This is a 6-7-12 NYT article written about our Casa San Sebastian home in Cuenca. The featured apartment belongs to our neighbor across the hall.
NBC News, Posted 5-8-15
ABC News, Posted 5-15-13
House Hunters International, Posted 5-15-15
Like most Americans, we usually make travel plans around points East and West and have spent time in Europe, Asia and the Middle East.
But having been born in Texas and attended elementary and Junior High School in New Mexico, the Mexican culture and charm of the Latin people seemed to have imprinted my genetic structure.
Years later, after graduation from Colorado State University, I taught High School in Los Alamos while living with the humble Gallegos family in El Rancho, adjacent to the San Ildefonso Indian Pueblo.
For a year, I spoke nothing but Spanish at home in this wonderful, big sky country part of rural New Mexico.
Those experiences also infused within me a love of the Spanish language and Mexican music.
No surprise then that after moving to Alaska over 40 years ago, I continued visiting the American Southwest and Mexico and studying other Central and South American countries as a Lifetime Member of International Living (IL).
Three years ago, IL planned a country seminar in Ecuador. The three day meeting would cover real estate opportunities: traps, snares, ownership, rental, prices, negotiation, taxes, moving and travel options, legal requirements, visas, etc. (Did you know that Ecuadorian Notaries are highly respected lawyers who carefully scan the CONTENT of documents before approving them with an official signature and seal?)
The idea grew on me of investing some of my retirement savings on a place in Ecuador that we could use and also treat as income property.
I stayed in the wonderful Quito Marriott for the meetings which were held in the Swiss Hotel, also very nice.
While in the Capital we toured and learned. I arrived a week prior to the seminar for a 'pre-seminar' tour of Ecuador's coastal cities and real estate options.
After the seminar, I took two post-seminar tours, one to Cotacachi and another longer visit to Cuenca, hosted by Maribel Crespo–a lady with all the qualities you want in a realtor and business associate: reliability, kindness, patience, empathy, knowledge and more….
Then, I traveled alone to Loja, Guayaquil and Vilcabamba to better understand other parts of the country.
I loved the coast, but knew that if I would ever convince my wife and other family members to spend significant time in this small, northwestern corner of South America, the weather would have to be milder than than the Miami-like, humid, hot beach environment.
Vilcabamba is known as the Valley of Longevity and I loved the place. It is like paradise. But travel, grocery, health and other services are sparce.
Cuenca seemed just about right. The 8,500 foot altitude on the equator made it predictably cool every night and predictably warm every day. It is a place where the Incans and later the Spaniards both found what they needed: a good climate with four rivers running through the valley.
I also like the fact that, unlike lower altitudes, the windows don't need screens: there are few insects. I also like that — unlike Ecuador's Amazonian jungles — there is no chance of stepping on a poison snake while hiking in Cuenca's surrounding national park, studded with diamond-sparkling lakes called El Cajas.
After purchasing what may be one of the best downtown properties in Cuenca, I hired Maribel to manage it when our family is not using it.
In addition to my Alaska consulting and photography practice, I also undertake photography assignments in South America and serve as a travel consultant to those interested in organizing real estate or family visits to Ecuador.
Below, readers will find various notes of my experiences in Ecuador. Please feel free to comment below or email me for more information.
Today, I didn't go to church but will watch Dr. Stanley this week. Spent the morning cleaning, washing. Then this afternoon at 3, after 30 min. on the roof in the bathing suit, started walking.
I walked east through Parque Calderon and on the way down Simon Bolivar encountered a group of four Americans who said, "Hi, Dave". They were fellow guests at a luncheon I attended at an sustainable, hydroponic farm on the edge of town where the entrepreneurs (i.e. husband was a California chef and wife is a singer/performing artist-) offered trout, fed by insects in the pond, fed by spring water running through lettuce and other hydroponic veggies, circulated back through the fish pond and back through the garden again.
After reintroducing and becoming reacauainted on the sidewalk, we said good-bye and I headed into the Parque.
The walk took me from Parque Calderon, past quiet Sunday streets in the direction of Calle Larga.
Spoke with visiting Colombian artists selling their handicraft on the sidewalk…and watched bicycle, extreme sports guys practicing on a church square with skate borders, then headed down the stairs at Puente Roto (Broken Bridge) marveling at more art–large canvases, colorful and realistic red and blue and orange and green statues of iguana from a Galapagos artist.
Then…down the Rio Tomebamba walk way, past lovers and families and students: playing, studying,vsiting on the grass enjoying the afternoon sun, and lythe, young lady stage performers practicing climbing long scarfs tied to tree limbs high above the rushing, sparkling river water….
After another 45 minutes scouting out areas south of the river (one of 4 running through town from higher in the Andes), I stopped at a Chifa restaurant on Calle Solano, for dumplings and a roasted pork dish, infused with blanched broccoli, green beans, carrots.
Two nights in a row, eating out. Wow, what a treat.
As I left, a young family on a stroll complete with baby carriage and their abuelos — grandparents of their baby — walked toward me.
The elderly gentlemen (about my age) tipped his hat as we made eye contact in the light of the street lamps, and after I said, Buenas Noches, Compadre", he responded, "Buenas, Caballero!" I think we'll each remember the other's smile of recognition and good will, at least for awhile. It is the sort of personal exchange I experience nearly every time i go out for a walk.
I climbed the stairs from Solano across the river, taking me back up into the central downtown area… Didn't even puff, which pleased me. 12 steps, then 14 then 14 more then 12 more, if I remember correctly…all made of hand carved stone, hard memories of 400 years ago…made out of the same thick slate and stone as most of the cobble stoned streets.
By now my 3 pm stroll was finding me after dark at 8ish, crossing Calle Larga, moving back the other way toward Parque Calderon which was now a huge symphony of little Andean men and women walking with their tiny children, vendors selling ice cream and bbq chicken and sausage from street carts burning off compelling fumes from briquettes and wood and boiling meat juices. The Cathedral had turned into a huge event of some kind. Vendors were selling all manner of "virgin Mary" memorabilia along with the usual hand crafted bracelets, hats, carvings and a few of the latest blinking light Chinese balls for kids….
Rich, deep, ground vibrating organ music wafting from the open doors of the cathedral down the carved, stone stairs toward me.
Mesmerized, I walked reverently up the stairs and stood with thousands of my brown brethren, looking over most of their heads at the huge golden alter where a choir was singing the most compelling hymns…compelling because most of us were quietly humming along with the mellifluous movements of notes, words and choral inflections….
After standing in that splendor, lost in aesthetic bliss for 30 minutes, I slowly turned and left as others came in. Outside I said to one of the ladies selling ice cream, "Senora, como se llama este clebration?"
I thanked her, headed across the Cathedral doorway down the exterior hallway to our street: Calle Simon Bolivar. No sooner had I turned the corner and headed up toward the next cross street, than I ran smack into the little 22-something Andean lady who sells strawberries in front of our place several mornings a week.
She'd obviously been pushing her wheel barrow around the streets all day, but looked remarkably fresh and friendly in her traditional dress which included a Panama Hat (Panama hats originated here and bought in bulk for workers in the steamy, humid Panama Canal construction zone. Now, the people mostly wearing the famous white hats in Ecuador are these Andean women, descended from the Incans … and tourists.
"Buenas noches", I said, "Que tienes esta noche". She smiled in recognition of a good client, a friendly one, looked down at her near empty Barrow containing a few dozen lemandarin, which look like big limes and are a cross between mandarin oranges and lemons…I think….
Anyway, they are better than mandarins and not as tart as lemon. In short, Baby Bear, they are just right!
When I asked her the price, she said 7 for a dollar. I said that for a dollar, would she throw in a yapa "extra". She said she would.
Then, I asked her about the bundle on her back the size of a loaf of bread, wrapped in hand loomed, colorful Indian cloth. She beamed, "It's my new baby, she said," reaching back to her blanket papoose, exposing her face for me to admire. What a treasure, I responded and then said, this is for the baby, handing her another dollar.
Now if you think this is a waste of your time, just remember this. I was to my Dad what my sons — being normal — undoubtedly are to me loving but understandably impatient with repeated stories, advice and warnings. Dad would give me good advice and I would smile obligingly then think under my breath, 'yeah, yeah, yeah'!
One of the things he always said when we were fishing, cleaning fish or game, or camping: 'David, always cut the knife away from you and you cannot get cut".
While I probably said, "yeah, yeah", I sure did take it to heart, even tonight when I was cutting a lemandarin.
I was holding the sharp, serrated knife, blade facing down into the cutting board away from any part of me, until the unexpected happened.
….
So, I wash all fruit in a vinegar mixture…in Alaska or Ecuador…because, hey, many unclean hands have handled the item before it goes onto my table or into my mouth. I even wash things with rinds that I don't eat, because when you cut them you force whatever's on the outside, inside….
The big hard fruit was slippery and I couldn't wait to drink the nectar. Ummmmmm.
Then, Splat! The blade slipped sideways without entering the fruit and neatly sliced a quarter inch into my left index finger causing a gushing of blood. I wrapped a paper towel around it, applied pressure and managed to squeeze several of the fruit treasures into a glass.
Drinking the nectar gave me the strength to go upstairs to the bathroom, open my extensive plastic box of emergency medicine and tools. I poured hydrogen peroxide over the throbbing but blood coagulated finger, pleased to see as the bubbling subsided that the gushing had stopped. Sure enough, I felt a tingle of antiseptic pain from the hydrogen peroxide, let it dry, added a drop of triple antiseptic ointment, applied a new fangled but highly effective latex butterfly over a small square of gauze and, presto, ready to heal.
Mission accomplished.
Except i must remind you to always cut with a knife when the blade faces away from you. Otherwise you could hurt yourself..
yeah, yeah.
Forgive the lack of editing and corrections but Dad is pooped.
Got to go up, make the bed and recharge for tomorrow.
For, tomorrow is an exciting new week!
Love always,
Dad
(This is a new addition to the webpage. More information coming. -dh)
Leave A Comment