Home of the $20 Pineapple & Lots of Marching Around

Lots of great street art

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The farmer’s market in old town drew me in the next day. I was there fairly early (10ish), and only the produce stalls were set up. I can’t stress how few tourists were there then and throughout the rest of the day in old town along Kamehameha Ave, the main drag. The Governor’s request a few days ago that visitors postpone their trips had real impact.

Oh, the flowers and fruit. Nearly everyone had the same foods, so it was a random choice except for a gorgeous bouquet of Anthurium and other local flora in a hand-made basket of leaves for my friend – I bought the last one there and wished I could get one a week for my own table. 

Planning on spreading the wealth, I went to another vendor and selected a papaya, a mango and a pineapple. For which I was charged $31. After I picked myself up off the concrete, I went to my car making one mental excuse after another as to why that was OK. I drove around the block, parked in the same spot and marched back. I took the fruit out of the bag one by one, and asked the prices (which I should have done in the first place). Papaya= $2. Mango=$9 (“But it’s special, imported!”) – she got that one back. Pineapple=$20. I didn’t see the gold leaf on it, and she said, “But it’s a white pineapple, and I can’t take it back because I’ve already taken the green leaves off.” 

I was handily had, with a very expensive pineapple. I marched to the car, got my phone and marched back. I took her picture, told her she should be ashamed of herself, and that I would make her famous (well, infamous, but I didn’t want to go into detail). Haole Revenge! So here she is, The Premium Pineapple Purveyor of Hilo Farmer’s Market; do not buy from this scoundrel! Or at least ask the price...

You can't hide behind that $6 mango, lady!

The fruit was delicious, even the pineapple. Even the one third of it that was close to rotten, but darn, I paid for it, I’ll eat it!

The big, not particularly inviting KTA

Hilo Surplus

I did walk around old town, passing lots of hairy brown-tinted surfers and the occasional change-requester, joint in hand. The buildings remain charming, though crying out for a loving touch of maintenance here and there. The real local action is on the side streets, with the big KTA discount grocery (on Mamo St. near Keawe – good lomilomi by the pound here)... Hilo Surplus (great camping equipment, Mamo near Kilauea),

Puna Chocolate Co. (Keawe St. near Furneaux – what can I say: brilliant chocolate, locally grown, ground and packaged), and my secret go-to, L&L barbecue on Kino’ole St. at Mamo. Yes, it looks like a dump with a steady stream of customers, and everything is actually made to order. I miss L&L already.💖

But that night is when things really got interesting…

Off to the Sun: a Day of Art in Scottsdale

Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art  (SMOCA) Moon viewing installation

 Thank goodness for friends in far-flung places. When the dampness in Northern California results in a fine layer of mold on things that should never see spores (and it has been one rainy winter!), my thoughts stray to sunnier climes and my good friends who are smart enough to live there. And who are willing to put up with me for a few days...

First stop on this trip: Michele, who lives just outside Florence, AZ, midway between Greater Phoenix and Tucson. Florence is one of the oldest towns in Arizona, a typical dusty desert town, I always thought it didn't have a lot to recommend it; but on this trip I learned how wrong I was (more on that in a later blog).

Michele picked me up at PHX (also known as Sky Harbor), and we hit the ground running. Or rather riding. Scottsdale is one of several smaller cities that has been encompassed by Greater Phoenix, but retains a distinctive identity, and one of the coolest things about Scottsdale is the free trolley that buzzes around Old Town, where a lot of the museums, galleries and shopping extravaganzas mix with dozens of restaurants and cafes. It runs every 15 minutes, and yes folks, it's free. So we parked and picked it up, taking in the big art pieces that dot the landscape


Our appetites whetted for more visual candy, we hopped off the trolley  and walked a couple blocks to Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art (better known as SMOCA), currently celebrating its 20th anniversary with a series of world-class videos.






 
The museum is a success story in every way. Resurrected from an abandoned, run-down warehouse, the space is gorgeous. Sleek modern architecture surrounded by sensitive desert plantings abound in Scottsdale, and this is another fine example. The high ceilings make for vast installations that wouldn't look right anywhere else.

I've never been to a museum where the docents (who look nothing like the typical idea of a docent, by the way) are so enthusiastic about the art, they can't help but share their excitement about the artworks and the artists behind them - definitely an education in contemporary art.

The objects in this picture may look like giant pushpins, but they're actually chairs that rock from side to side - a little disorienting at first, but then, it's a party!

After our contemporary art tour, we drove down to the Desert Botanical Garden in Scottsdale for a truly magical experience.

All images by Joanne Orion Miller unless otherwise noted.

Ecuadorian Cuisine …

The Plaza across from Palacio Arzobispal

The courtyard of Palacio Arzobispal

…is an oxymoron. No, that's not entirely fair. The pineapple is ambrosial (native to South America) and the assortment of exotic fruits and juices is divine. Restaurant diners, however, are subject to the Ecuadorian triumvirate: potatoes, corn and (fried) meat. I was in the mood for good old chicken soup, and I enjoyed a fine bowl at a little place called "Juan Fogonero" in the shopping center (really a building divided into shops, called Palacio Arzobizpal) on the corner of Avs. Chile and Venezuela in old town Quito. They take credit cards! Very pretty inside, with a genuinely helpful staff. 


I wandered about town for a while and rain suddenly started to fall in torrents. Along with the townspeople, I pressed myself up against a wall and hoped for the best--and it did get better, or at least wetter. I intended to try some place other than the Palacio Arzobispal for dinner, but it was close, covered, and dry. I went to another restaurant on the third floor, "Hasta la vuelta, Senor"--the paper placemat told a long and involved story (in Spanish) explaining the name, all of which was lost on me. Meanwhile, the rain thundered on the courtyard roof, and a small dove begged for crumbs a few feet away. The restaurant promised authentic Ecuadorian food, and once again, I ordered chicken soup--it couldn't have been more different from my first bowl. This soup also contained real chicken broth, but instead of small pieces of chicken and veges, there was one chicken leg and a potato cut into large pieces. It was topped with a dill-like herb I had seen people selling on the street; it was different, and also good. I ordered an appetizer that turned out to be a deep-fried dough ball stuffed with potatoes and cheese that required a hammer and chisel to open; not particularly tasty, but the small masa corn tamale (all corn, no filling) was delicious with the local beer.
On the way out, on Av. Venezuela, I stopped by an excellent little bakery and bought fresh baked goods--a sweet bread and what looked like a danish--for breakfast. The fruit, the beer, the baked goods--Quito has those down!

Old Town Quito

The Hotel Plaza Sucre manifests that entirely overused descriptive: charming. It's bright, quiet, clean, and filled with boldly colored paintings and sculpture. The best rooms are probably 201, 303--pretty much any room that looks over the interior library area--mainly because latecomers (there are plenty of those due to the late flights into town) have to ring the loud buzzer to get in. Walls are a bit thin, but these are really quibbles in an overall pleasant stay. The location in old town is right in the middle of everything. 

The top-floor restaurant  where breakfast is served looks out over the rooftops toward the winged Madonna that guards the city. The Madonna, which is visible from most parts of Quito was commissioned in 1976 by a religious order; Spanish artist Agustín de la Herrán Matorras built a 150-foot-tall (45 metres) monument made of seven thousand pieces of aluminum.  The Madonna may be the only one in the world with wings: it was inspired by the famous "Virgen de Quito" (Quito's Madonna) also known as "the dancer" sculpted in 1734, which now decorates the main altar at the nearby Church of St. Francis.

Ceiling detail from Inglesia de San Francisco, another of Quito's many churches

As deserted as the streets were at 11:30PM last night, today they are teeming with people, mostly locals. I stand out like a salt shaker in the middle of a plate filled with ground chili pepper--I'm that much taller. Also, next time I'll bring a skirt that covers my knees--I keep getting the "puta look" from women, the somewhat sour face that's the visual equivalent of "American tart". Here in old town, each building's street floor holds a dozen tiny businesses, selling everything from fruit to toys, pinatas to clothing. 

There are many hawkers wandering the streets--I take these to be country people from their style of dress and method of carrying goods, sometimes wrapped in shawls, or in buckets or plastic bags.

Finding one's way around requires an infallible sense of direction and sturdy shoes--I only have one of those two requirements, and spent considerable time walking in circles.

I couldn't find the restaurant I was looking for on Av. Junin, but with the aid of an army officer (there are quite a few of them about, as well as policia--the entire area is highly militarized), I found the Inglesia de Compania, recommended to me by friends in Cuenca, a town two hours by plane to the south. The exterior is ornately carved volcanic stone, but it hardly prepares you for the inside. I've always associated the Catholic Jesuits with a certain level of modesty, a theory blown to hell by this structure built between 1605 and 1745. Let's start with the obvious--there are roughly 114 pounds (50-52  kilos) of gold leaf covering nearly every vertical surface, all carved into a mass of phantasmagorical fruits, flowers, figures and curvaceous columns. Unwilling to stop with the walls, the artists covered the football-sized curved ceiling with yet more carvings and gold. You get the feeling that if you sat long enough inside, you'd absorb some of that richness. The sides of the church are lined with ornate altars dedicated to various saints including the local gal, St. Mariana. Overhead, a series of small round dome windows let in light; above the nave, in front of the impressively carved altar, a single large dome painted with saints floating in a heavenly blue background lights the front section of the church. This church is both impressive and inspiring; St. Peter's has nothing on this as a paean to the dedicated strength of faith of the many hands that created this magnificent structure.
 
Later this evening, I went out for a walk to parts I hadn't been to, and my unerring travelwriter instincts led me to what could only be described as a favela--a real shantytown with dirt streets. It didn't look like a good place for little old sweet me (read "target") to hang around, and I didn't think I needed any cd's or computer equipment--which the street businesses were selling at greatly reduced prices--so I turned around and walked back on the "street of schmatas", shops filled with ornate formal wear and other items of South American fashion.

I'm on my Way/Galapagos

 

This morning I fly from San Francisco to Houston, then Houston to Quito, Ecuador. My anxiety level was such last night that I woke up with a stomachache at 1:30AM, managed to doze until 2:30, then gave up and got up. The airporter didn't leave until 4:30AM, so I dealt with a cranky cat and assorted compulsive actions, like reboiling my eggs because I left them out (I ended up eating one and throwing the other away in the Houston airport. I just couldn't face another egg.). One real gift--and I recognized this with enormous gratitude as the universe watching out for me since I did ask for help--I remembered that the second half of my flight itinerary had a little "check in" button after it, and I had only checked into the first half, to Houston. I got up, turned on the computer (all the while accompanied by Ozzie's yowling over my strange behavior) and took another look. I got the confirm number and went to check it against the one I already had, only to discover that my passport was nowhere in my bag. I had laid it on top of the cabinet when I repacked, and I might have left it altogether. Disaster!

The first flight from SFO started out in the dark at 6:45 and I tried to sleep through the bad stomach with little luck. The gasses in the body expand with the canned air pressure in the cabin, and apparently I had plenty to expand; ginger ale helped. 






When I looked out the window, the dawn formed a thin red line on the horizon in front of us. The ground below was perfectly clear, a study in Chiarascuro; white snow and black trees, stitched together by a few thin roads. The wrinkled terrain looked like carelessly dropped velvet. 


That broadened into something extraordinary--a series of mountains and deep canyons, and a river so wide in places it was a tin foil-bright lake.
Considering we were 30,000 feet up, those were some mountains! It was exquisite in the sharp light of dawn. I took some shots out the plane window, though I doubt the pix will do justice. After a while, arrow-straight roads began to appear, so long and thin, you could have darned a giant's socks with them. Then further signs of human taming of the landscape...neat squares and circles connected by lines. I wonder what that wonder was:-)


***
During a very dull 4-hour layover in Houston, I met a friendly, studious-looking guy while waiting for the Quito flight. An Ecuadorian, a university teacher...he wanted to show me around, but he's working the only day I'll be in town. Hard to determine whether he was just friendly or hitting on me. Most likely the former. He wanted to give me his phone number--I had to let him know my phone doesn't work outside the US, much to my disgruntlement (It's one of the reasons I bought an iPhone, but only iPhone4 and above can take international SIM cards). We chatted about the recent election; he said most Ecuadorians like President Rafael Correa, but few know that he's shutting down a number of colleges in the country, and eliminating career tracks. I didn't know that education, even higher education, is free in Ecuador, at least for now. A recent article on RT asks, "Is Ecuador America's new enemy number one?"


***
We've begun our descent into Quito. It's a four-hour time difference (all together, counting the 2-hour difference in Houston). I've been in the air a total of 10 hours, plus a 4-hour layover. However, I made every flight. Another part of my adventure begins. I'm looking forward to seeing southern stars--another first.

Well, that's settled.

The Fragata, looking its best

I've found it pays to ask if there are deals. I found a very good price on a five-day/four-night trip aboard a first class yacht, the Fragata. The price came from a site called "Galapagos Last Minute". I ended up paying about $1600 for the cruise, including all meals and flights from Quito to Baltra and back ($250--muchas gracias, Rodrigo!). I considered a less expensive boat from the same company (tierraverde tours)--the Golondrina--but I read reviews and it appeared to be smaller and more rickety; I was concerned about seasickness and personal space, as I'll probably have to share a cabin. Fortunately, they offered me the deal, and I took it. As for a hotel, I found a place called Boutique Hotel Plaza Sucre in old town Quito for a very good price (half of the hotel's website price, so I paid $50/night instead of $100) on Booking.com. I have no idea what I'm getting into; everything looks good on the internet. I was so nervous about sending a bunch of money via wire to a company I didn't know that I paid with my credit card instead, which cost me an extra Ben Franklin--but I felt better about it in case I was being conned. It happens. I plan to be in Quito a day ahead of the boat trip, as I can't be sure I'll get my flights.