We Won't Get Fooled Again?

A wise man once said, "fool me once, shame on you...fool me twice, shame on me." A less wise man once said, "fool me once, shame on...shame on you. Fool me...you can't get fooled again." O that Brigitte and I would learn to heed these less than wise words. We did get fooled. And then we got fooled again. We are starting to wonder if we are in need of a name change of our blog. Are our "misadventures" simply a self-fulfilled prophecy? Does any of this actually happen or are we just staging pictures and fictioning our way throughout "Ecuador" while really living in suburban Ohio? The world may never know....

This time we were in Vilcabamba. Vilcabamba reminds me of Sedona in Arizona. Lots of New Age folks in a small area. Lots of yoga (we said "hola" to one woman and received a namaste yoga greeting straight out of India....really? Couldn't you just give me a fist bump or a hello or a guten tag or a handshake... a high five? Brigitte and I froze with indecision and uttered Spanglish nonsense). Lots of retreats. Lots of nature as well. Brigitte and I don't really qualify for New Age spiritualists. But we do qualify for mountain and nature appreciatists. 

Vilcabamba is famous for its water and the longevity of its residents...allegedly. Even our taxi driver boasted of a 97 year old father who is actively continuing to  actively enjoy his life taking regular walks, bench pressing 250 pounds, and solving multiple sodoku puzzles a day. 

We arrived on Friday afternoon. We went to a nature reserve called Rumi Wilco. We rented "rustic" cabins for $26 a day. We thought it ironic that these "rustic" cabins had more kitchen tools than we currently do in our furnished apartment. Or that they had an oven...which we do not have as well. 

So many beds we didn't know what to do. We ended up rotating throughout the night in 15 minute intervals. We also invited a stranger from the village to use one of the beds so that they would all be occupied.

Note the pans below the sink. We were overwhelmed with options.

That is what greatness looks like when it comes to breakfast preparation.

The neighbors. Not sure if they were Ewoks or the Swiss Family Robinson.

The part underneath is the bathroom. Hot water. Hot tub. Sauna. OK there wasn't a sauna.

Getting Lost Part 1
Saturday we got up early for our hike. Our goal was to hike to the top of the "Cara de Mandingo". This is translated loosely as make sure you get up early to hike so that it is not in the heat of the sun and also remember that it is an "in and out" hike and not a loop so do not take the loop because you might get lost...or it could mean "face of the Incan"...I cannot remember which.

If you look at the formation in the mountain you can see the forehead, a nose, lips...Brigitte was reminded of the sleeping Ute in Southwest Colorado.

On this hike there were two crosses. We found them both before we busied ourselves with getting lost.

Cross 1. Brigitte and I getting about the business of selfies...does this count as a selfie if it is two people?

Brigitte was inspired by the crosses and the vista of the city below. She jumped.

We then proceeded to take a wrong turn and eventually had to bushwhack a path following the barking dogs, the mooing cows and squishy cow pies back to a road to successfully make it back (we were never really that lost...we could see the town the whole time. We just had to "make" a trail).

If only we had a Dolorian to go back and tell the Andy in this photo, "You're going the wrong way!"

Getting Lost Part 2

The second day we learned our lesson and got up early and did not get lost. Psych. We slept in. Our goal on our second day of hiking was to find a waterfall. We talked to a variety of people and had the impression that it would take us about 2.5 hours out and back. But 2.5 hours in we still had not seen a waterfall. We had run into a group of Ecuadorian women who had mentioned something about going left...but we never saw a place to go left...until we were on our way back...(and yes, it was marked in red with an arrow pointing at it. But it also looked like private property) 3.5 hours into our hike and with our dreams of waterfalls shattered. We were not to smell the spray of water cascading over cliffs. instead it was a day of dust and dirt. That said it was really a nice hike.

You can see Vilcabamba in the distance. This is before we knew we were lost.

Still do not know we are lost.

OK we are probably lost. Instead of taking pictures of waterfalls here are some leaves.

We were defeated...but can you really be defeated when you have a lunch of brown bread from a French bakery and two delicious Ecuadorian apples?

Vilcabamba. A great place to get lost. Next time we will definitely take that first left.

And the Winner is...

First thing's first. We know that many of you are dying to know the answers to last week's questions about the words in the old Incan language of Quechua.  The correct answers are in bold.

1. Choose the correct meaning for wawa

a. one who is a baby
b. hungover
c. really cold 
d. none of the above
e. all of above
f. only a and c
g. only b and c       

2. Choose the correct meaning for achachay

a. one who is a baby

b. hungover

c. really cold 

d. none of the above

e. all of above

f. only a and c

g. only b and c       

3. Choose the correct meaning for chuchaki

a. one who is a baby

b. hungover

c. really cold 

d. none of the above

e. all of above

f. only a and c

g. only b and c       

Speaking of wawa's we could not escape them last weekend. Last weekend was the equivalent of the "Day of the Dead" here in Cuenca. People make bread in the shape of babies. Then they decorate, and eat them. We were bombarded by wawas. Friday featured wawas for the afternoon snack...

These guys were ecstatic about eating their wawas! Juan Carlos is in the front...he does not like to do his homework.

Last Friday we were thankful to experience our first symphony. It was incredible. Why was it incredible you ask? Well let me tell you why. First, it was free. Free is good. Second of all it featured fireworks and mariachis. How can you beat that? The piece featured was the 1812 Overture (if you follow the link you will recognize the part at minute 4 and other intermittent parts) by Tchaikovsky (I just looked his name up on the internet)...which we didn't know that we knew, but turns out we know...you know?

Awkwardly close and incredibly intense fireworks mid symphony!

Saturday we enjoyed the celebrations of Cuenca's independence day. Ecuador is not satisfied with just a one and done experience a la Fourth of July. No. They have independence days for nearly every major city. Imagine if we had a different independence day for New York, Philadelphia, and Boston? That is what it is like. So it was the perfect storm of celebrations. The "Day of the Dead" meets independence day. So big that Marc Anthony himself came down to sing a few songs to the good people of Cuenca (on a side note, the ineffable Bieber was in Quito last week...we so wanted to go but just could not justify the tickets...but who knows...maybe another time we will make it...never say never). During our wanderings of the celebrations we encountered some paintings by our salsa teacher Francisco (he teaches us the same steps every week and every week we promptly forget them...he is very patient) who as it turns out, is quite the artist.

Sunday we had a great day which featured many competitions and many "wawas de pan". We have been going to a small church here in Cuenca. The church features a few different families, some American and some Ecuadorian. After another englightening sermon in Spanish from pastor Michael, the competitions began. Which kid could memorize the 23rd Psalm the best? Which mother knew her family's love language the best? And lastly, and most importantly, which family could decorate the best "wawas" (the winners of each competition received gold medals). The last competition involved multiple counts and recounts...and unlike the good folks who do not live in swing states, our vote counted! 

Last place. Sorry guys. 

Suit and tie for the man and a dress for the woman. Second to last.

4th place.

A ninja "wawa de pan". 3rd place. Their children did not vote for them. Michael is the pastor of the church. 

2nd place.

These were the gold medal winners. 

Oh! One more thing. Last week we finally consumed cuy. Cuy is what we call guinea pig in the United States. 

Our cuy being prepared.

The conclusion of the matter? Cuy is good, not great. The legs taste better than the other parts. Brigitte sampled an ear, which was in her words, "crunchy." It was almost like the dark meat of chicken with a muskier taste. When it comes to Ecuadorian food, at this point, we still prefer salchipapas...

Translation...salchipapas without shame, or shameless salchipapas. This poster is hanging in the room of our teacher.

One last note. We are thinking and praying today for our three year old nephew Simon who today is having a "little surgery to remove a Thyroglossal duct cyst in his neck, "a common anomaly" according to my sister-in-law Ginelle.

Simon is just another one of the guys!

Not very bold....er?

"This isn't very Boulder," said the elderly woman from Boulder during our last cooking class where we were frying emapandas. Maybe it was boiling meat in salty, maybe it was frying them in lard, maybe it was ten tablespoons of butter...but we know one thing, she is right, this is not Boulder. This is Ecuador.  This is ....



This is where you eat guinea pigs. 

This is where lunch is usually a two course meal and dinner is a piece of bread and coffee. 

This is where we are responsible for our own actions and lawsuits be damned.

For an excursion with the foundation we volunteer for, we went to a public pool. Andy and I were responsible for ensuring the kids went down the slide one at a time so nobody would get hurt. We were not successful. Just ask Fausto.

This is where cars have the right of way, you should just ask Andy's foot. 

This is where a public event set for 6 o'clock starts exactly on time at 7:30. 

This is where "seco de pollo" (dry chicken) is a wet chicken stew

This is where the day of rest in actuality is a day of rest. (Don't look for a restaurant on Sunday night, especially in the rain.)

This where the sound of whiny, annoying kid begging voices, is in reality their "sweet voice" that is used by all ages. 

This where the bus takes you to the end of the line, kicks you out, and then makes you pay to take the same bus again (and you are out a whopping 25 additional cents a person. Mom please help! This taxing our Wells Fargo account! =)  )

This is where is your side of vegetables is rice, corn, and potatoes. 

"Rare" vegetable sighting in the market. 

This is where there are three seasons in a day hot, wet, cold. 

Guess what season this is?

This is where you learn that all of those corse grooved pavement sidewalks that we have in the states are gifts from God himself as you watch the elderly try to negotiate the slippery (even when not wet...much more when wet) sidewalks we think to the loss of many a healthy hip.

This is where milk is in a bag and come to think about it so is mustard, ketcup, crackers, mayo, spices, soap....

This is where for the day of the dead people eat babies....made of bread (think ginger bread men). 

This is where old Incan language of Quechua and Spanish kiss resulting in fun words such as...
wawa, achachay, and  chuchaki

1. Choose the correct meaning for wawa

a. one who is a baby
b. hungover
c. really cold 
d. none of the above
e. all of above
f. only a and c
g. only b and c       

2. Choose the correct meaning for achachay

a. one who is a baby

b. hungover

c. really cold 

d. none of the above

e. all of above

f. only a and c

g. only b and c       

3. Choose the correct meaning for chuchaki

a. one who is a baby

b. hungover

c. really cold 

d. none of the above

e. all of above

f. only a and c

g. only b and c       

This is Cuenca. 

Seeking the Lost

I watched the ball sail over the wall. The wall had a variety of different broken beer bottles pointed upward, jaggedly saying, "Keep out." And keep us out it did. We were like the kids from the Sandlot dealing with "the beast"...  We went around to the front. The neighbors gate was locked. They would not answer our corporate pleas for help. And the ball was just barely out of reach. We tried a broom. No dice. We tried a broom tied to a dust pan with an extended waist high handle to get the ball. And it touched...  But it just was not enough. One of the kids pulled a two-by-four from a construction site...still, not enough. We went back to the foundation dejected, and ball-less.

The ball in question was a soccer ball. The guilty party who sent the ball sailing over the wall was me. Of course this occurred after I had pled with a boy to share his ball with us so that we could just play soccer. The boy finally relented and let us use his ball...only to watch the gringo send it to never never land.

This was not the first time I have been a part of balls going where they are not supposed to go. In fact I have a long history of being involved in this practice. It happened regularly in my childhood, when Ben and I would play catch. Inevitably, one of us would accidentally throw the ball over the other's head. This would begin a battle of ball tossing, in which each throw would be deposited some where far beyond the "intended" recipient. Oftentimes we would play up to an hour of this type of "catch". But it could have been more aptly called "find" or "look for" since we would be rustling through cornstalks or bushes to encounter the ball. After getting sufficiently coated with scrapes and scratches from a variety of different north west Indiana flora, we would find the ball, and promptly chuck the ball right over the other brother's head.

Or in India, where Lon and I were playing cricket on the roof of their neighbor's house. You haven't lived until you play cricket on a roof in India. It was with great pleasure that I watched from the roof as Lon had to make the walk of shame next door to the neighbor lady who was sick of having the boys next door constantly banging on her door with requests for balls returned. Lon tried to send the kids to get the ball, but they said that she would not return the ball unless Lon went to get it. He went. And she did return it. But not without giving the boys hidden behind his legs a good stare.

Me hitting a cricket touch down. I don't remember the vocabulary.

Lon trying not to face the fact that he was going to have to go and get the ball.

I did replace the soccer ball I kicked over the wall. But the politics of replacing a lost cheap rubber ball are not always simple. I ended up making one kid happy and pissing off the rest (they got used to playing with the soccer ball I purchased as a replacement and were none to happy when the boy finally returned and claimed his prize). I may or may not have received a few 6 year old glares (I probably will buy another ball for all the kids to share, but only after I seek counsel from workers at the foundation due to the complicated nature of 7 year old politics (at least these kids don't shut governments down)).

It said $60 only seconds ago.

Brigitte and I continue on our course of misadventuring our way about Cuenca, lost balls and all. Some of our recent experiences have involved checking out of the supermercado.

Scenario 1. We are at the supermarket doing some Monday shopping. We are buying the essentials such as wine and salami. We get to the check out line and the total comes to $30. We only have $25. We are really embarrassed. Fortunately it is only Monday afternoon and nobody is breathing down our necks. Nevertheless we are flustered. The cashier patiently deducts a few items from our pile o' groceries and we call it a day. We walk out...and say to each other "let's not let that happen again!" We kept the wine and salami.

Scenario2. We are at the supermarket doing some typical post 3D movie watching Saturday night shopping. We are getting into it. Soap? Yup, we need it. 20 tomatoes for some pasta? Check. Wine and salami? Of course. Brigitte jokes as we approach the check out line, "I don't think we have enough money." We laugh. The total is $60. We have $30. This time it is prime time. The line is large behind us. Brigitte turns red. Collective sweats break out. I start giggling the classic "Bucher doesn't know what to do right now" giggle. We start pointing at random things and shouting, "Cabbage...we don't need the cabbage!" and "TP...we can get by a week or two!" After an eternity of probably only one minute we miraculously and magically (actually it was more due to the cashier holding our hands and saying "that is the expensive stuff") were able to reduce our cost to $30. And that is the picture you see above. We kept the wine and salami (OK, we returned the salami...but doesn't is sound better to say we kept them both?).

The reason we have now experienced this twice is mostly because we do not carry our debit or credit cards with us and we are not the best at math. Better said, I am not that good at math. So we have had  all the horror of not having enough money to pay with the knowledge that we actually do...it just is not on us at the time. We thought about trying to explain this to the cashier...and decided it would be hard enough to explain in English let alone in Spanish. We are at peace though that we may have entertained none to few Ecuadorians.

Chasing Waterfalls

At the beginning of last week we had no plans. Then, our friend and teacher, Gabriel, offered a trip to the Amazon river basin. He was heading there to visit his girlfriend, Gisell, and explore the beauty of eastern Ecuador. After analyzing our schedules (which were empty...strange), we said, "OK".

With bags packed and tickets in hand we boarded a night bus last Thursday. Our destination the "Oriente", the eastern part of Ecuador. We were on our way to visit two locations-Sucua and Puyo. Our bus departed at 11:00 pm. Six hours later, after experiencing a combination of Brigitte described, "Indiana Jones road meets Harry Potter night bus" filled with more stops and starts than my days of learning to drive a stick shift...we arrived in Sucua. We tumbled from the bus into the cool yet humid night air of Sucua. The occasional rooster and or dog greeted us from a hundred backyards as we stalked the silent streets in search of habitation. We approached Jennifer's hostal. We rang the bell. We rang the bell again. A tired youth welcomed us in. Gabriel inquired about rooms. But there were none. We left and copied and pasted this experience a total of six times. Us ringing bells, waiting in the vacant sidewalks, only to be denied...with a twist. After our second hostal we picked up a friend. Instead of being greeted by the typical attendant, we were greeted by a state employee who was enjoying more than a few glasses of wine on the night before a holiday. He became our unofficial guide. I was skeptical of his company, but thanks to Gabriel's better understanding of Spanish and context cues, we added him to our fellowship. He provided wise counsel ("that hostal is only for a few hours at a time), he provided drunken comfort ("tranquillo" or relax he said over...and over...and over), and he provided transportation. He sloppily pulled out his phone at 4:45 a.m. and called "a guy". Brigitte, Gabriel, and I skeptically discussed in English what our options were. Five minutes later while we were still strategizing..."a guy" pulled up. Thanks be to God and this state servant and his sleep deprived assistant-we found refuge in our seventh attempt to find a room. It had what we needed at 5:15 in the morning...a bed (after a night of "Indiana Jones meets Harry Potter" busing and being denied six other times, we were deeply grateful for our newfound friend).

Guess which person was our new friend? Also, the handkerchief is a shout out to my nephew Jude who sports them with much more class than I can.

After a refreshing mornings sleep of 2.5 hours, we were...refreshed? But we were ready. And after an incredible breakfast of yucca tortillas (tortillas here are more like patties...these were almost potatoish), fried eggs, real coffee (YES!), and "tomate de arbol" (a tomato that grows on trees) juice...we had the fuel that we needed to take on the day. 

The day had two distinct highlights.

1. Standing behind waterfalls. I find that whenever I swim behind waterfalls it tends to put me in a really good mood. We received a tour from a Shuar guide (and his helpful 9 year old daughter who extended her hand to us while we crossed rocks and thoroughly enjoyed drinking water from our Osprey hydration backpacks) that included three waterfalls, snorting small amounts of tobacco juice for sinus problems, and the best six year old dancer I have ever seen. 

1. 

   Our Shuar guide.

   
   

   

   Brigitte and I chasing waterfalls.

2. We watched Ecuador defeat Uruguay 1-0 in the afternoon. This qualified them for the World Cup. The village of Sucua exploded with joy as cars cruised the calles filling the air with a million car horns sounding in disunion. 

The next morning we arose early and caught a bus to Puyo. Puyo is a couple of hours to the north of Sucua. There we successfully obtained rooms on our first attempt (thanks to Gabriel and Gissel making reservations). That afternoon we went rafting on some class three rapids. The guide told us that we should scream, "UNO, DOS" as we rowed the boat. This seemed like a good idea...except that we could not hear the captain's commands. My "UNO"s quickly turned to "Oh No!"s as we were tossed about the Palora river. Gabriel and I were in the front. I was negotiating the river and Spanish...a challenging cocktail for a novice like me.  

Our "capitanito" in the center shouted orders the entire trip. We missed the leadership of Mac Compton and Steven Barnhill, but it was still a good time!

Brigitte and I post rafting.

The next day we took a tour of a botanic garden. Our guide was a gringo named Steve. He said that he had been living in the Amazon for over 22 years. We drank deep from his knowledge. His beard was epic. His bathroom was amazing. They developed a bathroom that recycles everything. According to Steve the gringo guide, 90% of our urine is good fertilizer. So they send the urine straight to plants to fertilize the plants. Then, they take the feces, store them until they are dry...at which time (according to Steve) they become simply soil that is no longer "dangerous" like fresh poop is. The dried soil feces are then used as a sprinkled covering over the fresh feces in order to cut down the smell. Think of a kind of pit toilet with dirt that you sprinkle over the deposits...now realize that the dirt you are using is simply old poop. We stood in awe as Steve broke down the benefits of such bathrooms. To top it off, he collects rainwater for washing hands (it rains every day in Puyo)...but collecting rainwater will draw mosquitoes, right? Not when Steve is around. They have a little fish swimming around the basin. His or her full time job? Eat mosquitoes. 

The fish whose cup runneth over with mosquito larvae.

Steve then gave us a tour. He wowed us with stories of different tribes including the Waorani who use the jungle as if it is a pharmacy. As we toured the garden we stopped nearly every four feet to hear about different plants and trees...trees that provide us with cinnamon...and even trees that walk! We did the tour in Spanish, so we cannot share all of the details. Suffice it to say that there are a lot of important plants and trees that we depend on in the jungle. When we are eating cinnamon toast crunch, or cheddar cheese (the achote die is used to color cheddar), we need to be tipping our caps to the flora of the jungle that provides us with these gifts. 

Steve dispensing wisdom to us in an indigenous home. It is amazing how much more you will believe from a guy who has a really, really big beard.

Gabriel hamming it up with his monkey tail.

"Blood tipped" leaves. All of the leaves of this plant have red tips on the end like this.

After our tour we made our way to the bus and commenced our return trip to Cuenca. Nine hours later, we turned the key to our door and collapsed on our beds.

Brigitte and I thoroughly enjoyed our weekend with Gabriel and Gisell. Thank you to the both of you for showing us more of your beautiful country!

And if you don't know, now you know.....

A week, the routine, normal experiences...a typical week in Cuenca

I try to appreciate the architecture of Cuenca every week. We like to read, do homework, and watch sunsets on the terrace of our apartment building and this is the view!

Mondays through Fridays

Every morning is filled with Spanish classes. We spend 20 hours a week in one on one classes. Hence, we feel close to our teachers because we talk about our lives, politics, religion, and even sexting. Basically...we pay for friends. =) 

At school in the kitchen, we are about to enjoy empanadas to celebrate Andy's birthday. The director of the school noted that it was the first time empanadas had been requested for a birthday.

Monday and Tuesday afternoons

Andy and I volunteer with elementary students on Mondays and Tuesdays. We help them with their homework. We usually work with the kindergartners because of our minimal language skills, but that doesn't mean I understand what is going on. Last week, I aided Susanna with her homework, she found all kinds of yellow things in magazines, put them out, and glued them. I felt good when she went to show her work to Monica, the worker in the Foundation. But then I found out that I didn't read the instructions correctly =(. Susanna had to do her homework again...but, she still told me thank you for my help. She is so sweet.  After homework, is free time outside. Thats when things can get crazy!

Ruth, Ruth's cousin, Darwin and I hanging out. 

Wednesday Afternoons

Andy and I have found a conversation exchange group. We converse in Spanish for about 1hour. The group is a language exchange, so sometimes we speak English and sometimes we speak Spanish. We don't really have pictures of us with our group at El Cigale, the restaurant we meet at, but Mayra took us on an excursion to the market the other day so here is some of our group. 

Thursday Afternoons

Our school offers a cooking class where you make and eat Ecuadorian food. We enjoy the class and have made all kinds of snack foods that are fried. Thanks to Marcela, our chef. 

Marcela is standing in the back instructing her little class. 

You always have to chop everything into "pedazitos" little pieces in cooking class. Andy feels like he is always being told, "mas pequeno". 

Friday Afternoons

We are back volunteering with the little guys on Fridays, but the difference is that we do not help with homework. It if a fun day. There might be a movie, they might go to the park, they even might do something cultural (we do not know that the cultural outing means because to this day we still haven't  experienced it), or we might even kick a ball over the fence and accidentally ruin a good game of soccer....not that that has happened... 

Weekends

Weekends have more variety than routine. We usually go shopping at the market. 

I think we paid seven dollars for all these fruits and veggies. 

We usually have some kind of outing, from seeing the whales to attempting and failing to find other markets in little towns. This past weekend we took a bus for about an hour and walked to "El Chorro" a beautiful waterfall. 

Do not be deceived by this picture. This waterfall is bigger than it looks here. 

Where's Brigitte Bucher?

We also go to church on Sundays and skype whenever we get the chance to chat. 

And if you don't know, now you know....