Cowboy Up!

This photo-graphic is courtesy of my evil twin brother, J Willie, born on the the same day and year and in the same city....Happy Memorial day Weekend!


I'm on my way to a Rodeo here and have stopped on top of a mountain Passs. Allow me to digress.... The regions to the North, Riobamba and Banos-Ambato, are still active volcano areas. Just four days ago, Tungurahua erupted again. That's why Alexander Humbolt called that area the Avenue of the Volcanoes. But, I am headed South towards Loja and Villacabamba which has the Fountain of Youth and is less active, volcanically. When these mountains were all covered with glaciers and they (the glaciers) were moving "Paths" or "Passes" were created and that is what you are seeing here in this photo. The first humans were able to come here from the coastal regions to the East using these passes. Great basins (or Cuencas) of water were formed when the glacial ice melted. Later, earthquakes would open the basin's retaining walls of mountain/hills and the water would escape as valley-carving rivers until only swamps were left. These drained out compeletly and then dried in the sun. When the the migrating humanoids arrived these basins offered ideal settlement locations because of the protective shelter and security they afforded. The city of 400,00 that I now live in, Cuenca, is one such 540 year old settlement.

Anyway, back to the story. I'm on my way to Nabon, a city of 30,000 which means turnip, for the big rodeo which is held in conjuction with the religious celebration of the "Virgen del Rosario".

In the 16th Century, the Spaniards figured out what it was going to take to convert the continent. Nothing short of a mass importation of idols that could and would supplant the natives own less colorful, clay figurines. So, Virgin Marys were shipped out from Spain and Italy on a massive scale to every nook and cranny of South America, Central America and Mexico in order to take the place of the earth Mother Natural Goddesses being worshipped at the time in all those places. Each Canton or regional area took this "gift" from the conquistidors as their very special own Mother God and still worship these figurines to this day, throwing rose petals at them on those special occassions (like rodeos) when the statues are allowed to see daylight.

The brahman bulls, however, are not quite sure what to make of it all though and have even heard rumors that in distant foreign lands it is they (the worthy Bull) that is worshipped instead of being penned up like so much, well, excuse me....but, livestock.

The religious parade is short and sweet, but the bronco and bull riding lasts the afternoon with all the dignitaries turning out from the beauty queens, to the cowboy stars and even the local politicians which are sometimes hard to tell apart from the more important rodeo clowns.

All you have to do is stay on for 8 seconds, but using only one hand to hang on with and if you think that would be easy than all I can say is, "Cowboy Up!" and depending on how long you last, "Cowgirl Down!"

There is always a slight pause after the riding events because someone has to figure out a way to get the bronco or bull off the field, so the next rider can take his chances on the back of an upset animal without anybody or anything being in the way of all the twisting, turning and torquing.

Reality, however, can not be choreographed and it seemed something unexpected was taking place behind the curtain unbeknownst to the bucking stars and clowns on center stage.

While the cowboys were hanging on for their dear lives,

and some clowns were fighting funnily,

while other clowns fled fleetingly

the bulls had made a jail break!

Having heard they would be finally respected as they deserved if they could just make it to the Indian sub-continent, they had decided as a group "Let's Roll" and had busted out of their pens down into the adjoining neighborhoods and up into the surrounding hills.

So, even though I had gone afar to seek out a simple diversion without complexity or questions, I had instead found mysterious tracks eons old, further proof of man's continued folly and most answers still untold...plus, no bull.

Gullible's Travels

Joella's desktop is so crowded with photos she lost one of her images while entering her last blog, so I am submitting it to you now. These are puyas, a bromeliad type plant and favorite food source of the Oso Andino (spectacled bear) and after the plant's stem and flower whither away it dies. Trust me guys, they're going to miss us when we're gone.

You can get great deals on fruit here. This jewel only cost me a quarter and the little urchin I swindled out of it assured me it was going to grow into a much bigger one.

Here's something you see a lot of...a three generation family of women in their hand-made skirts and white bowlers haggling at the vendor stalls for a better deal and then after they get it, they ask for a little extra or "Yapita".

I asked Jo what these herbs were and she said, "I dunno, I did it for the composition of the shot not because I knew what they were." Maybe I'll ask Bill and Marsha to blow it up and ID them.

I found this shot for Jo; so, of course, it's one of my favorites. You'll have to imagine some of it since you can't see what they're all sitting on, but it's a circular park bench with a single tree growing out of its middle planter box. I'm not saying this is a matriarchal society down here, but you never see any male power centers like this confab. Remember what they used to say in the old western movies, "You can always tell the good ones because they're wearing white hats".

"She's like a rainbow...wearing skirts of many colors everywhere" or something like that???

Rolling Stones, wasn't it?

Rgardless of the hat's direction, which way do you think she's facing? Is there a correct answer?

"No se". That's Spanish for "I don't know" which I've learned to say very convincingly.

The problem which often arises when traveling with a photographer is simply this, "How does a giant make himself small in the land of Lilliputians ?".

It can't be done, son,

gotta run...

Field Trip

The field camps for Fundacion Cordillera Tropical are several hours from Cuenca via progressively rougher roads. When we reach an endpoint that the driver feels he or she will be able to exit from later, we abandon the truck and walk. I've become accustomed to hiking in diary boots out of necessity because there are many wide streams and muddy expanses in the paramos. We continued our journey for an hour more until we finaly arrived at Rumi Loma.

The camp consists of three dormitories, the main kitchen/livingroom building and a bathhouse. Why they space these buildings so far apart from each other on the hillside, is anyone's guess.

Our mission was to monitor the regrowth of plants after a burn. Catherine, the director, is first and foremost a scientist, and siezed the opportunity to collect data. There were 7 random, 100m transects, which we located with the help of a GPS. Every 10m she would place a 3x3m grid on the ground and identify and count the different species. I was the recorder. It's not real exciting work, but I did get to hike around the mountains for 3 days.

From a distance, this part of the Andes reminds me of eastern Washington; but up close the vegetation is very distinct and different from that area.

Although it rained hard every night, we lucked out with dry, cool days;

here's Rumi Loma in the distance (Catherine's the little dot in the foreground).

The last day, we measured the last transect, packed up our stuff (I had to leave the horse skull behind) and hiked up over the ridge (in our rubber boots) toward the other field camp, where the truck would be waiting to take us home.

Thanks to Body Pump (that's an exercise class, guys), I could squat down with a full backpack to take this photo of tiny lichen.

Luckily, Patricio (the field tech) met us halfway down the other side and took our packs. After that, the trail was approximately a 22% grade with 6-12 inches of slippery mud. It was like skiing through slush, and wouldn't have been nearly as much fun with a fully loaded backpack.

"I wonder who those two furless creatures were?"

"All I know is it's creepy how they walk on their back legs."

"Don't look now, guys, but the yellow one is pointing a shiny box at us."

More Disjointed Thoughts and Shots

We had our first stateside visitors this month, as Debbie and


Katie came to see us; so now someone else knows what,

"Another day, another (mis)adventure means".


Actually, Debbie has now gone home after two weeks here and as I'm sitting here writing this blog entry Jo and Katie are two or three hours late from their field trip hike into the mountains. Strange as it seems, this is all normal. For instance, while Debbie was still here and the three of them were up North hiking, the indigenous peoples started a protest over the government privitization of their water rights by rolling huge boulders onto the freeway which stopped all the buses including the one our adventerous ladies were sightseeing on, but that's another story. And one which you'll have to get it from them because I wasn't there. However, I hear it entailed tear gas, rocks thrown at their windows and police in riot gear with plexiglass shields. I have been ensured that pictures will be forthcoming and I'll post them a.s.a.p.


While we're waiting for those pixs, however, let's jump in my time machine and go back a couple of weeks to the "ruined weekend" with Little Red Ridinghood and Meg, the English Woman. It started raining as soon as we left for El Tombo and its Canari Ruins. This is a picture from inside our hotel room after Jo had just purchased her polar fleece shawl.


And, here are a couple of shots out our hotel room's window.

Where ever we go there are surrounding hills with towns built into the basins between them.

I got up early and went to the Saturday Market. It was a sight to see.

The people were streaming in from every direction with things to sell that they had grown or raised. The afternoon before this spot had been a basketball court full of little girls practicing their dribbling and shooting. 12 hours later, there wasn't enough open space to even see the free throw lines!


So, I ran back to get the Sisters of Perpetual Anguish (SOPA) so they could see all the market activity before all the native vendors cleared out and headed back home up into the hills.

"Dead Man Walking"-In earlier blogs, I've shown you "Cuy" or guinea pigs on a spit in the roadside Bar-B-Q stands, well here they are on death row eating there last meal of fresh lettuce.

Anyway, the next day we went to Canar for their big Sunday market and Jo bought a nice Alpaca sweater from these street vendors who were up from Peru and Meg found some small purses for her sister and niece. The SOPA are practicing their haggeling more and more with less and less reluctance, so prices are falling and purchase satisfaction is rising. The reality is the sellers are happy or they wouldn't agree to the final prices and in the end these are win-win sales events.

These are quail (which are for sale, of course, because everything else is too); but they are more for display and proof of authenticity as the real hot item, quail eggs, are in a basket next to them. I can say these are pretty tasty because I had some on the coast when we went there during Mardi Gras or Carnival. A little boy was walking down the street selling them already shelled and with a pinch of salt, so I tried them out and wasn't disappointed with the flavor. I think they were, also, a favorite of Louis XIV, another Sun King with a Temple, over in France.

A couple of followers have asked to see where we live and so here it is...

you enter the skinny door on the right and go upstairs. On the right is the kitchen window, door and balcony are off the living room and that's a bedroom window to the left.

Here's the kitchen,

the door out to the balcony,

and ther living room.

And, here is the

rooftop view from our balcony looking across the street and over the neighbor's rooftop tiles towards the East's rising Sun.

Here's my little Miss Sunshine the morning after one of her misadventures. I'll try to be brief...

Jo says, "Let's go to Principal, it's a small town, near-by, and with lots of good hikes".
I say, "Can't we just lay around here, smoke Marlboros and drink martinis?" She says, "No" and off we go. We get off the bus, just as the sun is setting a.k.a. it's getting dark and scary, and discover the place is shut down. Tommorrow, EVERYONE is going to the big town next door for the Children's Parade and there are no guides available for hikes, no hats to buy from the Co-Op and, maybe, no rooms to let at the inn. We did find a room with a view, but the only restaurant in the hamlet wasn't interested in cooking, not with the big parade tomorrow; so we did end up having cigarettes and vodka for dinner anyway.

Parades are common place, but there's no conveying that as well as the experience of running into them wherever and whenever you go somewhere.

However, each is unique in its own way with its own people...check this guy out.

These are just shots of all the people gathering in the morning for the beginning of the parade.

And, because it's a Children's Parade that means they are the ones being proudly shown off. The only clothing store in town is doing a land-office business with lines out the door.

That's why no one is around right now because all the mother's are in there buying new socks and underwear to go with their children's freshly washed and pressed, brightly colored school uniforms. School bands with their brass instruments and their baton twirling drum majors are all shining and sparkling in the dawn's light.

The food venor canopies are all set up in front of the obligatory, ugly church waiting to feed the marching masses and we decided to get the hell out of Dodge because we've been here, done this and thrown away the T-shirt.

The next town over is quite a bit bigger and supposed to be known for its shoe factories. Of course, the Gold Dust Twins (Jo and I) can't find any of them, even though (we find out later) we are walking all around them.

We do find pick up trucks full of cowhides dripping blood onto the street, however, and you have to admit that is the first step towards a nice new pair of leather shoes. Even if it is a step you'd rather not take into consideration when slipping on something comfortable.

There you have it from one who doesn't know squat and is unsure why you're following him down the equatorial path. In my "Made in Anacortes" going-away-gift, T-shirt from co-workers and my shoplifted Sebos "Gorilla Crazy Glue" baseball cap; I sip my morning's coffee and, in conclusion can only sign off with, "Fare thee well".