The Relevance of Leaf Cutter Ants - Two months on.

Hello,

To any reader who has wondered where this blog has been for two months, we're sorry to keep you waiting.

We returned to Boston at the very end of April (as the immigration lady pointed out, we were on our 91st day, and therefore technically overstaying the visa limit, but she let us through).  Nan visited her father and, unfortunately very sick step- mother in Arizona.  Fortunately she has made good progress since, and is back home.   Emma and Mike attended the last month of school - Emma's last before migrating to the high school next year.  It was certainly an unusual end to the year, after three months of living such a (for us) radically different lifestyle.

Ecuador is stunningly beautiful.  But when Emma and I (Mike) went to visit my mum in England, I was reminded of the beauty of the bluebell woods in May, just a short walk from her house, where I grew up.

For those who like picture and videos, we have added links (more are coming) to several five minute segments of film/slide show from different parts of the journey.  If you can take the time, the 30 minute 'director's cut' may interest you.  They try to tell the story of being there, with some cool music (mostly Ecuadorian) thrown in.

Reflections on our return are still coming thick and fast.  So much of the experience had to do with adapting to unfamiliar circumstances - our regular life is mostly predictable - that is a buzz that is often, by its nature, contradictory.

Not quite sure if this blog is over yet - We are incubating the experience over the summer, and will hopefully bring forth something productive and useful for people, both in Ecuador and here in Maynard, MA.

We saw leaf cutter ants - check out this 5 minute very cool lesson about them if you are into this stuff. The colony thrives, partly by sending great armies of ants to nearby trees (up to 100 meters away (or more maybe).  The ants chew the leaves into sections about 2 or 3 centimeters across, then carry them to the nest where worker ants transform the leaves into a pulp which becomes their food. It is hard to escape feeling like just one of gazillions of ants, each with a task to do, but so easily replaced when rendered useless one way or another.  However, it is equally amazing and fascinating to at least understand some of what is going on in the world around us.  A glimpse into the world of leaf cutter ants is a microcosm of a much larger world - one in which conflict, survival, sense of purpose, opportunity and chance co-mingle in such a way that one might suspect a sense of humor behind the origin of this world we live in.

Cotocachi Calling

May 10^th, 2013

     Cotocachi - the name alone conjures up romantic images of distant lands.  Last week, we had only to step outside the back door of the house to see, on a clear day at least, the peak of this magical mountain and to feel its spell cast across the valley.  Now, the mountain sits thousands of miles away, visible only in pictures, though also still deeply etched in my consciousness, along with the memories and feelings of so much else we experienced during our three months in Ecuador.  Even though we are now home, we are not done writing yet.

     Our time was always going to be limited. Alas, various circumstances meant that we had to cut short our stay be a few weeks.  The biggest change is that we were not able to follow through on the original plan to work at the school in the community of Yambiro, also close to Otavalo. Three months is still so much more than we could have enjoyed however, and the sensation of privilege at having this kind of opportunity has never really escaped us during our time here.  Now we have the opportunity to reflect and wonder perhaps about the longer lasting meaning of such an adventure in our lives.

     Our journey home was somewhat surreal. Marcelo took us to the bus on the outskirts of Otavalo.  We loaded our three giant bags (too many goodies to bring home perhaps), and I had the chance to sit up front with the driver and conductor for the 90 minute ride over the mountains to Quito.  As on our first drive up here, every moment is enthralling, either because of the phenomenal views of the mountains and valleys, or the forever beguiling scenes of people as they go about their lives.  In some respects of course, they are doing what people do the world over - traveling to work, trading, shopping, visiting friends, waiting, worrying about family, laughing or trying to fix a car broken down on the side of the road.  But to my eyes, the context is different enough that the scenes are so much more captivating than the same familiar ones at home.  The cinematic experience is enhanced somewhat by the sound of Ecuadorian and Columbian music playing on the bus - always a guaranteed mood enhancer.

The road from Otavalo to Quito

     Note to anybody trying to get to a hotel in the Centro Historico of Quito on a Sunday - Don't!  The streets are closed down to traffic, with the result that Emma and I had to lug a heavy bag through the streets to a hotel which then turned out to be overbooked and couldn't take us in.  Well, all was well in the end, not least because the amazingly helpful owner of the hotel booked us into another place (and paid for the night).  Her good nature counteracted that of a taxi driver who tried to charge us $5.00 for a 300 meter ride and who seemed completely incredulous when we refused to pay an amount that would normally have carried us almost the length of the city.  This is the short version of the story incidentally, one that involved three different taxis and yet another example of the roller coaster ride that has typified so much of our travels here in Ecuador.

     After what proved to be perhaps THE most disappointing lunch in Ecuador (we suspect the chef fell asleep, then forgot just what he had already added in the way of salt to our meals) we ventured onto the ever crowded trolly bus heading south to visit our host family from when we first stayed here.  Three months before, we arrived late on a Wednesday night at the home of Marlena and Orlando, barely able to speak Spanish and largely clueless about what the experience would bring us. Now, navigating around Quito seemed like second nature.  We knew exactly where to find a bakery to get a cake for the family, and the streets seemed comfortably familiar. Since we left at the end of February, Marlene had delivered her baby, young Nicolas, now just six weeks old.  Where entertainment previously centered around frequent games of cuarenta, Nicolas was now the center of attention.  Orlando is the happiest of Dads, and it was a treat to see such joy in the family.  I took a quick look in the room that the three of us had shared for three weeks, unable to quite believe that we had managed it. Was the bed really as hard as we remembered?  I refrained from testing it once again.  For all the discomforts of our actual sleeping arrangements, we will never forget this wonderfully kind family who made our introduction to Ecuador so delightful.  We learned about new foods, customs, and developed enthusiasm for the progress of the Ecuadorian national futbol team.  Our last meal there consisted of empanadas de platano and the cake we had brought with us - not as slimming as the diet we had previously, but a good way to bid our farewells.

 

Dinner with Jesu and family in Peguche. We first met Jesu in Maynard.

Among many reasons for choosing this ‘adventure’ was the desire to take on a challenge as a family.  Emma of course had little real choice in the matter, though perhaps we would have done things differently if her objections had been stronger.  She was understandably reluctant to come to Ecuador for more than a short holiday in the beginning, but now talks of really missing her new friends here, and of what might have been if we could stay longer.  The three of us shared a small room for three weeks with our host family in Quito, and several hotel rooms since. We have shared our best experiences, and been together to talk about the emotionally more difficult times (and there have been some of those).  We have worked together in the markets of Quito, and the classrooms of Esperanza de Azama. We have worked together on some ‘school’ activities, and also found time to separate and go our different ways at times.  On a few occasions, we have huddled together over our computer watching a movie, or, when downloading speeds permitted, episodes of the TV show Psych.  We have little way of knowing the long term impact of this trip on our family, but at least for now, there is a warm feeling of satisfaction that we have all learned a lot more about each other, and found it worthwhile (though perhaps Emma and Nan should speak for themselves).  

 

Emma and UK cousin Aimee (right) & friends.

   Having promised grandparents at home that we would never let Emma out of our sight, we have indeed let her spend time away with other people (and worried about just what would happen).  Just two evenings ago, she took a bus with three other girlfriends into Otavalo one evening as if she were walking down to Maynard. Two months ago, such a prospect would have seemed dangerous – our thirteen year old taking public transport into an Ecuadorian city accompanied by three other girls with whom she has limited communication skills. Did we worry?  Of course, but no more so than we worry back in Maynard under similar circumstances. My fears of her being led astray into some darker community were laid to rest when it transpired that what they really wanted was an ice-cream sundae (Ecuadorian style – with cheese on top).  I suspect that in the coming years, we will have bigger things to be concerned about back home.  Recent events in Boston remind us that one does not have to travel to remote locations to find dangerous situations for ones children.

     The culture of companionship between children and adults is quite different here. We can be reading, or looking at the computer, and the kids and adults will gather together with a level of comfortable contact that is unusual at home, where even a pat on the back is sometimes considered stepping over boundaries. I could be showing a group of children how to do a drawing, and feel curious hands in my hair, no doubt wondering at the different texture of curly locks (now sorely in need of a cut). Such an event would probably have to be documented at home, and involve a conversation between administration and parents as to the appropriateness of the behavior.  Our fear of improper contact has now separated us from a level of intimacy which is simply about being comfortable with one another. Such fears are well founded on the behaviors of abusive adults of course. It was refreshing however to be among people where the prevailing culture is to not let the fears limit the positive value of appropriate intimacy.  Don’t worry – I won’t be advocating strongly for any rule changes back home.

Inspired by Mr. Moses

Sunday, April 28^th

     Mike here: Our journey to South America began with a history teacher of mine  (Mr. Moses appropriately enough) back in about 1976.  We studied pre-Columbian civilizations of Central and South America. The human history was fascinating, as was the lure of the Andes.  Stories of people building an empire along many hundreds of miles of one of the World’s great mountain ranges were quite magical to me at the time.  

     Thirty-seven years later, I woke up at around 5:00 as usual to our last morning here in Esperanza de Azama, contemplating what I will miss about being here.  Cocks crow each morning, fortunately not usually too close to our house, a pleasing chorus in nature’s harmony with other birds greeting the day. Other than them, it is almost silent. Dogs bark occasionally, and once in a while the distant hum of an airplane reminds us of more distant Worlds. More often than not, the days are cloudy, though still pleasant.  Today however provided an exceptional treat – a gorgeous parting gift in the shape of mostly clear skies, a bright three quarter moon high in the west, and a glorious sunrise behind Imbabura in the east.   

     The early light reveals the dramatic contours of Cotocachi in the north, and more distant mountains, adorned with wisps of cloud remind us that this is just one tiny part of the great Andes. Nan normally likes to stay in bed a little later, but this time I pulled her out so that we could share the stunning beauty and tranquility of what has been our home for most of the last two months. Fortunately she appreciated the gesture.

     This is my kind of holy place, one that brings together the essential elements of reasons to live – the rising sun, the presence of volcanoes with their dichotomy of destructive power and life-giving necessity, fields of corn, and the companionship of one who I love dearly.  I gave thanks to Mr. Moses and remembered that the consequences of even the smallest human interactions can be so far reaching for the future of any student.

     Our last full day here in the Otavalo area just happened to be a Saturday, and so a good day to revisit the market scene there.  The faithful Cotocachi bus took us into town where we ambled around a tour of some of the haunts that are now so familiar to us, and some new parts too.  We passed the church overlooking town with a giant bird head and wings that make up the roof of the building. 

  The potato market on the old railway tracks was thriving.  I asked one lady what kinds of potatoes she had, but the reply was much too fast in Spanish for me to assimilate.  She had at least ten different varieties, but I did not venture into a discussion on the relative benefits of each.

     We briefly stopped in one of the video stores where it is possible to buy contemporary films for just a dollar.  A few weeks ago we wanted the last episode of Harry Potter.  They were out, but we were told to come back in 15 minutes.  Sure enough, another episode in the DVD pirating business was easily attained.  In this case, I really don’t feel like the Harry Potter franchise have done too badly.

    

Along the street we came to the Parque de Bolivar one more time, host yet again to various groups relaxing on the benches in the midday sun under the watchful gazes of Bolivar and Ruminawi.  In one corner is a small coffee stall called the Daily Grind, operated by one of our new friends in town, Luiz. He was very proud to introduce us to his wife and young son who happened to pass by.  This stall is an excellent viewing place for watching people – crowds moving to and from the markets, older ladies being transported in the bicycle taxis, younger women walking with colorful collections of balloons to sell, a large crowd of school kids all in uniform heading off somewhere together, and occasional blancos like us, soaking up the atmosphere, perhaps wondering too how such a feeling can be captured and released back home.

     Next to the Daily Grind is one corner of the Saturday street markets where a stall of traditional Indigenous clothing inspired Emma to want to buy a set to take home.  She who struggles to wear anything but jeans and a t-shirt was enthralled by the idea.  After researching some of the dozens of stalls selling such clothing, we found that $40.00 could get the blouse, skirt, and belt (proper names to be researched later). One can pay a lot more for the finer quality ‘ropas’, but we stuck with the machine-embroidered versions. For $3.00 more, Emma also got one of the traditional ‘gold’ necklaces that are so prevalent here.  Later in the day, when we returned to the house, as Margot showed Nan and Emma how to wrap the underskirt and skirt, and tie the cotton belt, she explained to us more about the tradition of the clothing.  The colorful belt often has a plain red belt underneath signifying the blood of the dead Incas.  The white under-skirt represents those who are alive and healthy and the black represents those who have died. The gold necklace represents acceptance of all types of people. However, the gold necklace is a relatively new addition.  In the past, it was more common for women to wear a red ceramic necklace. In yet another of her acts of amazing kindness and generosity, Margot gave one to Emma that has been in her family for many decades – a truly special gift.  Emma does indeed look pretty sharp in the outfit, though don’t expect to see her wearing it around the streets of Maynard any time soon.

Emma, Marcelo, Nicole + Rucco, Margot and Nancita

    We visited the Plaza de Ponchos briefly to visit our friend Jesu (who we met in Maynard, but who runs a stall selling mostly rugs here in Otavalo). We are saying goodbye to many people we know here, but at least we will probably see Jesu again in a few months when he comes to Massachusetts for his summer sales trip. He had just a very small stall on this day, and didn’t seem too happy with the lack of tourists. Given that there seemed to be about five times as many stalls in this market as there were tourists, I wasn’t surprised at the lack of business.  For the visitor, there is an overwhelming choice of vendors and one can only wonder at how this market appears to be able to sustain itself. The surrounding streets sell less of the touristy goods, and so have many more locals doing business. Being very accustomed to Otavalo now, we consider ourselves in-betweenies – certainly not locals, but temporary residents having a degree of familiarity with some of the locals.

     Our final stop before returning to the bus depot was to our regular bakery for a last round of the maiz rolls that Emma and I eat (we both need to eat gluten-free food). When we first came to Otavalo, our supplies brought with us from the US had been used up, so you can imagine our joy when we discovered this option.  The two women running the store became quite familiar with us over two months as we visited about three times each week.  Their reaction to our departure was typical of our encounters with almost every Ecuadorian we have met here – genuine kindness and appreciation.  They work here from about 7:00 until 10:00 at night, and I can only presume they have families too. The rolls are certainly a simple but unforgettable part of my Otavalo experience.

     Then it was back to the bus terminal for the 25 cent ride to Azama. As Emma commented, it would be so nice to just hop onto a bus at home.  Here, we have never had to wait more than 10 minutes for a bus, and we could take one to any of the neighboring towns or villages.  As well as a sense of engaging more with the community (sometimes we talk with others on the bus, sometimes not), there is the realization that every bus-load of people here represents about 15-20 cars not on the road.  

     That has apparently been changing in recent years with more people able to afford cars. We certainly see many car dealerships.  I did look up some data. In 2010, Ecuador had a vehicle ownership rate of around 70 per 1000 of population, but drops down to about 40 when you remove commercial vehicles.  The numbers for the US are 797 (423 excluding commercials) and for the UK, 519 (457 excluding commercials). Access to easy transport of course is a major indicator of economic development.  Here, there are no railways to speak of, and air travel is expensive, so roads are the only real means for people most people to travel. Given the scarcity of seat belts, the number of people riding openly in the backs of trucks, and the presence of twisting mountain roads, I am amazed we did not see more accidents. Back to some numbers, the World Health Organization shows Ecuador with a fatality rate of 186 people per 100,000 vehicles (15 for the US and 7 for the UK). The driving here is pushy rather than excessively dangerous, unlike what I witnessed in Nigeria where I was frequently reduced to closing my eyes and hoping for the best (sure enough, their fatality rate is 1,041 per 100,000 vehicles, still only 23^rd on the list).

     Our journey back to Azama was pleasingly safe and uneventful.  The Cotocachi bus company have been good to us for two months.  It is somehow pleasing to be in a land where so many bus companies are named after great volcanoes – Cotocachi, Imbabura, Cayambe, Cotopaxi, Chimborazo.  Maynard has the Clock Tower Place Shuttle.  Hmmmmm. It is hard to imagine students from afar being inspired by such a name, even if taught by a Mr. Moses.

Animal Farm - Otavalo Style

April 26^th

Susie and Jacky (Mike's sisters) contemplating breakfast?

     Those of us who are meat eaters  in the western world (we are aspiring vegetarians who can’t quite make the leap) rarely confront the connection between the cute animals we see on farms, and the concoction served on our plates in restaurants or at home.  There are exceptions of course – those who hunt, and those who actually work in slaughter-houses, but any moral objections we may have about the treatment of animals is conveniently shielded by societies that do a good job of masking the more unpleasant aspects of our lifestyles.

     The Otavalo animal market does not expose us to the actual slaughter animals, but it is an incredible display of the trading relationship between people and the animals we eat.  Held on Saturday mornings in a field on the edge of town, it is a feast for the photographer, as well as a preparation for feasts to come.  Walking to the market early in the morning (between 6 and 7 is good), the first awareness of something different is the sight of people walking away from the field carrying chickens or walking a pig. Then we come to the main road where large numbers of people are gathered, either arriving or waiting for a ride to leave with their new lively purchases. The entrance was a narrow gap in the fence on the side of the road, so we clambered through along with others making their way in. There were a handful of observers such as our selves, but it seemed that most people were there to trade. The rough field was divided up according to animal type – chickens along one side, pigs in the middle (surprise!), cattle at the far end, a handful of sheeps, goats and llamas, and other assorted small animals such as cats, dogs and guinea pigs near the entrance. 

 

     People selling animals simply stood there waiting for prospective buyers to come and make their bids.  A lot of Quechua was being spoken, so it was hard to understand the process.  The small animals traded quite quickly – perhaps for fairly standard prices, but haggling over the larger animals appeared to be a longer process, with people engaged in focused, though not very intense discussions.  In some cases, children were there selling animals.  Indeed, our host, Margot told us that when she was quite young, she would go to the market with a small collection of pigs and be expected to sell them there.

 

     This really isn’t Sainsbury’s or Stop-and-Shop.  Apart from the fact that the products are still alive, all of the activity is overlooked by the surrounding mountains and, when we were there, the sun rising above the mighty Imbabura.  The noise is different too.  No piped music or intercom calls for Brian on lane 2.  Here there is the excited buzz of conversation, cocks crowing, a megaphone delivering a repetitive sales pitch on what sounded like proper pregnancy testing, and the frequent squeals of pigs being pulled away to their new owners.  We could only wonder if they were upset at leaving the home they knew, or if they understood the fate awaiting them.

 

Cuy - Guinea Pigs

  Around the field, other traders gather to take advantage of the crowds.  A line of cafés serve the hungry, and one can also find baskets, sweets, underwear, soap and other goodies.  Trucks come and go.  On my second visit, I learned more about the selling technique.  About a dozen pigs were jammed in the back, released one by one to the ‘display’ area, while some people would come to the truck to examine the range of pigs available.

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     I am not familiar with the real inner workings of the meat industry in the West, though I do know that those of us who do eat meat could all probably eat a whole lot less.  How do we reconcile our love of pets with the battery farming of chickens? Where do we draw the line between the desire to eat meat, and the huge contribution that such habits make to climate change and irrational agricultural policies? The answers to such questions are not obvious here in Otavalo.  What is most apparent is the need to make a living.  The woman holding a sack of a dozen guinea pigs which one can peer into and make a choice is presumably more concerned with what she can afford once she has sold her animals.  While still a meat eater, I am reassured by the habit we have seen here which is that a little meat goes a long way. 

     

Otavalo - Where Ruminawi Meets Bolivar

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April 24^th

^{(Pictures on the way soon)}

     Last Sunday morning, I sat in the Parque Bolivar here in Otavalo, watching and listening to the town band play a selection of Ecuadorian and Bolivian music. A hundred or so other people were there almost entirely locals, spread around the civic square under the watchful gaze of Simon Bolivar high up on the front of the town hall A few palm trees wavered in a light breeze and the volcanic edifice of Imbabura guarded the town.  It was such a rich and restful atmosphere – one that I long to bottle and bring home so that I might recapture the flavor. Maybe I cannot use a literal bottle, but I spent every moment soaking up all that I could, leaving a few tears as payment for the pleasure.

Simon Bolivar - the Great Liberator Overlooks the Parque

     I truly love this town. Walking around here is a daily adventure into a mystical book where one never quite knows how the plot will twist.  Curiously, for a place that is listed on almost every tourist guide of Ecuador, we see relatively few other Blancos, except perhaps during the Saturday market when the streets around the main square overflow with additional stalls. Even then, the vast bulk of human activity is among locals, or people from the nearby towns. 

     Otavalo is truly a trading town.  Typically, we take the 20-minute bus ride from Esperanza de Azama, arriving at the main bus depot which is alive with people carrying anything from a few personal possessions to large sacks of potatoes or reams of fabric. There may be a selection of goats or chickens for sale by the exit to the street, where a line of food stalls serves travelers a selection of hot food – rice, corn, soups, and some bubbling oily vats of the parts of animals not normally served in any western street restaurant.  We walk along the street towards the main market – the Plaza del Ponchos – past street vendors selling fruit from wheelbarrows, jewelry from carefully arranged portable trays, or even underwear from the back of a truck parked on the side of the road.

     Most noticeable to the eye of the visitor is the clothing worn by the people here, the majority of whom are indigens. At least half of the women wear a long navy blue or black skirt, a white blouse embroidered with flowers, and a scarf or shawl over one shoulder.  Older women often wear a head-dress of some kind, often a shawl that has been folded a balanced carefully on the head.  

 Fewer of the men wear ‘traditional’ clothing.  Those that do wear white trousers and typically a blue poncho, topped off with a hat.  Interestingly, of the women who choose to wear modern clothing, very few can be found wearing skirts or dresses.  Almost all have on slacks, long-sleeved top, and given the cooler weather here, a sweater or shawl.  Most of the young men wear slightly baggy jeans, T-shirt and a light jacket.  Meanwhile, many of the teenagers, as everywhere, seek their own identity, experimenting with a variety of fashions, but it is not uncommon to see a boy sporting a carefully quaffed hairdo, expensively ripped jeans and rock star t-shirt walking hand-in-hand with a girl wearing traditional clothing.  Such a mix is part of what makes this town so rich.

     Otavalo is a relatively wealthy town, as witnessed by mostly good roads, regular garbage collection, bustling activity, and main streets in which there are no empty stores (though a walk through some of the outer areas reveals more dereliction). If wealth were to be counted by the number of women wearing the traditional gold necklaces, it would be very high. The busy traffic consists mostly of smaller cars, vans and taxis, with SUV trucks being the flashier choice of vehicle for some.  At night they can be seen and heard driving around town with music playing loud enough to shake the eyeballs, and an array of lights flashing on the underside of the car.  We see very few, if any Mercedes, Audis or other such luxury vehicles.

     The Plaza del Ponchos is the main tourist venue where one can find a vast array of blankets, jewelry, art-work, scarves and, of course, ponchos. Walking through by day, it is a maze of dozens of stalls packed tightly together so that the first time visitor can easily lose sense of direction. Walking through, the vendors will call your attention to their wares, but they are not aggressively pushy.  Indeed, the only vendors we found who actually follow one down the street have come from Spain or Italy, and are not locals.  It is difficult to comprehend the true nature of the economy of this market.  Each day, dozens put in a huge effort to set up their stalls, carrying in great bags either by hand, or on carts.  They may spend anywhere from 8-10 hours here on a normal day (more on a Saturday) with not too many people passing through, then pack everything up in the evening.  The setting up and breaking down of the market are both the most interesting times to watch it.  Time-lapse film would show a market square jam packed with a vast array of color being packed into the huge bags, and secreted into various doorways and trucks around the edge of the market where they are stored until the next day.  By around 7:00, the market square seems smaller, though still busy.  Groups of men sit in the permanent stalls playing cards or board games.  Children play tag, and along one side of the square, a line of orange tents is erected, playing host to a range of temporary restaurants at which the locals gather to eat and perhaps contemplate their day.

     On Saturdays, and to a lesser extent Wednesdays, the market expands enormously. The animal market deserves a separate story, so I will write about that later.  Suffice to say that one early Saturday while staying in town, the first thing I saw out of the window was an elderly couple walking a pig on a leash along the street as if it where a Labrador. The somewhat sleepy plaza becomes just the center of a bubbling hive of activity as many of the surrounding streets are taken over by so many more vendors. Depending on which street you venture down, you may find more of the touristy offerings, jewelry, musical instruments, or a vast array of clothing of all kinds.  This is the day when, especially in the summer months, bus-loads of Blancos are brought in from Quito, but even so, the overwhelming human presence is still Ecuadorian. It is quite liberating to have the opportunity to walk the markets without the need to buy any of the stuff – we can do that on other days when it is more peaceful, and the prices are rumored to be better. Instead, one can amble the streets soaking up the sights, sounds and smells of a huge social event and be constantly curious about what is around the next corner.

     There are other markets around town too.  For the first few weeks, we favored a vegetable and fruit market uptown where we could collect two great bags of produce, spending just two or three dollars. We have tended to stick with the conventional fruits – apples, pears, and bananas, but we have tried some of the more local ones, including babacos, pitahayas, chirimoyas, guanabanas, maracuyas (passion fruit), tree tomatoes and moras (a local type of blackberry).  I know that in the coming months when we must venture into the supermarkets at home, I will miss the flavor and character of these kinds of markets.  A big part of it is the sense that we are dealing not with a faceless commercial enterprise such as Whole Foods, but with individual family concerns. It is quite normal to buy from a woman who is not only managing the stall, but tending to her children as well, making it easy for us to resist haggling for the sake of it, and provide an extra tip on occasions.  As we learned from the markets in Quito, these are people who work incredibly long hours for very little return. It is humbling to be in their presence given an awareness of opportunities we have that they can only dream about.

     More recently, we discovered another produce market on the other side of town that has the advantage of being closer to the bus depot.  This one is close to an old railway line along which we found the potato market – I counted at least twenty different types of potato one day, although there are many thousands grown in Bolivia, Peru and Ecuador. Most of them do not see the market, but are often grown and shared between families and communities.  Alas, I have not taken the time to explore the flavors and textures in cooking, but simply being in the home of the potato is rewarding.

    

     There is the old saying about many cities such as Chicago that if you don’t like the weather, just wait a couple of hours.   In Otavalo it seems that if you get tired, wait a while, and a live band will perform, or a parade will pass by.  We have lost count of the number of parades we have seen – the most notable of which was on Good Friday, and written about a few weeks ago.  A few evenings ago, we went into town to meet our new friend Jesu, a merchant in the market here who we first met in Maynard at the October Fest of all places.  Sure enough, while walking into the town, we came across a large parade of many dancing groups in elaborate costumes and groups of school children carrying lanterns.  It proved to be the 75^th anniversary of one of the schools in town.  There are many schools in Otavalo so presumably each gets their own parade.  The next morning, I passed through the town on my way to visit a school in another community. The taxi taking me there had to divert around yet another parade, albeit a smaller one, much to the annoyance of the driver who yelled at the policeman directing the traffic.

Another parade waiting to start

     Life is not all sweetness here of course.  Much as Otavalo is a wonderfully romantic Andean location for us to visit, like any other city, there are problems.  There are those on the street who may be homeless (hard to tell), and areas of poverty in the outskirts of town.  Returning from Jesus’ home the other night, we became partially embroiled in an undercover police operation where they stopped a vehicle right next to us, hauled people out of the car, giving one in particular a hard time, and prevented us from moving away from the scene immediately (after a few minutes, they finally let the taxi back out and take us home another way).

     This entry is perhaps already too long, but we have to return to the Parque Bolivar, just a few blocks up the Calle Sucre from the Plaza del Ponchos.  We walk past an assortment of stores – electronics, restaurants, mini-groceries, clothing (both modern and traditional) and even a few instrument shops in one of which I finally bought myself a charango – details to follow. The Parque Bolivar is now one of my favorite places.  Piped music plays quietly from discreetly placed speakers, even when the band is playing. People of all ages and cultures amble slowly along the pathways, nibbling at ice creams, fruit or pastries that are for sale from street vendors. The busy fruit and veg market is just one block away, and some people wander in and out of the renaissance church of San Luis. 

     In the center is a large statue of the head of Ruminawi, one of the last Inca warriors who tried to resist the Spanish invasion of this land. Defeated in battle, he still managed to order Quito to be burned, and the temple virgins to be killed to ‘preserve their honour’. He was tortured by the Spanish in an attempt to reveal the location of the presumed Inca gold, but never divulged the secret. Three hundred years later, Simon Bolivar and Antonio Sucre led the struggle for independence from Spain and two of the main streets are now named after them.  Such violence seems so far removed from the mood of the square now, especially when the town band adds the magic of great music to the ambiance of a leisurely Sunday afternoon. Perhaps we can linger a little longer – just one more song.

...and the band plays on.

More!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Which Hotel Would Darwin Choose?

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April 14^th - 20^th

^{Galapagos Islands – Santa Cruz and Isabella}

     Charles Darwin was in his early twenties in 1831 when he set out on his voyage in the Beagle, and returned some five years later.  Only 24 years later did he publish “On the Origin of the Species”, and even that was somewhat rushed for him.  It is difficult to imagine now how it could take so long to synthesize the observations and ongoing studies, but there is something very comforting in the notion that he was able to go through his investigations and thought processes without being pressured  for the sake of commercial gain.  

     We crossed Darwin’s trail in the Galapagos, albeit with the comfort of hotels to stay in, cameras and notebooks to record some of what we saw, and experienced guides to inform us on more details than we can possibly remember about the biology, geology and social history of these islands.  I certainly left in even greater awe of what he and others were able to accomplish.  While we felt a certain sense of personal discovery whilst being here, it is truly remarkable to get a more intimate understanding and appreciation of the world in which real discovery and intelligent thinking took place.

     We had originally planned to visit the islands in early June when the weather is a little cooler, and after more research about different ways to travel here.  Circumstances changed however.  We woke up a week ago not quite sure about our plans.  By the end of the day we had booked flights and a hotel, and by 6:00 a.m. on Sunday morning, we were on our way to Quito airport for the flight to Baltra Island.  Cruises are the most touted way to see the Galapagos.  In the event, we spent six nights here – three in the main town of Puerto Ayora on Santa Cruz, and then three more on Isabella.  Each day provided opportunities for day trips to other locations and activities, and it did prove to be considerably cheaper than cruising. While I was left gazing wistfully at some of the cruise boats, wondering what we might have missed, such thoughts were quickly labeled as petty when lined up against all that we did experience.  As the reader can tell, we are not taking twenty-five years to consider the experiences before publishing, but then we have little to offer in the way of ground-breaking scientific theory – merely the reflections of privileged travelers.    

      So what did we see?   Lava – a lotta lava.  Yes, there are a lot of animals too – many of them tourists, but it is the lava that has made the most indelible impression on me.  OK, so swimming alongside a turtle was pretty darn cool too – perhaps one of the coolest minutes of my life, but I have seen Finding Nemo, and so had some idea of what to expect.  The lava fields and the life associated with them were really not too much on my radar, other than the knowledge that these islands are volcanic in origin.

Hawks overlook Bartolome - one of the 'newest' islands

Looking across to Bartolome from Jaime Island

Nan on Las Tintoras Lava Field

 

     No doubt some readers are more than partially educated on vulcanology.  In recent months, we have experienced the form of the Andes, marveled at the scale of the caldera of Quilotoa, while the great hulks of Imbabura and Cotocachi have been a constant presence over our home near Otavalo.  But these are much older volcanoes. The Galapagos islands are much newer, especially the ones on the western edge where there are several active volcanoes, though not immediately so in our presence.  Most amazing to me is the stunning variety of color and form of the lava flows, qualities dependent of the mineral content, the rate of cooling, and the age of the lava. 

Where tourists, locals and the animals meet - Fish market on Isabella

     Biogeographic diversity, endemic species, mantle plumes, species vulnerability…. There is a lot of science to learn about right here. I don’t think Emma yet fully appreciates the scope of what she has to digest for her upcoming ‘report’ that she will compile, but she did comment yesterday on the value of being able to write about things she has actually seen rather than simply reading about or watching on electronic media.  It is difficult to pin down the real difference between first-hand experience and simply reading or watching somebody else’s account.  We can learn at least as much in the way of facts and understanding without actually traveling.  Our pictures pale in comparison to those of expert photographers, and one can argue that our money could be better spent elsewhere.  It is the multi-sensual experience that is so rewarding however – something that pictures and words can only convey occasionally.  To breathe the air, to hear distant calls from the birds, and to feel the clammy sweat of the midday climate is to become, even if only for a brief period, part of the lifeblood of new worlds.

Female (I think) Lava Lizzard

Marine Iguana

A cool dude - don't know what it is yet.

Land Iguana

Look carefully at what Emma sees

     One aspect of being here that Darwin did not witness too much is the presence of so many tourists.  Having spent much time in recent months with Ecuadorians, it was something of a minor shock to be back in the world of (mostly) white camera-carrying companions.  Biogeographic diversity can be used to describe us as much as the life that we have all come to see.  We met people from the US, Germany, Canada, South Africa, Australia, Argentina, Spain, Britain…. and a few more from Germany.  We all had to be shepherded by the local guides, many of whom were born on the islands.  Almost everybody was friendly, and we engage in the travel banter that mostly typifies such brief encounters.  I learned about fish management in Idaho while trekking across a lava field here, agricultural project management from Chicago, and education in both South Africa and Nepal. Each new conversation adds to the richness of understanding about the World.

    On our last night , after we had packed in preparation for a pre-dawn departure from Isabella, I wandered along the beach to a pier which had a very friendly looking two-story shack on the end, some colored lights, and the word ‘Bar’ in hopefully large letters on the front. With the South-Pacific waves crashing on the beach and stars twinkling, it all seemed tailor-made to represent a cliché.  Walking up to the bar, I was greeted by Dorothy, an older Canadian woman who has fallen in love with Isabella, and with whom we had spent much of the day on a day trip.   

     Also present were a pair of twins plus one husband from Virginia whom we had seen almost every day since arriving six days before – a mutual fixture of our visit. Yet, in the way that such social interactions move, I spent most of my brief time there talking with Joseph, a resident of the island who now helps to manage tour groups here.  He left his home on Mainland Ecuador when he was twelve, and came to Isabella with no immediate family, but simply with a desire make a new life for himself here.  He talked about the gender problem for men of his age here (early thirties I think) – about four times as many men as women.  In his job, he meets many tourists, most of whom pass through in just a few days with little chance of building long-term friendships. He seemed both wistful for a more fulfilling social (love?) life, yet also deeply in love with the island. 

     As one might expect, the Galapagos have many stories to reveal about the past and present while leaving us to determine what we can do about the future – if we have the wisdom to learn from what we see.