Otavalo

We were in search one of South America's largest artisan market and what we found was a glorious opportunity to explore nature, meet fellow backpackers, and become so addicted to a place we had to tear ourselves from the comforts of Hostal Chasqui. After watching Bad Boys dubbed in Spanish, I was excited to emerge from the confines of yet another chicken bus. Otavalo is conveniently located just a hop, skip and a jump away from Quito and it serves as a central location for several hikes and nature tours. We started bright and early on Saturday morning, the day of my 27th birthday, in order to not miss the roaring animal market, where the hearing stimulus is comprised almost entirely of squealing pigs, stubborn calves digging their hooves into the dusty ground, and clucking chickens hanging from their claws unable to avoid their inevitable doom. Every 'bah' and 'moo' of all imaginable domesticated animals jumbles the air particles creating a roar of noise. If you don't attend early, your only sight of chaos will be silently sitting on your lunch plate. Makeshift collars are tied around every animal and baby chicks as squished into a small box peeping endlessly and trying to stay a float in the masses. There's kittens  and puppies being arranged cutely to entice the local children. The pigs are marched around like dogs on collars. Chickens are evident only when you realize what makes the dancing gunny sacks dance. The rest of the chickens hang upside down in the hands of a plump woman who's undoubtedly headed to her kitchen. It's chaos. It's defilement of animal rights to the greatest extreme, but more importantly it's an opportunity to see the locals in the midst of their everyday life.

The next stop just a few blocks away, across a busy intersection and over a small bridge is the artesan market. After all, our original and sole purpose was to empty our pockets  at this highly talked about local market. (Unbeknownst to us there was still a handful of natural treasures to entertain us.) The market stems from a central starting point in Plaza del Poncho and branches in every direction for several blocks. Each table is manned with a local person, sometimes a woman dressed in her traditional clothing, sometimes a man who exclaims his painstaking efforts  at constructing your sought after purchase, and sometimes a child. The market is colorful with hammocks swinging from every corner and sweaters with all sorts of patterns stringed along the back of stands. Every article of clothing is available in an alpaca material and often shirts are awkwardly sized with small arms and tiny neck holes. But the haggling and negotiating blossoms with every passing hour. My eyes always pan the area for tables of jewelry, my Achilles for sure. The jewelry is similar to the pieces I found in Peru. Turquoise, coral, and stones and shells of all colors make their way into a piece of jewelry. Even the extinct spondylus shell is proudly and sorrowfully on display. Many of the pieces are designed to be pleasing to the tourist eye, but many designs hold a more sacred cultural or indigenous symbolisms, an explanation the seller certainly uses to reel you in. Of course, after several trips of improving my creative attempts to cut down the price, I have never paid full price for a purchase. Haggling, a once intimidating task, has since turned into a fun opportunity to laugh and practice my Spanish with the locals. At the end of the day, my bag was much fuller and my pockets not as empty as I had anticipated. Great success.

Before the sun could bake us with its rays, we headed to the refreshing Peguche, a cascada (waterfall) only an hour walk from the city and quicker if the stray dogs make your heart pound as they did mine. Peguche is gorgeous and also happens to be the make out spot for local teenagers. We discovered this he hard way. We used the steep and crooked steps as an opportunity to get a daily workout in. And again before the sun could set, we hit one last market- the food market. This is where we found an array of veggies and fruits, many resembling fruits I know but clearly having some differences. We purchased all the necessary ingredients for a meal we would soon prepare in celebration of my birthday. Of course chips and guacamole were paired with some Chilean red wine and our soup, which we later called Otovalo Caldo, was sprinkled with the essence of our soul, powdered red chile smuggled into Ecuador by one Mr. Christian Garcia. It was a feast indeed. We cooked in our rooftop hostel kitchen alongside other eager traveling pairs, many speaking a language different than our own but all using English to share stories. And this is how I began my life as a 27 year old, traveling, shopping, eating, enjoying the delicacies of life.


Our final full day in Otovalo was spent on the go. After catching a bus to Quiroga, we then jumped  in the back of a small pickup truck with fellow backpackers for a twenty minute ride to Cuicoches trailhead. This is where we would walk the perimeter of an conveniently sized crater lake with two small volcanos peaking out of the water in the center. It was as if a moat had been created to protect these unique structures. This is where we would travel through varying landscapes after only walking a few steps. Initially we stopped every few feet to take yet another picture in an attempt to capture the beauty of this crater lake. The trail was steep but well kept and beautiful flowers lined it's way. We then ventured into a a more tight squeeze as the trail became a tiny walkway between to dirt walls. It forced single file walking and crouching slightly to fit. The dirt walls were moss covered and plants sat atop the dirt and fell in from both sides. The trail eventually began to slop downhill as we neared the second half of the walk around the perimeter. The last part, while not the best view of the lake since the clouds began to make its colors somewhat more dull was refreshing for another reason. The landscape had changed yet again, but this time to something right out of a photoshopped postcard from New Mexico. We were in the midst of evergreens, but these were different than the shy and bare pines of my mountains. They were full bodied and the needles so full of water they didn't poke as harshly. Don't get me wrong, I love our charming New Mexican pines. The trees were rooted in a fine grey sand and still we were a quarter of the way from completing the full circle. Finally after missing an unmarked turn taking the long route home, we finished the five hour exploration. I couldn't imagine Ecuador without happening upon good ole Laguna Cuicocha, named after the sound of a guinea pig cuiy, cuiy!! After this long but not so challenging hike, our hungry bodies were tempted into buy food straight from a street vendor, almost rule number one of something never to do in a foreign country. But we did and we indulged in humitas, which are a sweeter version of tamales because the surrounding dough tastes like cornbread. I had them once in Peru and it was a tasteful reminder of my South American adventures. They are filled with cheeses rather than the incredible red chile pork, but after a long day hike they're just what anyone needs. Speaking of food, posole is called mote here and it's identical to our dish, but the kernels are nearly twice the size.