AROUND TOWN IN BAHÍA
Bahía de Caraquéz, Ecuador, Thursday, October 16, 2008

Up betimes to row to "Puerto Amistad" a little earlier then normal this morning in order to be ready for Wacho if and when he arrives with the newly-fabricated and newly-painted fuel tank. First, I walk into town to pick up new hacksaw blades at Chávez’ hardware, and to pick up some money from the ATM at Banca de Pichinga so I can pay various people involved with work on the boat.

The morning is humid and overcast. No breeze yet. The early morning busy-ness of the town is different than later in the day. Early mornings and after dark is when the town really comes to life. We cruisers miss so much of this because mornings are for working on the boat before it gets too hot, and evenings we are back on the boat at around dark. So this morning was an exception. Come to think of it however, last evening was an exception too since we stayed at Puerto Amistad to watch a movie: “Butch Cassidy & the Sundance kid”; hard to believe that this light-hearted, good-hearted and still-watchable cowboy movie came out in 1969, i.e., nearly forty years ago. LBJ was president of the U.S.A. and the war in Vietnam was just hotting up. A lot of water under the bridge since then.

We stayed on in the evening to watch the final so-called “Presidential Debate”. It wasn’t as deathly boring as the last one, but only because McSame was flailing around him with the same unsubstantiated and distorted accusations that he has used in his ad hominem and disgusting TV ads. Obama had clearly decided not to be bated; over and over again he repeated his promise to lower taxes on the middle class, to push for healthcare and do something about the energy equation.
Since on CNN we could see the candidates nearly the whole time, McShame looked during Obama’s active portions like a mooring ball except when he was snorting and clearly irritated by the punches Obama was taking without any visible sign of pain. Obama only jabbed back lightly while making his explanations. fortunately, this time round Obama’s reasoned explanations seemed like oil on troubled waters and they made McClaim look like a loser. At least to me. But, on the other hand, my mind is made up, and the sooner we see Bush, Cheny, McSlime, Post Turtle & Cie. shunted off into dustbins of history the better for the U.S.A. and the rest of the world. Enough, already!

So, with that cleared up, I stroll into town (which is where this blog began). At Chávez’ hardware I talk to Roberto Chávez (addressed as Don Roberto by his staff, I notice). He and his whole family are dual citizens (U.S.A./Ecuador). His children and grandchildren are all in Florida and maybe one day Roberto and his wife will move up there. For the moment they both work in the largest hardware store in town and live over the shop. I pick up three new blades for Wacho so he can cut out the second fuel tank on Vilisar. ($5 for three Sandweg blades, the best Swedish brand).

I also ask Roberto (in English because he had local customers there) what I should expect to pay for somebody to scrape and paint on the boat. $20-$25 per day. When I said I had somebody who would paint for $10, he said that was a great price if the man did good work.

Cultura

Of course, I have forgotten the bank card, so have to skip a visit to the bank. Wander down to Cyber Bahía to print out a sample recital programme for the meeting this afternoon with the Alcalde (mayor. The cyber-café isn’t open yet. Frustration all round.

As background, I popped into the culture office at the Municipio (town hall) yesterday afternoon and encountered there Señora Isabel Mendoza de Quijeje, a slightly elderly but refined lady who was sitting next to a younger woman (Sonia Zambrano) at the computer-desk cum reception. It turns out that Señora Mendoza is the head honcho de cultura (honcha?) The room is huge and empty except for the one desk next to the entrance, although there might have been an attached office. It and the whole building has the same dreariness that all public buildings have in poorer countries and sometimes even in rich ones too (I remember the weak, 40-watt lighting in Andrew’s public school in Frankfurt). But, at least, there are no spittoons so omnipresent in China back in the mid-80s when I was there. I explain that my wife and I want to offer to present a public recital (Schubert, Schumann, Strauss, etc.) sometime this Fall. Señora Mendoza responds positively, though in a rather reserved manner. Not surprising, I reckon; how often would she get some Gringo wandering in off the street in shorts and a straw hat and offering to sing Strauss? Probably never up till now. But, we advance (without proff of ability or an audition)to agreeing upon a tentative date (Tuesday, 11 November at 1930 hr.) and a place (the recital hall at the Banco Central/Museo de Bahía de Caraquéz). She even calls over to make sure they still have a piano in good condition. Clearly she is favour of this all, she brightens visibly too when I tell her we are not expecting any money. But she says she still needs to talk to the Alcalde and would I come back today (Thursday) at 1530 to meet with him personally.

Well, that’s been launched. Our programme is ready since we just sang a recital in Dallas. If you can’t change the programme, change the audience.


Through town

The streets are full of pedestrians. A surprisingly large number of young women carrying small babies or toddlers in their arms are on the street. It is rare to see babies in buggies, car-carriers or the like. Babies are carried on somebody’s arm until they can walk. Once they can walk, there is usually another babe in arms arond so small children tag along with Mum by hanging onto her shirttail or purse. No buggies for them either. Maybe there was a baby clinic at the Social Security Centre this morning and that's why there seemed more than a usual number of mothers with babies.

All the little open-air eateries along the Malecón are filled with people getting their desayunos (breakfast). All hearty, though rather starchy comfort food; none of your cornflakes nonsense. Hearty soups, rice, plantain, a piece of fish, fresh tropical juice.

I bump into Manolo, our favourite taxi driver. We banter a bit and I take his picture. He has been suffering from skin cancer recently - on the arm he sticks out the driver-side window all the time. He says it has been responding to treatment, though. He’s in his late forties so skin cancer is no laughing matter. He remains cheerful, however.

Pedi cabs (tricicletos) go by with cargoes or passengers. Today we have the monthly extreme tides and, like every month, the night ferryboat, "Maria Magdalena", is careened on the beach for her monthly bottom-cleaning. I wonder what will become of this old lady when the bridge to San Vincente is completed. If you want to see the new bridge in a computer-graphics, go to http://www.bahiadecaraquez.com/. This is the town's offical website and there is a picture of the Alcalde too.

Some fish-buyers are waiting with plastic boxes for the panga and dugout fishermen to come in with their catch. The buyers chat amongst themselves and nod as I pass. A slushy-pedicab is standing by to sell drinks to everybody when the fishermen arrive. The owner jumps on the seat of this Pedi cab to have his picture taken.

Back at Puerto Amistad, Wacho and Mario, his helper, show up with the freshly-painted fuel tank. Wacho is suffering from severe sinus pain today. If you can credit it, he is allergic to bananas, a serious issue surely in a country that is the second largest grower of bananas in the world, the largest exporter of the same and where no meal is complete without platenos. His face is swollen and he’s in pain. We agree that the two-part epoxy-tar paint anyway needs a few days to harden before we scratch it up in the re-installation process. Next week sometime then, when he is feeling better. We place the new tank on display behind the bodega. Good advertising for Wacho et alia.

Beauty Queens

While I am writing at a table at Puerto Amistad, some mothers and young girls begin to arrive for a luncheon to honour the various public-school beauty queens. Tomorrow at the Municipio, a teacher named Gissel (pronounced like our Giselle) tells us, there will be a “ Queen of Queens” competition to pick the most beautiful girl of all the public schools.

The girls are delightfully charming and pretty; real ingénues. They come up to look over my shoulder at the pictures I am sorting on the computer screen and then ask to be photographed too. They haven’t even reached puberty yet but already they can strut and pout with the best of them - especially when reminded that they are being photographed. Either the mother or the teacher says, “Modelo! Modelo!”
and the little girls put one foot in front of the other, place one arm akimob on the forward hip and slant one shoulder toward the camera.


It is amazing how eager these kid and their parents are so up for all this stuff. In America nowadays people would be embarrassed to be even remotely connected with such nonsense. Not here! Beauty pageants are a big thing. The zenith was when the Miss World or Miss Universe Competition was staged in Quito a number of years ago. Ecuadorians were in heaven; they still talk about it. Maybe becoming a ‘reina'represents an exit pass from a dull, provincial life. Or at least, the chance to be somebody distinctive. The boys get to become professional basketball aspirants. An American lady with kids in school here told us that girls are not allowed to play sports at school. That’s considered un-ladylike. They can only be cheerleaders. When there is a school band, the boys play the drums and trumpets and the girls get to play only the Glockenspiel or be - wait for it - drum majorettes. I saw a school band practising out on a side street just last week; 8 and 9-year-old boys banging like hell on snare and bass drums or tooting (one note only) into bugles; the 8 or 9-year- old girls were twirling their batons and gyrating their hips in great abandon whilst flashing their underwear. A macho society, for sure.