IT'S DIFFERENT

THE SUN COMES UP HERE   

click any image to enlarge

                                     

every morning at 6am. Never earlier, never later. And it goes down at 6:30 pm. Never earlier, never later. In fact, the length of the day here varies by a total of 2 minutes over the year. One of the things that is noticeably different here from what we were used to.

   Well here I am again with another installment of Ken Taylor's, “What shall we talk about today?” Brought to you by the ever present sunshine of Ecuador and the ever looming “When’s your next Blog post?” There are times when having friends can be a burden! And you know who you are!

    I thought I would ruminate today on a few things that are different here. What brought it to mind was watching the garbage truck pick up our trash today. Monday, Wednesday and Friday they pick up the green and recyclable garbage and Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday it’s the… what, garbage garbage? Anyway, the truck has three or four guys hanging off it and, unless there’s a big pile of stuff, the truck doesn’t stop. The guys jump off, run to your garbage can, grab it, run after the still moving truck, throw your garbage in and then just pitch your can to the side of the road as the truck keeps motoring down the street. I can tell you, these guys are in great shape! Sometimes your poor can is a block up the street and you have to go out and fetch it and bring it home like a wandering puppy. Today my lid was around the corner. And you better grab your can right away or it will get run over or disappear. But on the up side, as you will have noticed, some kind of trash pickup Every Day! How good is that!

   Next we have groceries. Everything is grown locally and comes into the market fresh every day. All the fruits and vegetables you could want grown right outside the city by little family farms and brought to the Market daily, sometimes in the trunk of a taxi. The variety is astounding. All the things you would recognize and a lot you wouldn’t. And the prices are... well reasonable is an understatement. It's an adventure for Sharon to ask questions about how to cook things that we have never seen before, and then after dinner to watch me closely and see if I die before deciding whether it’s safe to cook it again! I hadn’t thought about it until just now but at dinner she is always about three or four bites behind me! I thought she was starting to call me Petey for some reason but now that I think about it, I think it’s Petri. (Think about it!)

   What about meat? Well there’s lot of it, again all local and fresh, but good luck recognizing a cut. In the supermarket you can get something that is recognizable but the cost is quite a bit more. If you go to the market, find some beef, (at least I think it's beef, for now I've decided not to ask) and indicate what you want they will cut you off a nice chunk of steak (???) for the price of what you would pay for a single sausage in Canada. And if we get something on our plate that is… slightly inferior… to what we had hoped for, then the fault is mine.  I’m the one with the pointy finger who assured Sharon that I knew what I was doing. Good thing she was standing behind me and didn’t see me close my eyes and cross my fingers. More Spanish lessons here I come. I’m not sure but I thought I heard a woman the other day say, “They must have a Very big dog!” But it was in Spanish so I was probably mistaken.

   A lot of people here cook with propane and there are trucks with full propane bottles prowling the streets from six in the morning, all playing the same tune announcing that they have propane for sale. You can hear them everywhere. Talk about an ear worm. But after awhile you don’t even notice. And if you run out of propane, no need to get in your car and go to fill up. Just listen for the ice cream man and go to the curb with your bottle. How convenient is that. Quite often there is someone with a loudspeaker going by with a truckload of produce as well, so you don’t even have to go to the market if you don’t want to. On the side streets next to the market are stores selling whole chickens. Somewhere from $4 to $6 dollars for a whole chicken depending on the size. Plucked and cleaned with the feet inside to be used for stock. And guess what. I’m getting quite good at butchering a chicken at home in the sink. Sharon uses the carcass for chicken stock and Monday, Wednesday and Friday (see above) they come and pick up what’s left.

   This is also a great area for coffee growing and there are a myriad of choices of really good, fresh ground coffee for around $3 a pound. Before the virus every street had a little restaurant with great coffee for breakfast and lunch. Lunch would be something like a hearty soup, rice, beans, and chicken with a big drink for $2.50. Couldn’t make it at home for that. A lot are closed at the moment but hopefully they'll be back. And then we come to dessert. Called pasteles. They love their pastries here. There is a pastry shop on every block in the downtown area. When we are out shopping Sharon has provided me with a special pair of blinders, like the old milk wagon horses used to wear, just to keep me focused. So I just plod along in a straight line, pretending not to see. But I do get out by myself occasionally, and, like the milk wagon horse, I don’t forget the route. And there are little fresh homemade bread stores everywhere. When I am out walking the dog early in the morning the whole city seems to be filled with the aroma of fresh bread and buns. Not great for my aim to cut back on bread. 

   And finally, it seems as if every second house here has a dog. But they never take them out for a walk or let them in the house. In fact, half the time they are on the roof of the house since there are a lot of flat roofs here. So that means occasionally there is a concert. Hundreds of dogs, all over the city, barking, barking, barking. Luckily they are usually short five minute sonatas, not symphonies. Sharon can quite often follow my progress when I walk the dog because as we walk by each house the resident two pound killer canine will come rushing out to protect his or her turf, barking furiously and warning the next dog in line to get ready to take up the chorus.  And then in the morning roosters, crowing. The city seems to always be alive somehow, at least when I’m awake. And then, because of the curfew, at 9 pm it all goes quiet. Sparkling street lights on the hillsides. No traffic, no dogs, no roosters, just quiet. Getting up the energy for another day of crowing, barking, baking, cooking, talking, laughing, and just living. To hell with Covid 19, it’s a new day, we’ve made it this far, let’s not waste it.

                                 PS. R.I.P Carl Riener Thanks for the laughs !