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".

Ruined Weekend #3

The next thing I knew I was looking up from the dirt floor on the inside of a very strange
building, house or, as I later found out, replica of an ancient Inca home.

The sturcture's trapezoid design enabled it to withstand the many common earthquakes that occurred in the region. As you can see here, that peculiar geometric design was even carried through to the windows.


I would tell you what happened on my magical mystery tour, but I don't know.
What I did know was that the sun was out, the fog had lifted and I felt a compelling desire to inspect the strange constructions that these first masons had built 700 years ago.


While these waiting rock/bricks seemed to be arranged in a staging area of some kind, I suspect there was a deeper, more religious purpose, but really have no idea.

And you thought tight fireplaces were impressive!

On the one hand, I wish more remained to inspect; but on the other it probably would have been too much, sensory overload.

All I can say is you couldn't squeeze a slip of notebook paper it between these rocks if you tried.

In many ways, these were their stairways to heaven.

No mud, adobe, concrete, anything!

Just rocks for ages which even earthquakes couldn't make roll.

Here's the head priest's corner office without a view.

Well, there probably were views at one time, but not today.

Last and least, one of those telling height differential images to put it all in scale.

See ya later, gators...

Ruined Weekend #2

Before you ask, I have no idea what the name of this tree is; but the indigenous people believe it has the ability to keep evil spirits away and, so, it is planted at the entrance of most sacred sites.
This is the second day of our weekend visiting ancient ruins and this is the famous Ingapirca where today it's raining buckets.

That was just fine with the holy land's permanent herd of llamas because it only made the high grass sweeter which the baby really liked and jumped around for more and more.

Like all sacred structures, this one was also built on the local area's dominant hill.

The closer you can get to heaven, the more likely HE/SHE/IT will be able to hear your supplications being the widely accepted reasoning for this common world-wide occurance.

Why the divergent paths to nowhere? Not being an archeologist, I have no idea; but they were interesting to speculate on and they didn't deter Fernada Llama from going anywhere he darn well pleased.

Well, the wierd upside-down tulip tree might be keeping the evil spirits away, but it didn't keep the creepy feelings away as we walked up the hill towards the Inca Temple.

Funny, but it wasn't as foggy on top when I looked back down on the enigmatic half-circle path.

Maybe, because this was the Sun God's crib and that still isn't allowed up here.

No, check that, it's just part of the wierdness. It's foggy, then it's not, then it is, then it's not.

I think I'll just pretend like it's not even happening until I get out of here.

The most amazing thing about these buildings is how tight the bricks are and they stay that way without any kind of mortar or adobe. I'll show you examples of their exactness in upcoming photos.

There were lots of informational markers along the paths explaining the purposes of the various rooms you see here; but it was such a miserable, chilling downpour we were being chased off the hill in more ways than one .

The holes in these rock all had functions

like holding different important liquids, including blood,

but to me they seemed more like Fred Flintstone's bowling ball.

So, I thought I'd just put my fingers in one and

~ poof ~

A Ruined Weekend

It was cold and rainy when we arrived in El Tombo, so Jo and Meg haggled over and purchased two very nice hooded, polar fleece frocks for only $14. Here you see the Sisters of Perpetual Anguish escorted by their native guide, Rosa, on the path to the bath, Banos de Coyoctor, a Santuario Inca. Even though it may now be referd to as an Inca Sanctuary, these carved rocks were well worn before that better known race came and conquered the native people. The Canari had been worshipping their Sun God on this hillside for so long before hand their leather soles had worn out steps into the rock faces.

The Canari (400-1532) are a Pre-Columbian race (read that before Christopher Columbus) and were already an advanced civilization here in Central Ecuador when the Inca marched up from Peru.

Today, the path they took North is known as the Inca Trail or Ruta Inka, but the Canari had established it originally. The Inca simply used it to expand their empire.

The average altitude here is 3160 M (10,368 ft.) with some hills? reaching 3806 M (12, 487 ft.). The really high peaks are the many snow-capped vulcans that make up the north-south runing avenue of the volcanos. - Jo just called me from the rim of one of those, so we should have some spectaculor shots to share when she returns...if she doesn't fall in trying to compose the perfect image. - Other statistics for the region are an average temperature is 54 degrees, a population of around 58,000 in an area of 1800 KM2 (700 sq. miles).

The Inca conquered many native groups, but the Canari never lost their ethnic identity. In fact, when the Spanish Conquistators came in 1530 the Canari viewed them as liberators from Inca tyranny and joined them in wiping the pushy Peruvians off the face of the Earth.

The Sun God, Raymi, is worshipped with a Summer Solstice festival, Killa, even today. Although they have done away with the sacrificing of vestial virgins by buring them alive, much to Rosa's relief. The earthly King would sit in the bath carved into these rocks and fresh water would cascade down from above warming in the June sun in order to cleanse and purify him before addressing the gathered multitudes.

Quick! Somebody cue the llama!

If you're a builder, note the soffett construction of bamboo.

This then is the obligatory, omni-present "Tourist Information" center Rosa's local government maintains for us, the picture-taking, jabbering gringos. It is complete with a scale model;

very old, serpent petroglyph;

height differential demonstrations;

and various life-sized, cultural dioramas with costumed re-enactments of important holidays and practices.

Here's a shot I took earlier this year on the streets of Cuenca of this guy's descendant still partying on.

This is Grandpa making a little home-brew and wearing the little white bowler the Canari are recognized by.

Mom is sewing the corn behind Dad with his wooden plow and imaginary oxen (Ministry of Tourism budgetary considerations, don't cha know) as they till and plant the Andean rocky soil.

This is interesting in that I saw the same venerable street scene in Moscow, Russia. That being a guy with a chained, wild bear and a collection cup. Call it archtypal Man's early attempts at "Another Roadside Atraction". N.B. about the spelling mistakes...I haven't found a good English dictionary yet, principally I'm am against spellcheck and I'm too lazy to stop, so there.

Not that you can read it, but here is a bilingual posture explaing why it is O.K. for someone to chain up a bear and walk around collecting money from those wiling to donate of which I am not one.

Well, time to go teach my 15 YO's English and that most Americans are just like me.

Chau,

Tony