High desert dreams

During our trip to the US last month, we visited our friends Andy and Amanda on their wide open land out in the northern New Mexico countryside.  While there, I bore fleeting witness to this gentle unfolding of the Ortiz Mountains.  These mountains were once the backdrop to a four year chapter in my life, and to have them spreading out before me once again revealed at once the distance and nearness where New Mexico now sits for me.

At that moment, as four of us walked around together, it occurs to me that each of us were walking a different path.  Nancy and Tamia found themselves on a trail they had never seen before.  Andy was casually walking along the same territory he might venture out upon on any given day.  As for myself, I was passing through a place I had once considered close to home, and was now taking in everything I could during our brief tour.

The day before, we had met Andy and Amanda on the other side of another mountain range, the Jemez Mountains.  The Jemez are a long stretch of mountains lying some 30 or 40 miles west of where I was then standing, and along their north-south run there aren't many more than two or three ways across by car.  To pull off such an unlikely rendezvous, we had set out from Santa Fe, crossing the Jemez range from their northern end.  Andy and Amanda, living further to the south, chose the way across from the mountains' opposite extreme.  And where did we meet, but a secluded set of hot springs tucked away several miles in from the highway.

Despite being so far from the beaten path, quite a few other bathers were present that day, and after we had enjoyed a nice soaking, and intense hydro-massage from the gush of hot water issuing forth from the source of the springs, we decided to adjourn to a more private place, a meadow further down the hill.

There, we communed awhile and sipped Rioja from the bottle.  Then, as dusk began to set in, we made our way back to the highway and took the long drive to Andy and Amanda's land.

The ride back was punctuated by bouts of curiosity as to what we had all been up to for the last few years.  I won't say that there were quite enough hours for the whole story to be told in the roundabout fashion it was revealed, but I'd like to think we all managed to get into it deeply enough for the time being what it was.  Once we got where we were going, it was very much nighttime and past our collective bedtimes.  Our hosts showed us to their guesthouse and retired up the hill, and we didn't bother unpacking before we climbed up into the loft bed and were asleep.

The light of the morning gave me a better glimpse at the guest house I had stayed in two years prior.  In the meantime, it had evolved in some noticeable ways:

Our guest lodging for our stay is a one room strawbale house. It's an ongoing project carved out by an extended community of contributors who each come to the land when they can to further its development.

The first time I stayed there, (if I'm remembering well) the interior still revealed the straw walls, and the loft bed was one of the few furnishings.

Upon our recent stay, the tree mural on the left wall and a further layer of mud plaster were two of the changes to the outside.  The inside had gotten some plaster as well, and was now graced with a little woodstove, a wash basin, and also a desk furnished with a reading lamp, accompanying guest book, and some light reading by Joseph Campbell.

Another practical inclusion to the project is the water cistern:

Since our friends live off the grid, they look to the land - and at least as often to the sky - for their resources.  A big part of that means water collection.  Every roof on their land provides that much more square footage of area for capturing the rain and funneling it into storage.  As you can see, the slightly slanted roof directs water into a downspout leading to a cistern.

Lamentably outside the frame of the photo here is the destination of the overflow tube, a spiraling rock garden which (I gather) allows the water to be absorbed into the ground gently, contributing to the well-being of some nearby plants without causing undue erosion.  The ladder and other building materials laying about will further illustrate the work in progress that is the guest house.

Before I go any further, I'll make a short aside to elaborate more on Ampersand.  A name for both their land and their project, I might say that it describes their own personal manifestation of sustainable living, and the countless, conscious ways of considering their daily lives in order to achieve it.  While they draw deliberately from the past work and research of other people on similar paths, the beauty of such nascent projects as modern sustainability is that they're wide open to creative innovation, and many of the details you'll see are very much their own.

Amanda and Andy acquired their land about seven years ago, not long after we met.  I recall their inaugural party on the land as a starry night illuminated by a campfire and righteously like-minded people.  Since then I've been lucky to spend many days and nights on that land, and while each time has been unique and distinct, I can't say that there's been a single time I've done so that hasn't felt incredibly memorable and powerful.  I hope you'll take the time to look at their website which I've linked above, especially if you hold sustainable values and live or plan to be in New Mexico.  There, you'll see plenty of specific goals and projects going on.  Here, I hope I can present a complementary narrative that comes from my own interaction with my friends and their vision.

And so, delving back into our time on the land, we climbed the hill from the guesthouse and made our way up to their place.  I was anxious to see it, as my most recent memory of it was of a home still very much under construction.  It had walls, floor and a roof, but they were all still in the rough stages of completion.  But what we saw that morning was unmistakably a well-lived home:

While this picture doesn't capture the full scope of the exterior of the house, which is even more striking seen from the front, it does reveal some of the functional aspects of the design.  If you look to the right, towards the rear of the house, you'll see the solar array that provides electricity to the home.  It's tilted so as to have maximum exposure to the sun's rays, much like the leaf of a plant.  And even more like a green leaf, these solar panels follow the sun automatically as it crosses the sky, thanks to a passive hydraulic tracker driven by the heat of the sun.  An elegant system guided by the very source of energy itself.

If you follow the line of the roof back towards the solar panels, you'll see a tube leading to another cistern, this one much larger than the one pictured above.  The water collected there is diverted for all water uses: washing, bathing, and gardening among them.  And for drinking water too, after passing through the attractive and functional filter/dispenser found in the kitchen.  Water for the shower is first heated, through a solar water heater that operates naturally through the principal of thermal siphoning.  Cold water naturally descends into the heater, while heated water naturally rises up into the shower or any other hot water source when the faucet is opened.

A portion of the garden can be seen above, several plants growing in containers.  An in-ground garden plot is around the front of the house, in front of a cold frame greenhouse.  Those plants are irrigated with greywater flowing from the shower and sinks from within the house, and additional water is provided from the cistern as needed.  I won't go into too much detail about these kinds of things, as it's all nicely laid out on their website.  But suffice it to say that an edible desert oasis can be yours, with no more than rainwater and the right kind of thought and determination.

That morning we had breakfast in their lovely home, and afterwords took a trip into Madrid, a nearby village like none other.  As it was for a time my first contact with humanity whenever I left my own little patch of high desert solitude years before, it was interesting to see it again.  Once a coal mining community, it was rescued from its fate as a ghost town in the 60s and has risen again as a sort of art community, at once reclusive and open to the public, and defies simple definition.

We stopped in to visit the community garden, managed and maintained by a small cadre of gardeners including Amanda.  On the way through town I noticed that while I could still recognize the most successful businesses - the coffee shop, the bar, the general store and some of the more prominent art galleries, namely - many of the shops had changed hands and been renamed, repainted, and born again.  All in all a look down the main drag revealed a town largely unchanged from the one I'd had in my mind's eye, though, which was nice to see.

Then, a trip down to the garden.

When I left the area, it was more of an idea than an actual garden, so seeing how it had taken shape over the course of a few years was great.  We collected some peas and a couple other veggies but the garden was, much like northern New Mexico generally seemed to be at that particular time, overrun with mosquitoes!

While they only seemed to come out at night everywhere else, these mosquitoes were raging in broad daylight.  We did our best to ignore them at first, and then to actively try to keep them off us at any cost.  But soon we realized that we were fighting a losing battle, and our only chance at avoiding more itchy welts was to just get out of there.  Which was unfortunate, because the garden was a pleasant addition to the Madrid community and I'd hoped to relax there for awhile in the shade.  Maybe next time!

Afterwords, lunch at a new and highly recommended restaurant in town, across from the bar.  Great sandwiches, well-peppered grits, and best of all, microbrew beer.  I couldn't help but have a couple of those.

Back up on the land, Amanda was done working and by all reckoning it was cocktail hour.  We had all the ingredients for some homemade margaritas, and so margaritas we made.  And took them down to the wash for some arroyo bocce ball.

Arroyo bocce has, over the years, become one of my favorite traditions associated with Ampersand.  One not to be missed during any visit.  Indeed, on a prior trip there, a friend sustained considerable injury to his arm during a hike among the sandstone rocks and cliffs in the area earlier in the day. Nonetheless, he soldiered through the pain and blood in order to nobly take aim at the elusive little pallino target later in the evening.

That particular day was a more leisurely outing, and we played until the evening had set in deeply enough to prohibit proper visibility.  At which point we adjourned up the hill and prepared for a tasty dinner.

Back at the house, I noticed that the floors were especially clean, to which Amanda replied offhandedly that she had mopped.  But aren't they earthen floors? I asked.  Indeed they are.  Made entirely with natural materials and simple earth being among them, the floor was poured with mud, smoothed out and then allowed to dry and crack.  The cracks were filled in and smoothed over again and again until an even surface was achieved, and then sealed with beeswax and linseed oil.  Making it proof against a wet mop, and great to walk upon with your bare feet and toes.

We were to be joined that evening by Carl, a common acquaintance of ours.  I hadn't seen Carl in many years and his visit that evening was a great surprise.  The fact that he brought a cooler full of nothing less than several home brewed beers made the evening that much more excellent.  In fact, the beer happened to be a light one put up in green bottles, giving it a resemblance to something like St. Pauli Girl, but with a creamier mouthfeel.  Perfect for the end of a hot day in the desert.

That night, spring rolls were on the menu, and we were all on board to roll them up.

Or rather, on the floor.  What better place than on your own hands, knees and backsides for dipping your fingers into raw, local food?  Having twisted up some burritos and what have you in my time, I greatly enjoyed the natural cling you get from a wet spring roll wrapper. And they went well with the beer.

I can't remember what I was on about in that picture, but I'd like to think it was relevant, somehow.  Amanda was certainly giving me her attention, but whether she was truly interested or just indulging me is an open question.

Indeed, that night was full of bold gesticulating and cracking wise.  Some music was played.  And all around, good times were had.  The hour came for Carl to leave, and when he did, while that screen door you see in the background was left momentarily open during his exit, a truly incredible quantity of mosquitoes flew in the house.

A sort of mosquito slaughter ensued, us swatting and wondering over the unlikely number of pests that had gotten inside during such a brief opportunity.  At one point Andy put his ear to the screen and was amazed at the subtle buzz that could be heard outside.  If you were quiet, very quiet, you could hear the insect menace swarming out there.

Eventually, we needed to say good night and go down the hill.  We endeavored to make a quick exit once the screen door was opened.  We rushed down the dark path, determined to get home without a bite.  But then, we glanced up and saw what every city dweller in the world becomes entranced by when he visits the countryside.  Stars!  So many of them.  I knew how it was, I'd lived there before.  But that was a beautiful night sky.  Starstruck, if you will, we indulged in several minutes of shamelessly staring at it.  Sure, we sustained some welts for it, but we had no regrets.

Down the hill and in the guesthouse, we holed up for a good night's sleep.  The next day, Andy and Amanda had business on the road up into Santa Fe, a convenient excuse to drop us off back in town.  And so that morning, we shared a car ride and a good bye.  That trip was full of hellos and goodbyes, every day.  Until we meet again!

When I met Andy and Amanda years before, I felt a certain kinship with them immediately.  At the time, I had a house in the same area and was living out, as much as I was able, a similar vision.  Seeing them again, in addition to being a great time spent with good friends, gave me the chance to see how we've all grown and evolved during those years of knowing each other, too. 

Every day, our minds are filled with vague and random ideas, taking shape from the influences around us.  When something worthy comes to mind, we might be moved to dedicate ourselves to it, and begin making choices that bring our lives closer to that vision.  And then, over time, we might stay with it, or find ourselves compelled to move more into other directions.  In my life, I can see how my own focus has shifted from that intention of sustainability, for example.  At one point, it was a primary goal.  While it's still something I value, I can see how it has, in my daily practice, moved to the periphery in lieu of things like travel here in Latin America, and all the things that have come with that.  I love the choices I've made, and I'm happy where they've brought me. 

I see my friends on their land, where they took what was a temporary dwelling and a campfire out in the country, and built it up into a home and learning place built with their own hands.  That's what you get when you dedicate yourself for years to the same vision.  I have great respect for them both, above all for that dedication.  Every day they can wake up surrounded by what they've realized of their dream so far, and take satisfaction from that.  For my own part, I still have a long way I want to go, but I can say that the fruits of my choices over the past several years bring me satisfaction, too.  Being able to express myself in a new language, and understand the people of this continent when they speak.  A few years ago, I couldn't have said that.  Whatever your vision is, to whatever you may dedicate yourself, take pride in what you've done, be thankful for where it's led you.

Back from the homeland

Just as this blog has started getting hits from GO! Overseas as being a top blog for Ecuador, I took a month off from writing.  That's because we spent the month of August in the US, visiting family and friends, and traveling a good bit around the country, too.  And to further vex anyone in search of some good travel stories from Ecuador, the next couple of months will be all about the United States, as I recap our trip last month.  But, if you're in search of those kinds of stories, all you have to do is go back to previous posts, starting with this one.

So to kick off my triumphant return to writing after a month's hiatus, here's a photographic summary of what we got into while we were gone:

One of the things I had been looking forward to about being back in the US was the beer.  Good, honest, craft beer.  And as I was happily surprised to learn, our first of many hosts had gotten into homebrewing since last I saw him.  So it was that our first night in the US was spent in Albuquerque, playing obscure board games and drinking delicious, dark beverages.

Our trip, as you may have gathered, began in New Mexico.  I had lived there for several years before I turned my sights to Latin America.  Long enough to have accumulated lots of earthly possessions, many of which I had left there.  And long enough, too, to have gotten to know some great people, whose good taste and generosity led to such things as us staying in bedrooms like this one:

Good friends opened up their homes to us to spend the night and their front lawns for me to sell off my personal belongings in a good, old-fashioned yard sale.  They also drove us around endlessly.  Once, we even drove here, where some of New Mexico's nicer hot springs flow.

As hard as it was to leave the beautiful State of New Mexico behind us, the time came to get into a rental car and haul what was left of my personal possessions back to the land of my birth.  We chose a route north, through northern New Mexico's countryside.

We drove through Denver, where we spent the night with another kind friend.  And then, we made the big push across the Midwest, on the way back to Ohio.  Along the way we drove through corn fields.  Lots and lots of corn fields.  And to our surprise, a big wind farm.  In the State of Kansas we saw the biggest collection of windmills I've ever witnessed, and while places like California and Texas are better known for their wind farms, it makes sense that Kansas, smack in the middle of tornado country, would be getting in on the game.

And finally, after two days of driving cross country - and thanks to the generosity of so many, our only night spent in a hotel - we made it back to Ohio.  This trip marked my first time behind the wheel of a car in three years, and while it was fun for the first few hours, the novelty had worn off long before we got where we were going.  Once in Ohio, we were able to unpack our bags fully, and relax at last with my family.

The weeks there will always stand out in my mind as a time spent in places at once familiar to me and new for my wife.  It was her first visit to the US, which meant the first time seeing many things the average American takes for granted.  Big back yards, a multitude of grassy parks, and the expansive Lake Erie were among the things that were impressive to Nancy, and so we made sure to spend time in all of them.

It was a great trip, and we had a great time.  Up until the last day, when the time came to say goodbye to my family.  After spending several weeks together, it was easy to forget that our time was limited, after all.  But even when people are perennially close, geographically, I suppose it's still important to remember that time will always be limited, and that we always need to make the most of the time we have.









And for now, I'll leave it at that.  There's plenty that I haven't included here that will make it into the next few posts, and even more that is just as nicely shared among ourselves and our loved ones.  But the bottom line is, it was great to be home!

Cochapamba

Early last year, I found myself standing alone on a brisk morning, on a nearly deserted street downtown.  I was surprised by how empty the street was, as Calle Tarqui is a major bus route through Cuenca's center.  The street is one of the few that provides access to downtown from the city's newer section, and the layer of black soot covering the street's crumbling, once-stately buildings reveals the burden of heavy traffic it has endured, even at times when there's nothing going on.

So what was I doing on a melancholic avenue, so early and devoid of people?  I was awaiting a ride up to a small community far outside of Cuenca, although I had no idea at the time precisely where I was about to be taken, or that I would soon be blessed with high mountain scenery like this:

All I knew, as I peeked into cobblestone patios through keyholes and cracks in dilapidated wooden doors, was that soon a curly-haired professor would emerge onto the scene and give me a ride to an undisclosed indigenous village.  Or at least, that was what I was hoping, as the minutes ticked by.











At the time, I was attending an indigenous culture class at the University of Cuenca, with a few of my friends and coworkers at CEDEI.  Our teacher, Julio, was as knowledgeable as he was vague about certain details the rest of us considered important.  We all knew that he was full of valuable information, but all the same we often left class wondering exactly what we had learned that day.  Was it that, as teachers ourselves, we came with heads full of pedagogical hangups that blocked us from fully absorbing all that was presented to us with open hearts?  I'll chalk it up to something like that.  For truly, our teacher presented a vast amount of information about Ecuador's many indigenous groups, which left me scribbling constantly in my notebook to take it all down.

In addition to university survey-level lecturing for initiates like us, he also presented to us videos which ranged in scope from indigenous political rallies to illustrations of Andean cosmovision.  Most intriguing for us, we were also promised some field trips, where we would visit communities and experience the life and culture there firsthand.

The first such expedition, prior to the one I hoped to embark upon that day on Calle Tarqui, is probably what was filling my head with doubt as I waited.  One day in class, we were told that there would be an indigenous dance celebration in Cuenca's Coliseum, and we were invited.  Well, that day, I showed up a little late, and my classmates had already ventured into the Coliseum before I arrived.  As it turned out, there was no indigenous dancing to be seen, but rather some sort of big Christian prayer event.  That was fine and all, but decidedly different than what we had come for.  Repeated calls to Julio's cell phone left us consistently with his voice mail, and after some time hanging around outside, we called it quits and went for smoothies.

What would unfold for me this morning then, as I loitered about and watched the traffic begin to roll inexorably onto Calle Tarqui?  Not even my classmates had shown up yet.  Had I missed something?  A text message from Eric indicated they were on their way.  And then, moments later, Julio rolled by in the passenger seat of a white pickup truck with an extended cab.  Behind the wheel was another Ecuadorian, and the backseat had just enough room for myself and my two other companions for the day.  Minutes later, the two said companions Eric and Eva walked over, and we were on our way!

And yet still, we weren't sure where we were going.  Julio, engaged primarily in conversation with the driver, was decidedly short with his responses to our many questions about the day's events.  We drove up and out of town, through Sayausí, then, through Cajas.  Time went on as our backseat conversation rambled from one topic to the next.  We crossed the continental divide, and began the stomach-churning descent towards the coast.  We were on the road to Guayaquil, but how far would we go?  Would we be visiting a coastal indigenous community?  That sounded interesting.  But we began speculating just how and when we'd be getting back, if that were the case.  Thoughts of my wife, pregnant and indulging of my absence that day, began to fill my head as we wound our way further and further down.

But then, still many miles and vertical meters from the coast, the truck pulled off the highway and began wheeling up a dirt road.  The landscape, still high up and much like Cajas in its windswept, shrubby mountain way, reminded me over and over of northern New Mexico with every similar type of vegetation or scenic vista I saw.  This new road carried us far up, regaining much if not all of the altitude we'd lost.  For several miles there were no houses, nor farms, just wild páramo landscape.  Then we began to notice a house here and there, and then more, until we had entered the community of Cochapamba.

What you see pictured here could be considered Cochapamba's center.  Indeed, this smattering of adobe buildings, the church, and schoolhouse shown in front of the few tall trees, comprises the densest portion of human habitation for miles and miles.

To compare a community like Cochapamba and another indigenous community which I've mentioned here, Ñamarín, reveals many dramatic differences.  One of the more obvious ones, due to its remote and inhospitable location in the often frigid páramo, is size.  Miles up an unforgiving dirt road where buses are unlikely to pass with any frequency, Cochapamba finds itself at a degree of isolation you don't often encounter, especially within a few hours of a major city like Cuenca.  But then, Cuenca didn't have paved roads leading to it until the 1960's.


Far from being a perfect system, Ecuador's government has nevertheless attempted to guarantee that even remote communities like this one have access to education.  While there, we were asked to speak to a group of students, who ranged in age from 8-16 or so.  Their teacher was a young lady from Cuenca who was tasked with coming to teach in Cochapamba on weekends.  She was paying her dues as a beginning teacher, like most teachers in the public school system, by teaching for some time in rural communities.  While most teachers ultimately choose to come to the city once their level of experience permits it, this system ensures that these communities do not go forgotten, and that their young people have the opportunity to at least a basic education.  It also harnesses the youthful enthusiasm that the young teacher here embodied, and that beginning teachers the world around always seem to have.

My wife's parents, also teachers, spent years working in such communities as well.  Nancy's formative years consisted of life in various small communities as remote as Cochapamba, although ranging from cold, high altitude locations to much lower, tropical ones near the coast.  Her parents are full of stories from those times, like riding on horseback in order to arrive at a rural community in the mountains, where they would live for the next several months.  For their part, they have both chosen to remain involved with education in rural communities, with Nancy's mother still working as an elementary teacher at a school not far from Cuenca, and her father going frequently to supervise schools in another community two hours from town.

Also owing to the extreme altitude and climate, the people of Cochapamba will always be limited in what kinds of agricultural products they can produce, as well.  With the prevailing temperatures at such an altitude, potatoes are and probably always will be a primary crop for the people here, for example.   While there, however, we met a man named Walter, who was something of an informal leader for the community.  He spoke to us of a funded project to expand the size and scope of the community's agricultural production, and took us on a tour of what they were working on.

Here, we were shown the linchpin to any serious agricultural project, the irrigation system.  This simple reservoir, consisting of a small basin lined with waterproof plastic, is fed by a small pipe tapping a natural spring.  This provides water security in times of drought, for crops and people alike.  This kind of grassroots waterworks project goes a long way in demonstrating the simplicity and integration of a community agricultural project.

At the other end of the pipe, you can see one of the places where that water goes.  Once collected into a clean, man-made pond, the water can then be funneled into any number of hoses running to various sections of planted land.  What once ran down the hill untapped can now by harnessed to irrigate a wide spread of fields.

Since the pool is uphill and the fields down, gravity is the only force needed to get the water where it's needed, and the turn of a valve is the only human input necessary to turn it off and on.  A simple, inexpensive and effective irrigation system, indeed.











Of course, not only people and plants are counting on a reliable source of water:

Water is also important for home construction.  As in many traditional communities in the Andes and throughout much of Latin America, adobe is a common building material.  As you may know, adobe consists of three primary, plentiful ingredients: earth, straw, and water.  These are mixed together, formed into bricks, and allowed to dry before being laid into the walls of buildings, like this one:

Here we've got at least two generations of buildings coexisting, the older one not quite having given way to the newer.

But of course, one of the most important recipients for Cochapamba's water are the plants.  In the foreground is a plot with a variety of medicinal herbs.  Walking the perimeter is Walter in the lead, with Eric and Eva trailing dutifully in line.  In the background, a planted grove of pine trees.

Here we can see at least two forces at work.  One, the medicinal herbs, is a relevant consideration for a community so far from the city and associated medical care.  I've found Ecuadorians in general - even city dwellers - to be more knowledgeable about herbal remedies than your average person from the US, for example.  But in a rural community like this one, where modern medical care is a rare event, most likely reserved for true emergencies, this kind of garden is a sort of insurance policy.


The other force, a plantation of pine trees, provides a source of lumber not only for this community but potentially for sale to other communities as well, as Walter explained.  Yet again, a significant agricultural addition to the more traditional staple food crops one would expect a community like this one to be coaxing forth from the land.

In this case, a controversial one as well.  Páramo, an ecosystem existing only at high, equatorial altitudes, provides a unique habitat often surrounded completely by warmer systems below.  As such, páramo climates like this one harbor a high level of endemic plant and animal species, which are suppressed by the acid content in the bed of needles quickly built up around the base of introduced pine.  Such an artificial transformation of the native landscape has effects not just on the wildlife, but on people as well.  One of the important qualities of páramo vegetation is the regulatory effect it has on the watershed.  In an area with intermittent rain, the local flora has the ability to absorb and retain moisture like a sponge, and then release it at an astonishingly consistent rate despite the fluctuating level of precipitation.  This has clear effects on groundwater levels in times of drought, and flooding of rivers in times of high rain.  It also prevents erosion on steep slopes due to runoff.  Pine trees do not share these qualities, and out-compete local flora in the ecosystem.

In small scales like this one, perhaps we're not talking about big changes.  But further down towards Cuenca, one can see massive swaths of hillsides completely given over to tidy rows of pine trees obviously planted by human hands.  That ambitious project is consuming large portions of natural habitat, and has predictable consequences locally and further downstream.  Walter, throughout his description of his community's project, gave great attention to the concept of sustainable production.  Let's hope that future generations take that idea equally to heart.

Some very reassuring evidence that they will is embodied in Walter's home:

A beautifully handmade adobe building, Walter's home has dedicated space for high school-level education within the community.  Here, Walter conducts classes and hosts outside teachers for the young people in the community, taking the government-funded schooling a step further.

Pictured here with another teacher from Cuenca, Walter was inviting us to speak with a small group about our impressions of the community and some insights that we could share from our own.  An appropriate topic, given the title written on the sign in the corner: Intercultural, Bilingual High School, La Paz.





While we spoke with Walter, his colleague, and their students, his family was busily preparing lunch downstairs in the kitchen, where we joined them:

And so we shared a meal and conversation with the kind and eager people of Cochapamba.  After visiting a community like this, and then pulling out in a truck back down the long, winding dirt road that leads to the long, winding highway far below, it becomes clear that such a visit is a special occasion.  A true opportunity to share what you have with people from another place.  Walter, as an articulate spokesman for his community, demonstrated this with his smile and his invitations for us to contribute, to learn, and he hoped, to return someday.







For our part as fleeting visitors, I hope that my recollection of our visit to Cochapamba, more than a year later, will in some way show the appreciation I have for these people living simply and humbly, close to the Earth.  And, in lieu of a second visit still unrealized, may these words and photos, shared with you, represent a return to that beautiful, high mountain place in my mind, if not in person.

Expanding the scope

As some of my regular readers may have picked up on by now, recently I've endeavored to take what began as a haphazardly updated travel blog and publish on a regular, monthly basis.  After about a year of consistently managing to publish that often, I've decided I've got it in me to begin writing twice a month.  At the end of every month, I'll keep writing longer pieces, with the same narrative focus on places we've been and interesting things we've seen and experienced.  Around the middle of each month, I'll be adding a new sort of feature, probably much shorter.  With these, I hope to share some more personal insights into living in Latin America.  These might be general reflections, some actual experiences out in the city, or, as is the case for our debut feature today, a review of some creative product of Latin American culture.

Here in Cuenca, I've got the privilege of being able to stay home every day with my daughter in the mornings, while my wife goes to work.  She comes home for a lunch that I've prepared, we catch up for a short time while we share our meal, and then I go to work in the afternoon.  I come home to dinner prepared by her, we enjoy our evening together.  And, with some interesting variations here and there, so it goes with our quotidian life.

And, while our daughter is still young and not walking around and getting into everything yet, I find myself with the time to pursue lots of hobbies around the house.  Writing, reading, studying and playing music.  And also, on many mornings, goofing around for hours on the internet.  Over the course of the past several months, I've stumbled upon lots of websites I enjoy, and quite a few that emerge from all over Latin America.

Like Arte Callejero.  Here you can find loads of graffiti from the streets of cities around Latin America and other parts of the world.  At the bottom of the page you've got an itemized list of cities, artists and graffiti styles, which assembles an instant collection from the website in one click.  Having lived briefly in a city known for its quality spraypaint, I clicked on Oaxaca to see what was there.  I was surprised to see that many of the pieces I'd taken pictures of myself were also there on the website, like this one:

(this one is my rendering of the same stuff you can find on theirs.  Don't want to step on any digital toes.)














On the left side of the page, you get links to other websites dedicated to street art.  And if you follow the blog regularly, you get a new update just about every day.  Usually they put up images, but occasionally they share a video, like this one, which went up a few days ago:


BIG BANG BIG BOOM - the new wall-painted animation by BLU from blu on Vimeo.

This video is all over the internet.  And now, it's here, too.  The Italian artist who created it worked on it for a year or more, and at least part of it was filmed in Montevideo and Buenos Aires during a South American tour which lasted several months.  Definitely take the time to let it load and watch the whole thing.  From my perspective, it's the little details which make it superb.  The audio, the flashes of pedestrians, the interaction with the urban landscape.  All of that led me to watch it a couple of times already.

The internet, almost completely unfettered by the borders that confine us geographically, can provide endless glimpses into foreign culture.  More than ever, people can experience international culture in ways limited only by their tenacity in seeking it out.  Type any concept in the world into a search engine, and chances are, somebody has already put it online. Sometimes you just get a few lines of text and some lousy pictures, and other times you find a site well geared to showcase the material it's there to represent.  Now that you know they're out there, maybe you'll find some time to play around on Arte Callejero and Blu's website as well.

Baños, revisited

I've written about Baños before.  It was where we went when Nancy and I took our first road trip together, spontaneously between Christmas and New Year.  And more recently, it was where we unexpectedly spent our nights during our trip to Ambato for Carnaval.  During that recent trip, Tungurahua, the iconic volcano that hovers above the steep slopes along the edge of town, was gently billowing a white plume of smoke:

In the last several weeks, however, Tungurahua has taken to erupting more violently.  As you can see from this photo, which was not taken by me:

As we'll see later, Baños is famous especially for its thermal baths, which are fueled by the same stuff that is blowing out of the top of Tungurahua presently.  And so, in honor of this town which is currently experiencing all the effects of a nearby erupting volcano, and in honor of the good friends I went there with last year, we'll take one more virtual tour of Baños de Ambato.  This time, seen through the collective eyes of four travelers: Eva, Eric, Clint, and myself, on a weekend road trip.  So enjoy, as I once again probe the depths of my long term memory.

I suppose the first thought that comes to mind from that trip was getting off the bus and coming face-to-face with two immigration cops.  You see, as the United States may begin experimenting with soon enough, starting with the great State of Arizona, Ecuador's government reserves the right to detain those who look like they don't come from around here, and ask them for their papers.  The two officers that stopped us were friendly enough, and we all conveniently had the appropriate documents on hand.  One of the men collected them from each of us and took them to a nearby copier for their records, while the remaining man in uniform hung around and tried to make small talk with us.  Officer #1 returned, gave us back our IDs, they both shook each of our hands in turn, and were off.  All in all, a five minute run-in with the law, and we were back on our way.

Nonetheless, such an experience can be jarring, and has the potential to rub a person the wrong way.  But I learned years ago that these kinds of situations are best passed smiling, nodding and trying not to do or say much more than for what is asked.  Incidentally, all told I've had three encounters on the street with Ecuador's immigration police in as many years, and all of the experiences were handled expediently and amiably by the officers involved.  Were we profiled on the basis of the color of our skin?  Probably.  But according to the CIA Factbook, some 90% of the population of Ecuador lies somewhere between mestizo and full-on Native American, so I guess we were pretty easy to spot.

After discussing such points as we walked through town, we made our way to our lodging for the weekend.  At $5 each per night if I remember correctly, it was a great deal, and put us in a room made for a group of four travelers: two bunk beds, one hot shower, and opening onto a covered patio with free internet, a fireplace and a self-serve fridge full of beer and bottled water.

Add nearby patio dining to such a place to stay, and you've got a set of happy campers.

In fact, there were a number of good places to eat in the vicinity.  The place pictured to the left was an upstairs patio with plants and panoramic views of the valley, and delicious stacks of pancakes with fruity yogurt on top.

Also highly recommended in Baños is Casa Hood.  Run by a long time expat from the US, it's been on the backpacker's radar for so long that you hear more travel stories in English there than you'll hear anything in Spanish.  The wait staff is comprised of locals, however, and while the menu is loaded with options ranging from Hummus plates to Asian stir-fries, the backside (or is it the front?) of said menu is printed dutifully in Spanish for when locals or tourists from Ecuador or around South America make the rounds here as well.


It's well worth mentioning that Baños, being the haven for travelers that it is, has stepped it up quite well with its dining options.  From ubiquitous rotisserie chicken and stands selling the town's hallmark fresh hard taffy, to early hour breakfast nooks selling pancakes with cane syrup and bacon rashers, I'll say it now: for a town as small as Baños, it beats Cuenca by a long shot in terms of dining options for travelers.

With a comparable number of backpackers and other travelers heading through Cuenca, one could do well taking a page from Casa Hood's book, for example: great hours, a big and diverse menu, an honest book exchange, movies projected daily, and stacks of board games for all ages.  A place like that just begs for people to hang out for hours on end, and to keep ordering just one more item off the menu as they do.  All the while, contributing to an atmosphere that simply builds upon itself for the next group on its way in the door.  In many towns and cities in Latin America, at least one entrepreneur, either local or extranjero, has seemed to have picked up on just that kind of formula and run with it, with great success.  It surprises me that someone hasn't yet done it in Cuenca, but it's never too late.

Having now written twice about Baños de Ambato, I really should get around to the thermal baths themselves.  They are, after all, what put this town on the map since long ago, although there are probably plenty of tourists who head through Baños today without ever soaking in the pools on the edge of downtown. They're priced so well and offered up so piping hot, though, that it's really worth it to check them out.

On this trip, we went a couple of times.  First, we took a soak in the evening, when there are fewer people.  At that hour we were directed to a smaller pool which was full just about to the limit of personal space, without quite going over.  There, we took shifts sitting on the built-in benches along the edge of the circular pool, which left you about up to your neck in hot water.  Whoever wasn't occupying the coveted bench seats we had claimed was standing in the center of the pool or perched along the edge, soaking their feet.

That night, the water was really nice, just a few degrees above body temperature, warm enough to stay in for a good long time without getting cold, nor overheated.  That being the case, stay for a good, long time we did.  During that time, we observed that there was a pipe at about 3 o'clock, from our perspective in the circular pool.  And at that precise spot, there was a woman who was basking in the hot water as it poured forth from the source.  It must have been a pleasant experience, as that water would have been hotter still than the water in general circulation throughout the pool.  It would have also given her a gentle aqua-massage from the water pressure, I would imagine.

All I can do is imagine, however, seeing as how, during the good long time we spent there, she was already in her place when we arrived and was still there when we left.  That was her spot, and she wasn't leaving it.  While she generally spent her time with her back to the source of the water, she occasionally turned around and dunked her head into the water as it issued forth, sticking her face into the flow, and as her body language indicated, truly getting into it at moments like those.  So it was that our casual observation of this woman's interaction with the source of the thermal water was impressive enough to have imprinted itself definitively on our minds for the duration of the weekend.  "Tapping the source," and "communing with the source" became the allegorical reference points for our trip, used effectively to explain many other concrete and philosophical happenings as our journey in and around Baños continued.

Of course, we were also impressed by the hot water itself, and resolved to be back again in the daytime.  Clint, who had spent months living in Baños previously, knew that the freshest, hottest water was to be had first thing in the morning, and that at such a time there would be fewer people, as well.  And so we set our alarm and were walking back along the road to the thermal baths as the sun was rising.  From a block away we could already see the steam rising into the cool air from the raised pools, and it was a race to get changed, to take the prerequisite shower rinse before entering the pool, and jumping in.

The morning pool was a larger one, and at the time there was hardly anyone there.  But there would be no jumping in.  To jump into that water would be something like a lobster jumping willingly into the stewpot he'd be cooked in.  Instead, one was compelled to either gingerly ease into the piping hot water, or just making a go of it and trodding in all at once.  But jumping, that would be enough to stop the heart of a weaker man, or at least to make him scream like a girl.

We likened water that hot to being akin to exceedingly cold water.  It took some psyching up to get into all at once, and once in, it was equally difficult to stay in for very long.  Unlike very cold water, however, it was incredibly pleasant to get in for a few minutes, and then get out for a couple more to feel the cool, fresh morning air, and then get back in again, and then back out.  Such a process could be repeated endlessly if it weren't for things like pancakes and bacon.  And it was for such things that we finally got out.

By the time all these people got there, the water had cooled down enough to where you could just stay in, eliminating the necessary ritual of getting out occasionally before you got cooked.

Also revealed in this photo is the waterfall careening mistily down the mountainside in the background.  Unlike the water in the pools, that water is just regular, ice cold mountain water.  And also unlike the water in the pools, it's white and fresh-looking.  Just why is the water in the pools that slightly unappealing brownish color, you may ask?  That's because it's loaded with minerals.  In addition to coming out from its volcanic source at very high temperatures, it also has the distinction of having a very high mineral content, which adds to its appeal for those seeking a therapeutic bath.  Here's a summary of the minerals that have been isolated from a typical water sample, as posted above the pools:

As you can see, the concentrations of minerals are listed as milligrams per liter, not parts per million or anything like that.  So some of these concentrations could be considered to be significant.  I have no idea how much contact with hexane and/or substances soluble in hexane is therapeutic for the skin, for example.  A soak in that water sure is enjoyable, though.  But I wouldn't drink it!









The other portion of our trip left us on the side of a highway, seeking transport down the mountain.  As you'll see, while Baños itself is at an high altitude and cool climate similar to Cuenca, a quick ride down the road towards Puyo will see the scenery change rapidly towards the tropical.  On the way down, you'll also see people engaged in many different modes of transportation: rented bikes, four wheelers, the inevitable bus, and in our case, people clinging to the back of a pickup truck.

Well, at this point there was no clinging yet.  The road out of town begins as a straight, downhill shot, with great views of the surrounding countryside.  We were able to enjoy the ride casually enough along that leg of the trip.











But as the journey continues, the road begins to wind around, and occasionally through, the mountains:

Note that this tunnel, burrowing ominously into the depths of the hillside, is just one lane.  Some briefly illuminated glimpses from within the interior darkness are to follow.

It's been awhile since it happened, but when this picture was taken, I seem to be remember thinking about what that roll bar would do to my smile if we came to a sudden stop.  You will also notice the color of the hand in the foreground.  An effect of the nearby flash, or a true white knuckle experience?











But we went through that tunnel, and all the tunnels between Baños and our destination, with no real trouble at all.  And what was our destination?  We were bound for the pailón del diablo, which you might call the Devil's Skillet.  But before I get to that, we'll spend some time in an area we stopped at further up the hill.

Here we were on board a tarabita, a dangling cable car that you can hire to get across the river valley you see beyond.  On the other side of the valley from the highway there is a small system of hiking trails to explore, which we wandered around for an hour or two.











One path led down below the engine station that drives the cable car, where we got a different perspective on some other people enjoying the same ride, which also gives a good look at the car itself.

In addition to some easy hiking, the trails also pass by some people's homes, many of which are given over to restaurants with their own little trout ponds.  Introduced trout abounds in the wild in the mountain lakes of Ecuador, and people have acquired a real taste for them.  So many enterprising folk have dug out their own little trout farms, complete with separate ponds used for raising the fry:

These little fishies, much like ourselves the day before at the thermal baths, enjoyed an environment kept relatively fresh by a little pipe that constantly fed clean water into their little pond.  And as we had witnessed back in Baños, there was one ambitious individual in the trout pond who was trying to tap that source of water, wriggling with all abandon right up in the spout of moving water.  It became clear to us then that a theme was emerging.









After seeing such a profusion of trout all around, we were moved by our empty stomachs to stop at one of the restaurants offering pesca deportiva, or that is, sport fishing.  But a look at the water in the upcoming photos reveals that there isn't much sporting at all about catching fish in such a little pond, where the swirling mass of trout seize instantly upon anything resembling food.  My own sport fishing experience lasted all of a few seconds.  First I dunked my baited hook into the living whirlpool of fish:

A tug on the line, and up came my lunch:

Within a few minutes everyone who'd be partaking of fresh trout had done the same, and while it wasn't much of a challenge to get the fish out of water, it still provided some entertainment.  We had a seat at a table around the corner, ice cold beer was served, soon to be followed by our fried trout.  And then, good times proceeded to be had, by all.

Enough about fish ponds, you might be saying to yourself.  What's up with this pailón?  I was just getting to that...

The pailón del diablo is a really big waterfall.  Ecuador, so blessed with majestic mountains and lots of rain, is home to countless numbers of waterfalls, big and small.  And this is one of the big ones.  I mean, it's no Niagara Falls or Cataratas del Iguazú, but it's pretty big.

I had seen it the year before, on my previously mentioned first road trip with Nancy.  And I was happy to return, remembering the nice hike down to the falls, which takes you through some nice, natural, tropical scenery, and also the awe-inspiring falls themselves.  And once there, it was interesting to see that they had built a little corridor through the cliff side that led right up and even right behind the surging torrent of water as it spills down.  Walking along the slick rocks, ducking down under the low ceiling, buffeted by the ubiquitous spray coming off the falls, we were able to get up to the little cave behind them, and take pictures:

From the high vantage point of the falls, you are afforded a nice glimpse into the warmer climate the short ride down from Baños will leave you.

As I may have mentioned in previous posts, such a landscape comes pretty close to my mind's eye-view of what Ecuador was going to be like, before I ever actually saw it.  Tropical hills, dripping with moisture and vegetation, cut through by mountain streams and kept eternally warm by the sun along its equatorial course.

That, among many other things, is Ecuador.  It's also big banana plantations and little potato farms, tiny grass huts and centuries old cathedrals, the disdainful rich with their ancestral names and properties, and humble country people with their hands, feet and knees proudly in the soil.

For now life and employment has me firmly rooted in the city, and wherever I live, it would seem that into the foreseeable future, cities are where I'll be living.  As content with that forecast as I am, may there be, some day, a place for me in the tropical mountains.






Such are the thoughts that cross my mind when it is granted a brief moment to glimpse a natural panorama and time to reflect upon it.  But for now, such moments are still few, with life back in the city between.  And so we made our way back up the hill, in the back of a pick up: