It was a beautiful birthday morning on November 17 during our slow travel experience in Cuenca, Ecuador, and the plan was a low-key celebration. We had a simple breakfast, then around 10 we took the 25-cent bus ride to el Centro. The city was bustling as we walked through the flower market, along the cathedral and down to the Riobamba River.
Beautiful colors at every turn.
We made our way to the Broken Bridge, the location of a gringo event put on by the Chamber of Commerce where we enjoyed the music, bought some snack foods and sat by the river.
It was a decision point, between a movie and dinner at Joe’s Secret Garden (rated #1) in Cuenca or taking a bus excursion to el Agave, a Mexican restaurant located about 30 km south of town that we had learned about in Spanish class.
Raging waters. Washing clothes.
Comida de Mexicana won out so we hailed a cab to the always busy Terminal Terreste (bus station). We were looking for the Giron or Yunquilla or Tarqui bus, all of which headed south on the Pan American highway. According to our Spanish teacher one of those would take us to mile marker #17 and el Agave. We exited the terminal, dropped 10 cents in the turnstile and walked among the 30 or so buses searching the outgoing ones. The Giron bus was obscure but we found it.
The man handling the ticketing was at the bus door where we got into the discussion of mile marker #17, trying to establish that we wanted to be dropped off there. Our Spanish failed us (milla diecisiete?), we tried everything including drawing a picture of a sign with a #17 on it. Nothing. All three of us grew frustrated, but we decided to get on the bus anyway because we were pretty certain it was going in the right direction.
We knew the restaurant was near Tarqui, a small village south of Cuenca. As we sensed we were getting close to Tarqui, the ticket guy came up to us and said in rather clear Spanish for us to get off at the next stop. We weren’t sure we were in Tarqui or that we should be getting off but hoped our Spanish would be understood by someone else. We paid our $3 as we slipped off the bus.
We asked at the outdoor restaurant near the bus stop, and the woman seemed to recognize comida de Mexicana and pointed up the road. A young man in his 20’s whom we guessed to be the woman’s son was working hard to strike up a conversation with us. The scene on this Saturday afternoon was getting confusing. Our Spanish wasn’t working. As I worked my best Spanish on the woman, I turned around to find the son had encouraged Betsy for a dance. The radio blared and the small crowd was clapping and enjoying the activity. It was time to move on. We did discover that the village across the road was Tarqui so we felt we were close; still no one seemed to know about the mile markers (signo?). We started walking.
It wasn’t long before we decided to get on the next bus and flagged it down. We experienced similar translation issues for the next couple of kilometers (mile marker is a tough translation), although this guy seemed to know about the restaurant. He was turning at the next intersection but directed us to get off the bus and go straight, also pointing up the road. So we got off and started to walk again. Soon enough we discovered a mile marker #15 stake as plain as day. Unbelievable. Then we noticed that on the curb the location was painted in 20-meter increments, e.g. 15-200, 15-220, etc. When we found the stake for mile marker #16, our confidence soared. And we kept walking.
Walking along the side of the busy highway was problematic but the scenery was beautiful. The views of cow and crop-dotted fields against the wall of mountains were as idyllic and beautiful as they come. Near marker 16-380 we stopped at a small store and asked. The woman knew immediately when Betsy said comida de Mexicana. She pointed farther up the road toward mile marker #17. Our pace quickened and soon enough, hungry from our efforts, we arrived at el Agave, mile marker #17-420.
We walked into the homey, rustic restaurant and sat down at one of the large wood tables. It was time for a cerveza and our first Mexican meal in a long time. The time was 4 p.m. It had cost $4.50 in bus fare and taken us four hours to go 30 km.
My 59th birthday meal was minutes away. The owner’s young daughter approached the table and spoke in perfect English with a bright smile and sunny demeanor. We discovered she was in 11th grade and found the math in her Ecuadorian school more difficult than her previous school in New York State. The family had moved about four years ago, and while she missed her friends, she liked living in Ecuador. She took our order of fajitas and a taco plate.
During the meal, the mother and father came to our table and we chatted about life in the U.S. and their new life together in Ecuador. He was Ecuadorian and she was Mexican. They liked their simple lifestyle and proudly talked about the new home they were building behind the restaurant. There were cows and a horse in their field next to the restaurant and chickens in the yard. Their garden was ready to be planted. They seemed content. It was a perfect meal.
When it was time to leave, we asked about another member of their family who we had heard made amazing cheese, cheese products and cheesecake. They directed us up the hill, so we walked and found their small store. It was simple inside with displays of cheeses and yogurts and cakes. We exchanged small talk but our mission was two slices of birthday cheesecake.
We started to walk back down the hill looking to flag down the next bus headed back to Cuenca. At the #17-220 marker an older jeep-styled truck pulled off to the side. We approached and the man introduced himself as Leo, a member of the restaurant family. Somehow our story of walking so far for dinner had reached him from the restaurant. He offered to give us a ride to the next bus stop. Slightly skeptical since we hadn’t met him in the restaurant, we got in, squeezing together on the front bucket seat. Leo spoke good English, he also had lived in New York State where he worked construction, bought and restored houses, and at one point during the housing boom had a crew working for him. He spoke of his wife and 13-year old son still living in the U.S. We would later find out that Leo had been deported.
A view from up high...
We weren’t far down the road when Leo asked if we would like to take a ride into the mountains. Pausing a second to consider if going up in the mountains in our new acquaintance’s beat-up Jeep was sane, the next birthday adventure opportunity seized the moment. For the next hour Leo crept up the steep mountain along two-track dirt roads through several small villages. There were beautiful vistas of the valley as we neared the highest point of the surrounding mountains. At one point we were looking down on an approaching cloud bank. The elevation in the area was higher than Cuenca (8400 feet) and after our climb, Leo estimated we were at about 11,000 feet. As we drove along Leo would honk or wave at the people he knew which seemed to be about everyone. We eventually came to a small farmhouse that Leo’s dad owned and had been in the family for decades. They grew some corn and fava beans on the property. His father, now in his 80’s, had moved some time ago. Leo asked if we would like to see it but by now darkness was approaching and we passed. Leo said, “Next time.”
As Leo worked his way back down the mountain to the highway, we continued the conversation; then to our surprise he offered to drive us to Cuenca. He said he enjoyed the conversation and appreciated the opportunity to practice his English. Our conversation ranged from the community’s fight against an expanding Canadian gold mine in the next valley that they feared would contaminate the river and water supply to the contrast between living in the U.S. and Ecuador.
Leo said he owned 80 dairy cows and also worked odd construction jobs. There were many large, mountainside homes owned mostly by U.S. expats who provided some work for him.
He went on to tell us that about four years ago at the height of his business in the U.S. he was stopped by the state police l in New York and asked to prove his citizenship. He said that he had paid an attorney $10,000 to become a legal resident but that the attorney had basically stolen the money. Lacking papers, he was taken into custody and shortly thereafter deported. He said he was not bitter but that perhaps the state trooper had gone further than necessary and lacked the jurisdiction to ask him to prove his citizenship. You could tell that being forced to leave his family and business hurt him immeasurably.
We talked about the contrast between lifestyles, how families in the U.S. are increasingly pulled apart by economic issues but also the normal path of life there. In Ecuador most families still lived in close proximity. The discussion moved to the race to get ahead in the U.S., to make money, and at times devoting more of one’s life to work than to family. The pace was much slower and the striving less intense in Ecuador.
We thought of our own circumstances, how our family has dispersed, how we are connected electronically with Skype and email but go months without seeing each other. Interesting stuff to ponder.
It was dark now as we re-entered Cuenca. Perhaps my over-cautiousness led us to have Leo drop us off at the Super Maxi grocery store a few blocks from our apartment. I was thinking we should invite Leo to our apartment, have a birthday drink, and continue the conversation. That thought will linger. I still consider what causes us to be skeptical and cautious and why other cultures are more open. We said our goodbyes and Leo told us that if we get back to Ecuador be sure to visit.
My 59th birthday will be remembered — it had a pace, slow at first then a faster tempo of presents, if you will, of challenges, new experiences, and interesting people. How could I forget mile marker #17, another interesting local bus experience, walking far along the Pan American Highway, and Leo’s unexpected Jeep ride through mountain villages. Not to mention delicious Mexican food in Ecuador and sharing part of the day with a complete stranger. At the end, life moves on toward #60 and what that will bring…
Enjoying birthday cheesecake.
Betsy and Mark Blondin have traveled and lived in diverse places in Latin America and Europe during the last six years, meeting expats with wonderful stories that inspired their latest book: At Home Abroad: Today’s Expats Tell Their Stories. They have three grown children and enjoy the slow-travel lifestyle. Betsy is a freelance editor who enjoys helping others publish their work, and Mark is a data storage consultant. Join them at TodaysExpats.com or on Facebook at At Home Abroad for more about the book and its remarkable authors.
We hope you visit Blondins Assignment: America for insights into that journey and keep in mind the site was built as we traveled using Microsoft's Front Page and that we have left it vintage for historical and sentimental reasons.