More Little Observations

• The buses that go to the two larger cities I will be visiting will pick me up right across the street.  All I have to do is wave as one comes into view.  On the way back I can tell them where I want to get off and they'll stop right outside my front door.
• There are no pickles to be found here--even in the "SuperMaxi" store in the big city.  Now I know for sure I have to make pickles.  A couple I met his past week is fairly certain that if I want them, other English speakers will as well.  I have a potential cottage industry going.  (I think I put this in another of my posts--sorry if I'm repeating myself.)
• The roosters next door start crowing at midnight.  They stop somewhere around sundown.
• The dogs down the street start and stop whenever they want.
• I don't lack for animal "voices."
• Did I mention that there are no front yards?  Buildings of all kinds open directly onto the sidewalk, if there is one, or the street.
• Garbage is picked up 6 days a week: Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday are for non-organic trash and, by default, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday are for organic food.  All trash must be outside your front door by 9:00 a.m.
• Tons of food items come in bags, including milk, eggs (yes, eggs), mayo, salt.  It's quite interesting, especially since they don't have containers that would be suitable for storing said bags of stuff.  Even the butter (the stuff that's churned locally) comes in plastic bags almost exactly the same size as the chunk of butter.  I don't know how heavy they are and since they're cut by hand I guessing no two weigh exactly the same, but they look pretty darned consistent to me.
• Just down the block from me and inside one of the doorways that is normally closed (no idea why) was a woman standing over what looked a lot like a camp stove, stirring something that looked like it might have been beef or pork with potatoes on the side.  When I asked her what it was she said, "tripos."  I thought for just a moment, at which point she started rubbing her tummy, right below the belt.  Oh!  Right!  Tripos--tripe.  I thanked her very much and she laughed as I continued on my way.
• On my trip to Otavalo, the bus had to stop for three horses and riders to cross the highway.