The water is off here in Cuenca this early Monday morning, but no dogs are barking outside and it´s not cold inside the apartment. It´s a good time to write a story.
Last night I walked to the river to get a break from a lot of thought clamboring about my head. I watched the water rushing within its banks and listened to sound created by its washing over the rocks. I was alone, feeling a certain comfort that could be represented by the river passing below in its travel to an unknown destination.The seed of myself I planted in Ecuador nine months ago has grown roots that now tie me to the ground, and shallow though they maybe---I´m not going anywhere else soon.
The other day I was kneeling on Simon Bolivar Street to tie the loose shoelaces on one of my shoes. As I struggled to get up a woman offered to me her hand. I refused the help. I have a mentality that values self-reliance, while she exhibited a trait home to a mentality that values mutual assistance.
While I´m not here to complain, that doesn´t mean I have no complaints. When I find an Ecuadorian shop or an Ecuadorian worker who takes pride in their quality of work, I make note of it. I don´t assume everybody does good work anymore because I´ve lived here long enough to know better than that by now.
But last month I also attended a concert performed by the orchestra of the University of Cuenca and attest the quality of its presentation of classical music was on a par equal to the best I´ve enjoyed anywhere, anytime.