After having been to the crater of Pululahua, I was keen to seek out another adventure (and have another reason to get out of Quito). So this past weekend, myself and five other friends packed up out things and travelled two-ish hours to the town of Otaválo. Otaválo is a largely indigenous town in the province of Imbabura. It is also home to the largest indigenous market in Latin America with the main market happening on Saturdays.
We arrived on Friday afternoon at around five and quickly found out hostel, Rincón de Viajero. It was a cute place, with a couple of hammocks on the rooftop and colourful murals to replace the paintings that once hung on the walls that were stolen a few years back. It was strange though, suddenly being in a place where there were other travelers as well. It’s funny I think, that when a white person sees another white person, in my experience they immediately acknowledge each other in English and I have to admit that I too am guilty of this. There are also I feel, passing judgments of those other travelers you see. You question what they may be doing there, how long they may be staying. And they do the same to you too. The first question that is always asked is ‘Where are you from?’ Now, we have been observing the way that people answer us and it is quite interesting. All the people who were staying in our hostel or who we met throughout our stay in Otaválo were American. Ask a Canadian where they are from, they will say Canada. Ask an American where they are from and they will undoubtedly tell you which city they live in. Example: “Where are you guys from?” “She’s from Atlanta, I’m from Chicago”. Every time. Not once have we ever had an American admit outwardly that they are from the US. My instincts tell me this is because they do not want to carry the baggage that comes from being associated with the United States (as it is a country of perpetual fuck-ups), and so perhaps they hope that by saying the city, or state, that one might not know that it is located within the US. This however, is just a theory told to me by a friend…I thought it was worth noting.
Shortly after getting organized into our rooms and laughing at the comical saloon-type doors of our bathroom that didn’t exactly fit my image of a ‘private bathroom’, we headed out to eat. When walking through the streets of Otaválo, I felt much more at ease. The town consists of around 50, 000-60, 000 people. The sidewalks are colourful, split into thirds of red, green and yellow tile. The streets are cobbled and narrow. The buildings aren’t so tall as to block out the sun. And get this…traffic actually slows down for pedestrians! After we got our bearings and figured out where our hostel was, we headed out for a few drinks (that turned into more than I think anybody intended). The wine was awful, but our spirits were high at the thought of being out of Quito, and we spent the night playing President, and Bullshit.
We awoke the next morning and after a breakfast of eggs, bread and tea we wandered into the streets of Otaválo. We were immediately greeted by a plethora of stalls and vendors, selling everything from earrings, to sweaters made from alpaca hair to, to pants, to pipes. The market is located in the town’s main centre, but on Saturdays, it pours out into the neighbouring streets and seems to stretch on for blocks. It was completely overwhelming. We spent hours upon hours perusing the aisle that the stalls created, bartering with vendors for a lower price on things that were already extremely cheap. I can’t say I bought anything for anyone else but myself, but I do plan to return to Otaválo in the future.
Otaválo was a place that I loved, for its quaint picturesque demeanor and beautiful countryside. However, this was the first place that I really got harassed by a man. A guitar-playing-vodka-drinking-greasy-haired man named Alfonso. He showed up out of nowhere while my friends and I were standing at a stall, got about 5 inches away from my face, and started belting at the top of his lungs songs in Spanish, and even included a rendition of ‘Here Comes the Sun’. This was the first time I felt extremely uncomfortable as a result of getting attention. When I tried to leave, he grabbed my hand and planted a greasy kiss on my cheek. Let’s just say I was not in the best mood after this…nothing a banana split couldn’t fix though.
The next day, we decided to walk just outside of Otaválo to find La Cascada de Peguche, the Peguche waterfall. We walked for about an hour, and after finding where the waterfall was located, we spent hours hiking higher and higher to explore our new territory. We found ourselves at the top of the waterfall, then a little higher up, we found another hidden by a cave in which we stood under to get refreshed. It was extremely cool. Definitely a moment to remember.
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| "Do not enter. Dangerous". We kind of disregarded the warning... |
Leaving Otaválo, I remember thinking that I would be back, whether it be to browse the market again or to hike to a tree said to have magical powers or to see a mountain in the middle of a lake. Otaválo, thank you for showing me why I need to leave Quito more often. I will be back!
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