That first day I schlepped over to Mason’s
apartment. Here I met his wife, Marietta, who works from her home
fabricating dentures. They have a five-month old baby boy, Dylan.
There was also an American, Claude Whalen, who was staying with them
temporarily and who was also having his teeth worked on by the same dentist.
It wasn’t until I got to Cuenca and was
hanging around in Mason’s apartment, that I heard about the odyssey of Bob’s
clinic. It turned out that Mason had built this clinic for Bob. It
was out of town a bit, along the PanAmerican Highway.
Apparently, unbeknownst to Bob, all of the
land surrounding the clinic was owned by some big local strongman who didn’t
like having this interloper so close by. As time went by, the clinic
was broken into twice and Bob had also been intimidated by a gun-toting carabaneri. He ultimately decided
it would be best to sell the property and to start over in a more propitious
location. So his new clinic was now only a fading memory. It was
due to be sold right around the time I arrived and Mason was scouting for a
location to build a new clinic.
The only thing I was able to do on my first
full day in Cuenca, was to go to a radiology office to get a CAT-scan of my
teeth. Mason and his wife brought me over there. I stood perfectly
still while the machine did a circle around my head. It cost me only
$20. And, after waiting just a few minutes, I was presented with a large
x-ray-looking sheet in an envelope. It showed a panoramic view of my jaw
and all the teeth in my mouth. It looked pretty impressive.
It turned out that the dental clinic was
about three miles from my hostel. It was a pleasant walk along the river,
for the most part. I managed to get two appointments for the next day,
Thursday, at 10:00 AM and 4:00 PM.
I set out walking the next morning, and of
course I walked the wrong way. Totally confused and time running out, I
decided to hop into a taxi. He drove a long way. (I had not yet
determined that I had walked the wrong way along the river.)
Soon I arrived and met my dentist, Dr. A.V.
Clermo. The only gripe I have is that Clermo had no idea I was coming
until about a week before I arrived. He had to cancel quite a few
appointments to accommodate me. I felt bad for those folks who had to
wait (Claude was one of them) but I also felt fortunate that he was able to fit
me in. Here it was, the last week of March and I thought Bob had already
set up my appointments after I called him in early February, but I suppose he
didn’t get around to it until I called about a week before my departure.
It was now clear to me that Bob was an absent-minded professor type who seems
to have trouble following through on things. No matter. The dentist
was very accommodating under the circumstances, knowing that I had flown all
this way to see him and that I had less than a week now to complete the
work. In the end it all worked out.
In any event, Dr. Clermo was
gracious. He looked at the CAT-scan and we talked about what I wanted
done. The scan showed only one root canal but also ten mercury
fillings. First, he said he would extract the big, dead molar (root canal) on
the right side of my mouth. This required surgery. He injected lots
of local anesthetic. Then proceeded to do some cutting and tugging.
The tooth was brittle and broke into many pieces but it finally came out.
I felt no pain.
From Clermo’s office I walked over to a
Farmacia he recommended to buy my prescriptions: some antibiotics, some pain
pills and powder, and some antiseptic mouthwash. I also bought some
vitamin-C tablets. My 2-3 years of high school Spanish started to
kick-in. I still wonder at my ability to remember some of the vocabulary
and a little grammar after so many years. But it only takes a day or two
of immersion and I do pretty darn well in present tense!
I returned that afternoon (after noting my
directional error and correcting for that). It took about 50 minutes to
walk there. He immediately proceeded to install a rubber dam and remove
two mercury fillings and replace them with a non-toxic, composite
material. It was harrowing at times. No anesthetic was
used. As he got a bit too close to the nerve endings there was some
sharp, jolting pain. And while this drama played out, the Turkish Rondo
suddenly sounded (somebody’s ringtone). This lent an air of comedy or a sort of
keystone cops sensibility to the scene. Soon he finished and now there
were two down and eight to go. My third appointment was the next day,
Friday at 11:30 AM.
Friday’s appointment was spent on the two
teeth with the deepest fillings. These needed to be replaced with
in-lays. A silicone mold was taken and sent off to the local lab.
There, zirconia in-lays (partial crowns) were fabricated and, I suppose, were
returned the same day because I had an early appointment the next day,
Saturday, at 8:00 AM, and they were ready. (However, Clermo was not
satisfied. “I want them to fit perfectly,” he said. He took another
silicone mold and sent this off for them to be fabricated over again – on a Saturday!)
My final appointment would be on Monday at 3:30 PM.
After my Friday appointment, I went over to
Mason’s apartment. I had been pestering him to show me around Cuenca and
maybe some outlying towns. After lounging around at his place for a bit,
he asked if I wanted to take a walk. Off we went. We headed down
Gran Columbia to Av. Huayna Capac and right by my hostel, heading down toward
the river. Almost from the start of our little meandering we got into a
far-ranging dialogue about life that went from the philosophical to the
metaphysical. Mason was 35-years old. I noticed back at the
apartment he was reading a book entitled J.
Krishnamurti in Conversation with David Bohm. He is a spiritual
seeker, but unlike many such seekers, Mason is intensely focused, with a
knowing certitude that is slightly disarming. As we walked, I listened to
his life story.
His childhood and that of his siblings
sounded pretty grim. He had a brother in jail who remains
unrepentant. In fact, Mason had done a stretch himself for assault and
attempted murder. But, unlike his brother, Mason had come around during
his confinement; he had opened to some universal truths and was actively
working to overcome his former demons. I believe he said his father was an alcoholic
and porno addict. His sister had been murdered. There was a lot of
early drug use. It all sounded so intensely debased that it was
remarkable Mason was able to transcend it all. He had given up drinking
alcohol about six months prior and he appeared to be devoutly dedicated to his
new path of righteousness. Speaking of which, Mason had even studied to
be a Christian preacher. Part of that training was to present lectures
around various parts of the country. This familiarized him with the Bible
and strengthened what seemed like very natural public speaking abilities.
In short, I liked Mason. He was a man of both contemplation and action.
He articulated his stance on various things with strength and
conviction. He had a ready smile and a no-nonsense approach to most
things. Though young, I sensed an old soul as we walked and talked and
hung out at the city park, a massive lot of green where the central river
melded with the southern branch. Here, we rested a bit while talking
about whether the use of violence is ever appropriate. It was a fine,
sunny day and our conversation took us places. Slowly, we made our way
back toward my hostel.
There we parted ways. I went to take
a nap. We agreed to meet a few hours later at the symphony hall, just a
block from where I was staying. And we did just that – we attended the
symphony that evening with his business partner and that partner’s lovely
Ecuadorian wife. It wasn’t half bad, as symphonies go, starting off with
Bachianas Brasileiras No. 4, by Brazilian composer Heitor Villa-Lobos.
But we all got a little bored and took off after about two-thirds of the way
into the program, and called it a night.
Hostel life, especially on the weekend, was
more than a little raucous. The one window of my small room overlooked
the kitchen area. There were some Dutch girls and some Germans too, with
a sprinkling of Aussies and Americans and who-knows-who – all gathered around
in the kitchen and the TV lounge area. It was one loud party Friday
night. I was holed up in my room, alternately screening films and trying
to get some shut-eye. The party would take up again Saturday
afternoon. Lots of drinking and loud talking and kids being kids.
Still, it was manageable.
At my 8:00 AM appointment on Saturday
Clermo removed the remaining mercury fillings and replaced them with non-toxic
composite material. I was out by 10:15 and headed toward the market to
investigate how things went on the weekend. The “hill ladies” were there
with their trademark hats and colorful peasant dresses. Vegetables and
fruits were overflowing from the lines of stands; meats were hanging or sitting
in platters and folks were cruising up and down the aisles, gawking and sometimes
buying. In the back of the market there were lots of shoes for
sale. Closer to the town square I had been eyeing a pair of high top
dress shoes like my grandfather used to wear. But here the shoes looked
like cheap China knock-offs and nothing appealed to me. There were lots
of other things too, hardware and tools and stuff you find in markets
worldwide.
I went up to the second floor and got some
just-made carrot and alfalfa juice, followed by a cup of freshly-squeezed
orange juice. Then I wandered over to the prepared food section.
Stalls were lined up in a horse-shoe. Each stall featured a whole roast
pig and potatoes and salad. A portion of each pig was gone, to one extent or
another, having been carved up and served. There were tables and chairs
within the horse-shoe where families were gathered with their plates of
food. I got some potatoes and salad, then moved on to shop for grapes
and bananas and apples and such.
The mornings, like the evenings, were cool,
but now it was warming up. I made my way down Calle Largo with my bags,
heading for my little hostel refuge. When I got there I noticed there was
not much activity. Most were still sleeping off the antics of the night
before. The rest of the day was spent lollygagging around. I
decided I needed a mental health day of doing nothing but resting up without
much mucking about. After all, I had really been on the move since
arriving.
Sunday, March 30, was a balmy day with
blue skies interrupted now and again by cloud banks. At mid-morning I set off
for Mason’s apartment and ended up taking a walk with Claude. It was his
birthday. He was 63. We again headed for the same park.
Claude was from Seattle but had also lived
in California. He told me his father had grown up in Berlin, MD. On
this walk, and another one we took later, we talked of many things – mineral
supplements, the JFK assassination, the New World Order, Zionism, fractional
reserve banking, even extraterrestrials. Claude knew a lot about “Billy”
Meier and I asked him to tell me what he knew about this modern-day,
quasi-Gurdjieff-like character. He had some startling revelations about
this deeply spiritual man, now living in Switzerland, and I made up my mind to
pick up some of his books soon.
We were getting hungry and by pure chance
ended up at a place called the Inca Bar & Bistro that overlooked the
river. It turned out to be what I would call a gringo bar. The American owner,
Mike, was in and he introduced himself. He seemed like a nice guy.
I soon regaled him with stories of Stubby Knuckles and, after telling him he ought
to have some live music in here, was told that he had live music in there all
the time. He said he has a PA and even has an electric piano with
weighted keys. It was definitely a serendipitous synchronicity. I
made sure to give him my card and told him that I would return and play here
when I did. He seemed pleased to hear that and I had that good feeling of
having found a gig in a special place. (This was not the place I have
seen in a “prophetic” vision, but it was close enough and I already long to return
and to play here.)
Monday arrived too soon. I was
down in the kitchen early, washing and cutting up some vegetables and
fruit. A charming and lovely young lady strolled in just then
and I offered her some of my bounty. Her name was Emma. We hit it
off immediately and ended up going out onto the veranda, where we got into
a very spirited conversation while sharing some grapes. It turned out she
was close to graduating from law school when she suddenly experienced a phase
of extreme ennui. And so she was off to travel around for some months to
chase away this demon. She looked strikingly like my sister,
Jane. In fact, her father was
Algerian and her mother was French. She was from southern France. She had just arrived at the hostel
the night before. She spoke English rather well and I invited her downtown
to "show her everything that I had already discovered." She
eagerly accepted my invitation. She was just 25 years old. I felt
fatherly (brotherly, actually) toward her and I just really enjoyed being with
her.
We went to the juice bar at the
Mercado. There were some huge eggs on display at this stall.
She inquired about them. They were ostrich eggs. She wanted some of
that in her juice. She was an adventurous lass to say the least and we
traded contact info. Soon we returned to the hostel. Although
I invited her to lunch, she went to take a nap and ended up sleeping for
hours, way beyond lunchtime. I saw her later, briefly, and in my mind I
lamented that I would soon be leaving...
It would be my last full day in Cuenca and
I decided to buy some gifts for the family on this day. I had been
eyeing some woolen goods at a tiny shop along my usual route to the downtown
area. So I went there and bought a lovely white wool sweater with a hood
($22) and a pink poncho made from a mixture of lamb’s wool and llama wool with
a stylish, pink woolen watch cap/beret ($33). Marietta dragged me to a
souvenir market where I picked up a pair of maracas with “Ecuador” carved into
them.
My final appointment was on Monday at 3:30
PM. This time the inlays fit perfectly and they were put in place.
Clermo offered to give me a periodontal cleaning for $100. This was the
finishing touch. The total I paid was about $1750 (for surgery to remove
the root canal tooth, ten mercury fillings removed and replaced, including two
molar inlays, and a cleaning). This was probably about one-third what I
would have had to pay in the states. As for replacing the tooth that had
been extracted, Marietta took a look and quoted me a special price of $120
to fabricate a removable denture. There was a waiting period of at
least six weeks before that can be attempted. My regular dentist has
agreed to provide her with a silicone mold or whatever is needed for her
to do the job when the time comes.
On Tuesday I came for a final visit to
Mason’s apartment. Somehow, Dr. Hulda Clark came up in the
conversation. She was a pioneer in vibrational healing frequencies
with her “zapper.” And wouldn’t you know it, Claude knew all about her
work and even had a zapper with him. He offered to hook me up for an hour
and a half treatment and I gladly accepted. It was all too much, really –
synchronicity beyond serendipity!
