Spain May 2018: following the conquistadors and Cervantes

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Dear Friends: A week or so ago we were in Cuenca, Spain, where I looked for a trace of the Spanish conquistadores who in 1557 gave Cuenca, Ecuador its name. According to legend, those guys were marching north after conquering the Incas in Peru when they got the order to establish a city. They came to a place that reminded them of home (which most would never see again) and called it Cuenca. But here in Spain, in this gorgeous UNESCO city, I find nothing that connects the dots other than dramatic landscape and converging rivers (and the unrelated fact that the very modern archive is in the medieval inquisition building, with torture cells in the basement. That’s the archive in the photo above. It is an entirely different matter in the small hill town of Trujillo, a few hours to the southwest and variously described in the guidebooks – without a trace of irony – as: “where twenty American nations were conceived,” and “the cradle of the conquistadors.” A little over 500 years ago, a young man called Francisco Pizarro left Trujillo on his first trip to the New World. He was somewhere in his 20’s, the illegitimate son of an infantry colonel and a “woman of poor means,” but acknowledged by his father. After several expeditions around Panama with Francisco de Orellano, another homeboy, Pizarro landed on the coast of Peru in 1528 and began the terrible business of conquering the Inca Empire. He died in Cuzco in 1541, but Trujillo has never forgotten their local “heroes.” The town is choc-a-bloc with plaques on stone buildings that say “Palacio of Francisco de Orellano, discoverer of the Amazon,” and the “Museo de Francisco Pizarro, discoverer of Peru.”

I was particularly interested in visiting Trujillo because Orellano and all four Pizarro brothers were born here. All left for the riches of the New World and one of them, Gonzalo, ended up “owning” our land in Cañar for his services in helping conquer the Incas. His older half-brother Francisco made him governor of Quito and gave him extensive land grants, among them “the territory of the Cañaris and all the natives within it.” I’ve actually seen a facsimile of the document (not it below, but maybe one like it?)

Gonzalo’s putative job was to convert these “natives” to Catholicism, of course, but according to history he was one of the most corrupt, brutal and ruthless conquistadors. And like all the Pizarro brothers but one – he died a violent death, beheaded in 1548 by the Spanish king’s forces in Quito when he refused to support new laws to protect the indigenous peoples. Meanwhile, Francisco lost his head in Cuzco, the result of infighting with another conquistador, Diego de Almagro (not from Trujillo, apparently.)

Today, this small city of less than 10,000 is a lovely tourist destination largely because of the conquistadors’ grand palaces (now museums, municipal buildings, and hotels), and churches still gilded with gold beyond belief. All built on the fabulous riches plundered in 16-17th century South America. (I should also mention that Trujillo has amazing cheeses and chorizos and wines, located as it is on the dry hot plain of Extremadura.)

Here we had a wonderful 3-night stay in the small Hotel Baciyelmo owned by a delightful Dutch and Brazilian couple, Herman and Carla. It took a few discussions and additional reading to figure out that “baci-yelmo” is a compound word referring to a debate in the book Don Quijote where the beloved main character insists that a basin (baci) is a helmet (yelmo) to keep out the rain, while other characters insist it is nothing by a basin. Don Quijote’s sidekick Sancho Panza tries to settle the argument, and thus the word, baciyelmo, has come to be “a symbol of a courageous … attitude to unite two opposing worlds: fiction and reality.”

There it is! I’ve had a really hard time writing this blog, working off and on and giving up, but this quote perfectly captures my dilemma: I’m trying to reconcile the long-past reality of the violent invasion and subjugation of entire New World cultures – the effects still very much felt today – while we enjoy the lovely open-hearted generosity and beauty and gastronomy of present-day Spain (and now Portugal, where I’ve finally had a free day to struggle to the end with this blog).

It was Carla and Herman who told us about O Facho, a hotel in a tiny coastal corner of Portugal where we are the only guests in a 40-room hotel built in 1910. O Facho (or lighthouse back when it was actually a fire built on the cliff that served as a light beacon for ships) owned by Jorge and Elsa, a taciturn couple who mysteriously glide along the hallways turning on a wall sconce at exactly the right time, adjusting the classical music in the dining room or appearing by the fire in the bar to offer a beer or wine. Jorge – many years in Canada as immigrant Portuguese family before coming back 38 years ago and buying “this ruin” and restoring it while keeping its old-world charm. And Elsa – who reveals nothing but is younger and serves breakfast without a word. Pure peace – no credits cards, no TV, no shampoo, no body lotion, no website… (But I will happily reveal the email address for anyone who asks…)

 

In between Trujillo and here we have been to Evora, Portugal, a gem of a small city with loads of Roman ruins, where we had a wonderful meet-up with my sister Char and husband Fred. And then Lisbon, where we coincidently and briefly met up with good friends Andrew and Claire from London. But in Lisbon, what I think of as the “Seville Syndrome” happened: we just never got our bearings. Wrong hotel in a shabby neighborhood, confusion on the Metro that left us on opposite sides of the turnstile (“one person, one ticket” the guard kept saying as I gestured desperately), train tickets out of a diabolical machine that took too long to get and took us too far, a closed museum after a long bus ride on the evening of “International Night of Museums,” and missteps in finding good food. Oh well, this happens once or twice every trip and we are accepting (which is  not to say that Michael doesn’t complain…)

Now we ready for the last stage of our month’s travel on our way back to Madrid for our flight home to Portland on May 31. Two nights in Viseu (“one of Portugal’s best-kept secrets”), and in Spain a stop in Salamanca (“most magnificent main square in Spain”). Then we will be will back to Madrid and at our beloved Hostal Dulcinea on Calle Cervantes, down the street from the house where Miguel Cervantes died in 1616, and around the corner at the  where he was interred at the Convent of the Barefoot Trinitarians, with morning coffee downstairs at the cafe owned by Alfredo from Peru who will greet us with a kiss on each cheek. It all comes together in wonderful ways.

April: a month to remember!

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Dear Friends:

What a month! Where shall I start?  With the tree that fell on our house in Portland? With the news of a three-year grant to UT Texas that includes the Cañar archive project? With the twinges on a newly-crowned tooth that indicate a root canal in my near future? (Here call “tratamiento de conductores,” which I much prefer.) With the hug from the woman at Relaciones Exteriores when I showed up for stage two of my visa transfer after a long wait? Or with the first visit to a notaria to make our Ecuadorian testamento (will) that began with: “You must bring ten witnesses.”  (below: Notaria Lila Jiménez and Lawyer Mercedes Guamán with Michael)

I’ll start with the last first. We are preparing to leave Cañar on May 2, first to Spain and Portugal, then to Portland. As every year when we get ready to fly back and forth over the vast Atlantic, we think about the “what if…” scenario that I wrote about in the last blog.

This time we decided to do something about it. Michael and I had already agreed – with our son Scott’s blessing – that our Cañar house and property will eventually be sold to establish an endowment for the Cañari women’s scholarship program. For this we need an Ecuadorian testamento, a will, to cover any circumstances where we both go at once – a plane goes down or the bus plunges off the side of the road, etc. But for the scholarship program to legally receive any funds generated by the sale, it must become an official non-profit entity within the Ecuadorian government – something we’ve avoided as it requires a crazy amount of paperwork and time, plus a monthly reporting of activities.

But before any of that, we needed a unanimous decision to go ahead with the non-profit year ago.)  Because time is short, I sent out an email requesting an emergency meeting and mentioned the testamento. Big mistake!  Everyone thought we were either (1) dying or (2) leaving Cañar for good. I allayed those fears in a second email, but once we were gathered for the meeting – where Michael and I each spoke of our decision – there were tears, tears and more tears. Testimonios de nostalgia and melancholia, as one member said. I was totally shocked. But when I mentioned that this is commonplace in the U.S., to make legal arrangements for possible future circumstances, it didn’t seem to matter. This was a cultural divide, and Michael and I could only respectfully accept the emotional response.

(I later learned that a will is usually a bedside visit to a dying person by a lawyer or notario – no one apparently does this in advance.)

The decision was quickly made, however, and the next day we met our lawyer Mercedes Guamán (an early scholarship graduate) at the notary – the public official who handles wills. There, in a loud staccato string of words, she told us we would need ten witnesses – five witnesses each – that the wills would be done separately, that because the law requires that 50% of an inheritance must go to a child or children, and we were not doing this: “You must bring photos of your other house (in Portland) to prove that he will not be left destitute by your will.”

Meanwhile, the next day, a tree fell on that house in Portland – Scott’s inheritance.  

We did not mention that to the notaria when we returned the following week. Though we certainly had plenty of time. We spent five hours in her small narrow office, with her three helpers on one side and, in a line of chairs along the other wall, supplicants and witnesses. During which time we witnessed and heard land transactions, whispered questions from an older man about getting divorced, water rights, and even an actual divorce of a young couple sitting mere feet from us. Completed, signed, stamped and paid for while we watched. (The “thawk” of seals and stamps was a daylong soundtrack…)Nothing was private, including our business. “Señora how old are you?” one helper yelled across the room at me while filling a form. Finally, our poor patient witnesses were called forward one by one to sign and make their fingerprints (Lila finally allowed us to share witnesses). The notaria put the two wills into two envelopes, sealed them with packing tape and said, “Now, these will stay with me!” What?

She did allow me to hold one briefly for this photo with our witnesses, and later her assistant did make us copies.

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On to the good news: The National Endowment for the Humanities (NEH) has awarded a three-year grant to AILLA (Archive of Indigenous Languages of Latin America) at University of Texas, Austin, that includes the Cañar archive project. We’ve been anxiously waiting to hear, since you-know-who-at-the-helm announced last year he might do away with both the NEH and NEA (National Endowment for the Arts). In fact, each was funded at the same level or slightly high than last year. Lucky for us. It means three years of support to digitize, create metadata and publish the photo and sound collections from the Archivo Cultural de Cañar. The University of Texas announcement is here).

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I’ll make the visa story short, although the wait has been long and aggravating.  My passport expired last year and I need to transfer my permanent resident visa into my new passport. Quick bit of paperwork and the whack of a stamp or two? Not on your life! Everything in government Ecuador is now online, beginning with making an appointment with Exterior Relations in Azogues, our provincial capital. That took almost three months. Then, at last, a first visit where I met Norma, this friendly woman who copied my passports and said she’d email when permission came from Quito for the transfer. “That may be as soon as Monday,” she said on Friday. Exactly one month later, after various visits and phone calls to Norma, with Michael fussing that I might not be allowed back into Ecuador as a resident if I left without the visa. Finally, an email from Norma. “Good news! Come with your passports!”  Michael had to provide all his paperwork also, as my visa depends on his – although we both own our property, the real estate visa is based on his name alone, and my visa is as his wife. OK, we’ll let that one go. M. and I showed up at Exterior Relations and Norma actually got up came around her desk to give me a hug. Would I get my visa today?  Not on your life!  Today Norma was only allowed to gather all our paperwork, then we would wait to hear again for the visa transfer. I asked for a photo but she said not allowed. So here’s a view of my paperwork (so far!)  I have a feeling I’m going to be traveling without the new visa.

Although, enough drama. On to bookish pleasures!

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Cañar Book Club

Well Dear Readers, this is our last Cañari book club for the year – or at least until December when we’ll be back to Cañar. But of course we’ll all keep reading books between now and then. For my part, I’m taking these few books for our month in Spain/Portugal: Baltasar and Blimunda, José Saramago. Ornament of the World: How Muslims, Jews and Christians Created a Culture of Tolerance in Medieval Spain, María Rosa Menocal, and This Must be the Place, Maggie O’Farrell (thanks Claire).  Not nearly enough, and I still don’t use an e-reader, but sometimes I get lucky with a bookstore in Madrid.

For my Cañar reading, I’ve just finished and Michael is reading The Invention of Nature: Alexander von Humboldt’s New World, by Andrea Wulf. I couldn’t say it better than what a Bend, Oregon member wrote: “This book has it all!  Big ideas, adventure, history, sumptuous descriptions of nature and a lot about Latin America, specifically Ecuador. He introduced the stunning natural world of northern Latin America to eager scientists in Europe as well as to our own Thomas Jefferson. Beautifully written and researched.”

I’ve also recently read The Sympathizers by Viet Thanh Nguyen, which I found riveting until 3/4 way through, then utterly boring. But I’d give this author another read. Also Victor: An Unfinished Song by Joan Jara about her Chilean husband, singer Victor Jara, who was so horribly tortured and murdered during Pinochet’s military coup d ‘etat in 1973.  I’ve read it before but it’s good to be reminded that this must never happen again.

On to recommendations from other members:

Two faithful readers in Portland recommended: Pachinko by Min Jin Lee. “Tells the story of a Korean family through the generations that ended up displaced to Japan. Lee doesn’t make nice on how horrendous that experience was and to some extent still is for Koreans in Japan.  Also Manhatten Beach by Jennifer Egan.  It was great.

From a Toronto member: Lincoln in the Bardo, by George Saunders and winner of this 2017 Man Booker Prize. It’s on my list for next year.

And another Toronto faithful:  I’ve Got a Home in Glory Land: A Lost Tale of the Underground Railroad by Karolyn Smardz Frost. “To retrace the journey of a runaway slave …from the Ohio River Valley all the way to Canada is an immense challenge & a rare accomplishment….”  Winner of Governor General’s award, 2007.

From a literary friend in Mexico: The Wrong Blood, Manuel de Lope, set during the Spanish Civil War and The Line Becomes a River: Dispatches from the Border, Francisco Cantú.

From another Toronto reader. Kim Stanley Robinson’s Shaman – if you haven’t dipped into his books before, Shaman is a good one to start with.  Robinson’s New York 2040  is heavy going – as most of his books are, where detail almost overwhelms the narrative plot – but there is always lots to think about that makes it worthwhile. Including Antarctica, and a trilogy set in Washington during a time of extreme climate events.

And from Norway: The Automobile Club of Egypt. Allaa Al Aswany. “A superb novel of a gentleman’s club in Cairo in the last days of Egypt’s colonial status, before Nassar came to power, and where King Farouk came to gamble. A delight, the same sort of detailed characters as in his earlier The Yacoubian Building”

And a faithful book club member reporting for duty from London!  The Power by Naomi Alderman is …”odd and underwhelming though very readable. It’s supposed to be a feminist book (if there is such a thing) but my partner quite correctly declared … that it’s ‘a girl-book for boys.’ I’d be interested to hear whether you agree.”

I’m afraid I’ve lost track of some recommendations that came in by email, so please remind me, and I’ll keep them in reserve for our next meeting.

Until then, books make life worth living!

Time Marches On….

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Dear Friends – This is Semana Santa, Holy Week, the quietest weekend of the year, and we are just a month away from leaving the southern half of our bifurcated life. On May 2 we’re off to Spain and Portugal for a month before landing in Portland on June 1. If I count right, this is our 14th consecutive Easter in Cañar since 2005, when we impulsively bought a small piece of land, decided to build a house and return for six months every year. And so we have, without a hitch. (That’s Lourdes, our architect, in the foreground with an outline of the house. Yes, you really can begin by drawing lines in the dirt. The next two photos show other early construction stages, circa 2006.) 

After so long, we’ve become a fact of life in Cañar. Small store owners send Michael home with tamales or a homemade pot of soup in a pretty container, as Doña Mila did yesterday with fanesca, the traditional Easter soup made of 12 grains to represent the 12 apostles. Market women give him “yapas” – that extra piece of fruit that says thanks for being a return customer. People we don’t think we know stop us in the street for an air-kiss, or yell hello in and out of cars.

(That’s Mila in her store in the photo below, bowing, for some reason…)Taxi drivers hear “la casa de los gringos” and take off without a glance or further directions to deliver visitors (or us) to the gate. 

Speaking of taxi drivers, we’ve had many a conversation that starts with:  “Do you have family?”  Yes, they are in the US. “Do they come and visit?” Yes, sometimes. “Well….what are you going to do with your house when….”  They needn’t finish as we know where the question is leading. Who will inherit our house and property?  This is a friendly, not exactly rude, set of questions (although our Cañari friends are way too reserved to bring up the idea that we not live forever). But maybe these drivers do us a service by making us think about the inevitable. Will we continue to come to Cañar forever?  Of course not. Michael turns 80 this year, and he’s still chopping wood and making fires and walking up into town, but slower, slower. We still take long walks, but cover fewer kilometers, and we generally walk down the mountain rather than climbing up (photo below – on a recent such walk, from a place called, appropriately, Jeruselen).

For my part, I can’t imagine not being in Cañar. My work is here. The Archivo Cultural de Cañar, after two decades of documenting work that continues, is just reaching the point of becoming readily available to local communities. This year I began transferring years of digital photo, audio and video files to a dedicated computer at the Centro de Memoria at Instituto Quilloac, an indigenous school and cultural complex. Here is my archive partner – Antonio Guamán, with a visiting PhD student from UPenn, Marlén Rosas.We get together every Tuesday afternoon for transfer and organization of files. I’m making schemata to keep it all straight, a 3-ring binder catalog, and also albums with printed photos so local folks can come in, look them over, and request digital copies or help us identify the people in the photos.  The great advantage of this venue is that Antonio, the librarian, is there every day, ready to help the many adults who are not computer literate. 

This is tremendously exciting to me and also a great relief because, to be honest, I too am feeling the press of time. Two decades of work are locked in numerous hard drives here and in Portland. What if… something happened to us? What if….something happened to the hard drives? What if….??

The digital archive project with AILLA at the University of Texas at Austin will continue over the next three years, but access to their website will depend on a good Internet connection. And although nearly everyone in Cañar now has a cell phone, good Internet in homes, and in the schools, remains a dream.

Speaking of dreams deferred, and unrelated to Cañar, a US publisher has requested an expanded book proposal for the “Ana Project” – the oral history of Ana Margarita Gasteazoro, who Michael and I, and my CUSO colleague Andrew Wilson, were good friends with when we all lived in Costa Rica in the 1980s. Ana was a political refugee from the war in El Salvador, where she had spent two years in prison without charges. Andrew and I transcribed, edited and organized a book manuscript around her recordings before Ana died at 42 years of breast cancer. After some efforts in the 1990’s to find a publisher, we let the project languish until a chance meeting with the director of the Salvadorean Museo de la Palabra y Imagén (Museum of the Word and Image) led us to resurrect the project, arrange for a Spanish translation, and re-edit and expand the chapters (thanks to Andrew, editor extraordinaire!). We hope the book, titled Tell Mother I’m in Paradise: Memoirs of a Political Prisoner in El Salvador, will be published in both Spanish and English in the next year or so.

Actually, this project does relate to Cañar, for the scholarship program for Cañari women is named for Ana. During one of our recording sessions, she told the story of her father telling her he could not afford to send both her and her brothers to university because. “Your brothers will marry and they’ll have to support families, so I will educate them. But you will marry and your husband will support you.” Ana never went to university, she never married and she never forgot the injustice of her father’s decision. When Ana died, I started up the Ana Margarita Gasteazoro Foundation for Women’s Education (since renamed the Cañari Women’s Education Foundation), which has sent 31 indigenous women to state universities. Ana, would be pleased at that.

OK, enough for a quiet Sunday Easter afternoon. I’ve enjoyed putting this blog together, knowing (hoping) you’ll read it and respond. I love hearing from you all….

(Oops, book club on hiatus for Easter holiday. I promise one more blog, and a book club meeting, before we leave Cañar on May 2.  Finally – any travel suggestions for Portugal?)