Chocolate is a money maker for Ecuador.
Karana is a Cuenca chocolate shop that uses only the best chocolate ( arriba) and makes their own delights in a kitchen in the back of their showroom.
This business is located at the intersection of Guayas and Pinchincha and this morning, Andres, the proprietor, is pleased to show Tom prepackaged boxes of fine chocolates. He also slides out trays of little gem like taste bombs from showcases to build Tom a personalized box of tastes he can take home to his Aunt Priscilla.
A nephew who brings you chocolates from Ecuador is a keeper and I can see Tom and his Aunt both digging into her gift package while listening to ” Saint Louis Blues ” on a vinyl recording pressed in the 1930’s by Satchmo as a light Seattle rain washes the kitchen windows.
Tom, visiting family in South America, played piano solos at the jazz club last night, and, by chance, I ran into him by the Cathedral and tag along on his chocolate mission to Karana’s.
Little adventures happen frequently in Cuenca,
Serendipity is a huge part of this city’s charm.
Ronald doesn’t mind getting photographed. Just five minutes ago, two kids sat next to the icon eating fries and sipping Coca Cola.
How is it that a clown can become the most famous person in the world?
Ronald’s only resume is red hair, crazy colored clothes, clown shoes, and a continual smile.
In a city like this with hundreds of bronze statues of military men, conquerors,artists, writers, and churchmen, how can Ronald be so comfortable with himself?
It seems time to run Ronald for President in 2016.
We have puppets in office, but electing a puppet, who doesn’t pretend to be something he isn’t, would be the most honest thing we have done in years.
In the historical district are public mercados where vendors sell fruits, vegetables, meats, fish, and sundries from little stalls inside huge open buildings. There are modern groceries in Cuenca but visitors, and locals, like to shop in this old way.
On the square outside the Mercado are even smaller vendors selling religious artifacts, sunglasses, performing music, socializing, and today watching men change an electrical light on a next door building with a bucket crane.
Pigeons waddle in large groups on the plaza and lift into the air when little boys run through them with arms extended like airplane wings.
I have been told that bartering in Cuenca is the rule, instead of the exception.
It isn’t crowded this morning but women reach out to engage me as I walk down the aisles. They know if they get my attention, move me to look at their produce, I will buy something. The lady I buy the pineapple from, sells me, in quick succession, a papaya, a bunch of bananas, a bag of apples.
This trip to the market takes two hours.
Saving a few dollars on groceries may not be a good deal when I eat up 1- 12th of my day in the bargaining.
There are Christmas lights already being hung in Parque Calderon.
On balconies, in store front windows and living rooms, trees are dressed with lights, nativity scenes, tinsel, peppermint sticks and brightly colored Christmas ornaments.
This little parade, of two vehicles, is driving down a Cuenca thoroughfare and Santa, with his pink dressed assistant, is tossing candy to kids, adults, and spectators. Two elves take pictures with their cell phones and a cynic would swear that Christmas gets earlier and earlier each year and boys and girls are never nice enough to deserve treats.
Still, the Grinch is no where to be seen, busy plotting mischief for the more inopportune times.
This may be, after all, just a moving advertisement, but all enjoy the spectacle.
Watching a man with a white beard wearing a red suit and a red cap with a snowball on its end is infinitely more fun than filling orders, breaking out concrete or cooking soup for the lunch trade.
Tis the season to be jolly.
If you like strolling empty sidewalks with little traffic, and only a few walkers, seven in the morning is good in Cuenca, Ecuador.
It is a downhill jaunt from the end of Munoz Luis Cordero to the Parque Calderone. There are many General streets in this district but I remember Luis Cordero because at one end is Calle Munoz Vernaza, 3-46, where I reside for December 2015.
The Dorado panaderia I like to visit each morning is operated by the nearby El Dorado hotel and offers upscale breads and pastries, coffee and sandwiches. It has an upstairs where you eat or visit with friends and business associates, a clean bano on the bottom floor, modern decor, well presented baked goods.
One of the first things people ask me here is, ” Do you live here?, and, ” Do you like our city? ”
My standard answer is – “I don’t live here but I love your city.”
Even though Cuenca isn’t as big as Montevideo, it has a quarter million people nestled in between high Andes mountain ranges. It doesn’t spring from the indigenous jungle people like Costa Rica or Belize, or the cattle people of Uruguay, but from small, short stature, reserved people who live quietly in the high Andes and spend time growing crops on land that isn’t hospitable to farmers.
Cuenca is a city with a Spanish history rather than British, Catholic rather than Protestant. Ecuador shares more in common with Peru than Uruguay and more with Costa Rica than Belize.
If countries are determined by the traits of their indigenous peoples, Ecuador, and, by extension Cuenca, should reflect the mountain people of the Andes and it seems, to me, that this is true.
Geography does more to determine a countries character than all the books written about it.
Ecuador is now my fifth travel ring.
This morning Jose scampers up a coconut tree on the Island Academy grounds and separates coconuts from their necks.
They fall with a thud to the sand where he collects them, uses his machete to scalp them, then pours coconut water into plastic jugs that he sells for a couple of bucks a gallon. Under the authority of the Queen of England, the beaches, whatever washes up on the beaches, and whatever grows on them is fair game for the public. All he has to do is climb and get them. A competitor uses a twenty foot extension ladder to harvest nature’s crop but Jose climbs the old fashioned way.
When Jose climbs for his prize, he digs his feet into the coconut tree trunk and bows his legs. Then he extends his arms, holds on to the trunk, and pulls his legs up to his waist where he clamps them on the trunk again, extends his arms and hands, and repeats the process. His machete hangs on a rope tied to his belt loop. When he gets to the top of the tree he quickly cuts coconuts from their bunch with his machete.
He climbs down in reverse order, and, when he touches sand, he collects his coconuts and throws them over the fence onto the beach.
Business is brisk and a tourist from Ramon’s Village passes me with two gallon jugs, one in each hand. Coconut water is a health food favorite and reputed as some of the purest water on the planet.
Jose’s best scheme would be to train a monkey to do his job with a little knife in its mouth and a pirate bandana around his head.
All monkey’s should have to work for their coconuts.
The papusa is an El Salvadorean snack.
It is a grilled soft tortilla, much like a pancake, stuffed with chicken, pork, cheese, beef, and condiments. They are $1.25 U.S. at this El Salvadorean restaurant in downtown San Pedro Town.
Night in San Pedro Town has a different look than day. There are bright lights, new characters, corners look less defined, worn facades are obliterated by dark.
If you are on vacation, and want to indulge, you go to Elvie’s Kitchen for fantastic local food. If you want to budget, you check out little stands, small family restaurants, and street carts.
El Savador has established a foothold here, along with Guatamalan’s selling woven products on the beach. Nicaraguan’s work with concrete and construction. European’s do banking. Belize natives fish, work for the government, or live off tourism. Everyplace you go in the world, except Japan and China, people’s from different countries establish beach heads in your community and thrive.
Tonight is cool and pleasant, a welcome respite from the day’s sun.
Parked out front of the restaurant, golf carts wait for customer’s getaways, driving home under a moonlit night sky, stopping for all the red lights as tides roll in.
Seeing night in a new place, as well as day, gives us travelers the full picture of the places we find ourselves.
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Thanksgiving dinner falls into my lap.
In the middle of a Walkaholics ramble, our group is invited by the owner of the Sandbar to a free annual Thanksgiving dinner at her bar and grill. It is something she likes cooking for and an appreciation to loyal customers.
This is a full blown extravaganza with turkey, ham, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, dressing, salad. bread and desserts. The company is cordial and the mood is celebratory.
Last year my Thanksgiving was celebrated in Uruguay with a slice of pizza and a beer. It is hard at this moment to know where Thanksgiving will find me next year.
This week turkey’s have been in hiding.
Surviving dinner when you are the main course is a gift from God.
A palapa has a thatched roof that lets rain run off it like water runs off a duck’s back.
The shape and structure of these traditional island buildings is functional, not complicated to build, and uses local materials. In a big wind the whole thing creaks and moves because wood and thatch are flexible. High ceilings catch cool breezes and hold them. You can see this well known San Pedro Town palapa at the end of its own pier from land, water, or sky and it is always a crowd favorite.
On Sunday afternoon, on a road trip north driving our borrowed golf cart, Rabbit and I visit the Palapa Bar and Grill for a look even though we have beer in our cooler for emergencies.
The Grill has been here as long as most can remember but it has been recently sold and the old owner is opening a smaller place in town. The new owner has already been labeled “aggressive.”. Apparently the right price was paid, and it must have been good, because this place is packed this balmy Sunday afternoon.
The Palapa Bar and Grill incentives are cool breezes, no mosquitoes, inner tubes to float on, good food and plenty of drinks. The place looks and feels like a great location for a beer commercial for a postseason NFL football game.
When you are in San Pedro Town longer than a few days, you grow tantalized by gossip, rumor and speculation. It is the quantity and quality of gossip that keeps glasses filled, entertainment flowing, and customers sitting on their bar stools.
The ladies in inner tubes are combining the best of drinking, tanning, socializing, and gossiping.
Civilization is out there somewhere.
We all wave as it sails past.
The grills are fired up and chickens are the topic of conversation.
A local Hispanic church is doing a fundraiser selling food, used clothes and donated items outside their little church in San Pedro town.
” Jesus es la Repuestra ” the marquee says and they are doing brisk business this Sunday at lunchtime.
I have barbecued chicken and rice with slaw, sit on a bench as a cluster of volunteers praise Christ, pack orders to go, and celebrate.
A boombox, on the wall next to me, plays Cuban salsa.
It feels like home to be hearing Spanish and even though New Mexico just got snow, which I know because I checked with the weather lady on the internet, I’m not ready to run back home just yet.
There are rubber bands tied to my ankles that want to snap me back to the Land of Enchantment when I have pulled them to their maximum stretch. The rubber bands are extended, right now, almost to their maximum length.
Jesus motions for us to follow, but some insist on putting toes in the water before their feet go in.
Humming ” Amazing Grace “, sitting on a rock wall, the water is already up to my knees.
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