Honk Hop Wave

22/5/2013 

Blogs, I wondered why people wrote them and why others would read them.  Now I know the secret!  A blog is a reality show on paper made from your diary.  You want to remember everything and share it. I don’t want my family and friends to miss a moment of Ecuador.

In case my life doesn’t flash before my eyes in my last moments of life I will have it in writing.

Ok let’s start with the date.  I may be dyslectic but that’s how you write the date in Ecuador.  I knew my stateside friends would need an explanation.

I will transgress later but for now I’m going to tell my diary about TODAY May 22, 2013. 

We still have one boy at home, Sanford.  This youngest child is the four legged kind and is the most demanding of the five.  He doesn’t listen to a thing and it’s a toss-up rather to contact Dr. Phil or Cesar Milan.  I need a whole new set of parenting techniques for this one.

We are up before 6AM because baby says so.  It’s time to walk the back roads, smell every leaf and wet on each one that deserves it.  With a sharp right turn we stroll down the road that runs in front of the sea.  I’m grateful that today this was his path.

I was walking high, looking down the beach to the fishing boats.  Crafts are gliding up to the sandy beach from a long journey.   In the distance a sea of souls are mingling and in the air hoards of birds are dive bombing. They look as though they are on a suicide mission but pull up at the last minute like they thought better of it.  Even from my distant point I can see the excitement in their movements and the flurry in the sky.  I rush my youngest back to the condo and exchange him for Gary, my groom of more than 30 years.  We have to go to the beach below and see what the hubbub is about.  It makes no difference what langue you speak; you know when it is something good!

We trudge throw the heavy sand that sinks several trucks on a daily basis.  Sooner or later someone pulls them free.  There are more hand movements than used in sign langue as they decide whether to dig, pull or push.  Always in the middle of the dilemma someone on the road stops and with a whistle they are on the beach pushing or someone on the beach is pulling until our friends are free.

We make the sharp right turn and off we go. We walk quickly for a short distance, because now we are older and a little goes along way.   We do make the effort and promise to walk every morning, well at least today we promise.

We are navigating the beach and making sure, when honked at, we act accordingly and jump out of the way. We have been warned that we are going to be passed.  Did you know there are unmarked traffic lanes on the beach? Trucks and motorcycles wiz by and we hop. Unlike road rules with blacktop, people do not have the right a way on sand.  If you are the driver of a gas powered vehicle you have the absolute right away and permission to honk at will.  It is imperative though, that you are driving on the packed sand. 

This morning the beach is for the fisherman, the boats, the dogs, the birds and the fish laying on the beach for sale. We are the intruders in the most wonderful circus of life and it is spectacular!  As we get closer I hear in my mind the church choir singing “Praise God, from Whom all blessings flow;
Praise Him, all creatures here below;
Praise Him above, ye heavenly host;
Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

The ocean mist is covering me in a veil, slowly dropping the curtain on the world outside the beach.  The noise is just as I imagined from the road.

The boats are lined up on the shore.  I can read the names painted on the sides, most are female names. I wonder, are the names wives, mothers, girlfriends or lost loves?  The colors on the boats are the same, though some are faded from bright blue to pale turquoise.  The yellow is still pretty bright and the masts sit high and proud yelling”Hey look over here!”

To my right the men are huddled in group’s admiring the catches and barging.  One of the fishermen is selling the fish by how many will fit on his flip flops that are sitting side by side.  I hear some yelping and the dogs are in tussle over a fish that has been dropped.  I peek into a barrel and peeking back is a big black eye.  Squid! Of course I think about NGWILD and wonder if this guy is friends with the nasty Humboldt I’ve watched on TV. I hope it doesn’t spring to life and grab me.  The fisherman is now sure that gringos are a little wacky after I poke it with one finger.  Big black eye doesn’t move, I’m safe.

I am now hearing the click click click of knives as they hit the wooden tables.  Thousands of fish, piled it seems, to the top of the huts.  At each table the profusion of bodies is being cleaned with knives or small machetes.  I’m not sure which, but the sound is like an orchestra, click click click.

I see a new assemblage staring intently at the ground.  Not wanting to be left out I scurry over and try to pretend I’m not an outsider.  We follow the gaze, and at the bottom, I’m staring at BIG swordfish.  NGWILD hasn’t had anything on killer swordfish so I’m safe.  Now I’m thinking about all the perch I’ve caught in my life. You know not one of my perch can compare.  I feel left out I don’t have a big fish to lie on the beach for someone to admire.

Honk, hop and wave.  Almost didn’t make that one. We got in the wrong lane.

 A small hammerhead shark and some of his friends are at the next gathering.  I did learn how to say in spanish what is it called. Answer Dorado.  If you are wondering about Spanish not being capitalized, you don’t cap the s if you are referring to the Spanish langue.

Some birds are busy stealing fish that have been dropped while the others swoop the fish carried in conbons on the shoulders of men; thousands of fish in conbons off to the cleaning tables.

We’ve walked far enough that we are out of the circus and it’s time to turn and go home.  What a beautiful life!

                           Next: How to Taser a Rooster