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.