Otavalo

This winter, landing in Quito, we realized that even though Quito is funky, we aren't really city people.  Or, we enjoy aspects of cities, but for short visits.  So after a day we boarded a bus north to Otavalo.  I was drawn by the market & hikes.  I LOVE markets.  I love seeing the pulse and community laid bare by a market day.  Unfortunately, we weren't going to hit the prime market day.  If we decided to stick around in Otavalo for peak market day, it would cost us other experiences in the country.  Plus, prime market day includes the "animal" market.  I've seen animal markets before, primarily in Bac Ha, Vietnam.  While I think they are more humane than the factory farms of my home country, they're still rough to behold.  I mentioned to a staff member in Quito that we'd be at the market on an "off" day in Otavalo & he congratulated our fore-thought.  I raised an eye-brow.  In response he said, "I always tell people to go to Otavalo during the week.  If you go on market day you see gringoes.  You've seen them before, haven't you?" 

Well, by being one, yes I have.

Thoroughly encouraged we paid our $.80 fare & boarded our first Ecuadorian bus.  We were scared.  We'd heard stories, read stories, & generally breathed in the lore around Ecuadorian buses.  Years ago in Panama, before Ecuador was even really on our radar, a couple told us about riding an overnight bus in Ecuador & nearly being overtaken by bandits.  Well, this bus was in mid-morning & more or less a commuter trip.  We soon breathed easy.  Maybe because we were so well-warned the buses really felt like nothing to write home about.

We did indeed find our way to the market.  There were beautiful wool goods, kids hats in the shapes of animals, wooden serving bowls, dishes, & trays, jewelry, & lace.  The market didn't feel as aggressive as others we've visited, which was a nice surprise.  This again, is possibly due to arriving on an off day.  It was mainly frequented by locals purchasing their daily goods.  We found some gifts and left after about two hours.

I'd read about a hike to El Lechero, a tree said to have magical powers.  "El Lechero" means the milkman.  I found myself intrigued that this magical tree was given this name.  I later learned that El Lechero and neighboring lake, San Pablo, are said to be possessed by the spirits of lovers.  These two were kept apart & ultimately transformed into tree & lake.  This repressed desire manifests in their powers.

Kevin's take on the tree's powers was decidedly less romantic.  We walked up the mountain towards where we were told we would find the tree.  We asked people en route.  We went the wrong way, the right way, and then the wrong way again.  A six mile hike turned into about ten miles.  And these are steep, unforgiving, Andean slopes.  My gringo legs were getting broken in quickly.  Kevin's assessment was that the tree's magic was compelling us to keep going even as we began to doubt it's existence.  But we kept telling ourselves, "We've come this far!  We'll regret it if we never see it!"

& of course, as with any worthy adventure, it's really what you see along the way that makes the going worth anything.  We hiked through gently scented eucalyptus groves.  We passed farms & farmers herding their sheep.  We saw llamas and alpacas, and sleepy packs of dogs napping on front stoops.

Passing clothes lines and rain barrels I giggled.  This is so much of why I travel where I do.  I want to learn and to remember.  I want to see people live in ways that cost their environment less.  I get ideas & inspiration.

Finally, FINALLY, we arrived.  Kevin laughed.  Kevin loves jokes that are really a joke on the listener.  His favorite joke is an endless telling of an insecure guy mouthing off to a clown.  The joke goes absolutely nowhere & the punchline is that the listener ceded that time to the teller to no end.  El Lechero felt something like the clown joke.  We hiked and hiked and this is what we found.  A peak with one tree that looked to have been struck by lightning.

And then I kept looking.  Lake San Pablo was in view.  The lover always just out of reach.  Wind sweeping up the peak and blowing the few standing trees.

The careful attention of all those who believe in El Lechero's powers.  The area surrounding El Lechero was obviously, lovingly tended by someone.  The farms lining the Andean slopes that rose and fell on and on into the horizon.  All of this was truly magical.

We began our descent back down to town.  I remembered again why I so value travel, especially when it mandates that I disconnect my smartphone, have no access to TVs, and limited access to phones.  My vision becomes a bit more acute.  My mind feels calmer.  I feel like I begin to see again.  Like I don't resent ceding my time to a story that goes nowhere.  Like taking an unintended ten mile hike really brought me somewhere magical.