A Trip to the Coast

long viewOur trip to the coast began as all our Cañar departures begin: waiting on the side of the Pan American Highway for a bus. As our town sits right on this artery running the length of Ecuador (and all of South America, for that matter), buses barrel through day and night, along with giant trucks carrying gas canisters, double-trailers with racks of Coca Cola, oversized construction materials, and heavy Coca Cola truck 1military equipment.

(Sorry, couldn’t resist. I looked for a stock photo of the open-sided trucks that carry Coca Cola to all points in Ecuador. Here’s an historic version. )

So….one early morning about two weeks ago, as M. and I stood at the intersection where buses stop briefly (no bus terminal yet in Cañar, though promised) we eyed the others waiting, trying to guess who was going to Quito and who was going to Guayaquil. This matters, because there’s always a rush when a bus pulls up and the assistant driver jumps down and yells the destination: “Quito, Quito,” or “Guayaquil, Guayaquil.” With no protocol about lining up in an orderly fashion, it’s strictly first-come-first-served, so you simply squint as the bus approaches, trying to read the destination sign in the windshield, and guess where it will come to a full stop. Then you rush to get on.

1. bus arrives crop 5. quito riobamba sign4. Riobamba! Quito! 3 rush for the door crop6. last call7. on its wayP1090994

Here’s the sequence in photos I happened to catch the other day.  Bus arrives at intersection; passengers stand on alert. Where’s it going?  The driver’s helper walks alongside yelling: “Riobamba, Riobamba, Quito, Quito.”A rush for the door. Last call as the helper jumps onboard. Bus leaves. (about 8 minutes max).

For this trip we needed a bus to Guayaquil, on a route that turns west off the PanAm less than an hour north. But M. and I have a system – if we have luggage to put below, he stays beside the bus while I run for the door and jump on to check if there are seats. If so, I plop a backpack on each to claim while M. waits for the assistant to open the luggage compartment. If there are no seats (the driver always says there are), I stick my head out the door and yell at Michael: “NO HAY ASIENTOS!” and he grabs our bags back, I jump off, and we settle down to wait for the next bus – usually about a half hour.

This time we got lucky. A bus pulled up after about ten minutes, almost empty. We took seats with more legroom than a business-class flight, and on the west side with the best views. Michael had made sandwiches, as he does for any bus trip over two hours, in case we got hungry. We happily settled in for the four-hour, 10,000-feet descent to Guayaquil. (don’t believe the times in the maps below…)

MAP Cañar, Guayaquil GYE-Playas 2

Our Cuenca friend, Susana, met us at the bus station in Guayaquil and drove us to Playas, where she and her sister have a beach house. On the way, she told wonderful stories from her childhood when she, along with her mother and siblings, spent school vacations at the beach and her father came from Cuenca on weekends. Their house was near the single phone booth in the village, always with an impatient lineup of folks, and Susana and family could hear shouted conversations about whose child had diarrhea, who was coming and who was going, and whose daughter was flirting shamelessly with a boy from Quito.

Shortly, we were sitting on Susana’s terrace overlooking the bay of Playas, wearing far fewer clothes than we’ve worn these past five months. The temperature was at about 90 degrees (30C) and the views magnificent. terraceOriginally a fishing village, Playas has been somewhat discovered by “los ricos de Guayaquil” who’ve built a couple of high rises, but it remains basically a fishing village around a natural harbor. The fishermen go out in the morning in wooden dories or on these amazing balsa rafts, made of 3 or 5 balsa logs simply roped together.

balsa raft launching

a balsa launch with helpers

Four or six men stand on the rafts with only paddles, (although we saw some balsas on the beach with sails). The fisherman set nets offshore and then come in for the day, going out again in the afternoon to haul in the nets.  fisher w nets & birds

We got lucky one afternoon to come upon the “great haul” as men (and one woman) pulled in a huge net. The frigatebirds and I were equally excited, as I grabbed photos and they grabbed fish. The birds came in so low, fast and aggressive, I ducked a few times. As the nets get closer, everyone gathers around to hold in the fish while other helpers load them into crates to carry to trucks on the beach.high rise backgroundfish in netJPG

We asked what kind of fish – they looked too small for the market – and I’m sorry to report the answer was balanceado – animal food. We also asked how much the fishermen and helpers made in one day, and once we’d worked out the formula it came to about $25.00. However, we enjoyed the bounty of the coast with a visit to the fish market for pulpo (octupus) that M. fixed one night, and a red snapper dinner another night by María, Susana’s cook.

susana michael market

fish 1But the best part of the trip was spending time with our good friend, Susana, and her sweet chocolate Lab, Ron (rum in English). Every afternoon they played in the surf.S & Ron in surf

El Niño has heated the usually cool water this time of year to almost 80 degrees, and so I put on my rarely-used, ad hoc “swimming costume” and rolled around a bit in the surf. Michael did not of course, and also refused sunscreen on his lily-white legs, so his skin is still peeling.M with sail

*  *  *  *  *

Two weeks later: June 21, first day of summer, and the temperature was 47 degrees this morning, with spitting rain. One recent night the wind howled all night and shook doors and windows. As I write, it’s not yet 10:00 AM and I’m sitting by the fire, which we’ve had the last three mornings – the first morning fires since we came in January. It’s time to go home to summer in Portland.

But I’ve got a least one more blog to write before we leave. So don’t sign off on Cañar Chronicles 2015 yet.

Attachment to the Land

Carboneria Dear Friends: We’ve just been through a short rainy season here in Cañar – one of several in the agricultural year – and the fields are emerald green and the mountains cerulean blue. Recently, taking the bus to Cuenca on a clear day recently – a trip I usually use for two solid hours of reading – I couldn’t stop staring out the window at the beauty of the landscape. And this had me thinking that, although a much smaller percentage of the population makes a living from agriculture these days, folks both urban and rural remain attached to their land. Even ferociously attached, whether to the fields alongside a family’s house to produce their yearly supply of potatoes and corn; a small plot in the countryside where a city person grows a few vegetables, or a finca -a remnant of the hacienda period – that a family holds onto for a country house and to run a few horses. Continue reading