End The Violence Now!

It may say, somewhere, this "short" is 14 minutes long; but, unless you like staring into pitch black darkness, turn the video off after 7:10.

You'll know that, except for the noggin slammin thoughts, it's over.

http://youtu.be/kytOuOpeyFE

Little Beach Towns 2011 Spring

Adults can go on field trips to the beach or (in Joella's case) photo safaris, too, you know.

Lots of people, but none of them see things with her eyes.

And all the sherpa has to do is go along for the ride and the sunsets.

Obviously, those were some of her images; but now it's time for the narrative called,
Fear and Loathing in Pedernales, Canoa and Mompiche...three pueblos of coastal Ecuador.

When you travel back in time, reverse chronology takes a little getting used to.

This was our last day on the beach.

Little match-box cars, like our taxi, were everywhere because big people are the only ones who think they need big cars.

Barbara, my bookish friend, I spoke to the owner and he'll let you have this thriving business of his for a song. It would be like monogramed pajamas, you wouldn't have to change a thing.

Of course, being with Joella I couldn't spend all my time in the bars and had to go on some (long) nature walks until we got away from all the people.

But then afterwards, I'd beat a hasty retreat back to my favorite bar maid or at least what she looked like to me.

Although, sometimes she'd be closed and I'd have to go look for another watering hole...

in another tire-topped, thatched roof oasis...

Did I mention I was on vacation?

It was usually 5 o'clock somewhere.

On the other hand, I never needed to imagine things...they were strange enough on their own.

Like shrines and cemeteries on the beach, the original Sunset beaches for lost fisherman, as opposed to the glitzy ones in California.

Complete with ghostly apparitions ebbing and flowing from their graves to the sea.

Unless, a realist was along to say something like, "Those are storm clouds, not sails of the Flying Dutchman's ship, stupid."

O.K. maybe, I drank a few beers, but I always found

a normal looking trash can to put my bottles in. Pack it in, pack it out, I always say.

Plus, I never passed out in the sand like some of the locals, not when I could always rent a nice wooden chaise lounge chair for just 25 cents and have it made in the shade.

Or, go tubing behind a ski boat and body surfing whenever I started to feel athletic.

Most of the time though, I like to just lay around and take in the colorful scenery.

And, I wasn't the only one who liked to lie around. Entire families who came without hotel reservations did as well.

Then, when we wake up we all have a lovely green banana brerakfast...like we do every morning.

We, however, had a room with a view,

above and below the action.

Glamorous settings are in the eyes of the beholders.

The natives consider this the perfect place to vacation for carnival and after the long bus ride to get here, so did we.

I mean, come on, open-air taxis,

wearing shorts and sandals everywhere,

cocktails

and fresh seafood on the beach,

it doesn't get much better than this.

All you have to do is jump on a bus at midnight

sleep through all the exotic landscapes,

the checkpoints,

the dangerous intersections,

the tribal gatherings,

and when you're ready to wake up, stick your head out the window and take in the new day in a new world.

Remember, if you're going to be taking a long bus ride be sure and eat plenty of vegetables that you only paid 50 cents for.

That's all for now.

However, two things before we go:

Don't get the idea that all we do is go to the beach, it's just that I'm slogging my way through the past year's memories any way I can.

Unlike the U.S., most traveling here is by bus and this is the first taste of what is coming in December and will be known as, "The Chicken Bus Diaries".

A tongue-in-cheek homage to Che's "The Motorcycle Diaries" route, albeit ours will be in reverse and, theoretically, less political. But then who knows, when Ernesto started out on his trip changing the world wasn't his prime objective. Also, we are much older, so this'll be different!

Eleven Months Later - Nov. 2011

This is the view from the writing desk in our bedroom. For the next few weeks, I will endeavor to post blog entries as fast as Joella provides me with photographs. We have gone to many wonderful places over the past eleven months which is how long it's been since I last put anything up. Now, I'm trying to catch up. The upcoming postings will not be in any kind of chronological order, as we've lost the ability to think in that way any longer. No matter where you go and when it happens, there you are.

Too much has gone on for me to try and recount any of it for you here on these pages, but suffice it to say we have been busy. We are well and everything thing continues to speed by at such a clip that 11 months seems like 11 days. We did lose someone very close to us, but he would be the first one to say he's glad we're out in the world trying to make new friends.

Here I am with one of our new amigos, Chris from Down Under. He and his young bride, Jen, are both talented artists who somehow, before they knew it, had been in Cuenca for over three years and were the owners of a successful restaurant. But, (and there's always a but!) they'd much rather be here in their hilltop villa outside of the city painting the miravistas. The restaurant's listed, they've had a nibble and we're lighting candles in the old cathedral for them that soon it will be a done deal. Then, it's back to covering canvas with inspiration instead of plates with garlic fries.

Here's one of Joella's interior shots of Chris and Jen's 100 year hacienda. A magical, spiritual place biding its time just waiting for them to finish "taking care of business". Soon enough, they will be moving to this lovely abode, their souls' true home, and start bringing everything here back to life with their art and love and happieness.

Then, there are the snapshots your mind's eye takes everyday, when you least expect it, in every new place. Scenes like this are constantly pinching me awake... shouting, "You're not in Kansas anymore, Tony." People mouth off a lot about assimilating into foreign cultures, but I have serious reservations about whether it's even possible, what with all the bitch-slapping traveling has given me. You can take the tourist out of their fatherland, but can you ever take the ex-pat out of the gringo? Which in and of itself isn't a problem as long as one don't spend all his/her time trying to change the locals into foreigners like themselves. Strikes me as so many pipe dreams on their part without their even having smoked anything.

Here I am impersonating my train-loving friend, Dick Garvey, who couldn't make the ride; so we had to make it for him. He was right there, Candy, sitting between Joella and I the entire time with a big, shit-eating grin on his face. I'll mail you his ticket.

La Nariz del Diablo, a 765-meter sheer cliff, is decended by the most difficult rail line ever built in the world. It's called the Devil's Nose not only because of the menacing face made by boulders and fissures on the mountain's side; but, also, because of the 2000 people who died in 1902 building the 3350 meters of impossible switchbacks.

A short, slow ride up and fast trip down if your train jumps the tracks because at the time of its construction guard rails were considered a frivolous, additional expense. Of course, then there's the ghoulish, legendary aspects of the ride which, me being me, I had to confirm. You see for many years passengers were allowed to ride on top of the railroad cars for a scary, yet panoramic view. Now, however, people can no longer ride these rails on top of the cars because, it's true, in 2007 two female tourists were decapitated by the telephone company stringing a new line. A train had just gone by and Madre Bell mistakenly thought another wouldn't be along for awhile, so they threw some wire across the ravine and the tracks below. The cowcatcher in front of the -little - train - that - could hit the dangling telephone line and it did a big loop-de-loop lobbing off the heads of the two unsuspecting photographers up on the caboose. "Just one more reason," said Verizon Wireless, "to ban land lines altogether and have everyone to switch to cellphones."

The day before we made the train ride we hiked up the mountain volcano, Chimborazo.

Here's one of "Nothin' Honey's" artistic shots with the base camp's rusty metal roof in the foreground. The Earth is not a perfect circle because the equator bulges like Homer Simpson's belt and Chimborazo is on the equator. Therefore, even though Mt. Everest is taller, Chimorazo is closer to the sun. See if you can figure that out, I was having a hard enough time breathing.

A lot of famous people, from Alexander Humbolt to Simon Bolivar, have been up and down this trail, but there were also a lot of markers one for those who only went up.

If you're still trying to figure out the "I'm taller than you are" pissing contest, then here's an official metal placard for you to read wherein Ecuador states its claim.

All I know is that Corinne, our niece, Joella and I made it to the second base camp at 5,000 meters. The view, literally and figuratively, took our breath away.

Go tell it on the Mountain!

Of course, our guide insisted we go up and around one more bend to see a lake and its glacier feed waterfall, but it was all dry. Joella and her camera though, as usual, saw something none of us did, like this pattern from Mars. I guess those last few steps were worthwhile afterall.

Everybody seems to be into these happy, jumpy pictures; so the girls and their guide had to make one. Notice how even though Juan let himself be talked into doing this silly jumping thing, he insisted on maintaining his composure and would only jump straight up and down like a pogo stick. I was happy, too. Happy we were now going to go down where the air was thicker.

As for myself, I was of the same mind as this nearby family of free-ranging vicunas, who seemed to be wondering what in the heck those crazy bipeds were up to now.

We arrived in the city of Riobamba the night before our trek began and this was the view that greeted us from our hotel rooms when we woke up.

Let me close with the only thing that counts in all of this...people love Joella's images and that is all that matters. If you want to share this, feel free to pass it on. If you want to be added, or deleted, to the mailing list, then just let me know.

tkubena@gmail.com

The "Comments"tab doesn't seem to work or I don't know how to work it.

If you'd like to tell us anything, then just write; but if and when I'll reply is sketchy at best.

After all, communicating with our friends and family is the whole point of

www.tonynjo.blogspot.com

And evidently, even asking for current info from there is asking for too much.

Then again, maybe it's like my friend grouchy, ol'GranPa Glenn said once, "facebook? Hell! I'm waiting for the anti-social network to come out. I think they should call it Faceless and you can create a big list of all the people you don't want to contact you."

"Now, Dad", I told him, "you bein' the son of a travelin' preacher man, ought to know better 'an anyone that when it's all said and done...Pray for what you want, but work for what you need."