Merry Christmas!

Santa is much bigger here in Ecuador.

Merry Christmas to all of our wonderful friends and family!  We wish you all a happy and healthy holiday with your loved ones.  Cheers!

Hasta Luego, Cotacachi...

The Three Musketeers or Moe, Larry and Curly?

Last Monday, we bid a very fond farewell to Cotacachi.  We have, for now, traded the mountains for the beach.  Seems a pretty fair swap, right?  Besides the obvious differences in scenery, there are some very stark contrasts between the two locales that were mostly unexpected.

Manta is a fairly large city, by Ecuadorian standards, with a population of around 150,000.  And, just as in the States, small towns and cities have their pros and cons.  We have immediately found that here in Manta, the locals are not as friendly as the locals and indigenous peoples of Cotacachi.  This is a broad stroke and I am merely generalizing for the sake of being concise.  Nevertheless, Cotacachi was such a wonderful place for us to move to on our first try…it was lucky.  The warmth and kindness of the locals and indigenous peoples is unmatched in my experience.  They were genuine in their thoughtfulness and pure in their sincerity.  It was a great experience to live amongst such a high caliber of people.  I loved walking into town for the simple pleasure of getting to say “good morning/Buenos dias” to the random person, or stopping to chat with Maria, the sweet indigenous lady who lived outside our community and to be also greeted excitedly by her pack of very friendly dogs.   Riding the bus from Cotacachi to the surrounding towns and cities was also one of those unexpected pleasures that will be missed.  There are countless details from the bus which will be forever etched in our hearts, minds and noses.  Bartering and buying from the markets in Cotacachi and Otavalo.  The people, colors, textures, variety…it was a feast for the senses and wallet!  Laura has gotten to be quite the champ at bargaining in Ecuador…she knows just enough Spanish to be deadly.  Eli and his two friends, Donato (formerly Jonah) and Nanke.  I don’t know whether or not Eli will have a memory of them when he is older, but I hope so.  Our wonderful and selfless Ecuadorian friends who helped us navigate our way through a new life experience in a foreign country.  So many absolutely perfect things to pack away in our mental suitcases it is hard to remember them all.  Did I mention the natural beauty or that they speak slower so we can actually try to understand what they are saying?  It’s the little things.

So, back to my original point.  The people in Manta are not as friendly.  However, we have met some very kind and nice people.  Just enough to make us really think we could live here on the coast for awhile.   Manta has the conveniences of a city that was lacking in Cotacachi.  There is an airport which can get us anywhere nationally or internationally cheaply and quickly.  There is more variety for shopping.  Easy access to beautiful beaches and the Galapagos Islands.  Warm weather and a coastal lifestyle all year.  And, most importantly, there is work for us here in Manta with which we could actually make a decent living.  That was the most glaring and important difference for us.  If we want to stay here in Ecuador, I/we need to work.  As much as we like to pretend that we are retired, we are not retired.  As much as we loved Cotacachi, there was no real future for us there.  Manta can offer us a future, and it has.

Now, here’s the rub.  We decided to move to Manta because I was offered a job teaching English at a wonderful school.  Of course, as is the norm for our lives, something happened.  While we were in Cotacachi getting the rest of our things packed and moved out of our rental house, we received an email from another school in Manta wanting both me and Laura to come in for an interview.  This wasn’t just any school, this was THE school here in Manta.  The school that is the Carmel High of Manta, but in a good way.  This school has a group of private investors dedicated to making this school the best and most well-rounded of any school in the country.  They are sparing no expense to meet that end.  They have a brand new, state-of-the-art facility (with a view of the ocean!) that would rival most schools in the States.  They have made us a very generous offer to come teach for them.  An offer that we are seriously considering.

Life here in Ecuador is good, but not perfect…

Manta Pics...

Sunset in Manta

Thanksgiving Dinner

Enjoying the beach

Cute kid

How Eli likes to pose for pictures these days

Manta Coast

Manta On My Mind...

Un penique for your thoughts.

Decisions, decisions.  Seems like just when we have our hearts and minds set on something (or someplace) then the wind changes direction on us.  This time, the wind was a gentle and warm ocean breeze coming in off the coast of Manta.

It began innocently enough with just taking a vacation from vacation and a break from the chill of the mountains.  We had never been to the coast of Ecuador and had been given differing accounts and testimonials of what to expect.  All we knew was that sand plus water multiplied by sun equals happy...outside of that, we didn't really care.  The trip there was quick and painless and easy, just as are most things here in Ecuador...pleasantly uncomplicated.  Laura was coming off of a brutal case of Montezuma's Revenge and I was unfortunately starting to feel a little funky on the plane ride out to Manta.  The Revenge had gotten hold of me upon arrival to our hotel and I spent the first two days in Manta riding out headache, fever and chills under the covers in our room while Laura and Eli hung out on the beach...cruel and unnecessary punishment. 

The night before we were to leave for Manta, I got a random call on our rinky-dink Ecuadorian cell phone from the Director of English Studies at a bilingual high school in Manta.  Laura had sent around my resume and teaching certification out to various schools around Ecuador just to see what would bounce back.  I had already interviewed and gotten a very nice offer from an English school in Cayambe which is a beautiful, but isolated town in the Andean highlands shadowed by an amazing snow-covered volcano.  We thought about it for a second, but decided to decline the offer for various reasons.  The call from the school in Manta was unexpected and intriguing.  I decided, "Why not?"  We didn't have anything planned while we were to be in Manta so I might as well test the waters with an interview.  In spite of my bout with The Revenge, I pulled myself together and went for it...my pasty skin was even pastier, eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep and sweat was pouring down my back like some diseased waterfall...I was a vision.  The school was very nice and located outside of the city in a secluded and quiet area.  All the schools we have seen in Ecuador are behind walls or gates.  I still can't decide if they are trying to keep people in or out.  Nevertheless, the school was great and the Director was a lovely woman who spoke perfect English and had apparently had a bad experience in Wisconsin earlier this year...I got the impression it was a romance gone bad because she didn't want to tell me about it and she may have cried a little bit when I asked.  The rest of the interview went very well and she encouraged me to explore other teaching opportunities while in Manta.  Native English speaking teachers are a hot commodity in Ecuador and one can usually walk into a school and get either an interview or job offer on the spot.  It was nice to feel so needed and valuable and not in the "dime-a-dozen" category as I was so used to in the States.   I could start to see more clearly the potential.

Laura went out looking for some food later that day and made contact with an American business owner who had been living in Manta with his family for quite sometime.  He had told her that his kids went to a great school and they were looking for a Native English speaking teacher for the next school year.  I was still a hot mess, but decided I should go and visit that school in the morning regardless of my zombie-like condition.  I showed up unannounced at the school armed with nothing more than my resume and flop sweat.  I got some resistance from the security guard at the front gate as I tried my best to convey to him in my pseudo-Spanglish that I would like to speak to someone about a teaching position.  He was very patient with me and decided I was worth the extra effort to go and get a teacher who spoke English.  A very sweet woman with a kind face appeared before me and asked what I needed or wanted.  I showed her my resume and before I could utter the words "English teacher," she grabbed my arm and whisked me away to speak to another teacher.  This teacher was the head of the English department at this school and to my delight, he spoke perfect English.  He spoke to the female teacher (who still had a death grip on my arm so presumably not to lose me or have me escape!) in Spanish and he got very excited.  He asked if I was wanting a teaching job and I don't think he waited for my answer as I was again being whisked away to an upstairs office.  I was to meet immediately with the Principal of the school to discuss my employment.  It was a literal whirlwind...in my foggy state I was unclear if this was cool or if I was a security threat.  The principal did not speak English and so the male teacher stayed to act as translator for our meeting.  Unbeknownst to me, they had apparently been waiting for me to show up on their doorstep.  I was the cute little stray puppy at their gate who just wanted a nice family to feed me and rub my tummy and not hit me on the nose with a rolled up newspaper for piddling on the rug...or something like that.

At some point I remembered that Laura and Eli were out waiting in the taxi...I wasn't sure how long I had been inside, but I figured it had been more than an hour at that point.  The taxi driver decided that Laura and Eli should go inside to see the school, too (I found out after the fact that the taxi driver was keeping Eli busy teaching him the Spanish alphabet...Eli hung in there until the letter T then pooped out).  So while I was finishing up my meeting they were getting a tour of the campus.  I met up with them outside the Principal's office and Laura's eyes were wide with excitement and anticipation.  I was still trying to process everything that had just happened, but knew that I had just been offered a job to be their only Native English teacher and they had also offered to have Eli go to school there as well for half price and they had also asked me if Laura needed a job and they may have offered to take care of my visa dilemma.  Not too shabby for some sickly dude off the street. I would say that it was my winning smile, but I don't remember even playing that card.  All in all, it was an experience and we had some thinking to do.

So, here's the bottom line:  As much as we love living in the mountains and our cute little town, we are very isolated and there aren't many kids for Eli to interact with on a regular basis...not to mention, our tourist visa expires the first week in January.  If we intend to stay in Ecuador longer than three months, we need to apply for a visa extension or, I needed a job that would offer to get me a work visa.  Manta was beautiful and I, in my wildest dreams, never thought I could live and work in a place like that.  We could seriously afford to live right on the beach, literally!  It is a great opportunity and something that we are very much considering...this is one of those decisions that is pretty obvious and could potentially be a regret later in life.

I am reminded right this moment of the song "Seize the Day" from the movie Newsies which was a favorite of my dad's...he used to sing it with such conviction and his usual theatrics and flair.  I feel like right now at this point, that song should be the theme song for my life...with my dad singing it for good measure, of course...

Open the gates and seize the day,
Don't be afraid and don't delay;
Nothing can break us, no one can make us,
Give our rights away.

Arise and seize the day;
Now is the time to seize the day,
Now is the time to seize the day!

Happy Thanksgiving via Ecuador...

Our forefathers would approve.

I'm just going to get this out of the way right off the top:  We spent Thanksgiving on the beach and did not eat turkey.  I don't feel so much guilt over the former, but the latter I do have a smidge of regret.  Turkey, of course, is tradition on Thanksgiving...as is green bean casserole, mashed potatoes, cranberry salad and family dysfunction.  It just all makes sense together, except for the cranberry salad...never cared much for that combination of ingredients.  I missed the turkey and the interaction with dear friends and family, but our sushi was pretty darn tasty.  I imagine that the Asian pilgrims may have enjoyed sushi and sake with the natives those many long years ago.  Probably not a California Roll, but definitely a nice Dynamite Roll or Pink Dragon, perhaps.

This Thanksgiving, more so than any in recent memory, I am very thankful for a new life and fresh start with Laura and Eli.  It has become more and more evident that this roll of the dice was a pretty good one.  We needed this.  When we left the States in October, our little family unit was teetering precariously on a thin strand of waxy dental floss strung very loosely over a deep gorge of stress, disappointment and regret.  It was dismal at best and mostly hopeless.  Stepping back a few thousand miles away from that disturbing Dali painting it is amazing that we could make anything positive happen in the emotional state we were in...I was certain that we were incapable of making a good decision or choosing a direction that wouldn't come back and bite us in the proverbial butts.  Granted, it's still early, but things are falling into place and we have learned to smile again.  We are "The Little Family That Could" and we are almost to the top of that mountain.  I am thankful for the constant, steadfast, selfless and gracious support of our family and friends...we love and appreciate you all.  It's been a rough year, but I am certain it will end on a positive note that will carry us on through next year and beyond...we will endure and keep hope alive or, as a wise and beautiful Irish woman from Colorado once told us, "Don't let the bastards get you down!"  Wise words and a beautiful sentiment, indeed...cheers to all of you this Thanksgiving weekend!

That wave never did catch him.

Embracing the Randomness...

The owl was very impressed.

Many of the things we see around here on a daily basis are odd, strange and very random.  We have learned to embrace and accept most everything.  I like to equate our new surroundings to Wonka's Chocolate Factory...it's crazy and doesn't necessarily make sense, but it works!  It is amusing and innocent and, yes, very brightly colored.  There is a palpable innocence and honesty to the locals.  They love life.  They love their families.  They are completely happy to just be happy.  I dare say that this is unconditional and pure and devoid of naivete.  From the smallest child to the most weathered and seasoned adult, the same innocence is in their eyes.  And their culture is a direct reflection on their honesty and innocence.  What I view as "random" from my perspective, is unintentional.  Everyday is rife with examples.  So, without further ado, here are a few of those great examples of randomness:

We were leaving the SuperMaxi (side point: It still boggles my mind why they chose to name a grocery store after a feminine hygiene product.) grocery store in Ibarra yesterday when we noticed a guy standing literally in front of on-coming traffic juggling three big machetes...and, sadly, he wasn't very good, possibly self-taught.

Families of three, four and even five riding on the same motorcycle or scooter...amazing and impressive.

There is something of a fascination, which we cannot figure out, with the local culture and stickers or decals.  This is the very definition of random when it comes to adorning cars, trucks, buses (especially buses!) and businesses with any sticker image ranging from western sunset scenes, Detroit Pistons or New York Yankees logos, clowns, rainbow Jesus, regular Jesus, Bart Simpson, Tweety and/or Pooh, Playboy logo, local soccer team logo, the names Teresa or Maria, over sized blonde in bikini...you get the drift.

Massive colorful statues, usually located in common areas or roundabouts, depicting local peoples doing various activities like working in a field, riding horses or breastfeeding.  The latter statue was disturbingly graphic.

Indigenous children wear some interesting accessories with their customary dress, such as: silver boxing gloves, spider man pajamas over the clothes, Disney princess backpack, etc.  A nun was walking through the main square texting on her phone.  I wonder who she was texting?  Street dog walking down the sidewalk carrying a baby doll in its mouth.  Small truck with 15-20 students piled in the back.  Local "handyman" fixing our gas stove armed with only his mouth and a long piece of wire...works great!


Anywhere we go, whether it be here in Cotacachi or in another town, locals and indigenous peoples take the time to acknowledge Eli and either touch his face in a gentle way or try to interact with him.  I believe they are genuinely intrigued and amused by him.

Everyday we walk into town, there is a little boy who always manages to find a dandelion to pick and give to his mother.  He tells her she is "the most beautiful mommy in the whole world" and I'm pretty sure he means it.  That's just the way Eli is most of the time...very random and very sincere.  I think this culture suits him well.

A Day In the Life...

So this post may be a little different from the previous posts.  Thought we would give you a "Day in the Life" series of photos.  I will try and capture a bit of what we experience each day....

It rained for about an hour last week and you would have thought it was little gold nuggets falling from the beautiful sky, instead of water.  Eli grabbed the umbrella and played!  I'm sure the neighbors enjoyed his rendition of "It's Raining It's Pouring" over, and over, and over, and over again. 

One of Eli's favorite things to do is play in our stone courtyard.  He makes hide-outs for his action figures, plays with Beetles, digs in the dirt...He is as dirty as a street kid most days to his delight.  All 3 pairs of shoes are ruined - he walks all around in the best pair which has a broken strap. 
 

Ok, so you may have figured out by now this isn't Correy writing...I don't know as many big words and cannot string them together like poetry.  Anyway, this is a view of the back gate into our community.  Notice the cow (there are actually about 10 in this pasture).  We have to walk through an Indigenous person's property (they allow us to) which includes 3-4 dogs, multiple chickens, a few large roosters, cows, sheep including a brand new little baby and 1 pig.  A couple weeks ago, I went for a morning walk by myself.  Those of you who know me well know that about every 4 days I make some type of "resolution" (I'm gonna go on Atkins!  I'm going to do yoga every day!  I'm giving up coffee!  You get the gist....)  So this fateful day I had gone out our front gate and walked about 2.5 miles all around town and was feeling great!  "I'm going to do this every morning!!" I say to myself.  "How wonderful I can be a guest in this country, feel safe to walk alone, Ahhh the view!" then I turn up the path and face - a small cow and a big dog.  I've seen both many times but today they are laying ON the path - directly between me and the back gate (Oh did I mention when I was feeling empowered and healthy, that I picked up a 10 lb jug of bottled water for the house and had already carried it about half mile?  Yep.)  So I stand there holding my water and staring at the cow and dog, which both stare back.  The path is only about 18" wide, with a trench that looks gross on either side.  Neither animal moves...and the dog growls.  So I weigh my options:  1) jumping over them while carrying 10 lbs of water  2) jumping around them to the pasture and risk the trench 3) turn around and accept defeat.  I choose option #3.  My parents can attest to my short-lived high school career as a "long jumper" in track.  So I turn around and walk the 1.25 miles to the other gate with my water.  Safe and sound.  I do still walk by myself, just maybe not with the water jug. 

The Little Guy.... I do not mean to make a derrogatory comment, but we call the man in this picture "the little guy".  Every afternoon he waits at the back gate (mentioned above) and waits for one of us Gringos to open it up.  Then he goes to an open lot (this one is across from our house) and sits and cuts the grass for a few hours until dusk.  Then he hauls 1-2 bags to the back gate, and proceeds to come around and see which one of us will let him back out.  He weighs maybe 80 pounds, and each bag is probably 100 lbs.  He is mute...an example of Indigenous in-breeding...but very sweet.  He cuts the grasses to feed the cows which is the law in Ecuador - if there is open land Indigenous are allowed to either let the cattle graze, or cut the grasses.  So we have made it our nightly routine to check out the windows and see when he's carrying his bags, then we go down and open the gate for him.  While we are at it, we take some bread and feed "Daffy" the resident duck. 

Daffy lives in the pond at the back gate and is very social.  Sad story though...Daffy had a mate (a lovely white duck we are told) and they used to walk through the neighborhood together.  His girlfriend went missing, so he is sad.  He sits up the hill from the pond and looks over the fence at the cows/animals on the other side.  He waits for us Gringos to come and feed him and say hello.  We all do and he is a fat little duck.  Of course Eli is now trying to talk us into getting a duck for our bathtub (that we don't have).

This is the little pizza place in Cotacachi that we visit once or twice a week.  A very nice young woman owns it and makes some good pizza pies.  Eli flirts with her niece who is probably 6 yrs old and tries to get them to turn on the TV.
 

Our other favorite pizza place.  This is Eli with his new friend, Jonah.  D'Angelo Pizza is in Otavalo and Jonah's dad runs the place, so he is there all day.  Each time, Jonah has a new toy he brings out to share with Eli (a ping pong ball, a pretend horse, a calculator....)  Yesterday we went and brought Jonah some stickers (Angry Bird stickers for those of you who love the game!)  Jonah proceeded to put them all over his big wheel and ride all through the place - hilarious.  There is a small courtyard right next to the tables and that's where they play.  They don't understand a word the other one says....

So hopefully it comes through that we are having a nice time.  We are in love with this country and its people.  Yesterday I bought a Panama Hat!  And most days we enjoy each other's company :) Even though I have 13 bug bites that itch like crazy...and most nights either the beetles scratching or the beat of music from an Ecuadorian baptism party wake us up....it's been a pretty good ride so far.  We miss our dear family and friends...thank you for the nice words, encouragement, humor, emails, and Skyping.  Greatly appreciate you and keep it coming!

It has been nice to stop and smell the roses for a minute.  Life is pretty darn good.  Until we meet again....Cheers 

Stylist for Rent...

A Cut Above or Into Thin Hair?

I've always been pretty flexible...meaning that I am willing to adapt to and accommodate any situation where my services need to be rendered.  Basically, I'm up for the challenge.  As a hair stylist there are two essentials needed to be successful anywhere in the world:  the ability and the tools.  One of which fits nicely in my head and the other can be carried around in a convenient, non-effeminate shoulder bag. I've never gotten hung-up on the particulars of where I cut hair and I believe this has served me well both in the States and in Ecuador.  

Two thoughts occurred to me the other day as I was walking back down the mountain from a hair appointment:  1) This is pretty crazy and 2) How the heck did I get here?  I'm pretty sure I wondered both of those things out loud.  The walk back down to our house in the valley was amazing and (literally) breathtaking.  It was twenty minutes of rough gravel and cobblestone road carved out of the foothills winding through two, maybe three, small indigenous villages.  I smiled as I walked and said my obligatory "holas" and "buenas tardes" to everyone I passed along the way.  As I huffed and puffed, like the little engine who could and coolly sweated through my black shirt with my ten to fifteen pounds of gear slung around my chest, those two thoughts emerged.  This is pretty crazy that I am in Ecuador wandering the countryside and surrounding villages cutting hair in people's homes.  Sure, the extra money is great and I do love meeting new people, but it is indeed crazy, nonetheless.  How the heck did I get here?  Well, that question offered me a few moments of reflection and great memories.

It all began innocently enough sitting on the bathroom counter of my mom and dad's house.  The first cut is always the hardest...fortunately, I was my first client.  As I carefully watched my hands and scissors while trying to synch them to the reflection in the mirror, history was made.  As far as I can recall, I was satisfied with the result and realized that I had some confidence in the ability to not screw up my hair.  The dates are a little fuzzy, but I'm going to say this was 1990ish.  Hair styles around that time were just beginning to transition from Bon Jovi to Nirvana.  Pretty much going from horrible to horrible.  So, in hindsight, it didn't matter what my hair looked like.

After that fateful day, I began expanding my skills using myself and others as guinea pigs...which, FYI, are a delicacy in Ecuador.  I believe the first person who let me cut their hair was my dad.  He had massive amounts of lustrous, glistening salt-n-pepper hair that softly framed his bearded face like some better-looking Kenny Rogers or Jerry Garcia.  That was a big deal for me...my dad trusted me and had enough faith in my ability to let me touch his hair with scissors...very cool.  I think I did pretty good because I was neither grounded or asked to not quit my day job.  My confidence grew from that first experience and so did my clientele.  My friends liked the idea of me cutting their hair because not only was I willing to go to them, but they could get creative with payment...it was truly a win-win situation.  Needless to say, I didn't have to pay for beers very often! 

I have cut hair in some pretty interesting places:  garages, basements, patios, front porches, kitchens, living rooms, bathrooms, balconies, terraces, driveways...you get the gist.  However, I was about to cut hair someplace I had never expected.  In 1996, Laura and I were married and we promptly moved to Durango, Colorado.  We were working at a beautiful ranch at approximately 8500 feet above sea level and getting to cut hair in the Rocky Mountains.  During the two years we spent in both Colorado and Arizona, I was consistently cutting and coloring hair for random transient friends, coworkers and vagabonds.  It was a great time in my life and a remarkable experience that I will never forget.  Laura and I bonded as newlyweds and indulged in an extraordinary lifestyle and got lost in the beauty of our surroundings.  My confidence as a non-licensed stylist was at a new high...and elevation.

After our stint out west, we returned to Indiana to be closer to our families and to maybe set some roots.  Laura returned to working for attorneys and I attempted to pursue a career using my Bachelor's Degree in Journalism.  That didn't really pan out.  I tripped and stumbled around to different jobs with varying degrees of failure and disappointment.  At some point, I realized that maybe I had made a mistake choosing to major in Journalism with and Art minor.  Sure, I enjoyed those things, but I really needed to make a little money.  Laura suggested I go to Beauty School and become "legal" as a hair stylist.  Since our return to Indiana, I was back cutting hair for our friends and family and having a good time doing it.  So it made complete sense that I should pursue this hobby as a career...problem solved.  Without going into detail, beauty school sucked.  It was the worst year-and-a-half of my life...I was a pilgrim in an unholy land.  Still, to this day, it ranks as one of the most dysfunctional places I have ever spent time.  I was also still working full-time, dealing with family issues and trying to have a relationship with my new bride...what doesn't kill you should make you stronger, or bitter.

I finished beauty school and took a job at a cute Aveda salon in Southport.  It was a new experience actually working on clients who paid and expected perfection.  I broke a few eggs at first, but found my footing and honed my skills, learning from my mistakes.  About six months into this new gig as a paid stylist, I was offered the opportunity to buy the salon where I was working.  "Sure, why not?"  Which, curiously, still seems to be the mantra for our life right now.  Ownership had its ups-and-downs...the highs were high but the lows were much, much lower.  It wore us down over eight years and I often questioned if I was truly happy cutting hair.   In spite of everything, I was still a stylist at heart and still felt a passion for what I had chosen to do...it was a part of me now and reflected a part of my character.  I'm an aging rock star who just can't stop making music and going on tour...sounds kinda glamorous or maybe, kinda crazy.

My twenty-minute walk down the mountain was enlightening.  I think we are all put here on Earth to be a certain person and to excel in certain things in such a short time.  We are tested along the way and our fortitude and confidence is often questioned.  At the end of the day, it's just life and our choices on any given day lead us somewhere or nowhere.  I'm glad to be where I am and to have had the opportunity to be a stylist for rent.  The walk through the mountains has been amazing.

A Very Super Market...

Where's Waldo?

We traveled by bus the other day to Otavalo to experience all the wonder that is the open-air market. 

Here is a brief explanation, a bit of history, some research and my two cents:    The Otavalo market is the oldest and most important Indian market in South America which  takes place every Saturday high in the Andes.  For 4,000 years, this market has served as the social and economic heartbeat of the northern highlands. Interestingly, it is Ecuador’s most popular destination after the Galapagos Islands. The otherwise quiet town wakes at dawn to a cacophony of chickens, cows and sheep and the trading of hemp, saddles, vegetables, grain, and textiles.  Bartering seems to come naturally for the many, many brightly dressed Otavalenos who have converged from near and far away. There are tourist trinkets galore, such as:  pottery, weavings, jewelry, carved wooden animals and I may or may not have seen a random AC/DC shoulder bag.  It is apparent that the expats and visitors come mainly for the authentic local atmosphere and the Indian population is here to swap livestock, provisions and local news and soccer scores.  Arriving early on Saturday affords you the sights and smells of the animal market which winds down around 8 a.m.  The busses from Quito, with throngs of salivating, fair-skinned Europeans with deep pockets and bad haircuts, arrives around 10 a.m.  I am convinced that, as a general rule, European travelers are completely content and secure in their rudeness...just an observation.

The market was completely overwhelming and our senses were on overload...it was truly hard to focus.  Not to mention that, on the bus ride into town, we passed a brightly colored, American-style playground that Eli reminded us about every five to ten seconds or so while walking from the bus stop to the market.  He was relentless.  There were so many layers to this market and just when you felt like you had seen it all there would be another layer or offshoot that had to be explored.  It was a beautiful day in the mountains complete with blue sky and big fluffy clouds adorning the volcanoes and surrounding mountain peaks.  The sun was intense and me and Eli's tender skin was taking an equatorial beating. 

We retreated to a quaint little pizza joint off a main street and decided to get some lunch.  While waiting for our pizza, Eli began eyeballing this sweet little indigenous boy.  After they sized each other up and down for a few minutes we urged Eli to ask his name.  The boy's name was Jonah (we think) and after another couple minutes of flirting, the boy disappeared into the pizza place and reappeared with something in his hand.  It was a plastic golf ball and he wanted Eli to follow him over to an open area next to us to play.  They began to throw the ball back and forth...laughing and having a good time neither one knowing what the other was saying.   Just a couple of boys communicating in the International language of innocent fun.  Eli was thrilled to have a friend.  Jonah disappeared and reappeared several more times with various items:  a skateboard, a vintage calculator of some sort and finally a ripped piece of paper...still unclear what that was about.  It didn't matter,  while Laura and I ate and watched, Eli and Jonah bonded.  It was a great lunch.

Jonah proved to be a nice diversion for Eli as it was a temporary ceasefire from the playground bombardment.  As soon as we got back to the street the ceasefire was over.  That kid does not forget!  We decided to leave the market for the playground vowing to return soon for another, more focused, attempt.  It was a short walk to the playground which actually had a name, Parque San Sebastian.  Eli had a great time at the playground, but was hampered a bit by his slippery shoes.  He would just drop to the ground intermittently as if he had just been hit by a sniper.  I stood to the side in some shade and watched local men play a pretty intense soccer game on a hard and dusty pitch.  We convinced Eli that we needed to leave (which took approximately 15-20 minutes and a dreamsicle flavored sucker) and waited for our rainbow on wheels to take us back to Cotacachi.  The bus was standing room only, but a sweet older woman gave up her seat so that Eli could sit for the ride.  I hope we were able to express to her our gratitude in our broken Spanish...a very kind and generous gesture in any language should be properly acknowledged.

Our journey should have ended there, but there was one more unkind twist to the day.  The electricity which controls the gates here at our compound is a bit schizophrenic.  You are rolling the dice on whether or not your automatic gate opener will work when you push the button.  There are two gates which permit entry to the compound:  the main entrance and the back gate.  There is no short cut between gates so if the back gate does not work then you have to walk another 1.25 miles around the compound to the main entrance.  When we arrived at our back gate, we got sucker punched.  Tired and hungry and sunburned, we accepted our defeat and began the long trek around to the main entrance. Eli fell a few more times for good measure during the hike and we ended up carrying him the rest of the way...the sniper was following us!  A couple of loud knocks and some shouting to our security guard on the other side of the entrance and we were home free.   Needless to say, it was a full day...another great day with wonderful details which we will not soon forget.