Estados Unitos

So yes, the Travel Gods must be paid their due. 

Noon, leave Cuenca by car for Guayaquil.  Four hours.   Flight leaves at 6:32.  Wait two plus hours.  Bag still doesn't make it on the plane.  

Two and a half hours to Panama City.  Nine thirty, the airport shuts like a frogs ass. Wander the terminal.  Sleep on the floor.  2:40 AM on Saturday, the flight leaves for Houston.  No one on the flight so I manage a few hours sleep curled up across the three seats. I don't like Houston. 

Neither does my bag because it doesn't show up at customs.  "Good luck with that" is what the customs guy said.  

Three hours in Houston.   I don't like Houston.  Five hours to Seattle, dozing on a full flight. 

I'm "home" whatever that means.  My bag isn't, but my guy Tyriss says that it did make Houston after I did. Might see it tomorrow.   Four hours of sleep, sort of, in 40 hours.  Three countries, four airports, three flights, 27 hours elapsed travel time.  

Sometimes for the journey, you have to pay the price.  Hey, sleep deprivation is s cheap high.   Ciao for now!!!!  

Ultimate

It happens on every journey except the last one.  This day arrives.  At 6:30 PM the Copa flight will lift off from Guayaquil and the last leg of this odyssey will begin.  I do not want to go back to the USA.  I could keep right on, down through South America, straight on to Tierra del Fuego.  But it is not to be.  That time has not come yet.  But it may yet.

More dinners shared, more walks taken, we were even witness to a motorcycle accident last night. But there is not much more to say.  I have to go back to the salt mines so i can earn more money to travel. In three years and eight months I will no longer need to do that.  Then left the World Trip begin, the trip with no discernible end.  

But not for today.  It will be four hours by car to Guayaquil and then fifteen hours by various planes, Panama City, Houston, Seattle.  

i will reflect on the return in another post.  In the meanwhile my friends, be well, be happy, be unafraid, and live large and out loud.

Love to you all!

marco

Cuy

The Inca culture had three domesticated animals, the llama, the turkey and cuy.  I am sure that most of you dear readers are familiar with the first two of these critters.  Cuy was a food staple for the Incas, providing a large portion of the protein in their diet.  Small animals, easily raised, Cuy remains a delicacy in Ecuador and is served on special occasions.

Cuy on the hoof.  Yes, Cuy are Guinea Pigs and Guinea Pigs, at least in Ecuador, are Cuy.

Senor hansen had delayed sampling Cuy until my arrival and I, in turn, had refrained from any Cuy consumption until the appointed hour.  The appointed hour had arrived.  We walked to the special Cuy restaurant, Tres Estrellas, and were buzzed into this well appointed sanctuary of Ecuadoran cuisine.   This was an old establishment, frequented by well-dressed Ecuadorans.  The decor was a hodgepodge of collections; old radios, knives, farm implements and other olde-timey sort of stuff.  Arriving without a reserva, we were told that it would be an hour wait for Cuy, so we settled in to peruse the collection of antiques, nibble some queso and frijoles, and sip limonada.  

While we were whiling away the evening, the Cuy were rotating on their spits.

Appetizers.  The beans looked something like a lima bean, but tasted completely different.  Yummers!

As the magic Cuy hour of eight o'clock rolled closer, the restaurant filled.  Our waiters bustled about with trays of drinks and appetizers for everyone.  Our was  table suddenly covered with dishes of papas, ensalada, more queso, little potato pancakes and the obligatory hominy.  This was the setting, awaiting only the center piece.  Time for the Cuy!!!  As the spits stopped turning, Cuy started appearing on every table.

A feast fit for Incan Royalty with the center piece of quartered Cuy.  "Una Cuy para dos personas"

Doesn't it have a nice Thanksgiving sort of a look?  Sunset Magazine cover shot?

Cuy up close and personal before the gnawing began.

Señor Hansen and I had a moment of refelection, pausing over this noble beast that had given up its life to nourish ours.  With that, we tore into the poor little bugger like ravening beasts.  It was pick up a quarter and get to being a carnivore.  I took a fore quarter and he took a hind quarter, reversed of course on the second go.

Getting beastie with it.

Tiny, tiny guinea pig drumsticks.

Yes, Dear Ones, it is served with the head.

The poor little skull, picked clean.  Señor Hansen insisted we each have an ear.

Well friends and neighbors, i am here to tell you two things.  One, Cuy is damn fine eating and I look forward to another go.  Two, there was nothing left of the thing but bones, claws, and a skull.  It was so much fun sharing a meal iike this with Señor Hansen.  There is just no way that this culinary experience would have been anywhere near the fun it was.  Watching a guniea pig skull get gnawed on by a good friend is something you will not quickly forget.  

What cigar does a discerning Cuy muncher pair with a dinner of that magnitude?  In our case, we decided on a Willie Herrera Norteno.  It proved to be a great choice.  Tonigh's dinner was one of those meals that will be remembered for a life time.  The company was exemplary, jovial, and very open minded.  We had met the Cuy, and it was ours.

And remember folks, when in Ecuador, make like an Inca.

Cuenca Routine

The Cuenca routine had taken shape.  Up in the morning, coffee on the deluxe balcony over looking
the river, shared conversation while the folks walked, ran and bicycled to their day.  Watching the flock of swallows starting the morning bug hunt, the squawking parrots wheeling past, the fly catchers leaping for a meal.  Rotating breakfast at the next cafe with the ex-pat regulars.  It was lazy and wonderful.  Conversations ranging across the board, always interesting, always lively.  Señor Hansen and I talk of history, travel, the ins and outs of emmigration, the benefits and pitfalls of being an ex-pat.  It is a routine that has flowed throughout the week even as the time draws to a close and I am bound to board a plane for the Estados Unitos.  

This day started the same way.  Following breakfast we crossed the square and boarded the big double-decker tourist bus for a no thought trip around the town.  Just a lark, a trip to the high point overlooking Cuenca, and the ride back.

High above the Cuenca traffic. 

Señor Hansen basking in the sun.  

The double-decker bus lumbered through the streets, barely making the corners and our heads barely ducking under the overhanging wires.  Mind your noggin!.  The turnaround point for the bus ride was a church on a hill, complete with a gift shop.  All tours exit through the gift shop doncha know.

Cuenca from the heights, with El Centro in the center.  

Back down the hill, we disembarked and wandered around the old city. 

Afternoon found us back at Casa Luxurious and the cribbage board in action.  The Shaman Tune-up seemed to have also given my luck a change.  I finally won a few games despite my host's considerable skill.  We whiled away a pleasant afternoon, doing a lot of nothing and wishing for no more.  It was companionship of another level and will be sorely missed.  

As the evening came on, we cleaned up and dressed for our Big Night Out, a traditional Ecuadoran dinner at a special restaurant that serves a special local delicacy.    But that is the stuff of a blog entry all unto itself.  

Ingapirca

Before any serious sightseeing and certainly after a Shaman Tune-Up, a good traveler needs to take on provisions.  Since we were in the market anyway, we grabbed a little bite of Wilber from the tray, typically served with the large white maize that looks like hominy.  I was still buzzing from my Shaman treatment and now well fed.   As arranged by my distinnguished host, our driver met us outside the market for a road trip to Ingapirca, the site of some ruins to the North of Cuenca.  Ah, the luxury of traveling by private car!!  

We headed North on the Panamerican until we reached the town of Biblian and thence branched onto a two lane road that climbed into the high Andean countryside.  The same incredibly steep fields of potatos, pasture land and wind whipped hamlets perched on improbable slopes.  An hour and a half from Cuenca we arrived at the Archeological site of Ingapirca.

Ingapirca is an series of Incan ruins which were built on top of Canari ruins.  The Canari culture existed from about 500 CA until the culture was finally engulfed by the Inca culture just prior to the fall of the Inca at the hands of the Spanish conquistadores.  The last uprising of the Inca was finally put down py the Spanish in 1572.  

The Canari were known for their effective resistance to the Inca, both culturally and militarily.  The Canari eventually succumbed to the growing Inca empire and the Inca appropriated Canari villages and structures as there own.  The Inca added to or modified the Canari structures to suit themselves, and thus there are sites such as Ingapirca 

While wandering around ancient ruins is educational and interesting,  I have to admit that after visiting archeological sites in many parts of the world, ruins are ruins.  At least as much fun as walking the grounds was our interaction with some of the members of a local school field trip.  The girls just had to have their pictures taken with the big Gringos.  

El Gringo in munchkin land.  No, this is not trick photography.

Some things just don't change that much.

The closer set stonework identifies this as later inca craftsmanship.

After an hour of wandering the grounds, it was back to the car and the return trip.  Our driver detoured over the old unpaved route, with occasional stops for traffic jams.

Bad traffic on the backroads.

The clouds were building in the afternoon sky as we dropped back down to Biblian and a stop at the large church set high above the townsite.  The church is built into a rock face with the backwall of the church being the cliff itself.  Walking up the endless stairs to the top of the rock, we started seeing large beetles laying on their backs.  We  figured out that the halogen lights used to illuminate the church at night were also incapacitating the beetles.  They were all dead or dying, including the large rhinocheros-type beetle that Señor Hansen insisted on aiding.  After numerous tries to flick the giant insect right-side-up, he picked the thing up to set it on it's feet.  For his good intentions he was promptly  rewarded with a good solid pinch from the thing, which produced a fine bit of arm waving and curses.  Not from the bug, from the man.  

La Inglesia

The reward for the climb.  Beetle pinches were a bonus.

Our sight-seeing day had come to and end and our relaxing day was about to begin.  Returning to Casa Luxurious, we spent the late siesta on the balcony watching the world go by.  Evening brought hunger and this was sated with a carnivore's fiesta at a local grill place just across the river.  Meat, meat and more meat, enough to cause a healthy hombre's colon to shudder.  I may be forced to adopt a militant Seattle veganism as penance for all of the critter consumption I have engaged in on this trip.

I received another sound thrashing or two on the cribbage board before we gave up in favor of camaraderie and cigars.  I can only take so much humiliation in one day, Lady Luck having spit in my eye with the vigor of an Ecuadoran Shaman Woman.      

Shaman Tune Up

After weeks of journeying by plane, bus, boat, mini-vans, metros and on foot, a traveling bloke can get a little run down.  A dose of tender loving care is sometimes in order.  When a tune-up is called for, the need cannot be ignored.  What better way to get one's spirits revived and energy reguvanated than a trip to the local Shaman?

Tuesdays and Thursdays a Shaman woman is at her station in the local market building.  There was a bit of a wait as the Shaman worked over a squalling toddler.  Next came the older sister, who only shed a few tears.  I was next in line, eagerly awaiting my turn.  

The Shaman nodded me to the low stool in front of her as her daughter bundled up a big bunch of flowers and sweet smelling herbs.  I took my place on the low stool, which put me at about and even height with the short but stout indain woman who was about to make me right with the world.  

The first step in the process is the flogging.  The woman buried my face in the bundle of herbs and flowers.  Holding my head tighlty into the bundle, she mummered an "espirito sancto", touched my head at some key points, and then began wailing the bejesus out of me with the greens.  I can see why the little kid shed a few tears.  The flogging actually felt great, like birch branches after a sauna.  No part of my body was spared from a good vegetable thumping.

Here is a video link to the Flogging:

http://youtu.be/9erD_ZA4ZxA

Following the flogging, I was placed back on the stool and we began phase two of the process:  The Egg Roll.  Reaching into her magic bag of tricks, my Shaman produced a raw egg.  She proceeded to rub the egg over my body in a very thorough manner.  Shirt up, shirt down, stand up, sit down, working the egg over my head, in my eyes, aross my face, up and down my legs, etc.  The idea of the egg roll is to draw whatever is ailing me out of my body and into the egg.

My Shaman doing the Egg Roll with her daughter behindus making new veggie bundles.

More egg rolling.

I was glad the egg got warmed up a bit before this part.

Here Is a video link to the Egg Roll:

http://youtu.be/T8C8UKPWSP0

Once I had been thoroughly Egg Rolled, the Shaman broke the egg into a glass and examined it.  she proclaimed her diagnosis, which sounded like "Muy nervoso," and showed me the bad stuff the egg had pulled out of me.  I have to admit that the egg rollling felt pretty good.  i don't know about the "muy nervoso," but she's the Shaman, not me.

The last step in the process was the Final Rinse.  The Shaman took a long pull of some white liguid in a plastic bottle.  She then aerosolized the stuff in her mouth and shot me in the face with a huge spray.  You need to keep your eyes closed during this part.  Just a helpful hint.  The mouth spray was repeated, with great vigor, on my back, stomach, and then more juice was poured on the top of my head.  After giving the juice a good rubbing in, I was annointed with a charcoal-like substance on my forehead, belly and back.  The tune-up was finished.  I paid my bill of five bucks and offerd my thanks and farewells.

Bracing for the spray on the back.

More juice on the head for good measure.

One dot on the back.

Another dot on the forehead.  Too bad the juice doesn't grow hair.

Here is a video link to the Final Rinse:

http://youtu.be/jmxec3W_BIA

The whole experience was fun and fascinating, but here's the thing:  I felt great.  I understand that all of what follows can be chalked up to the power of suggestion, the placebo effect, or the weakness of my own mind.  That said, I really did feel good.  i was experiencing a sense of lightness and well-being.  My body was tingling and I felt happy and at peace.  All of these sensations continued for hours after we left the market.  Whatever the real effect of the Shaman's work, the perceived results were very much worth the five dollars paid, not to mention the really wild cultural interaction.  

Cuenca: Day One

It was a joy to wake up in a comfortable bed in the luxurious apartment of my Amigo Bueno Señor Hansen.  My friend emigrated to Ecuador about eight months ago and he has been sorely missed from our Brotherhood in Seattle.  The time for solo journeying has ended and the time for companionship has begun.  

Cuenca is the thrid largest city in Ecuador, sitting at about 8,000 feet above sea level in the Southern Highlands.  It is a very beautiful place, with four rivers, well maintained plazas, and a lovely colonial El Centro.  It is also a Unesco World Heritage site and home to about 3,500 ex-pats.  Seeing Gringos on the street here is not an uncommon site.  

The first order of business was sharing coffee and a cigar on the exquisite terrace overlooking the Tomebamba river.  Sorry, I spelled it incorrectly in the previous blog.  After watching the town wakingup  and waving to passersby on the river walk, we headed off to the local Gringo cafe to meet a few of Señor Hansen's fellow ex-pats.  

Following brekkie, Mr. Hansen led me on a walking trip around the El Centro, with a bakery here and a parque there.  We sat at a sidewalk cafe, sipping coffee and chatting with the owner while taking in the passing street scene.  Flower markets, colonial buildings, a good friend and a really lazy day, what's not to enjoy?

There was one mission for the day, which was shopping for a new hat.  Señor Hansen has talked up the quality of the local "Panama" hats and I was not going home without one.  We headed off to the hat emporium and museum, THE place to get a hat here in town.  

This is the room with the good stuff.  The tourist hats are outside in the big room.

With the help of the Hat Guy, I tried on hats, running into the same problem that I had in Otovalo.  My cabeza is muy gorditio.  But at this hat shop, that is not a problem.  I found the style I liked, a narrower brim in a natural finish.  The bad news was that there was not one in my size.  Es no problema, one can be made for me in a matter of hours.  The process was simple.  Find the correct size, which is XXXL, pick the style, pick the colour, pick a hat band.  It will be ready at four PM.  Simple, no?  Si!  

We strolled back to the luxury digs and passed the time with Señor Hansen kicking the shit out of me on the cribbage board.  By the time he tired of pegging around the board with wild abandon, it was time for me to retreat back to El Centro for a few errands and the retrieval of my new hat.  

Sporting the final product.

A fine eveing was spent at the home of a lovely Canadian couple over in Gringolandia.  After a pasta dinner and scrumptious dessert, we battled it out in partners cribbage.   I brought my bad card luck with me and my team was bested amidst tons of laughter and trash talking.  Full as ticks and tired, we cabbed it back across town and called it a night.

It was a day of laziness, fine companionship and relaxation, just what this tired traveler needed.