Outsiders Getting An Inside View

It´s 6:45 AM. I shiver my way into my exercise clothes and sneakers. Rolando and Nori are already downstairs, ready for their daily walk. We have been invited to come along. We cut across streets and descend a steep staircase that leads down to one of the main thoroughfares bordering the Tomebamba River. We cut through a university, wander along a residential street, and climb another hill over to the Yanuncay River. There we follow the river in a park-like setting, with other disciplined people. Soon, we stop to stretch, and Rolando hugs a tree. When asked why, he said that it relieves stress.

The unique thing about Cuenca, I´ve realized, is that it is defined by its rivers. Although the city has sprawled outside and past its rivers, the rivers remain wild and natural. Someone had the foresight to leave enough grass and trees along each one that they give visual respite from the cluttered South American hodgepodge of construction.

Then we climb another hill, (which is no easy task when you are at 8,000 feet above sea level) and take a different route back, covering our noses when buses barrel past, spewing diesel fumes.

In front of one of the main plazas, a woman sits with her large basket of baked goods. Of the countless vendors and bakeries, she is the one they buy their breakfast rolls from. Same goes for the market. Nori has her two favorite women that she exclusively buys fresh fruit from.

We enter the house and lunch is already bubbling on the stove. Aurora is just finishing the colada avena, a warm oatmeal drink that goes with breakfast. Nori calls her daughters to come; they eat, clean up, and disappear in less than 20 minutes. They are down in the store by nine, looking perfect.

This is the daily routine. But then there is Sunday.

Blake and I discovered why the crumbling bathrooms and draftiness of their downtown home is not a major concern. It is because they put most of their effort into their quinta. (Quinta: country house, cabin in the mountains, place to unwind after a busy work week.) Every Sunday they go ten minutes up the hill to their absolutely gorgeous and charming quinta.

They call it camping. To me it is anything but. The house, built in the style of Rustic Cuenca, reminds me of a hotel in Scottsdale. My favorite part is the covered porch, with lots of benches to sit on and take in the panoramic view. The kids really loved playing by a dainty, spring-fed stream that cut a little trench along the side of the property.

Now mind you, this is Ecuador, so don´t get too dreamy-eyed. Just off their property is a tile-making outfit with shacks and tarp, very ramshackle. Dotted everywhere are bare bones shelters where people and their children scrape together a living with their little plot, a few chickens, and if they are lucky, a cow or a llama.

The night previous, while we were playing Rummy with Rolando and Nori, there was a telephone call. It was regarding Rolando´s mother Marta; she had just been taken to the hospital because of heart problems. This was a shock to Rolando, because his father has serious health problems but his mother is considered to be perfectly healthy. Rolando quickly left, and the mood turned somber. With some uncertainty and help from Blake´s electronic dictionary we managed to ask Nori if we could pray for Rolando´s mother. Claro! Yes! She said, half to my surprise. We prayed in English of course, and she in Spanish. Then we looked at family photos, and I felt, well, as if God was there. The next morning Rolando returned, we found out Marta was fine, and she had returned home.

Some friends of Nori came over and spent the day. One of them, Anna Maria, spoke English. She would translate now and then, which made me feel included. When she met Lydia and Luke, her eyes misted over because she missed her 5 year-old daughter who was visiting her ex-husband in Quito. Originally from Columbia, sent to Fort Lauderdale to study fashion and textile design, she had been working for a major textile manufacturer in Quito. Three months ago her job brought her to Cuenca. She shared with me how concerned she was for her daughter since relocating, since they have no family members in Cuenca. I suggested that a church community could help. I felt that God was working in that conversation as well.

Nonetheless, it was mostly a carefree Sunday. For awhile, when the sun came out, everyone stretched out on a blanket outside. Inside, during lunch, we got onto the subject of how many times people chew their food before they swallow. Apparently, I chew ten times. Nori´s friend Marta chews only 5 times. The ladies also had a good laugh trying to pronounce my name without rolling their R´s. To top off the day, at nightfall, I saw something I hadn´t seen since childhood: the glow of fireflies. The children were completely enthralled.

Trudenski