Today has had it´s share of yelling. ”Valo-Otaval-vamosaotavalo!” yelled the bus steward all morning as I tried to sleep. ”Cuarenta-cuarenta naranjas para cuaren–un dolar naranjas un dolar!” Can you guess where I made I contact with the orange-seller? Right in between forty cents and $1. We´re getting the gringo price.
Otavalo boasts the biggest open-air market in the world. It is not the most diverse. Like any sort of ”handicraft” mecca, there are repeats perfect for leveraging against other shops when haggling. Today I bought: Ecuadorian flag bracelet (.75), headband ($2), the common – yet very colorful Peruvian ear-flap hat ($5), a belt that I am using as a shoulder strap (the worst bargain of the day as the 8 year old girl was made of much tougher stuff than me and wouldn’t budge $7), and an Ecuadorian flag hacky sack ($1, but I found myself arguing down to .75 and then wondered to myself, why am I arguing over a quarter?). Shay went for the fences. Other than about the same, she got an alpaca sweater ($15), earrings (2 pairs for $7, but I approve), and like 2 weeks worth of Ecuadorian wages in bracelets. Despite the hyperbole, seriously, she´s bangled.
We found a hostal for the night for $4 each, ate a wonderful plate of street food (chicken, potatoes, eggs, rice and vegetables with the ubiquitous ahí chili sauce), and then asked around for a bus to the Condor Center.
People are very nice and helpful, patient and always complimenting us on our Spanish. The bus from Otavalo dropped us off by a lake in a nearby village and we walked a few miles uphill to the Condor Center. Farms with cows and pigs-on-a-rope and fields of purple-flowered pea bushes bordered the dirt road with a view of the dramatic, cloud obscured peak that rises from the lake below with a patchwork of farms and scattered houses around its base. Purple-flowered pea bushes.
The Condor Center has hawks, eagles and owls from all over the Americas. They are all rescues, but nonetheless saddening. The Andean Condor has a wingspan up to ten feet, is the largest flying bird in the world, the national symbol of Ecuador, Colombia, Peru, and Venezuela, and has a cage 30’x20’x15′ tall. But almost all they re-release die within a week. We saw a harpy eagle from Mexico, kestrels, pigmy and a beautiful snowy owl, and the closest I’ve ever been to an American Bald Eagle. I felt a patriotic duty to set him free. He was in a garden, chained to a pole, and 5 feet away. The ones without cages had bells on their feet. They are doing a wonderful service to educate and rehabilitate, but it seems so hard to see such powerful and ranging birds caged.
They had a short exhibition in which a few birds got to fly around, and sitting in an amphitheater overlooking Otavalo and the valley I felt a bit better for them. I also enjoyed the air and the overlook and Shay and I broke in my hacky sack on the mountain (it was very reminiscent of work this summer – hiking up a hill and having a hack-session). On the way down we rode with some Dutch travelers, walked them to the bus station, and then found a hole-in-the-wall with 35 chickens on the rotisserie.
The day ended with a different sort of yelling. When we left the Internet cafe we heard yelling and laughter coming from the main square where the market had been. We came up to a group watching a street performer painted like a mime. As we approached, he instantly brought attention to us. He smiled and yelled, “Hello!” in an over-emphasized gringo accent. We repeated the loud enunciation.
“Jwer arr ju frum?”
The crowd laughed that he couldn’t communicate with us.
He asked us in Spanish how we like the marketplace, Ecuador, and where we’d go. We answered we’d go to the Galápagos and he said very sarcastically, “¡Esto es Ecuador!” (That is Ecuador) Then he asked if we’d been robbed yet and left the circle to have us put money in his hat. We gave him all our change.
He counted it.
I had Thirty six cents.
He showed the crowd and announced how cheap we were and they all laughed.
Later I realized the mime paint was actually gringo paint and he was making fun of all the tourists that come to Otavalo, dress nicely, spend thousands of dollars to go see the Galápagos, and then try, in limited Spanish, to swindle the locals into the lowest haggling prices.
And we gave him $0.36.