Ecuador Group - Blog #2
by Benny Michaud
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Otavalo: More than Meets the Canadian Eye
Benny Michaud
My first impression of Otavalo came as I was being jostled around in the back of a pick up truck with my fellow participants on our way to meet our host families. After being dropped off with Katy and Farrah I peered through the cloud of dust the truck created as it left and saw the little town I was to be staying in. I’m embarrassed to admit that I immediately began wondering what we would do in a town so quiet you can hear the bus coming up the dirt road long before you can see it. Little did I know that by the end of the day I would meet the local bootleggers, taste contraband liquor, hand pick lemons from a tree grown by nuns, and end up tossing popcorn in my soup.
Indeed, Otavalo is a place where one’s senses are overloaded. The vibrant local culture is exactly that- vibrant. It seems as though everything in Otavalo is exaggerated and on a scale larger than anything I’ve ever experienced. Everything is larger than life- the mountains, trees, market place- not to mention the serving sizes at lunch (the main meal in Ecuador). Had I not been absolutely enamoured with my ultra-hospitable host family I would surely have believed they were fattening me up to kill me at Christmas. Being the more rotund of their three Canadian guests, I had the sneaking suspicion that they believed beyond my lips lay an enormous black hole that could never be filled. But how my host mother tried! Needless to say, my drink of choice while in Ecuador quickly changed from cervasa (beer) to Pepto-Bismol. Thankfully humour transcends language and my squeamishness became more of a joke than an insult. I had truly underestimated how much of a punch my little Otavalo could really pack.
In my naiveté I had even underestimated the enormity of the market. The market scene on a Saturday in Otavalo is the most intense expression of local Indigenous culture. Believing I had become somewhat familiar with certain locations in downtown Otavalo, I got off the bus at our usual stop on Saturday and was stunned at how unrecognizable our little street had become. The entire downtown had transformed into the largest Indigenous market in all of South America. The Otavalo market absorbs the energy of the multitudes that walk through it and becomes a living entity, pulsating with the sounds, smells and colors of the local population. Everything in the market screams life and not one ounce of space is wasted on the mundane. Everywhere I looked there were brilliantly coloured tapestries and blankets. Vendors raised their voices in broken English to potential customers, attempting to be heard above the music which is quick-paced, lively, and constant. I could not have imagined anything more exhilarating than the Otavalo market.
And then there was Mojanda- the mountain that almost claimed my life. If not my life, then my legs at the very least. I believe my initial reaction upon first seeing the distance that we were all expected to climb was to pee behind a bush before we started. I’m not sure I had to go until I saw that mountain. I’m not sure I could have climbed Mojanda at all if it hadn’t been for the expertise of my climbing crew- Carey and Allison. I feel impelled to speak like a professional mountain climber and call them my crew because this was no hill. After an hour of my slow paced climbing we had fallen so far behind the rest of our group that it seemed as though we were the only three people on the mountain at all. I can recall many times during our climb when I turned to Carey and Allison (who had become my spiritual tug-line) and expressed the doubt I had in my ability reach the summit. It took everything I had and all the motivational phrases they could muster to get me up that mountain. I owe them one of the best experiences of my life.
Lesson learned in Otavalo? Never judge a town by the amount of dust rising from the road.
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