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?????)

Graced

 

There is a quiet rhythm on the shores of Canoa, Ecuador that I am privileged not only to see but also to feel. I have discovered a mental vibration, soothing to my soul, which is born daily amidst the slow, rhythmic strumming of the waterfowl’s wings.

It is early, and the aroma of coffee piques my senses as I peek through a salty mist and watch as multiple flocks of Snowy Egrets fly by, a single front runner leading each flock in formation, the silky white V’s gliding smoothly north along the tide line. As if in sync with the Egrets, the larger Brown Pelicans are also heading north, rising and dipping, skimming the curls of the waves in a line dance that undulates to the beat of the pounding surf. 

In the evening, as I settle down, I again am caught up in the rhythm of the passing of the birds as they, under the pinkish orange glow of a descending sun, return, my silent gaze transfixed.

The Things We Carried

49.8 is how much it weighed. The other lit up the scale at 48.4. Immediately my mind began to fuss over my miscalculation of the luggage weight, and I kicked myself for leaving behind the additional jar of peanut butter I could have stashed between the T-shirts and underwear.

Please allow me to share just a smattering of the contents we didn’t leave behind:

1. One jar of peanut butter (Damn. I could have had two. I won’t make that mistake again.)
2. Three whole house surge protectors (Don’t ask. The builder just said to bring them. Honestly, I was certain those boxes with protruding wires would never make it through the bomb-seeking luggage scanner.)
3. One set of antique Holmes & Edwards triple-plated silverware (service for 8 – purchased for $10 at a yard sale years ago) packed tightly into a handy reusable Rubbermaid container. (Personally, I would have gladly left those weighty, useless utensils behind in trade for one collapsible fishing rod and reel, but Jan won on that one.)
4. Four combination lock boxes. (Do you know how heavy these things are?)
5. Four beach towels (Finally, something that makes sense.)
6. One set of brand new, bright red, bodysurfing fins I can’t wait to show off.
7. Wet suit (as if I’ll need one)
8. Hand paddles (No, not anything kinky. These little green babies (in theory) are for holding one’s chest out of the water while slicing through the waves.)
9. One sharpened kitchen knife (for the fish I was going to catch with that fishing rod, but noooo, we’ve got “triple-plated silverware instead.)
10. Two Hansgrohe kitchen faucets straight out of the box with a zillion pieces that I hope someone will be able to assemble. (These suspicious pipe-bomb-looking items are what caused us to be singled out both at customs and at the boarding gate.)

This does not even include our two stuffed backpacks that housed 3 laptops (the third – a brand new one for our builder friend), one large Nikon camera with extra lens, one small camera, the Kindle, two cell phones, portable scanner (not sure why I brought that), binoculars, hair dryer, flat iron, seashell measuring spoons, mosquito wipes, tiny jars of spices…well, I could go on and on. Suffice it to say, NEVER have Jan or I traveled with so much stuff – it’s embarrassing.

Last year, for our planned seven-week adventure, we made it down here with one backpack each. This time, for our three week escapade, we are sporting a collection of three bulging check-ins, two overstuffed backpacks and one Lancome freebie bag overflowing with yet more stuff. Normally, we never check bags. Our typical conclusion: if it can’t fit in a carryon then it’s not going. No baggage claim waits for us! So what happened?

Two things: It is quite common for expats living in Ecuador to seize any opportunity to have someone cart down hard to find items. (Thus, the lockboxes, power surge protectors, faucets – one for our new place, extra laptop and the Tony Chachere’s Creole Seasoning mix.) In fact, our builder is having a new 60”, top-of-the-line, 3-D flat screen added into a container one of our new neighbors is shipping down. The other, is that Brent (the builder) also offered to store one Rubbermaid container for us if we wanted to bring down a few things on this trip. (Thus, the silverware, sheets, towels, knife, hairdryer, flatiron, fins, etc. which will all be squished into one grande sized plastic bin.) This is a good time to note: Have you tried those “as seen on tv” space bags? Dang. Those things work. They sucked those towels and sheets down to heavy nothingness. (I hope they can recover and the wrinkles come out.)

Why even bring this to your attention you may be wondering. Well…..plan on it now……if you come to visit don’t be surprised to find the following “Hey, would you mind tucking this into one of the corners of your suitcase” list:

1. One set of commercial grade cookware (Um, no, I’m pretty sure that won’t put you over the weight limit.)
2. One can of Hershey’s cocoa (I don’t care if this IS the cocoa capital of the world. You cannot find unsweetened cocoa.)
3. Two large jars of Skippy crunchy peanut butter. (We may be able to scratch this one off the list. We were delighted to see Jif on the shelves of the Super Mercado. We will just have to get used to it.)
4. Crown Royal –cost for the off brand here, $68.00 (cost of living just went up) so please, bring the largest bottle you can safely pack.
5. Costco size coconut oil for cooking and massages – to Jan’s horror and my disappointment we aren’t able to find any here!
6. Better stop there – but believe me, this list could and probably will become extensive in no time

Oh – and for any clever inventors out there: New idea. Jan says someone needs to redesign those space bags into some lady sized briefs. Hook up to vacuum and voilà! Three sizes smaller – just like that.

A Small Windowless Room

Jan and I, finally on our last leg, were sitting in the boarding area, peacefully looking out the massive windows at the Quito airport which reveal wonderful views of the lush, multi-hued green foliage covering the peaks and valleys above Quito’s sprawl. Our quiet serenity was shattered when we heard a discomforting announcement. Keep in mind that the anonymous, soothing voice from overhead was in Spanish, so we had no idea what the theme of the announcement was. However, there was no missing the fact that it included Señorita Juanita Phillips and Señor Arro Phillips. (It appears “Earl” isn’t an easy word to properly pronounce in Spanish.)

Gulp!?

“Uh oh, this couldn’t be good,” flashed into my mind, whereas with Jan’s more positive outlook on humanity, she was thinking, “Cool, they are going to upgrade our seating”. (That’s one of the many things I love about Jan. She sees only the twinkling stars at night, whereas with me – though I do notice the stars – I can’t help but be skeptical about the blackness that surrounds them.) Awkwardly snatching up our carry-ons, Jan and I made our way to Lan’s boarding area counter. The very nice lady (pretty, too) behind the high counter informed us that we were to accompany airport security to the baggage area. (Suddenly, the ticket agent didn’t look so pretty anymore.) Jan’s twinkling attitude dimmed, as the murkiness I immediately felt began to overshadow her starry skies.

It is strange how one feels guilty when singled out and separated from others. What does one do when communication is muffled by two different languages that confuse our understandings and increase suspicions on both sides?  Our approach was to smile as sweetly and innocently as possible and trail along, with the officer pointing her finger to a glass door that led us out onto the tarmac in full view of all the other speculating passengers.

As we were being led, ducking under and around a web of ramps carrying other people’s suitcases to their destinations, I couldn’t help but think that in the USA no one would ever take the risk and liability of us tripping and falling as we stepped over and under airport equipment. Arriving at a small room, rather far from the terminal, our guide, as I was trying to re-make the officer in black, pushed a code onto some buttons, and the thick door opened into a small room where two officers peered up from Jan’s red suitcase and skeptically looked us over. (Even Jan couldn’t find twinkling stars in that place!)

Even though it was intimidating to be outnumbered and outgunned in this small windowless room, I couldn’t help but to be amused as I listened to  Jan, with broken Spanish and exaggerated hand motions, try to explain what the guards were seeing on the x-ray machine. There was no doubt those two foot long, curved images with what appeared to be wires trailing out of the bottom end (hot and cold hoses) looked a lot like they could be pipe bombs. What actually became hard to explain, once the luggage was opened and the kitchen faucets were exposed was why we needed two. Ummm, oh golly! You see, one is not really supposed to bring stuff like that into the country unless it is intended for one’s own use. As Jan was beginning to stutter, her mind desperately looking for a plausible response, one of the officers suggested it must be for the baño. I thought, “Thank God!”, and Jan, quick on her mental feet, agreed it was for washing her hair in the bathroom sink. (Huh, I thought? Never mind. Just go with it, because they did.)

With our innocence granted, we were led in a different direction through an endless maze of hallways into an elevator. It was there that I saw several things about our security officer that previously had been obscured by my personal fear and intimidation.  Visible now was her size (a petite, five-footer), her smile, and perhaps more enlightening, the clay trinket of Mickey Mouse hanging over her security clearance badge. Ahhhh, the Magic Kingdom. If only I had seen that while being led to that small windowless room.