New Friends
I met Luis on a bench in Plaza Grande, the main central plaza with the Presidential Palace, a famous church and the government ministry where Piedad works. It was the second day in a row we met. This man is one of hundreds who gather here in their pressed dress shirts, light sweaters, ironed slacks and gleaming shoes to pass the time by schmoozing, arguing and playing chess or dominoes. They are retired and simply watching the days go by. Luis speaks no English and is easily frustrated by my lack of spanish comprehension. Still, he loves chatting and won´t stop. Perhaps he´s just old and lonely. Luis is about 70. After exhausting the usual questions regarding family, city landmarks, Quito weather and cuisine, I took a field trip of sorts with this man to see his humble barrio. Luis is quite poor, and so it was a very unique experience.
Off to Barrio Chaguarquing
High above the Old City with incredible panoramic views, Luis lives in a dilapidated row-house complex, apartment #42. I was impressed with the old man moving spryly with his cane, traversing the uneven pavement, unfinished basketball court and gravelly sloping steps with unsafe cracks and railings. It´s a great deal of walking for a man his age! Above his living room couch rests a plaque from his church flanked by single photographs of he and his wife. The plaque, presented in 2001, celebrates 50 years of marriage. Pictures of his kids and a cousin born in America line the shelves, with a sprinkling of foreign coins from Mexico and Columbia. Luis´wife died 2 years ago, and he now lives with at least one other old man, a maid and her children. He is a tenant in his own home. The neighborhood is clearly not so safe; from the roof you can see neighbor´s kids and skinny stray dogs, young men out of work just hanging out, joking around and smoking in groups, drifting colorful clotheslines, a colegio of course with uniformed students fumbling about at the gate, and just down the hillside the Quito dairy factory, where leche is born. It´s a scene out of a Steinbeck novel, perhaps Cannery Row on a hill. I think the unemployment rate in Quito is actually about 12%. Lack of security is further evidenced by padlocked drawers and cabinets in Luis´ own room (it´s a very small place and we had to walk through to get to the rooftop spiral staircase). Luis was a mechanic by trade, and now he appears to enjoy fiddling with electronics. I counted 7 stereo systems around the house lying in pieces. After more failed conversation off the roof and back in the livingroom - failing to explain to Luis how it could be that I was not Catholic or Protestant or even Muslim, but Jewish (he had no clue what that is), I finished my banana like a respectful guest and we returned to the Old City. I´d like to think I made Luis happy just by spending time with him. He has invited me to his family´s puebla two ours in the direction of Mitar del Mundo where his sons live - I´m not sure I need to put in that much time...!
First Time to Otavalo
The other day I woke up early and headed North to Otavalo to see the famous Saturday markets. They have an animal market, vegetables, and then probably 2-3,000 stands of indiginous wares, textiles, and assorted other offerings. I´ve learned how to avoid the bus terminal completely. I just scale the side of the mountain above my house until I reach the highway and jump on to busses headed in the right direction with the rest of the locals. You also save about a dollar this way! The problem of course is that the buses are frequent but busy. Both ways to Otavalo I didn´t get a seat and ended up on a big cushion near the front with the bus attendee guy and other stragglers along the way. Bus attendees literally just hang out the doorway the whole ride and scream the names of destinations; people jump on and money is collected later. The 2.5 hour trip was $2 each way.
On the bus I met some friendly British travelers, Simon and Sarah, and we hung out all day in Otavalo after an overpriced lunch near the market -
I had trouche (trout) with pan and creamcheese (getting closer to finding a bagel and lox!), fruit salad, and jugo de mora (blackberry) for $3.50. These kids, an Egyptian archeologist and a biologist PhD candidate, started in Lima and have been gone two weeks out of their audacious 7 month trip around the world. They look the part too, in matching khaki shirts and pants. I joked that Simon should purchase the cowboy hat he stood examining as we entered the market, and strap a lasso to his waist like Indiana Jones. I also cautioned them that they might want to think about spending all 7 months in South America - from experience I know their goal of seeing even more countires than Scott and I did is near impossible. They´ve had a rough start, spending their entire 3 days in Quito dealing with slashed bags on the trolle and resulting loss of wallets and cameras. Simon spent the better part of an hour haggling for a large piece of amber choc full of insects. He spent $25 on this fist-size item, I hope he can make a dinosaur or something more than a paper-weight when he goes home.
Otavalo is probably the most touristy thing you can do around here, besides Mitad el Mundo of course (the equator line). It is the highest concentration of gringos I have seen so far. But if you dig deep and try talking with some of the indiginous vendors you can soak up a little culture. Most people just want your money of course, but it is fascinating to see their clothing, art, music, etc. Tourists come mostly for the artisans´finely weaved rugs, hammocks, sweaters, etc. while the locals trade more in practical clothing items, and staples like arrozo y carne. If you´ve ever been abroad, or even to the touristy spots in New York City or downtown DC, you´ve seen the musicians of Otavalo with their blue ponchos, long ponytails, multi-tubed bamboo flutes, electrified classical guitars and black felt hats, making more money than the next guy with those ethereal tunes pulsating out of mini amplifiers. The women have long braided hair and don long black skirts and frilly-sleaved, colorfully embroidered white blouses. These people are famous for their wealth and ability to succeed where so many other indigenas have struggled commercially.
The ride home was exciting because we met an additional Englishman and a girl, Celeste, he was visiting who was American. She might have rabies...
...The story is that she is staying in a small village outside of Otavalo, and on a hike 4 days before in the area she was bitten by a small dog. 4 area doctors told her to just not worry about it. 4 days later, after a breezy day at the market, they are finally heading to Quito to see a German doctor who wants to give her the jabs. More than likely the dog was just protecting some farmer´s territory and is not rabid - 4 days is enough time to get really sick or die.
I arrived home late from Otavalo, proud of myself for navigating the longer ditance bus sytem so easily. It´s amazing how much you can accomplish with body language and one beautiful magical phrase like a barrio name: Mira Flores.
Siempre Norte
Titi and I set off for Siete Cascadas at 6am the next morning. Wow, what a trip. There´s nothing like travelling with a local, and actually seeing places outside the scope of your map and lonely planet research. We took a bus right past Otavalo for Ibarra, and then transferred to head further toward the northern lowlands, San Lorenzo, and the northernmost beaches close to the ruta del sol. (Italy folks, you´re not gonna beleive this but it was perfect - we never made it to mythical San Lorenzo. The road to that town is less than ten years old and therefore there was insuffient accomodation during the Carnival weekend :( maybe I can return))
Travelling with Titi was absolutely fantastic. Latin music blaring and gradually warmer air rushing into the bus windows as the altitude fell, she pointed out each wild or domesticated fruit, tree or plant type, described the hillside farming techniques or mysterious micro-climates around each bend, pointed out volcanos like Cotapaxi in the distance or Cayambe 20 kilometers ahead, and told stories about her family history in Ibarra (her grandfather owned quite a bit of land once upon a time - so much that the property extended over mountain passes farther than one can see. He also donated many of the trees that now line a main street leading into Ibarra. Titi is an avid fan of adventure sports, for example preferring to skip a futball game for a rockclimbing session. In this regard she is quite the outdoors-woman, so much so that she frequently writes freelance articles for the tourism ministry or her younger sister´s magazine about Ecuadorian ecology, adventure sports, topography, and eco-friendly enterprises. Ears popping, I sat snacking on whatever local treats she brought along for us (banana chips are healthy and very tasty) while she chided a bus attendee for chucking plastic bottles out the windows.
Siete Cascades is a very new business, sort of the equivalent to Butts Tubes (where we go tubing every summer) before the price inflation and crowds, except it is dazzlingly more beautiful as it is located in a tropical rainforest. Titi immediately struck up conversation with the owner and noticed that he had a copy of her family´s magazine at the front desk! In the drizzling rain we hiked in knee-high rubber boots for three hours with our young guide Jonotan to seven different waterfalls, all the while learning about orchids, ants, beetles, caterpillars, tadpoles, hummingbirds, mosquitos, boa-constrictors (they had one in a cage near the beginning), and whatever else I couldn´t understand! I swam in 5 of seven waterfalls, and Titi helped teach me how to walk on one rail of a railroad track to avoid the deep mud through a dark tunnel. It was a good time, and the place served lunch afterwards for like 3 bucks at long tables under thatched roofs. I had carne asada con arroz and some really good jugo. We then hitched a ride back to Ibarra with a young family who had also hiked the waterfalls.
Here´s where things got interesting. There was a big festival in Valle de Chota, the area famous for the roughly 5% of the population that is Afro-Ecuadorian (the descendants of slaves brought over during Spanish rule for the sugar cane plantations). Heading back into Ibarra in a Ford Escape, conversation was great with the family (at least for Titi!, I just smiled and chimed in with a word or two when questioned. Titi seems to talk to everyone and become instant friends). It turns out the father of the family, Diego, is actually the owner of Flota Imbabura, one of the largest long-distance bus companies in the country. For miles we were stuck behind a clearly innebriated driver in a huge mac truck. Nobody dared pass him, especially not us with three young boys in the car. He would swerve back and forth and hit orange cones erected on the highway around mountain passes. We contemplated calling the police, but the penalty is one month in jail here and nobody decided to do it. Anyway we hit major traffic after dealing cautiously with that idiot, who eventually turned off, which meant virtually bumper-to-bumber heading back into Ibarra. In an instant we stopped short, and bam!, we were rear-ended. No injuries. It´s like America, it´s always the fault of the guy behind you, plus he was the one with damage. He didn´t want to deal with it. And so we carried on.
The family were really lovely people and dropped us off at Titi´s favorite helado place in Ibarra. The ice cream there (50 cents for a double scoop) is nationally famous and hand made. They mix it in a silver bowl resting on a bed of straw that insulates the icewater beneath the bowl. I had some kind of guayava or something with blackberry, which complemented eachother well. Scrumptious. Around the corner we dropped into a coffee shop for te y humitas, and then strolled the main squares for a while. It´s a nice city. By bizarre chance we walked right by Ecuador´s most famous futbal player for the national team, Augustine. He was exiting an ice cream store himself just up the block. Cell phone cameras and little kids swirled round, and we cut right through of course to get a picture with him. He is one of a majority of players who hail from Chota - I´ve now been calling it the valley of the kick-ass soccer players. That´s like if 7 of the DC United players were from Kensington. Unbelievable. He´s also a very good person; he set up a foundation for children and is apparently quite modest despite his fame.
Carnival Mood
Just to provide a slice of what Carnival is like for city folk here:
I just got off the bus after a long day touring primarily the Mariscal (Gringolandia) on foot. It´s where all the overpriced restaurants and internet cafes are located - where the hostels are centered and everyone is foreign. On the bus ride back the bus attendee was amusing himself and his driver by keeping a large jug of water full and using a smaller bottle to spray people on the sides of the roads, mostly students. So anyone waving for the bus to pick them up on the side of the street was fine, come on in. But for the 3 uniformed girls waiting at the parada? --> water in the face. Nobody minds, little old ladies break out in hysterical laughter. In fact it really called attention for me to the generally laid back nature of people here. Everyone acts as a neighbor, not a stranger. The attendee runs to fill up at a park fountain as we pause at a red light in the city center, quickly returning to empty his arsenal on a family of 4; two blocks further he jumps out into a construction site and grabs the hose from the workers preparing cement for a small building project. Everyone is properly amused. No problemo.
I thought I´d mention a typical meal. Ecuadorians don´t really eat dinner - they have a huge lunch. A typical almuerzos combinada for lunch, like I had yesterday, is 1) supa, usually a consume base with potatoes and vegetables; 2) mains, I had chorasco sciotto which was steak with rice and sauteed onions and peppers - with an egg cracked on top; and finally 3) desert, I had strawberry ice cream. You also get a drink, typically coca cola classic or jugo mixto or something.
Tomorrow morning after the the end of the Carnival holiday, after maybe 1 milliom people have returned to Quito, I register and take an exam at the Universidad Ctaolica for spanish lessons. Like I need an entry exam to see what level I start at...!
One last thing - I´m officially a MoviStar (although this could change). Thank you Anusha for the chocolate, and thank you Dr. Cellular on Avenida Amazonas por apprir la banda. If any of you readers are getting consuming urge to know if Pedro Zorro is surviving through spanish class or his latest cafe con humita (i.e., mommy), my mobile is:
092970785 and I belive from the states you dial 0039392970785
ciao
I met Luis on a bench in Plaza Grande, the main central plaza with the Presidential Palace, a famous church and the government ministry where Piedad works. It was the second day in a row we met. This man is one of hundreds who gather here in their pressed dress shirts, light sweaters, ironed slacks and gleaming shoes to pass the time by schmoozing, arguing and playing chess or dominoes. They are retired and simply watching the days go by. Luis speaks no English and is easily frustrated by my lack of spanish comprehension. Still, he loves chatting and won´t stop. Perhaps he´s just old and lonely. Luis is about 70. After exhausting the usual questions regarding family, city landmarks, Quito weather and cuisine, I took a field trip of sorts with this man to see his humble barrio. Luis is quite poor, and so it was a very unique experience.
Off to Barrio Chaguarquing
High above the Old City with incredible panoramic views, Luis lives in a dilapidated row-house complex, apartment #42. I was impressed with the old man moving spryly with his cane, traversing the uneven pavement, unfinished basketball court and gravelly sloping steps with unsafe cracks and railings. It´s a great deal of walking for a man his age! Above his living room couch rests a plaque from his church flanked by single photographs of he and his wife. The plaque, presented in 2001, celebrates 50 years of marriage. Pictures of his kids and a cousin born in America line the shelves, with a sprinkling of foreign coins from Mexico and Columbia. Luis´wife died 2 years ago, and he now lives with at least one other old man, a maid and her children. He is a tenant in his own home. The neighborhood is clearly not so safe; from the roof you can see neighbor´s kids and skinny stray dogs, young men out of work just hanging out, joking around and smoking in groups, drifting colorful clotheslines, a colegio of course with uniformed students fumbling about at the gate, and just down the hillside the Quito dairy factory, where leche is born. It´s a scene out of a Steinbeck novel, perhaps Cannery Row on a hill. I think the unemployment rate in Quito is actually about 12%. Lack of security is further evidenced by padlocked drawers and cabinets in Luis´ own room (it´s a very small place and we had to walk through to get to the rooftop spiral staircase). Luis was a mechanic by trade, and now he appears to enjoy fiddling with electronics. I counted 7 stereo systems around the house lying in pieces. After more failed conversation off the roof and back in the livingroom - failing to explain to Luis how it could be that I was not Catholic or Protestant or even Muslim, but Jewish (he had no clue what that is), I finished my banana like a respectful guest and we returned to the Old City. I´d like to think I made Luis happy just by spending time with him. He has invited me to his family´s puebla two ours in the direction of Mitar del Mundo where his sons live - I´m not sure I need to put in that much time...!
First Time to OtavaloThe other day I woke up early and headed North to Otavalo to see the famous Saturday markets. They have an animal market, vegetables, and then probably 2-3,000 stands of indiginous wares, textiles, and assorted other offerings. I´ve learned how to avoid the bus terminal completely. I just scale the side of the mountain above my house until I reach the highway and jump on to busses headed in the right direction with the rest of the locals. You also save about a dollar this way! The problem of course is that the buses are frequent but busy. Both ways to Otavalo I didn´t get a seat and ended up on a big cushion near the front with the bus attendee guy and other stragglers along the way. Bus attendees literally just hang out the doorway the whole ride and scream the names of destinations; people jump on and money is collected later. The 2.5 hour trip was $2 each way.
On the bus I met some friendly British travelers, Simon and Sarah, and we hung out all day in Otavalo after an overpriced lunch near the market -
I had trouche (trout) with pan and creamcheese (getting closer to finding a bagel and lox!), fruit salad, and jugo de mora (blackberry) for $3.50. These kids, an Egyptian archeologist and a biologist PhD candidate, started in Lima and have been gone two weeks out of their audacious 7 month trip around the world. They look the part too, in matching khaki shirts and pants. I joked that Simon should purchase the cowboy hat he stood examining as we entered the market, and strap a lasso to his waist like Indiana Jones. I also cautioned them that they might want to think about spending all 7 months in South America - from experience I know their goal of seeing even more countires than Scott and I did is near impossible. They´ve had a rough start, spending their entire 3 days in Quito dealing with slashed bags on the trolle and resulting loss of wallets and cameras. Simon spent the better part of an hour haggling for a large piece of amber choc full of insects. He spent $25 on this fist-size item, I hope he can make a dinosaur or something more than a paper-weight when he goes home.
Otavalo is probably the most touristy thing you can do around here, besides Mitad el Mundo of course (the equator line). It is the highest concentration of gringos I have seen so far. But if you dig deep and try talking with some of the indiginous vendors you can soak up a little culture. Most people just want your money of course, but it is fascinating to see their clothing, art, music, etc. Tourists come mostly for the artisans´finely weaved rugs, hammocks, sweaters, etc. while the locals trade more in practical clothing items, and staples like arrozo y carne. If you´ve ever been abroad, or even to the touristy spots in New York City or downtown DC, you´ve seen the musicians of Otavalo with their blue ponchos, long ponytails, multi-tubed bamboo flutes, electrified classical guitars and black felt hats, making more money than the next guy with those ethereal tunes pulsating out of mini amplifiers. The women have long braided hair and don long black skirts and frilly-sleaved, colorfully embroidered white blouses. These people are famous for their wealth and ability to succeed where so many other indigenas have struggled commercially.
The ride home was exciting because we met an additional Englishman and a girl, Celeste, he was visiting who was American. She might have rabies......The story is that she is staying in a small village outside of Otavalo, and on a hike 4 days before in the area she was bitten by a small dog. 4 area doctors told her to just not worry about it. 4 days later, after a breezy day at the market, they are finally heading to Quito to see a German doctor who wants to give her the jabs. More than likely the dog was just protecting some farmer´s territory and is not rabid - 4 days is enough time to get really sick or die.
I arrived home late from Otavalo, proud of myself for navigating the longer ditance bus sytem so easily. It´s amazing how much you can accomplish with body language and one beautiful magical phrase like a barrio name: Mira Flores.
Siempre Norte
Titi and I set off for Siete Cascadas at 6am the next morning. Wow, what a trip. There´s nothing like travelling with a local, and actually seeing places outside the scope of your map and lonely planet research. We took a bus right past Otavalo for Ibarra, and then transferred to head further toward the northern lowlands, San Lorenzo, and the northernmost beaches close to the ruta del sol. (Italy folks, you´re not gonna beleive this but it was perfect - we never made it to mythical San Lorenzo. The road to that town is less than ten years old and therefore there was insuffient accomodation during the Carnival weekend :( maybe I can return))
Travelling with Titi was absolutely fantastic. Latin music blaring and gradually warmer air rushing into the bus windows as the altitude fell, she pointed out each wild or domesticated fruit, tree or plant type, described the hillside farming techniques or mysterious micro-climates around each bend, pointed out volcanos like Cotapaxi in the distance or Cayambe 20 kilometers ahead, and told stories about her family history in Ibarra (her grandfather owned quite a bit of land once upon a time - so much that the property extended over mountain passes farther than one can see. He also donated many of the trees that now line a main street leading into Ibarra. Titi is an avid fan of adventure sports, for example preferring to skip a futball game for a rockclimbing session. In this regard she is quite the outdoors-woman, so much so that she frequently writes freelance articles for the tourism ministry or her younger sister´s magazine about Ecuadorian ecology, adventure sports, topography, and eco-friendly enterprises. Ears popping, I sat snacking on whatever local treats she brought along for us (banana chips are healthy and very tasty) while she chided a bus attendee for chucking plastic bottles out the windows.Siete Cascades is a very new business, sort of the equivalent to Butts Tubes (where we go tubing every summer) before the price inflation and crowds, except it is dazzlingly more beautiful as it is located in a tropical rainforest. Titi immediately struck up conversation with the owner and noticed that he had a copy of her family´s magazine at the front desk! In the drizzling rain we hiked in knee-high rubber boots for three hours with our young guide Jonotan to seven different waterfalls, all the while learning about orchids, ants, beetles, caterpillars, tadpoles, hummingbirds, mosquitos, boa-constrictors (they had one in a cage near the beginning), and whatever else I couldn´t understand! I swam in 5 of seven waterfalls, and Titi helped teach me how to walk on one rail of a railroad track to avoid the deep mud through a dark tunnel. It was a good time, and the place served lunch afterwards for like 3 bucks at long tables under thatched roofs. I had carne asada con arroz and some really good jugo. We then hitched a ride back to Ibarra with a young family who had also hiked the waterfalls.
Here´s where things got interesting. There was a big festival in Valle de Chota, the area famous for the roughly 5% of the population that is Afro-Ecuadorian (the descendants of slaves brought over during Spanish rule for the sugar cane plantations). Heading back into Ibarra in a Ford Escape, conversation was great with the family (at least for Titi!, I just smiled and chimed in with a word or two when questioned. Titi seems to talk to everyone and become instant friends). It turns out the father of the family, Diego, is actually the owner of Flota Imbabura, one of the largest long-distance bus companies in the country. For miles we were stuck behind a clearly innebriated driver in a huge mac truck. Nobody dared pass him, especially not us with three young boys in the car. He would swerve back and forth and hit orange cones erected on the highway around mountain passes. We contemplated calling the police, but the penalty is one month in jail here and nobody decided to do it. Anyway we hit major traffic after dealing cautiously with that idiot, who eventually turned off, which meant virtually bumper-to-bumber heading back into Ibarra. In an instant we stopped short, and bam!, we were rear-ended. No injuries. It´s like America, it´s always the fault of the guy behind you, plus he was the one with damage. He didn´t want to deal with it. And so we carried on.
The family were really lovely people and dropped us off at Titi´s favorite helado place in Ibarra. The ice cream there (50 cents for a double scoop) is nationally famous and hand made. They mix it in a silver bowl resting on a bed of straw that insulates the icewater beneath the bowl. I had some kind of guayava or something with blackberry, which complemented eachother well. Scrumptious. Around the corner we dropped into a coffee shop for te y humitas, and then strolled the main squares for a while. It´s a nice city. By bizarre chance we walked right by Ecuador´s most famous futbal player for the national team, Augustine. He was exiting an ice cream store himself just up the block. Cell phone cameras and little kids swirled round, and we cut right through of course to get a picture with him. He is one of a majority of players who hail from Chota - I´ve now been calling it the valley of the kick-ass soccer players. That´s like if 7 of the DC United players were from Kensington. Unbelievable. He´s also a very good person; he set up a foundation for children and is apparently quite modest despite his fame.Carnival Mood
Just to provide a slice of what Carnival is like for city folk here:
I just got off the bus after a long day touring primarily the Mariscal (Gringolandia) on foot. It´s where all the overpriced restaurants and internet cafes are located - where the hostels are centered and everyone is foreign. On the bus ride back the bus attendee was amusing himself and his driver by keeping a large jug of water full and using a smaller bottle to spray people on the sides of the roads, mostly students. So anyone waving for the bus to pick them up on the side of the street was fine, come on in. But for the 3 uniformed girls waiting at the parada? --> water in the face. Nobody minds, little old ladies break out in hysterical laughter. In fact it really called attention for me to the generally laid back nature of people here. Everyone acts as a neighbor, not a stranger. The attendee runs to fill up at a park fountain as we pause at a red light in the city center, quickly returning to empty his arsenal on a family of 4; two blocks further he jumps out into a construction site and grabs the hose from the workers preparing cement for a small building project. Everyone is properly amused. No problemo.
I thought I´d mention a typical meal. Ecuadorians don´t really eat dinner - they have a huge lunch. A typical almuerzos combinada for lunch, like I had yesterday, is 1) supa, usually a consume base with potatoes and vegetables; 2) mains, I had chorasco sciotto which was steak with rice and sauteed onions and peppers - with an egg cracked on top; and finally 3) desert, I had strawberry ice cream. You also get a drink, typically coca cola classic or jugo mixto or something.
Tomorrow morning after the the end of the Carnival holiday, after maybe 1 milliom people have returned to Quito, I register and take an exam at the Universidad Ctaolica for spanish lessons. Like I need an entry exam to see what level I start at...!
One last thing - I´m officially a MoviStar (although this could change). Thank you Anusha for the chocolate, and thank you Dr. Cellular on Avenida Amazonas por apprir la banda. If any of you readers are getting consuming urge to know if Pedro Zorro is surviving through spanish class or his latest cafe con humita (i.e., mommy), my mobile is:
092970785 and I belive from the states you dial 0039392970785
ciao
1 comment:
Good post.
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