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Published: August 19th 2009
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Vilcabamba (how can you not love a place with the rhythmical name like Vil-ca-bam-ba) continues to captivate. Some people say it's because of the negative ions. "You just feel better here," one woman told me. Other people say it draws visitors because of the "vortex." Some people just like the weather, natural beauty, and friendly locals. Whatever it is, be careful about staying too long. You might never leave. It's happened!
We've signed up for Spanish classes three days a week from that marvelous Argentinian woman who lives in our little conclave. "Teaching is my passion!" she proclaims. Her father was a linguist who spoke 10 languages and worked as a translator from their Buenos Aires home, so her earliest memories are of hearing the music of many different tongues. What a gift of a childhood she had. We're lucky to be able to learn from her this month. That alone is enough reason to stay. It's fun, too, since we're sharing lessons with the other wonderful transplants in our compound.
After being on the road for three weeks, it's great to be settled for awhile, but my Ecuadorian kitchen is taking a little getting used to. I was
A Job's a Job
The men carry two adobe bricks. The donkey carries six. told Ecuadorians here use hot water only in the shower, and accordingly, the kitchen and bathroom sinks in our little casita are cold-water only enterprises. (What about sanitation in restaurants, she wonders. "Don't ask, don't tell?").
For we germ phobes who don't think dishes get clean unless the water is hot enough to steam a pig, that's a problem. I resolve it by heating wash water on the stove, but rinse with cold water in a sink that's almost big enough to hold a teacup. I still haven't figured out what to do with the wet dishes. The kitchen is also sparse on basics. Luckily, the owner said we could buy a few basics, including maybe a dishstrainer, bowls, and a broom—if I can find them.
Now I might "gringo grouse" about la cocina, but we pass homes everyday where the families have no kitchens at all. Mamas and grandmas are often seen outside cleaning dishes or washing clothes. It's dark and dreary inside many of the homes we pass, and one wonders how they can survive and thrive in such conditions.
So I don't think I'll complain about my little Ecuadorian kitchen with a nice refrigerator,
Vilcabamba Gym
Want to know why the people live so long? four burners, and a toaster oven, one bit. Compared to so many, we're living high... and I don't just mean the altitude.
Instead, I'll complain about a much more serious problem — not having internet in our casita. Now that's roughing it! To post my blog, I have to walk down the hill with my laptop to an internet cafe, a total of about 10-minutes each way (but you should see the hill coming back). And no KUSC-FM from the States in the evening either. We get so spoiled being able to listen to favorite music stations from back home, ask the Google gods a question when it occurs, staying in touch with email, or just surfing the web on a late night whim that anything else seems like a great injustice. I can't even call my son on his birthday on Skype tomorrow night!
What's next, having to write postcards?
THE COWBOY CHRONICLES - Part I
The thing about cowboys is they're hardly ever dull. They come in all sizes and all types, but there's a quality about them that sets them apart. I knew a cowboy once. He loved his horse more
Where's My Peeps?
Turns out his "peep" was a 4-year-old boy as cute as he was. than his wife, had a code of honor he held above all else, and probably was born 100 years too late.
And then there is "Pardner." Pardner is what they called a tall drink of water in the old days. If he always seems to be swaying a little when you talk to him, it's not because of his altitude or his ultra-lean frame—it's because too many beers will do that to a guy. Be careful of the tendency not to sway with him when you visit. It's hypnotic. I was told it's best to catch Pardner before 9 a.m., but some days it doesn't seem to matter.
Pardner's been a Vilcabamba character for the last 25 years. He takes visitors, mostly gringos passing through, up into the Podacarpus National Park with the unspoken promise that his horses walk better than he does.
One day, Pardner stopped me on the street to tell me about his terrible morning.
"I didn't get to bed until 3 a.m.," he said, remembering the hard partying the night before. "At 6, I got a call about a friend's colicky horse, so I had to go help him out." First, Pardner
La Cocina Pequena
But it works...sort of. had to help himself out, feeling better after a good morning beer.
Now Pardner has been around horses as long as he can remember—well, actually, maybe longer than that—and he knew just what to do. "I just made up some onion soup and poured it down his nose," he said. Within minutes, the horse was cured.
"The owner was so grateful, he gave him to me," Pardner said, a little choked up. "He said I saved his life."
A good cowboy always knows how to take care of his horse.
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Suzanne Hall
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Very enjoyable
I loved reading your blog...but sad to hear you have to travel down and up the hill to post, or write e-mail. Yikes, I don't think the two internet addicts that we are could survive that. I guess the good news is you will be in great shape. Loved your kitchen and surprised at how modern it was...and small...very, very small. Beautiful photos and thank you so much for sharing with all of us who love you. Zannie