People work out.
Some walk, some run, some drink beer, some play golf. Others go to the weight room or swim. Old men like to play softball under lights at night and dancing is loved by couples who wouldn’t put on a pair of running shorts but will squeeze their body into nice clothes and dance to a big band sound from the forties.
This morning fitness geeks climb stairs from the river to Calle Larga, stop at the top, look down, then carry the distributed weight down the same steps they just ascended.
I watch them pass me going up, as I go down.
For a moment, I want to join , but only for a moment.
This is a three man exercise.
The fourth man on the stairs has his own load to carry and his burden is more about survival than exercise.
You go down Luis Cordero all the way to Calle Larga, make a right, go mas y meno two blocks and look right, and you are at the Sunrise Cafe Cuenca.
The Sunrise Cafe Cuenca is a hangout for ex-pats. It is a comfortable mom and pop place with good prices, basic local and American eating, and people coming and going.
In the back is a huge room where friends get together on Saturday mornings to socialize but the room is open to anyone who wants to take a seat.
Breakfast is huevos rancheros in a way I haven’t had them before.
They serve their plate with a scoop of guacamole, diced onions, fried potatoes, eggs over easy on a tortilla covered with homemade salsa.
Frank, the waiter from Cuba who sells Cuban cigars on the side, keeps coffee coming and a lady next to me is studying lines for a radio play she is reading tomorrow.
There are families and kids here, as well as married couples and singles. Some of the old guys have gray hair, pony tails, and talk Bernie Sanders. Some of the women are grandmothers and talk about last night’s smoking date.
In Cuenca, you do like Cuencanistas do.
This lady in red, walking in heels and checking her phone, is lucky. The sidewalk here is negotiable.
Her bumps, even from across the street, don’t appear to need repair.
After people watching, bird watching is one of the world’s favorite pastimes. Birdwatchers travel the globe, stand in swamps, dress in camouflage, take pictures and write bird sightings in little books, and swear there is nothing better.
In this city the most common birds are pigeons.
These survivors can be seen on top of statues, on ledges of buildings, waddling on paths in parks, holding to high voltage electric lines without a blink, and staying close but not too close to the humans who feed them, chase them, photograph them, clean up after them.
This morning, in San Sebastian Park, a group flocks at my feet.They are of the same family but their parents dressed them differently. Their range of color is from all white to all black with some shades of brown sprinkled like cinnamon on oatmeal. They show genetics at work and would make Charles Darwin dance a jig.
I don’t write morning sightings in a little book, but I take photos.
Their randomness this morning is interesting in the same way as pool balls on an unused table with a game left unfinished.
Panama hats have oddly enough always been made in Ecuador.
From the 1600’s, the weaving of hats out of the leaves of the toquilla palm has been done, at it’s finest level ,on the western coast of Ecuador.
These best hats are called Montecristo’s and are from the village of the same name in the province of Manabi. These hats are light colored, lightweight, breathable and have long been popular in hot climates where protection from the sun is essential . The price for Montecristos varies from hundreds of dollars to thousands.
It can take a skilled Ecuadorian craftsman up to six months to make one of these Panama hats. When you pick up a fine hat, it is light. You can roll it up in your suitcase and it returns to its shape when you take it out. The finer the weave the more expensive the hat.
President Theodore Roosevelt popularized the Panama hat when he wore one at the Panama Canal. A grandiose man, he was a President with an ego too large for whatever hat he was wearing.
It is said that a fine Panama hat will hold water and pass through a wedding ring when rolled up.
Machine made and cheap is the mantra of our times.
Turning men into machines and making machines do the work of men are themes of our day.
Walking, you see odd stuff.
This Museo and Cafe is on a walkway, just down from one of the tortuous staircases that lead you from Cuenca’s Historical District to the Tomebomba river.
The first time I tried to visit this curiosity, its front door was closed. The second time the front door was actually open. A sign on the next door inside said to ring a buzzer and admittance was one dollar and fifty cents. I rang, but no one came to let me in.
This third visit a tall lean kid opens the front door, says nothing as I am standing on the sidewalk behind him, goes through the interior door and slams it without saying a word. He is too thin to be Pugsly.
Sometimes you have to let stuff go.
For now, their website is my only entry into their world.
Sometimes places are prohibited for good reason.
If I enter through these locked and bolted museum doors, I might become one of the exhibits.
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