This small city is a whirl of diversity. It is a joy just to sit in the main parque and people-watch. The town has a large population of Indian folks, short dark men and stern stout women in all sorts of scarves, shawls, and headwraps. The women that do not wear headwraps wear a type of felt fedora that is almost reminiscent of a Bavarian crowned hat. The men, with their hair plaited in a long black braid, wear a felt fedora that is very close to an old Dobbs Twenty, often a big wool poncho, three quarter trousers and slipper shoes. Even the men dressed in jackets and jeans maintain the fedora. There are passels of the cutest children in the world and their parents seem to dote on them at every opportunity. Added to the mix are young people doing their best to wear as much Hollister brand clothing as possible when they are not in school uniforms, and the non-Indian folks in their everyday working clothes.
I'm a geezer so I wake up early and hit the streets. Even the produce and mercantile market was just setting up so i went walkabout until I could find some coffee and brekkie. I came across some murals near the main parque, an entire wall devoted to Simon Bolivar. That's "SEE-moan" since i don't have a Spanish keyboard to add the proper emphasis. Thre is a reason that many, many towns in Venezuela, Colombia, Ecuador and Bolivia have a parque or square dedicated to Bolivar. He is Simon Bolivar, The Liberator. Imagine all of the founding fathers of the United States rolled into one person and you sort of have Bolivar. Born in Venezuela, He spent his life racing from one liberation fight against the Spanish to another. Once the Spanish gave it up and slunk back to a wasted empire in Europe, Bolivar raced from country to country trying to maintain the revolution. In the end, accused of becoming a tyrant himself, with broken health, he resigned the Presidency of Colombia, left Bogota, and began the journey that would end in his death. His final trek into self-exile is poignantly fictionalized in Gabriel Garcia Marquez's book "The General in His Labyrinth."
Bolivar on his charger
"For achieving victory it has always been essential to follow the path of sacrifice"
After brekkie and coffee, I made one reconnoitering pass though the Plaza de la Ponchos. The stall keepers were still setting up the booths and moving huge bundles of textile products around on makeshift carts. With the whole day in front of me, I wandered towards the mercado, the coverd and many stalled market that sells foodstuffs and all manner of dry goods. Outside the mercado I paused for a tasty treat of grubs and toasted hominy. Yummers!!!
Fifty cents for tasty, salty grubs! Cheap Protein.
The grubs are sitting on a nice bed of hominy. That's the yellow stuff.
Inside the mercado is everything you need to sustain life.
Okay, I admit it, all I did today was eat and shop and you know what? It was a damn fine day. It was also on the coolish side so the first item on the shoping list was a nice wool poncho. I finally settled on a gray number, bargained enough to save face but not enough to be a ruthless ass-hat, and started thinking about lunch. Now there are lots of retaurants in this town and their are a good many tourist cafes around the Plaza, but that was not what I had a hankering for. It was back to the mercado to belly up to one of the many food stalls in the center of the covered area.
The view from the counter. Nothing like having your meal staring at you while you eat part of it.
The side dishes, papas, arroz, hominy, vege, and more.
The two-dollar plata lunch.
I stowed some stuff back at the hotel room, took some time to book a room in Quito, and heading out for the next round of shopping. This was important stuff, for I was going after a new hat. I love hats and this town is a good excuse to buy one. I worked the stalls in the market after trying several of the tiendas nearby. The problem is that none of the tiendas carry a hat size that will fit my gordito cabeza. Yes, a nice way of saying I have a fat head. The Plaza folks, however, had a few of the magic size 63 hats and I was able to sort through them until one spoke to me.
All the patterned textiles you would ever need.
And still more.
Retiring the "Gilligan Hat" for a traditional fedora.
Shopping complete, I hung out in the parque and watched the world go by while being accosted by upbeat Spanish Muzak Christmas songs. The craziness of the piped in parque "music" just added to the surreal quality of the early evening. Darkness fell and with darkness comes dinner time. I wandered the streets looking for just the right cafe. Nothing was really suiting my fancy until I ended up back near the Plaza. The last of the craft booths were being hauled away and in their place a small village of food stalls was springing up!! Since I had spent a bloody fortune in my shopping frenzy, I continued to be thrifty with the food budget while sticking to what I know best: Street Food!!
It's the Yellow Tent Food Town!! No touristas here!
The three-dollar plata. It's a buck more for the corn on the cob coated with queso.
Did I mentinon the Pie Ladies? There is actually a cafe here called The Pie Shop. What do you think they serve there? I had a wonderful slice of blueberry pie yesterday and greatly amused the Pie Senoras with my enthusiasm for their wares. I was back again today but there was no fruit pie. No problema, mas tarde, mas tarde said the Senoras. And bless my stars if the Pie Shop don't just stay open late!
The Pie Shop, staying open long enough for me to hear the Siren's Song
That's right, Apple Pie in Ecuador. Oh yeah! No room for helado tonight, just the pie gracias.
OK, full as a tick and sporting my new fedora and a toasty alpaca sweater, I had to call it a night.
With one last detour for a photo of the hoiday lights, I am back in my quiet little hotel room, sated and relaxed. Tomorrow I am trading in the realtive quiet of Otovalo for the frenetic Big City of Quito. It will be even more frenetic as the 5th of December is one of the biggest holidays of the year. The 6th is the day the commemerating the founding of the City by the Spanish, but the 5th is when the City shuts down and everyone takes the day off to party in the streets and I'm going to be there for it.
Goodnight Otovalo
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