when I walk in.
She is polishing glasses, checking inventory, brings me a menu, works on the books while I decide on fish tacos and a Tona beer, a local favorite.
” Que tiempo, la musica, ” I ask?
The board outside the building says the Latin All Stars will be playing Beatles music at eight. The chalkboard in the entry says the Latin All Stars will be playing Latin Salsa at nine. Handbills on telephone polls around town say free music starts at eight and nine and Happy Hour is 5 – 6?
” Nueve, ” she confirms.
A photo of John Lennon is on one wall, prominently displayed. There are two chairs and a mic on an empty stage. Two cooks are slicing tomatoes and onions and one brings me out chips and picante sauce while they thaw fish and turn on the gas to their stoves.
” Que donde todo gente? ”
She shrugs and says, ” Ocho, ocho y media? ”
It is a quiet evening on Cervantes street and, in this town, I would expect to see Miquel sitting at this bar with his caballo tied up outside, his lance close to his hand for encounters with windmills. That famous novel, ” Don Quixote “, has chapter after chapter of the adventures of a man on a mission, standing for justice in an unjust world.
” My English is not so good, ” she says, but she manages to get me to buy more drinks than I planned.
Don Quixote is to fiction what John Lennon is to rock and roll.
After dinner and two Tona’s, I catch a cab home and vow to return tomorrow to catch whatever music happens to be on stage.
The only Abbey Lane in this town is on the front steps of this Bar.
A small bookcase in the Cafe de Arte, in Granada, has books for visitors who like to read.
It is unknown whether these books come from the owner’s library, were donated by friends and patrons, or are part of a take one, bring one system. Readers these days are becoming scarce with humans preferring to surf the web – an almost unlimited bookcase of ideas, images, sales pitches, entertainments, propaganda, lies, and sordid truth. You can see and read more on the internet in a night than you can see or read in a lifetime of going to bookstores and libraries.
In this little bookcase is a tome on weight loss, an obsession in industrialized countries where people work less, sit more, and want to look pretty from every angle.
There is a book by Rachel Cohn , ” Cupcakes, ” that follows girls having good fun and good sex.
There is a choice for Believers on Landmines that keep them backsliding.
There is a crime novel by Walter Mosely with a $1.00 sticker from a Dollar Days sale which tells me crime doesn’t pay.
I find poems by Ruben Darios, a Nicaraguan poet whose bust is on the Calle De Calzada by Lake Nicaragua.
You would think there might be a Louie L’Amour western, something by Hemingway, a book on surviving the pending economic collapse?
While the reading here is girly, coffee and words go together, and reading doesn’t cost you anything but your time.
As an English major, browsing books is a habit worse than cigarettes.
Sand is the most common material on the beach.
While we walk on it, draw initials or hearts with arrows through them, there are those who use sand to sculpt fantastic visions.
Outside Pier 19 in South Padre Island there is a sand sculpture. There is sand art in front of the visitor center on Gulf Shores Drive. Even some creations done on the beach ,by anonymous hands, take ideas further than a small bucket, a plastic shovel, and a kid’s hands and imagination can ever go.
There are those who say we humans are sand, but gifted with mobility, speech, and the breath of life. We are walking dreams, puffs of smoke, fireflies on a dark evening, mermaids doing the backstroke on a midsummer night’s swim. Shakespeare, as a writer using sand instead of words, would have built incredible sand castles surrounded by moats and topped with colorful flags. On the plains outside the moat would be raging battles ,and, in the highest towers ,huddled men would plot while women played lutes and whispered court scandal.
Sand in Michaelangelo’s hands would turn into lightning bolts flung from the hands of God’s.
This mermaid and porpoise make good companions. Flowing lines are always more peaceful than straight ones. This couple defines contentment and commitment.
They are waiting for the Sorcerer that froze them in time to relent.
Walking in the Cuenca Historical District wears your standards down.
This is an old part of Cuenca and you gradually become accustomed to deteriorated appearances.
After a few weeks you don’t notice worn doorknobs, peeling paint, plaster coming off walls, windows with no curtains, roll down steel security doors with graffiti. You look instead at flower pots on balconies, colorful flags flying from hotel entries, mannikins in doorways wearing hip fashions.
You accept old and un-maintained as old and charming.
On a turn through town,sidewalk chalk paintings are beautiful in their delicacy, their colors almost camouflaging them against the brick sidewalks.
” Support art and culture, ” the words say.
The chalk is going to vanish in a matter of days, walked on, washed down and swept away by women cleaning sidewalks in front of their shops. The drawings are light and little can withstand the sledgehammer of a modern city on the move.
I am careful not to walk on the faces. They are cheerful, hopeful, and fresh.
Supporting art and culture are good goals, anywhere in the world, any time.
Down from the Moreno bridge, this wall mural gives a quick lesson on Ecuador. All the familiar Ecuador themes are presented in public here.
There is a Panama hat that bobs its way through Cuenca. The making of Panama hats goes far back into Ecuadorian history. Oddly, the only people who wear these hats today are older indigenous Indians from small remote Ecuadorian towns or tourists from across the oceans,either direction. Teens seem to favor baseball caps decorated with professional soccer team logos or the American New York Yankees trademark symbol.
There is a pig spread eagled on a stick on this mural wall. Ecuadorians love pork and in the mercado you see roasted pigs laid out every day for the lunch trade.
A woman washes her families clothes in the river.
There are candles and a church at the top of a winding road along with Inca symbols, spirit faces, and big ears of corn that is a staple food in Ecuador.
This is a country that has one foot in the Amazon jungle and the other in Andes clouds.
Ecuador’s mural is not like one of Canada, the United States,New Zealand, or South Africa.
Life would be intolerable if we had to look at the same mural in every country we visited.
Learning new lessons is one reason to travel.
Some of my new lessons actually become part of my daily playbook.
This exhibit is in a Cuenca city government supported gallery, Salon del Pueblo, next to the Don Colon Restaurant, across from the New Cathedral.
The artist is a teacher of art locally. He was born in Cuenca. His art is stark and grotesque but his drawing technique is exquisite.
Here are the artist’s own words :
” The grotesque in my imagery is essential. I use it to unveil the present time situation where reality is shaped by deformation. I portray a dominant culture that imposes its perspectives in order to maintain its power. Its main instrument is media because it easily spreads ideas about the ‘others.’ Television is a good example to understand how economic and political powers try to shape our lives. They sell and impose on people their goals and dreams; they deceive us to defend their economic interest. Those ideals are false, illusion,and, therefore, there is an effect of distortion. Mass media consumers are filled with ready to consume ideas presented in spectacle formats…… The grotesque in the Spanish culture is also known as ” esperpento”, an aesthetic term coined by the writer Ramon del Valle-Inclan. He used it to describe his time as obscure and ruled by the power of the monarchy and the Catholic Church in Spain…… In my view, the idea of ” esperpento” is still a means to criticize power. I use it to understand a society where consumerism and entertainment shape the way people see their future, themselves, and others. To see life through a TV screen is to see it, distorted….. ”
” To sum up, the grotesque in my work is the way to represent the journey in a contradictory system that sells dreams for a very high price. ”
While parents like to see their children participating in this parade, it helps their children to see their parents next to them on the parade route. When the parade comes to a stop, waiting for something ahead to clear up, families hug each other, adjust their costumes, and wave at spectators along the street.
The adults dancing today do it because they want to. Their energy expended is palpable. You can see them breathing hard as they spin, twirl, lock hands and kick up their feet in old time folk dances. They put their hands on their hips and look down at their feet, catch their breath while they can.
Dancing, their movements are precise, yet flowing, and the old time costumes are colorful, proper, and hand sewn, some passed down through families..
It is a shame that what used to be common is now worn and brought out only once a year, for a parade.
Returning to the past is like trying to stuff a Genie back into a bottle.
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It warms adult’s hearts to see children doing dances they did themselves when they were little.
There is always concern by one generation that the following generation is going to hell,but traditions do get passed down and kept alive.
These children are wearing traditional clothes from the past, but, at home, these days, they are all about choosing their own clothes, friends, and attitudes, much to their parent’s chagrin.
This celebration makes me feel years younger than I think I am.
Watching kids reminds me there is still plenty of life for adults to discover too, even after they think they know everything about everything.
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There is a lively street art scene in Cuenca.
One can google Cuenca Street Art and find examples I haven’t met yet.
At an intersection where traffic moves from the Rio Tomebamba into the Historical District there are two skeletons on an exterior wall of a building cavorting amid a glorious cactus patch. The scene is reminiscent of ” Day of the Dead ” in New Mexico, a yearly Mexican celebration that sees skeletons come out and remind people of their mortality.You can bet the person on the other side of the glass in that anthropology museum, in front of you, didn’t know they were going to be an object of display when they joined the spirit world.
These two skeletons look full of life and the inscription above both reads ” Salud a la Vida. ” On one end of the art work is the artist’s first name signature ,” Juli 2015. ”
Just over the top of these skeleton’s grinning heads, in Plaza Otorongo below us, you can see a blown up Santa doll waving at street traffic and strolling tourists.
In a weird way, celebrating Santa is as weird as celebrating skeletons.
Fantasies and nightmares both come from deep places.
Gilberto is trying a new reed. Sue is playing clarinet instead of soprano sax. A different bass player is sitting in. It is Wednesday, the middle of the week.
At showtime, it doesn’t matter how many hours you practice, how much theory you know, how many times you have played a song.
Live jazz is irrevocable. You can’t erase what you play, You are the bottom line.
When the light turns green you play.
When a song is over, it is over, except for a few bars that resonate in hearts that causes people to whistle your melody as they walk home in the dark.
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