Adiós Loja - Volver a Cuenca

On Friday night, we went the Loja Symphony Orchestra performance of works by Debussy, Beethoven, and Saint-Saëns. It was free entry and eventually it was packed. The conductor was a young woman from Europe who has won various awards as a conductor and had a list of accomplishments from around the world, as long as my arm.

Returning to the same theater on Saturday, there was a Women’s Dance Festival. Interestingly, the first performance was a 50-50 mix of men and women, all very youthful. Other presentations were

majority women, but others included men as well. After two hours, we skipped out. They charged $3 entry for this.

We were looking forward to this Loja stay. The description of our accommodation claimed it was a studio apartment in one area, but a one bedroom in another section. It is indeed one large room with a bed in the center of it. One of the best parts of our time here so far is having breakfast together each morning, sitting at the table. Here, the

table and chairs were not so giving.

The cooking area only has a gas stovetop, but no oven. For long-term stays, this really limits cooking options. There is no coffee maker, but a cloth sleeve used for making coffee; this is inefficient and not hygienic for multiple guests.

Neither the kitchen nor the bathroom has hot water taps.  The shower has the electric heating for water, but though brand new was not effective no matter how much playing with water pressure we tried.

Seeing the dog in the picture on AirBnB, we thought this was an added bonus. We love dogs and was

looking forward to having some doggie time. What we did not find out until our arrival was that there are three dogs. They are loose very early in the morning, barking continually until they are taken in at night or someone is paying attention to them. This made sleeping in later than 7am difficult.

James said the SuperMaxi supermarket was 10 minutes away, but we did a healthy pace walk there and it took us 35 minutes. We mostly did taxis to and from town, which cost $1.75 to $2 each way. Not a lot of money, but if you are coming and going during a day, it is a nuisance. I would rather have stayed closer to the downtown for easier access. We had the directions printed out for taxi

drivers as James said they would all know where the area and streets are located. Numerous times, we had to direct drivers who were totally clueless.

Sonia, the owner of the apartment we stayed in, claimed she could not get us a taxi by calling. We did succeed in getting one on our own. The driver had no idea where the shuttle place was, so Ron had to direct him. When he did not pay attention, we ran into major traffic, causing panic, thinking we would miss our shuttle.

The shuttle driver looked to be about 15 years old. He was so thin; his pants were hanging to his knees. His waist could not have been more than 24 inches. This is the person we risked with our lives

in order to return to Cuenca. Surprisingly, he was a good and safe driver. Being the drive was 4 hours, we stopped for lunch, which was a bladder blessing.

Prior to leaving Loja, we received this e-mail from our Cuenca accommodation.

“Dear Guest

We have your reservation.  We are waiting for you 8th 

Please let me know the aprox time of *Arrival,  by email or by phone. Dunia's personal number is 098886761

We offer a clean and orderly room when the new guest arrives to our hotel. 

For environmental reasons, we do not change sheets daily, 

We offer additional service room cleaning, if you need, please ask in reception

We have shared kitchen for guests

The breakfast is selfservice service

*To have these economic prices, we have a minimum Staff, for this reason we ask you the arrival hour, to wait for you.”

When we arrived, we immediately took a taxi to the Hostal a Casa Naranja. We arrived at 3:55pm. I had e-mailed her stating we would be there by 4pm. We rang the bell and stood outside the door for 45 minutes. No one answered. Ron had to go to a phone store to call the number given, but it went right to a message. After 45 minutes, we were tired of standing on the street with our luggage and found another hotel.

As it turned out, it was a redeeming feature. I found Hostal Colonial around the corner that was less expensive and included a simple breakfast. When I first went in to ask rates, I was told $50. This was $12 more than the hostel, but this place was open. When Ron arrived and the clerk looked the two of us, he asked “matrimonia”? We replied, why not? The price changed from $50 to $32. The place was clean, the room comfortable, and the staff was especially pleasing. As soon as we checked in, I Skyped Hotels.com to tell them what happened. They called the hostel and reported that the one staff member had an emergency, so had to leave before we arrived. I had them confirm, there would be no charges. Later I received this e-mail from the hostel.

“Dear dr Rayan James 

Unfortunately, we have no Staf all the time in casa naranja  for that reason we sent an email where we Ask  your arrival time. We will not charge you any fees. However you got an email saying that it has not been submitted to the hostel, this is just paperwork. I insist we do not charge any kind of fee.”

Frazzled, by 5:30 we were to meet Howard and Mike at their place. After a few false starts, guests who planned to visit them actually did arrive. They had other friends on two different occasions that planned on visiting and at the last minute cancelled out. It was fun to meet Richard and Michael. After a glass of wine and chatting, we moved on to Don Colon’s Restaurant. We had a delightful dinner, great company, a number of laughs and for Ron and the warm wonderful feeling of sharing time with Mike and Howard once again.

To work off dinner in a minimalistic way, we walked around the park. This was a prelude for having ice cream at the local shop. The guys walked us back to our hotel and we had long goodbye hugs.

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Aborted Great Escape

Our plans to leave Loja for the day or at least a good portion of one, failed miserably. With all good intentions to visit Podocarpus National Park, all musings were dismissed when we read the fine print. 

The main entrance to the park is almost 9 miles outside of Loja, not that this is a problem with cheap taxis all around. Once at the park, it is a five mile hike to the rangers’ station where you pay the admission charge. Our outdated Frommer’s guide lists the fee as $10 per person. It was the dirty four-letter word that stopped us in our tracks - “hike”. Who allows such foul language in print? Making matters worse, once in the park there is more of the nasty waiting. Roaming around are jaguars, tapirs, bears and sloth. No thank you, we will do our sloth impressions by staying in Loja for the day. 

On Thursday, we did escape; we took the bus to Vilcabamba. According to all the schedules, this trip should have been an

hour. In reality, it took closer to an hour and 40 minutes. The bus will stop for anyone standing on the roadside that waves it down entire way. Some people were less than 10 feet apart, causing us to stop twice. People got off at numerous points on the trip, using this bus as their only local transport. The distance between Loja and Vilcabamba is only 26 miles. Bus cost ran us $1.30 each for one way.

Once upon a time, this was the retreat area for Incan royals. The original name was “huilco pamba” from the Quichua language meaning sacred trees in the plain. The mountain in the background is called Mandango, the sleeping Inca, the protector of the region. 

This area is known as the Valley of Longevity, due to the many residents who claim to have lived over 100 years, some as old as 135 years. French and scientists from other countries confirm these claims after an extensive study of the locals. Thus, this has become a haven for ex-pats, believing a move here will add years to their life. 

Getting off the bus, visions of an old-west country town ran through my mind. The only difference here was a modern bus system and paved highways and roads. A primary road

running through town has all the small shops needed for survival. There is a grain store, hardware store, a small convenience store and a pharmacy. The only thing missing from this strip is a bar. Do not panic. There are bars in this tiny town. 

One only needs to walk a single block where reaching the center square suddenly is like the movie Pleasantville; everything transforms from black and white into living color. No, you have not magically transported to Santa Cruz or Haight Ashbury in San Francisco. All around the square and littering the side streets are tiny tiendas selling the same handcrafted jewelry that one sees at every music or cultural festival or from straggly dreadlocked men and women with tie dyed dirty clothes who set out a blanket displaying the same baubles until the police run them off. Because the designs are so ubiquitous worldwide, you really have to question the claim these are handmade by the seller. 

Within minutes of surveying the cafés and other shop, watching people in the park, people lingering on the streets,

it is whiter here than at a Ku Klux Klan rally. Most of it is wrinkled white, like bed linens that have not been changed after a restless night’s sleep. Covering some, but not enough of this wrinkled white are tie dyed fabrics. For a few wild moments, I thought the 70s had returned, but none of our youth returned with it.

In front of one café was a sign showing “Happy Birthday, Summer”. We happened to be nearby when Summer appeared for her birthday party. Elegant in stature, a tall platinum blonde woman floated by wearing a long sundress, earrings made from the feathers of some unfortunate parrot. They hung down about eight inches from her earlobes. Layers of silver necklaces adorned her neck, but did nothing for her pale milky, but age spotted skin. She generously applied the eye shadow in a rainbow of colors to highlight the memory of the parrot on her ears. The gauzy sleeveless white dress with a hem almost to the ground swayed in the breeze as she walked; her white sandals only brightened by the red polish on her toes. Without the earring and the makeup, she could have been a ghost of decades past. 

As we looked around, the town center recreates an era long gone by, but by garnering permission since this is the valley of longevity. Celebrate the past here like you will live forever!

Our last exchange hosts had strongly suggested we have a meal at Izhcayluma Hosteria and Restaurant as stated on their card. We had read that there was a used English bookstore along the way to the restaurant; planning to kill two birds, we headed out. According to the rather unfriendly man at the tourism office, the bookstore was only a 15-minute walk “that way” with the pointing of a finger. These were not very precise directions at all.

We started up the road he pointed to, walked 20 minutes up a steep graded road, but there was no bookstore in site. Ron stopped in a hostel to ask directions. It is another 200 meters or so up the road. After 200 more meters, there still was no sign of it. Stopping for more directions at a small tienda, we were told it was around the corner and then about 200 meters. This bookstore seemed to be like the carrot in front of two jackasses; we were never going to find it. This seemed to be a good argument for a Kindle. We headed back to town and took a taxi to the restaurant.

As we were riding in the taxi, we passed the bookstore. It would have been another mile from where we gave up; a mile of climbing a graded street similar to climbing a ladder. That dirty four letter word crops up again “hike”. 

Reaching the restaurant, we perceived this as being fancier than we had bargained for, just on the appearance. Mentally, I am ordering water and soup, passing on a real entrée. The entire restaurant overlooks the mountain range with lush tropical gardens directly below with trails for hotel guests to explore. 

When I cautiously opened the menu, I was euphoric when spotting the price list. It was very reasonable. I ordered

spaghetti with chicken, bacon, peppers and onions. Ron chose the chicken curry. Though I did not think my dish had much flavor, the view was sumptuous and worth every noodle. 

Later in the evening, we went into town. Every Thursday, they have a free admission culture night with bands, singers, and dancers in St.

Sebastian’s Square. We were watching a band play, and then there was an announcement. President Rafael Correa was there and made his entrance into the crowd about 30 feet from where we were standing. He greeted the crowd without droning on with a political speech, so the dancing started shortly thereafter. 

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Touring Loja, Ecuador in No Time Flat

Apparently, Loja has not compelled me to sit at the computer, to write about our experiences. Quite honestly, I am slightly underwhelmed, but this could be a déjà vu experience of what happened in Cuenca in 2013. Our choice of accommodations may have left me cold for all other experiences. It was not until 2015 that I really appreciated, in fact, loved Cuenca. No number of years will raise the scale to loving Loja, but it is enjoyable for what it is.

Tuesday, we took the tour bus. At the tourism office, they claimed it would cost $5 per person, the same as in Cuenca. The first departure of the bus is 11am. Ready and eager, we asked the ‘guide’ if we could get off at one spot and catch the

next bus a few hours later. No, sorry! You get on the bus, go the entire route, you get off the bus. End of story. Then it turned out to be $6, not five. How can it be more expensive than Cuenca? Are you kidding me? This is a smaller city. Fine, we paid it.

As it turned out, Ron and I were the only two people on the entire bus. Due to the bus not stopping at other points in the city, there was no chance for anyone to join the tour. The likely reason is that you only get one go around; it is not an all-day ticket. It would be impossible to track people coming and going.

The guide spoke negligible English and stood directly in front of the two of us with a microphone. He could have spoken to us without props, but he must have been following company rules that required the use of the mic. Feeling ridiculous, I occasionally turned to verify no one was secretly occupying other seats. Rather than the microphone aiding in enunciating his speech, it just made it worse. On top on this, he had a habit on recreated verb tenses. Instead of made, he said made-ed and builted. Strangely, he did the same thing with regular and irregular verbs. With each new kink in his speech, it made-ed my mind wander and wonder how he learned English.

After an hour and a half, we were departing ways from our

guide. I with a sense of being distracted more than educated, there was no opportunity to retrace our route with a different guide. That said there were some highlights that were comprehensible. On one corner of the city, they built a castle like structure to pinpoint one of the old cornerstones of a city wall. Across the street is a wonderful mural, but one will observe that none of the people have eyes. As a tribute to his blind father, the artist purposefully composed this art piece this way.

In another area, where the treat was to view one of the best

panoramas of the city, we were also privy to one of the strangest private homes we have seen. It resembles a castle. Thinking it had to be an ex-pat gone wild, like the Dutch couple in Boquete, Panama, I was wrong. This is Ecuadorian built and owned.

Espresso coffee cafés are as rare as hen’s teeth, but from the bus, I spotted what looked like a significant find. We headed

back there once off the bus. It was an excellent find with a proud owner who displays the entire process on one wall. After enjoying an excellent cappuccino, we could continue our exploration.

Discovering the Museo de la Musica, with free admission, why not explore it. Most rooms had multiple photos and displays of various famous Ecuadorian musicians. Quizzically, there were few instruments on display. Not one musician was recognizable by our US education, but there were DVDs available of all of their recordings. Interestingly, there was only one woman in the main display rooms. There was nothing in English.

However, one large room had a wall filled with female musicians of all genres. However, it is telling that this room also happened to be the dining room for the cafeteria. The kitchen adjoins it.

Calle Lourdes is the street famous for stores and doors that are brightly painted. If you have ever seen the Painted Ladies of San Francisco, this is a similar concept.  They are lovely to view from the distance as well as walking down the street. However, the shops themselves have similar trinkets, jewelry, and other money wasting souvenirs that are available just about everywhere else in the city of Loja or anywhere else in Ecuador. As much as I love shopping, by the second store I was bored.

No day in Ecuador would be complete without visiting churches. Of course, this means Catholic churches, but I

honestly do not mind. I find the décor in each highly individualistic and often times creative. There is a repetitive theme here, the Virgin of El Cisne or Virgin of the Swan. This has almost become mythic in proportions.

The town of El Cisne is in the mountains, 70 kilometers from Loja. Apparently, there is a Marian shrine there. Envious of the shrine of the Virgin of Guadalupe in Mexico City, the people of El Cisne wanted their own shrine. The locals commissioned sculptor Don Diego de Robles to create the Virgin de El Cisne statue, which he did using a cedar tree. The story goes that once delivered to El Cisne, there was rain, after a long drought. This was considered a miracle.

Droves of people, by the thousands, begin a three-day pilgrimage ever year on August 17th. They start in El Cisne leading a religious procession to Loja. The six-foot tall cedar statue of the virgin is transported to the Loja cathedral. A major festival begins on September 8. The statue lives in the Loja cathedral November 3 when it is returned to El Cisne.

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Loja Discoveries

Our first full day in Loja started out with disappointment. When in Cuenca, we sat at a table to have breakfast together each morning. We are not able to do that here, unless one of us sits on the bed to eat. Of course, there is no chance of sleeping in with roosters that start crowing at 3am and the workmen who are installing a new non-essential sunroof arrive at 8am.

Not understanding James’s directions for getting the bus, we got lost instead. After walking a half-mile out of our way, we finally broke down and took a taxi. The good thing about Loja is that taxis are cheaper than in Cuenca. Our very long ride from the shuttle to the apartment yesterday only cost us $2.

Of course, we directed the driver to the central square, which is San Sebastian Square, which of course has San Sebastian

Cathedral sitting on it. In the center of the square is a 96-foot high four sided statue depicting the colonization by the Spanish. In 1548, Field Marshal Alonso de Mercadillo created the town of Loja, naming it after his home: Loja, Spain. It is one of the oldest cities Spanish cities in Ecuador. This is only true if one ignores the fact that those who were

conquered and colonized did not have cities of their own.

At the base of the church, there are additional examples of E. Varga’s work. He is the ceramicist whose studio we visited in Cuenca. He is Ecuador’s most famous ceramic artist. The differing plagues offer depictions of musicians, Ecuadorian cowboys, and other types of culture, reinforcing that Loja is the Music and Cultural Capital of Ecuador.

We walked high and low looking for a café that offers espresso coffee drinks. It took us a multitude of blocks before we were successful. Told that these types of drinks are not popular in the city surprised us.  This is strange, hearing the Loja regions has numerous coffee plantations. 

Finding a small restaurant offering almuerzos, we stopped in for lunch. What we did not pay attention to was the variety on offer. Later, we discovered there were three choices of entrée. When the waiter came to take our order, he asked what we wanted to order. We replied the almuerzo. Then he rattled on rapidly, but pleasantly. Neither of us could comprehend a thing he said. We asked for a repeat twice, but still it was worthless. His words were like rapid-fire artillery. Frustrated, we settled for soup. When we were leaving, we realized there were two choices of soup as well as the three options for entrées. We did leave him a generous tip for his encouraging smiles and agreeable nature.

When Ron found the tourism office, I wandered around next door. There is some fabulous public art there by E. Varga.

Later I joined Ron, looking at brochures, while he waited his term. Interestingly, there was not one thing in any language other than Spanish. This reminded me of the tourism office in Bari, Italy. Nothing was in anything but Italian and no one working spoke English. As it happens, this was a repeat situation. When Ron was finally able to ask his questions, the tourism worker did not speak English. She turned him over to a colleague who was as fluent in English as we are in Swahili. Finally, a third worker appeared to the over joy of the first two workers. They literally clapped their hands when she walked in. She does speak English, so was able to answer most questions. With maps in hand and information overload, Ron felt like his mission was accomplished until we forget most of what we learned and have to return for a refresher course.

Just by luck, we found ourselves at the Museo de la Cultura Lojana. The guard was rather brusque at first; we had to

show our passports or copies, so he could sign us in. After he was satisfied we were not illegal immigrants, he shows us into the first three rooms where a modern art exhibit is on display. Some of the painting were quite fun with offbeat takes on historical paintings or mythology. 

Beyond these, in the center of the gardens a circular display of 12 pieces of art depicted the signs of the zodiac. At first glance, they looked childlike, but after a faithful examination, I realized they were simplistic, but not at all childish. Each was a clever portrayal of the represented sign, each with a girl as the main character.

Upstairs was a hodge-podge assortment of important Lojaians who have achieved something spectacular within the country or the world. As there was nothing in English, it was a brisk survey. Some other rooms held archeological remnants of jugs, jewelry, and other artifacts found in the area. These were delightful to observe.

Coming upon a large Mercado, we scanned the offering for fruits and vegetables. The upper level was most intriguing. There were numerous shoe stores one after the other. Turn and corner to find cubby hole stores that functioned as beauty parlors, most only large enough for one operator. Continue a little more, there are dozens of independent kitchens with women cooking a variety of offerings for those in need of a meal. Interestingly, the food was cheaper here than in Cuenca. Buying two avocados, two large mangoes, and two tomatoes, cost us $2. We were grateful to find a TIA supermarket downtown; we were able to get the matches for lighting the stove, vinegar, and wine that were not available at the Mercado.

Back at the apartment, the construction is still going on and did not end until 6:30pm. Dogs are still barking, and in another couple of hours, some rooster with sleep disorder will be crowing his lungs out.

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Hola Loja - Or We Came Here for What Reason?

Karen, our neighbor on the first floor had offered to drive us to the shuttle, so we did not have to worry about getting a taxi. Being early by almost an hour, we sat in the office reading our books.

“Ryan, they are boarding” Ron said to me. I think he momentarily forgot we are not flying. The very new sturdy looking van could accommodate seven passengers comfortably. There were two young women sharing the back row with me, but only one young woman used the middle seat in the center row. Ron chose to sit up front next to the driver. 

We take off and I am trying to read. The roads are fine, but it still feels like we have hit turbulence. The captain never warned us to fasten our seatbelts, but all of us did so out of habit. Eventually, we reached the highway where it was smooth flying. Oh right, we are in a van, but honestly, we were flying.

The route from Cuenca to Loja has more curves than the famous Lombard Street in San Francisco. Our driver, who was older than a youngster and seemed competent, drove as he was trying to make the finals of the Rallye Monte-Carlo Historique. I could not see the speedometer or the scenery. All I did see was blur of differing colors. If I had a dollar for every vehicle we passed on a winding road, it would reimburse us for this trip and buy us lunch. Our driver seemed to treat the double yellow lines down the middle of the road as decoration or a suggestion for staying on the lines.

After an hour, we stopped for gas. Climbing out of the van for the men’s room, my real need was to move my stomach back in place. It along with my heart was stuffed in my mouth. What really set me on edge was rounding a severe bend in the road only to find a calf standing in the middle of the highway with its rope dragging behind. The driver slammed on the brakes, which were thankfully, very efficient. No animals of any variety were harmed in the making of this journey.

The two women to my left had the good sense to keep their eyes closed the entire 3 ½ hours. Sitting placidly, eyes opened wide, the woman in the row ahead of me had a rosary going. After the calf incident, she started lighting candles

after pulling her statue of Mary of the Highlands out of her coat. She probably would have started with Gregorian Chants next if she were not fearful of scaring the driver. I tried alternating sleep with reading, with keeping from letting out primal screams. My life passed before my eyes so many times, I was sick of reruns. The return trip may require drugs: sleeping pills, anti-anxiety, or the very least, a bottle of scotch.

When we arrived at ELITE tours in Loja, I was beyond underwhelmed. As soon as we reached what looked like civilization and not highways through the mountains, there was nothing impressive. Standing on the sidewalk trying to hail a taxi, eventually two of them stopped, but when they read the address we needed, they just pulled away. One said something as he drove away, but I could not catch it as he was closing the window at the same time.

Ron went into the office to ask them to call for a taxi for us. Within minutes, a taxi showed up and we were driving, and driving, and driving. As we traveled, I had the impression we were staying in a suburb or even a neighboring town. Ron and I looked at each other with ominous thoughts hanging over our heads. When we reached the street, the driver could not find the house. We had been given intensive directions by the American renting out the apartment, but I assured him it was too lengthy translate to Spanish. His e-mail response was that they were for us. A hell of a lot of good that would do us.

Finally, we made it and met James a rather robust American. As three dogs are jumping all over us making more noise than a nursery school class at recess, we are trying to follow

James. Oblivious to the commotion, he is explaining that he rents these two apartments from Sonia who lives in the house in front. He also ‘manages’ another apartment in a different location. “By the way”, he states “there has been some construction replacing part of the roof. They generally don’t start until 8am. Oh, and the dogs bark. Be careful when you leave, because one dog likes to shit on the welcome mat. If she does, just throw it on the lawn.”

By this point, I was ready to test my survival skills with ELITE Tours and head back to Cuenca. James shows us the shower, proudly stating that they just replaced the head. It is

the type where you risk being electrocuted when you shower. After asking if it was set or needed to be turned on, he demonstrated by turning it on. No water pressure – no hot water. After sighing, saying he did not know how it worked, he walked out. This is a one-room apartment. Bed, kitchen, dresser, TV, and two tables are all in one room. 

When asked about shopping, James suggested a small tienda on the corner a block away. We did stop in there, but they had limited supplies of things that were of interest to us. He also suggested the SuperMaxi “10 minutes” away. There were also multiple restaurants in the same mall for our dinner options.

Twenty minutes of walking later, we asked someone where SuperMaxi was, thinking we had gotten it wrong. We were on the right trail; we just had not walked far enough. The mall, basically a strip mall with a food court in the center, was nothing to rave about. We bypassed the places such as Kentucky Fried Chicken settling on something that looked more Ecuadorian. Though it was edible, it certainly is not worthy of a TripAdvisor review.

Mentally, I have been writing my AirBnB review for this apartment. I cannot forget the roosters that start crowing at 3:30 am. Dogs join the medley at 6am. There is only a

stovetop fueled by propane, but the tank was empty. Water pressure, which is so low, it cannot stimulate the water heater into action and the real kicker: the “coffee maker” looks like a windsock. You have to put the coffee in and pour boiling water over it.

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Cap and ReCap

This is a recap of our week, but before I re-cap, I thought I had better give a cap first.

Sunday – Ron went to church again. I swear he is obsessive with this tradition. Again, I sat in the park to read and people watch. When he was done, we decided to check out this mall, we have heard so much about called Mall del Rio. Having a bus card makes it easy to hop on and off buses, but sometimes it take extra skill to discover which bus to hop on in the first place.

Mall del Rio is not as impressive as I had expected from the varied reports. If you like variety, the food court is like a restaurant city unto itself. There must be 30 different eating options. Beyond that, there are few stores selling products or services. Based on the food choices, one would thing a clothing store for over-sized people would flourish.  No such store was obvious.

The highlight for me was the pet store, because of the puppies in the window. This sets off a love-hate relationship. I hate seeing puppies cooped up in small display cases, but I love puppies. This little critter refused to awaken even when the

beagle was biting his ear; this made me wonder about the health of the dogs. The one anchor store of the complex is the Coral Hipermarket (sic). This two story mega-commercial outlet has everything from major appliances to sexy lingerie to a full supermarket.

Since we were already here, the Coral Hipermarket was convenient for getting our grocery shopping out of the way. Remembering the problems at SuperMaxi, we divided our groceries into two orders; each was under $15. Ron’s part came to $10.26. They asked for his passport. I was blown away. I said if you want a passport, you had better put all of this food away, because it is in the locker when we were instructed we could not take our bags into the store. Suddenly, our purchases were approved. What insanity. We were not about to apply for a Coral card knowing we would never return.

Monday – We had plans to have Barbara and Bill Wolfe, our past home exchange partners, plus Howard and Mike over for lunch. Originally, we were going to cook chicken breasts, shred them and have a full salad bar with chicken. However, Ron had the bright idea to return to the area where Museo del Artes de Fuego is located and get empanadas for lunch tomorrow. We called Edgar, the owner of Empanadas de las Herrierias and told him we would be there by 3pm to collect nine chicken and nine beef empanadas. Ron thought ahead to bring a large metal pan to bring them home. We were able to take the bus there, but we had to take a taxi home. After we dropped them off, we headed out again to stock up on beers.

Tuesday – Everyone arrived at noon. We sat around drinking beer while the empanadas were warming per Edgar’s instructions. Lunch turned out to be lovely, sociable and entertaining. Unfortunately, all the guests had later afternoon engagements, so by 2:30pm, we were alone.

Wednesday – Our days in Cuenca are running thin. Ron wanted to return to Casa de Las Posadas to see once again the

exhibit of the flowers. As a compromise to me, we stopped at the Jodoco Belgian Brew microbrewery to sample their February selections. They change each month. Across the park is the Museum of Modern Art.  Ron had wanted to revisit it

and surprisingly they had a new collection. This time, most of the work was ceramic, with offbeat designs, some fantasy, and others an artistic take on reality. Regardless, it was refreshing to get another dose of culture before we left the city.

Thursday – Close to airport is the Homero Ortega Panama Hat Museum. This was supposed to be superior to the one on Calle Larga. Ron thought he knew how to get there, but we took the wrong bus or at least took it too far. We took it to the end, thinking we could walk from there. When the bus driver recognized our confusion, he offered assistance in English. He was so kind telling us to stay on the bus so we would not have to pay again. He instructed us to sit close to him so he could tell us where to get off on the return trip. He instructed we would need to walk five blocks after he left us off or take a different bus.

As we were walking, we stopped for an almuerzo (lunch). In Ecuador, almuerzo signs reflect a full meal that is served from 11am to 3pm. We had a berry flavored drink, a lentil-potato soup, followed by beefsteak with gravy, rice, and French fries for $2.50 each.

At the museum, a guide is assigned to guests. Maria Elisa was ours. She was charming and very well informed, not only giving the guided spiel, but answering questions as well. This is a real museum and working factory. Woven in the

countryside, the hats are brought to this facility for bleaching, dying, shaping, ironing, and shipping. It was quite a comprehensive tour and well worth the hassle getting here. Homero Ortega, who founded the company, died in 1998. Though he had multiple children who are all involved in the company, his eldest daughter is currently the president.

We were able to walk to another Super Maxi from the museum to get our last stock of groceries in Cuenca. It did take us 2 buses to get back home again.

Friday – We wanted to do the tour bus one more time. We picked up the noon bus at Parque Calderon, but this time when we reached the summit at Mirador de Turi, we checked

out the E. Varga Ceramic Studio. Varga, considered one of the premier ceramists in Ecuador, created the giant ceramic mural at the University of Cuenca. We discovered he has another large mural in Ohio as well as European countries. His work knows few boundaries as he has pieces large and small, simplistic and highly intricate. Walking through the four rooms of his showroom, our mouths were hanging open most of the time.

Deciding to have lunch on the hill while waiting for the bus to return, we discovered that the restaurant with the most glamorous adverting never opened for the day. We climbed the poorly created steps up the hill to the first level only to find a less than thrilling craft store loaded with junky tokens for the unaware tourist. Alongside it was a ‘café’, which only offered drinks.

Climbing up the hill an additional landing, prompted by a restaurant sign, we only found a heritage photograph display of Cuenca past. Discouraged, we walked the perimeter of the church, but the only options were a fast food truck without seating or a small restaurant that only sold salchipapa. For the uninitiated, this is French fries with a hot dog on top. We ate most of the fries and donated the hot dog to the stray dogs of the area.
Saturday – Finally, today we went to buy our tickets for Loja. We leave Cuenca tomorrow on a shuttle at noon. We will arrive in Loja at 3pm. I am having a little bit of separation anxiety about leaving Cuenca, but we know that there are other adventures and beauty ahead of us.

With tickets in hand, when I scanned through my e-mails on our return ‘home’, we now have home exchanges planned for Belfast, North Ireland just prior to our two week exchange in Dublin. We have a request for one week in Marseilles, France in August and a five-day exchange in Oslo for October. 

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What Does a Saint With Wings, Guayacan Blooms and a Guanábana Have in Common?

Thursday was a strange day. We had little to no ambition to do anything, but felt a need to get out and explore something. Finally, we remembered we wanted to see the art exhibition that opened the same night we went to the concert. It was less than a mile away, making it an easy walk.

Wooden flooring

Of course, we are easily distracted so when we passed by Iglesia de Santo Domingo or St. Dominic’s Church and noticed the doors were open, we had to go in. It is funny, curious, not ha! ha! that the The Catholic Directory only lists two Catholic churches in Cuenca when there are 52. That aside, once more, I was blown away by the hand painted beauty of the inside décor.

Painted and plastered walls and ceiling

Since when do saints get wings?

We did make it to the art gallery, which thankfully was open. When we met the artist the night of the show opening, she had told us this building once housed people and their horses. It was like a bed & breakfast & stable (B&BS). In recent times, the city converted it into a municipal art gallery where temporary exhibitions can be presented to the public. Lesser known artists can get their work noticed. There were about 12 artists participating, but when we showed up, it was the security guard and us.

What was unclear to us was that there was one central theme to the show. Every piece of art represented the flower of the guayacan tree; in Loja, Ecuador, there are 100,000 acres of these trees. They bloom shortly after the first rain of the year, but the blooms disappear days later, not resurfacing for 12 more months.

The Gringo Tree newsletter states, “The flowers can grow to be 4 inches wide, and area favorites of honey bees and hummingbirds. The unique flowers are also quite useful in

treating a number of health problems. Teas made from the petals have been used to treat kidney disease, urinary tract infections, and even tuberculosis in various parts of Latin America.” Whether or not we were surprised at over 60 variations of one type of flower or tree, it was a fun thing to do.

Now, we decided to test the bus system. We knew little about the routes, but we did have an idea the 100 route ran close to our place. First, we took it all the way to the end, where we were asked to depart from the bus. All he did was pull into an alley to turn around and come back on the other side. We hopped on again, spending another 50¢ for the two of us. If Ron were a resident, it would only have been 12¢ for him.  We rode for quite some time, before realizing this bus was not going anywhere we wanted to be. At the next stop we got off, which was fortunate. There happened to be a SuperMaxi grocery store within two blocks.

Short on cash and not wanting to use a generic ATM, we asked at SuperMaxi if they took credit cards. They do, so we were set or so we thought. After milling up and down the aisles, we had enough groceries; we knew it would be a taxi going home. I was going to buy a soursop, what they call guanábana. I am all about trying different fruits and vegetables here, but I am not going to try the national dish: guinea pig.

We get to the register; Ron is obviously holding his Visa card in his hand. The young cashier tells us it is $40.29. Ron hands over the card. She asks Ron for his passport. Everyone, ex-pat and locals alike warn you not to carry your passport with you. Ron gives her his Hungarian ID card. This totally flummoxes her. She has to call for backup. All of a sudden that generic ATM is looking better, but I stubbornly wait it out. Hungarian IDs don’t cut it. Ron offers a colored photocopy of his passport. A chorus of sighs of relief was heard all around. This will work and we are out of there.

Taxis are waiting outside the store like great white sharks near fishing boats. Riding home, I am watching the meter cha-ching, cha-ching. We get to our corner saying this is good enough. The fare was $1.75.

During our tea and dessert time, we cut the guanábana. It has a dual texture. The center most part of the fruit has a similar consistency to a banana, while the fruit closed to the skin is closer to an orange. Flavor-wise it is a mixture of banana,

citrus, and I tasted some peach flavor. Ron didn’t care for it as much, but I thought it was a lovely change.

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