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The baby aspirin years

~ Ms. Boice falls in love, travels and eats her way through life in the post-40 years.

The baby aspirin years

Monthly Archives: April 2013

The Tree Tomato Welcomed Me to Ecuador

28 Sunday Apr 2013

Posted by Ms. Boice in Trips

≈ 15 Comments

Tags

Ecuador, ecuadorians, Food, international food, Quito, tomato juice, travel, tree tomato

I’m in love with the tree tomato.  Really in love with it. It was my first greeting from Ecuador, as it was the first thing I tasted that was new to me. It told me that I had arrived in a foreign country.

We were at breakfast at the Turi Quindi Guest House in the Los Chillos Valley, just southeast of Quito and about 40 minutes from the new Quito Airport. Since we had to go back to the airport in the morning to catch our flight to Coca (see earlier post about our travel to Sacha Lodge), it didn’t make sense to make the long and arduous journey into Quito. The new airport had only been open a month, but there are no hotels nearby nor is the new main highway to the airport anywhere near completion.

Needless to say, not just visitors, but Ecuadorians are also peeved about it.

Yet, I’m not sure I would have gotten a lovely breakfast like I did at the the Turi Quindi Guest house had we gone into Quito. This family-run guest house has beautiful grounds and a wonderful breakfast. The grandmother makes breakfast and serves your eggs any way you’d like. I didn’t know Spanish for “scrambled,” but a simple wacky hand gesture of crazy whipping in circles got the point across.

But it was the juice that caught my attention. Steve and I couldn’t figure out what it was. We were guessing and then popped in one of the sons, Jose Andres, who pointed out that it was tree tomato, or Tamarillo.

It was like a tomato juice but sweeter.

Juan-Andres holds up a tree tomato, also known as a Tamarillo

Jose-Andres holds up a tree tomato, also known as a Tamarillo

Tree Tomato Juice

Tree Tomato Juice

Later on during our trip, I would have tree tomato juice again (at Sacha Lodge), have it as a dessert (Tandayapa Lodge) where the cook had baked it in cinnamon and some sugary syrup (sigh), and as a salsa on top of baked chicken at a hotel in Quito.

Oh tree tomato, I love you.

And I miss you terribly.

Tree Tomatoes at Otavalo Market

Tree Tomatoes at Otavalo Market

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Nickle Lauritzen and the Afterlife

24 Wednesday Apr 2013

Posted by Ms. Boice in Uncategorized

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My friend’s blog post–this one here–was just Freshly Pressed by WordPress. It’s a beautiful read and that’s why I’m sharing it here.

slcantwell25's avatarOne Boy's Way of Knowing

Looking_good_in_a%20_hatIn 1990, my friend Nickle Lauritzen was diagnosed with Motor Neuron Disease, a rare form of Muscular Dystrophy, similar to Lou Gehrig’s Disease, a terminal disease that works inward from the extremities—first the hands, then feet, legs, and arms—muscle strength and control gradually failing until you fight for every breath and finally suffocate. Nickle would describe her predicament in just such harsh terms. She wanted the bare truth out there where she could keep an eye on it. “I know how I’m going to die,” she told me soon after we met, before I really understood her illness or knew her well at all. “I will wake up one moment unable to take another breath,” she said. “And that will be that.”

View original post 2,080 more words

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The Amazon and Sacha Lodge: Getting there is half the fun (as long as there are toilets)

12 Friday Apr 2013

Posted by Ms. Boice in Trips

≈ 23 Comments

Tags

Amazon, birding, birds, Ecuador, Napo River, nature, Sacha Lodge, South America, travel, Wildlife

It had been a long day already. We flew from Quito, the capital of Ecuador, to a city called Coca, which actually was bigger than I thought it would be. I expected a little town with only a dilapidated tin-roofed store where a few locals would hang out, sipping colas. I imagined it quiet and sleepy.  Instead, it was a city with busy streets—one right after another, in a proper grid—where people took their lives in their hands when they crossed the street. There was a man in the middle of one street juggling three machetes. (Note to self: Don’t cross the street there.) Taxis zoomed by, cars were hurriedly negotiating the streets without much concern for anyone else (in other words, get out of the way), and a fish market with a long row of vendors cutting and displaying their catch took up two blocks, attracting a multitude of buyers. This was not a quiet, sleepy town.

I was in one taxi and Steve was in another. I don’t know what taxi our bags were in. The folks from Sacha Lodge had met us at the airport and quickly shuffled a group of us—six new arrivals—in random taxis as if we were planning to escape the country in a hurry. Yes, in taxis. At the edge of the Amazon Rainforest. With Gangnam Style blaring on the radio of our taxi.

That’s how I arrived in the Amazon Rainforest.

Coca is actually Puerto Francisco de Orellana, the capital of the Orellana province in Eastern Ecuador, and is located right where the Coca River meets the Napo River. We were there to take a motorized canoe on the Napo River (the largest tributary that feeds into the great Amazon River) to get to Sacha Lodge.

Excited to begin our adventure in the Amazon

Excited to begin our adventure in the Amazon

We’re totally in the Amazon!

It had just occurred to me that morning that we were going to the Amazon. A place on this planet I never thought I’d ever visit. Mostly because it’s my husband’s fault. Had I not met him, I would probably just do artsy-fartsy stuff like go to museums, tour old European villages and lounge around on sandy beaches reading a book.

No, none of that. Instead, he’s lured me into adventure travel via global birding.  Yes, bird watching is pretty badass. (See my other blog, The AccidentalBirder, where I documented about when we needed armed guards in Belize while we went birding and chasing a swarm of army ants in Panama. Yes, totally badass.)

We didn’t have our luggage on our canoe ride. It was all taken to Sacha Lodge ahead of time so it would be waiting for us in our cabin. (Sacha Lodge is owned by the Swiss.  I would expect nothing less from the Swiss.)

When you arrive at the airport a person from Sacha Lodge puts tags on all your luggage. They're very organized.

When you arrive at the airport a person from Sacha Lodge puts tags on all your luggage. They’re very organized.

After my rear end was numb from the two-hour canoe ride we then arrived at what I thought was our final destination.

Hooray! We're here! Actually, not really.

Hooray! We’re here! Actually, not really.

Getting there is half the fun, or so the saying goes.  Well, that’s only if there’s also a bathroom on that journey. Thankfully, there was a bathroom (flushing toilets!), which I ran to once the canoe docked. There was even toilet paper. (Aw, those Swiss think of everything.)

Now, there’s a reason there’s a bathroom here. Turns out our journey’s not done.  We then had to walk about a mile in the jungle. Over a boardwalk laden path and sometimes over the swamp. Awesome! Kind of.

This trail became known affectionately by others (and us) as the Death March. This was not the only time we would walk this path.

This trail became known affectionately by others (and us) as the Death March. This was not the only time we would walk this path. It’s just long and arduous (for me, at least). And doing it at 5 a.m. in the dark in pouring down rain (which is what we did one morning) makes it seem endless.

Once we finished our mile-long walk I thought we’d be at Sacha Lodge. Not yet, folks. We then got into canoes–not motorized this time, but instead two Sacha Lodge guides paddled us to the lodge through a creek for about 20 minutes and to a lake right outside the lodge. And then there it was–Sacha Lodge. Finally.

Praise the Lord. We're here.

Praise the Lord. We’re here.

Our group of six—they call us “newbies”—had a briefing in the main lodge. We were told the food was all safe (meaning we could actually eat salad), there would be morning wake-up calls (knocks on our doors), always be careful where you put your hands (I didn’t want to know) and then I asked my question:

“Uh, what’s the password to the wi-fi?”

The guide giving the briefing chuckled and said, “You’re in the Amazon. There is no wi-fi here. But there is a shared computer where you can pay $5 for 30 minutes, but I think you’ll be fine without the Internet.”

No wi-fi?  What is this? The jungle?

At least we have toilets.

Oooh! Some bonus video here:

To give you an idea of how large the Napo River is, here’s a very short clip of our ride. You’ll notice that it’s about as wide as the Mississippi River (well, for those of you who know all about the Mississippi River).

Napo River

Napo River

This next video shows our arrival at Sacha Lodge on the non motorized canoe. You can hear our guide, Marcelo talking to Steve and asking him if he’d ever seen a Hoatzin (that’s a very strange bird).

Arriving at Sacha Lodge

Arriving at Sacha Lodge

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Yes, I got me some Custom-made boots in Ecuador. Uh-huh. Big surprise.

11 Thursday Apr 2013

Posted by Ms. Boice in Trips

≈ 14 Comments

Tags

boots, Ecuador, ecuadorian amazon, fashion, Quito, riding boots, style, travel

“…Oh, and there’s this place in Quito that will custom make boots!”

As soon as Olga said that I perked up. We met Olga and her daughter while staying at Sacha Lodge in the Ecuadorian Amazon. They had spent some time in Quito and my husband and I were listening to their itinerary to get ideas of what to do during our couple days in Quito. But boots! Custom made! 

It’s shoes, my friends.  And when it comes to shoes I just melt into a blob.

The following day on the way to our hotel, I saw it:

El Palacio de le Bota Españolas

El Palacio de le Bota Española

What girl would pass this up?

What girl would pass this up?

Clearly, it was meant to be, since it was only a few blocks from our hotel in La Mariscal neighborhood of Quito. When Steve and I went inside a wave of the musky, leathery smell hit me in the face. Oh, this place smells yummy.  I picked up a tan pair of boots. Nice quality and stitching, I noted to myself. There were cowboy boots, riding boots and fashionable ladies boots with heels of all heights. They were all simply lovely. Steve sat down, obviously uninterested in my shoe shopping. This happens all the time. Last time I went shoe shopping at Nordstrom, this happened:

This boy can sleep anywhere. Even at Nordstrom. Where there are SHOES. Who sleeps when there are SHOES?!

This boy can sleep anywhere. Even at Nordstrom. Where there are SHOES. Who sleeps when there are SHOES?!

An Ecuadorian woman and her husband began showing boots to me. Actually, not just showing them, but putting them in my hands, pulling one after another off the shelf and offering them to me while speaking Spanish, of course. They spoke no English and I spoke no Spanish. There was pointing and grabbing a lot of boots and then I found a pair I really liked–a low heel with a strap and buckle. I put them in the woman’s hands, pointed and nodded my head and said, “Sí!”

Yes, please.

Sí, por favor.

She then took me to the back room where there were remnants of all sorts of leather on a big table. Oh, she wants me to choose my color, I realized. There were many colors of tan, brown and even different shades of black.  And then I saw it: Red

Ahhh, red leather! Yum.

Ahhh, red leather! Yum.

I have to have that red!

I nodded my head, pointed and said the one word I know perfectly in Spanish: “Si!”

Then before I could even leave the back room, the Ecuadorian man brought out a big paper tablet and pointed to pages that had foot outlines drawn on it. Oh, he wants to draw my footprint. Of course!

Wasting no time, I took off my shoes and socks and placed my foot on the paper where the man drew a line around my foot, then pulled out a measuring tape and measured my width, my instep, my ankle and my calves. So old school. So simple. Why can’t all my shoes be made this way?

Didn't we do this in kindergarten? Ahh, good times.

Didn’t we do this in kindergarten? Ahh, good times.

Measure twice, cut once, right?

Measure twice, cut once, right?

¿Cuánto cuesta? I asked. (Okay, I also know how to ask how much something costs. I’m a seasoned shopper, no?)

Originally the woman had written down $180, but then the man pointed to my calves and said, “Grandé.”

Yes, my calves are grandé. You see, that’s the whole problem with me and boots. It’s the grandé calves, and that’s why I was here. But it turns out, having grandé means it costs more. $20 more.

They had me choose the style of my toe (pointed? round? squared?), choose the buckles out of a cardboard box and then I paid a deposit of $50 and from the sign language and my guess at Spanish, figured that it was going to take four days for the boots to be made. No problem, we were heading to the Andes and wouldn’t be back to Quito for seven days.

So for seven days and nights I dreamt about red boots.

On our last day in Ecuador we picked up the boots. They were displayed in the window when I arrived, and that made me secretly happy to know that others might have walked by with envy. I slipped on the boots and the leather was buttery. My foot fit perfectly inside and zzzzzziiiiip! It was easy. Not a struggle at all! And the boots weren’t cutting off my circulation. They felt divine. I purred inside like a kitten.

I now have red boots. Jealous y’all?

Keep your paws of my red boots.

Keep your paws off my red boots.

Here they are: Luis Arias, who made the boots, and his wife who so patiently helped me out in spite of my very lousy Spanish.

Luis A. Arias, Propietaro and his wife

Luis A. Arias, Propietaro and his wife

You, too, can get your own custom-made boots (for men as well as women).

El Palacio de las Botas Españolas
Reina Victoria E7-14 y Wilson
Quito, Ecuador
Telf: 2567 205
email: elpalaciodelasbotasespanolas@hotmail.com
They’re also on Facebook

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