Fetch!

I am often asked about medical healthcare access in Ecuador. This query frequently comes, oddly enough, on the heels of my sharing with others the enjoyment of strolling Ecuador’s isolated beaches or surfing in her secluded, South American warm waters. Far too few inquire about what truly excites me – our Canoa condo at Playa del Sol, the quality of surf, beachcombing, the year-round warm weather, the low cost of living or the thrill of learning about a new, colorful and diverse culture.

My enthusiasm is often momentarily defused by this concern for my health and welfare, but I nonetheless drudge up a pat response and explain that there is, in metropolitan areas such as Quito or Cuenca, world class healthcare at extraordinarily low prices. However, in fairness, I go on to explain that where Jan and I live, if I were to have a sudden heart attack or stroke while in the barrel of a wave, (and if I ever caught that elusive barrel I probably would), the most likely result would be both unpleasant and permanent.

Whether intended or not, often the listeners’ eyes betray their dismay or even that of slight disapproval. Few, whether out of kindness or discomfort, come right out and state that they think I’m foolish. Typically, their concerns are neatly tucked within the blank spaces between the words of their follow-up questions. And, admittedly, those subsequent and legitimate inquiries that have come (and undoubtedly will again come my way) give me pause. You know – the “What if’s…..” in life.

I have trouble coming up with a valid justification as to why I choose to take the risk of possibly living a shorter, more adventurous life in trade for a safer, “more responsible” life. Then one day, while back in the states, I was listening to my son and daughter-in-law discuss the new rules for playing ball with their sweet but very energetic dog. Now, this is no ordinary boxer/pit bull mix. He is our only grand-dog which makes his place in our family unit very special. Sadly, “Ryan” has been diagnosed with a bad ticker and a shortened lifespan. The veterinarian has warned that vigorous play with Ryan runs the risk of having him collapse and die. Unfortunately though, it is clear that Ryan still has the will and desire to race through the sagebrush attacking a thrown ball even though he no longer has the support of a healthy heart.

Ryan is clearly loved by his mom and dad, and, like many good parents, they want to protect Ryan and keep him alive as long as possible. So it is understandable that they have chosen to restrict all strenuous activities even though this must leave Ryan, who is blissfully unaware of his precarious condition, unquestionably confused.

I have no quarrel with their decision. It is a wise and loving one, and yet their situation brings me back to the underlying choices behind the questions posed to me about my life in Ecuador. Ryan’s medical issues have helped me to think through and solidify an internal and extremely personal conclusion for myself and one I need my loved ones to understand. Simply put, it is this:

Pitch the ball as hard and fast as you can and let me chase it to the end!

Warning

WARNING!!!

A reality check for all of the Skippy Extra Crunchy Peanut Butter Super Crunch lovers in the world

It is no secret to those who know me that I LOVE MY SKIPPY – and not just any old Skippy – it has to be Extra Crunchy Super Chunk. (Creamy sorely fails my taste buds.) I knew peanut butter was not easily found in this particular area of Ecuador which Jan and I now call home, so, planning ahead, which my friends and family will attest is way out of character for me, I packed away 4 lbs. of it amongst the lesser important items Jan, hands firmly on hips, insisted on bringing: hair products, clothes, plates, cooking things, etc. (Good grief. What a waste of the 63 lineal inches / max 50 lbs. of airline-allowed space!)

Three and a half weeks of daily surfing and beachcombing have whisked by since our return to our new home, and my crunchy goo has been completely consumed, leaving me desperate to the point of delirium. I have searched high and low, trolling the local small markets (there are no sizeable ones in our area – the largest is no bigger than a decent sized 7/11), but not a jar of recognizable peanut butter will be found.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that there is NO peanut butter. Indeed, I’ve scrutinized with suspicion the bags the locals call peanut butter. It’s crushed and mushed falling onto bare counters right before one’s eyes at the farmer’s market just between the dead fish, eyeballs staring back at you from slimy tops, and the fly-drawing pigs-feet, precisely laid out for what I imagine is supposed to be a mouth-watering viewing. So far, I have been disinclined to give it a go.

Yesterday though, Jan, recognizing the signs of an impending breakdown due to the lack of my near-daily peanut butter consumption, purchased a bag for me. (A bag? Gross! Don’t they know our perfectly packaged, enticingly labeled peanut butter jars are useful when recycled? My GoPro stuff is sitting on a layer of moisture/humidity-absorbing rice inside one now.) A bag it is, and oh yes, since Ecuadorian peanut butter apparently only comes in the creamy form, Jan, knowing my preference, asked if she could buy some crunched up peanuts to mix into the sagging bag now dangling from her hand.

How did it taste, one might ask?
Let’s just say life in Ecuador is an adventure in stretching one’s boundaries of acceptance.

(Of course, one might want to ask WHY there is a difference in taste. Perhaps the ingredient list would hold a hint? A quick comparison reveals the following:
Skippy Extra Crunchy Super Crunch ingredients: Roasted Peanuts, Sugar, Hydrogenated Palm Oil, Salt, Peanut Oil.
Ecuadorean peanut butter ingredients: Roasted peanuts
Wow, who knew sugar, salt and hydrogenated fat could be the basis for the ultimate in culinary pleasure?)

P.S. One room for rent on the warm playa just outside of Canoa, Ecuador. Weekly rate – only one Costco-sized package of Skippy Extra Crunchy Super Chunk – Length of stay is negotiable for full-sized luggage stuffed with Skippy (Not the creamy junk).

Pollo Loco

 

Honestly, I had no idea how naive I was as a result of growing up in our perfectly filleted, Saran-wrapped, Styrofoam-supported world. After all, when I go to the meat counter in the US, all I see is food – enticing, mouth-watering, nicely trimmed meats ready for the grill.

But here in Ecuador? I SEE DEAD THINGS! Good god, man. Did you know chickens have heads and feathers? (Not to mention big claws that later may be seen floating to the surface of your soup bowl.) And the fish – the FISH – they stare back at you with glazed over eyeballs from the tops of slimy counters, hopelessly pleading to be released back into the wild ….It’s creepy!!!

 

But if you are hoping to cook up a nice burger, or some fried chicken or perhaps some fresh grilled tuna, you will have to enter “Slaughter Alley”, or as the locals prefer to call it, “El Mercado” – Saturday’s open-air market. (Oh… and It’s open all right…to every flying, crawling, skulking creature that nature can sinisterly dream up!) Jan and I still can’t stomach the authenticity. We try to be casual about the whole affair (really, we do), but we’re not fooling a soul. The vendors all know the tell-tale signs of the unadjusted – weanie newbies like us who scurry past them, eyes diverted, pinching their noses tight while vigorously swatting at tenacious flies only to be seen exiting the market completely empty-handed.

(Where the hell is Costco?????)

Unlikely Beauty

A colorful reminder that beauty comes in all colors, shapes and sizes.

(And perhaps a tipoff that danger does as well)

99 Days ‘til Ecuador…..

There is a droning of a whispering melody, its repetitive tune subjugating my mind as I stare at a “Countdown to My Retirement” clock. It is a ridiculously dumb song that I fear, with the slight alteration Jan and I have composed, will dominate my brain for the next three months. I’m sure many of you, as I have, have sung this repetitive ditty while on long drives, ironically, to while away monotonous miles –

“99 Bottles Of Beer On The Wall”.

Lifting my view from the numbers on the clock that have finally fallen below triple digits I find myself exploring a large drawing that hangs over Jan and my desks. We use this map of South America as a visual reminder of that place, Canoa, Ecuador, that when this cheap plastic timepiece displays the long awaited zero, we will at last call home.

I must admit I am a little embarrassed about the feelings of giddiness I’m experiencing these days. This tingling, caused by an admittedly romanticized anticipation, reminds me of how I felt when, over 41 years ago, I was counting down similar days before I was to become a husband to a beautiful and amazing young woman.

I shouldn’t be standing shiftless. There is so much to do – list our home – sell Jan’s car – my truck – our boat – furniture – dispersing four decades of mutually collected junk. Everything, except the massage table (A must-take item) has to be vigorously sold or given away and yet I can’t help but stand idle, staring, imagining, as my mind quietly sings:

99 days ‘til Ecuador

99 days to go

The clock turns ‘round, you count one down

98 days ‘til Ecuador

 98 days ‘til Ecuador

98 days to go

The clock turns ‘round, you count one down

97 days ‘til Ecuador…….

Ceviche Countdown

Outside our Eastern Washington home the temperature is currently dipping into the lower teens. Jan and I are inside, nestled under blankets as we watch a white crowned Bald Eagle fly low outside our window. We are counting the days until we leave for Ecuador.

We are not letting the chill freeze our spirits though. Oh no. This morning we chopped, minced and mixed cilantro, onion, tomatoes, jalapenos, grapefruit, tangerines, lime and tangerine juices along with some shrimp so we could practice creating our rendition of an Ecuadorian coastal dish: Tangerine/grapefruit/shrimp ceviche. Our dreams (and lunch!) await us.

Clock-Watcher

Clock-Watcher

(198 days and counting down)

 

For as long as I can remember, I have been the type of man who loves to work. I wouldn’t go so far as to classify myself as a workaholic – I’m more like the casual drug user who only needs a work “fix” five to six days a week. And, don’t get me wrong. I love going on holiday as much as the next person, but when a vacation lasts longer than two weeks, I become fidgety, which is a sure signal that I need to get my butt home and back to my job!

 

I must confess though, that I have been corrupted by what must be a workplace’s worst nightmare – the dangerously infectious nature of a “short-timer’s attitude”. It doesn’t help that the photo on my computer’s desktop is a constant reminder of our future home currently under construction on the beach just south of Canoa, Ecuador. And to make matters worse, my wife purchased each of us a personal “countdown to retirement” clock. I only have to glance at it (which I now do habitually) to know exactly, to the second, when my wife and I will be able to deposit our winter clothes in the Goodwill bin and retire to a life of bathing suits, sandals and collecting seashells on the warm playas of South America.

 

Moments ago, I snuck a few minutes away from the doldrums of databases and spreadsheets in order to locate new batteries (the unstoppable energizer bunny type).  I inserted them into my clock as it seemed to me to be a little sluggish, but the seconds counting down to the big day still tick, as seconds do, with a metronome’s accuracy!

Mercury Rising

Mercury Rising

Setting a goal has never been my way of achieving one. It is not that I don’t arrive at my destination or desired result – I just accomplish it by the more exciting method of “winging it!”

My wife, however, is a planner, and to my bewilderment, finds security in establishing and sticking to a goal. Personally, I bristle at the concept, perceiving it more as setting a trap or robbing oneself of the adventure of figuring things out on the fly.

Back in October of 2011, shortly after deciding that living abroad was how we wished to start our retirement escapade, Jan posted above her desk a colorful thermometer chart. The graph laid out in $5000 laddered increments our goal of saving $200,000 by the end of 2014. This was the amount we concluded we would need to finance our move to South America, which included purchasing in full a home on the coast of Ecuador, furnishing it, paying for two trips there to set up our new beach home, setting aside enough money to carry our home here for a year if it doesn’t sell, and most importantly, buying the two surf boards I plan to use every day.

Sitting at my desk, I studied Jan’s new thermometer gauge which sported a thick pink line rising up the middle that ran out of ink at just above the $5,000 line. All I could see was a lot of discouraging white between the top of the pink mark and our desired final goal. Jan, on the other-hand, found sweet comfort in the fact that we had any pink at all. (I guess it’s the old adage “Is the glass half empty or half full?” But let’s be fair. That philosophical expression would be far more poignant if the pink was hovering at the $100,000 mark.)

It’s not that I don’t have my own charts to study and stay current with. Oh no! In truth, for the past 1 ½ years, with my head deeply buried in the sands of dream-filled, illusionary fancy, I have stared daily at a thermometer gauge that sits on my desktop showing Canoa’s current temperature and with longing, studied the surf reports.

I must confess I haven’t kept current with Jan’s single-minded savings chart. Honestly, how can I be faulted for not paying proper attention to her monthly shading, her methodical coloring within the lines as she adds a little more height to her goal indicator when the Ecuadorean surf is regularly cresting at 3 to 6 feet every day?

But, one recent afternoon, as I sat at my desk daydreaming of lying in the salty, warm surf on my 7’6” swallow-tailed, custom-shaped surfboard, Jan shrieked with excitement startling me back to reality. Filled with a sense of accomplishment, she updated me on our financial goal. With only seven months remaining before the move to Ecuador becomes our retirement reality, the money mercury had crept up to a steamy $175,000, leaving just a small colorless gap at the top.

Oh how glorious it is to have my quixotic nature supported by a pragmatist.

Blueprints

a>For nearly twenty years, we have been captured by the view from our home in Vantage, WA which overlooks the lazy currents of the magnificent Columbia River, and there’s no doubt that the varying vistas throughout the days and seasons have laid claim to my heart’s residence. But I must confess I have been wooed away by Ecuador’s allure, enchanted by this small South American country’s temperate weather and low cost of living. It has been three months since our last sunset stroll on the warm playas of Canoa, Ecuador. If the saying “Home is where the heart is.” is accurate, this would explain why, at the moment, I feel a void within my chest.

(For those who might be joining Jan and me for the first time on this blog, we should note that last year we purchased a beachfront condominium a few miles south of Canoa. We stood in the warm sand at the project site, staring at the blueprints of different plans, and we fell in love with a 2 bedroom/2 bath model that seemed to be designed just for us. Our future home is currently being constructed, though at a rate which appears to be moving, like the river outside my window, at an excruciatingly sluggish pace. But, in all fairness to our builder – he is well ahead of schedule by any South American standard.)

The plan: Build a new life in Canoa starting in June of 2014.

By design, our blueprint for the future did not include full and immediate retirement. I enjoy working (a fact that completely befuddles my wife), and I’m not ready to completely nail that door shut. Our proposal was that our son, Jeremy, would take over the day-to-day operations of his and my company, while Jan and I handled much of the paperwork while basking on sunlit Ecuadorian shores 4000 miles away. After the winter months, I would return to Washington State to show off my dark, off-season tan and work during the three summer months helping Jeremy through our busiest season. I could start collecting my hard-earned social security benefits in 2015, and combined with my summer earnings from work, we would enjoy a comfortable income to get us started in our new life.

The original strategy seemed simple enough, but now that the departure time is inching closer, Jan and I are realizing that some of our plan’s specifications were inadequate and poorly written. We are having to admit that the foundation of our dream-come-true retirement plan was being poured with a dangerous mixture of blind desire and comedic ignorance. (For example, we discovered that if one opts to take social security at age 62 there is a limit to how much one can earn without incurring rather serious financial penalties. Oops….so much for the summer work plan. How did we not know that? And what else do we have yet to uncover?)

Our schema was not so poor that the resulting structure would completely crumble, but there are some discernable and disconcerting cracks and some very complex configurations to work out. And so, we find ourselves forced back to the drafting table to redesign some of the more questionable aspects of our architectural drawings. We need to ensure that our choices (like our condo!) will stand up to the test of time, and at our age, there is little room for serious errors.

As we work our way through the issues, Jan and I will be taking our blog’s focus away from the pleasures of describing our adventures in Ecuador so that we might zero in on the mundane – our attempt at untangling the crisscrossing clusters of rules, retirement options and the perplexing international regulations that, jumbled together, have pushed our retirement plan out of plumb.

We welcome readers who may have come up against retirement plan hurdles to share their ideas, findings, failures and successes.

Cruising

C

Check out these three guys we just passed on the highway to Manta. They were flying at 100 kilometers per hour, with not a care in the world. What these delivery men don’t know is that just two kilometers up the road they will be sharing the pavement with this loose herd of cattle we just had to avoid. As you look over the picture don’t miss that there is a yellow “curve ahead” warning sign!!!

I wish I could say that this scene is unique, just teen boys being dumb, but I see this type of “crew cab” every day. It’s no wonder that Ecuador is second in South America in road-related deaths. Keep that in mind if you plan to visit Ecuador and rent a car for a quiet, relaxing drive up the coastline. Trust me, the driver must be, at all times, on full alert, eyes fix and prepared for oncoming traffic, semi’s, taxies, small cars, loose horses, cows, the ever present donkey, half starved (actually, fully starved) dogs, slithery boas, green iguanas, pedestrians of all ages and worst of all, motorcycles that weave either side of you, (with helmet wearing father, bare headed, mother, daughter and baby all wedged on the seat in a tight row – I’m not exaggerating!). (And believe me, it’s no picnic for the passengers either.) It is friggen’ nuts. What’s scary is that it’s so crazy, however at the same time, so commonplace here, it now seems completely normal.

Our thanks to our fine and extremely safe driver, Jorge Perez, owner of Expat Compass, and is lovingly called by expats here as the “The Gringo Nanny”. Jan and I both highly recommend him. He speaks pretty good english – bonus!

P.S. The guy sitting at the top reminds me of Granny on the old TV series The Beverly Hillbillies