Otavolo Ecuador

July 06, 2000

Otavalo, Ecuador

We arrived in Otavalo at around 2:30 PM after an hour-long ride with our new friend, Washington Villamarin, through the Ecuadorian countryside. Washo (as his friends call him) dropped Rebecca and me at our host family's house in the heart of town.

We stepped up to an iron-gated fortress with bars on the windows and doors. Washington escorted us through the gates and into the house. It’s built in traditional South American style, with generous doses of hardwood and tile throughout. Constructed around the central courtyard, which serves as parking lot, play ground and repair shop, the house resembles an apartment building, more than a home. With a compliment of 9 family members and 13 or so employees, you get the sense that this is a microcosm of the bustling city outside the gates.

The family is a sampling of the many inhabitants of Otavalo. Papa Fidel, the grandfather and head of the household, is a man of many talents. From maintaining his own sock factory to repairing the odd car, or three, that friends seem all too eager to bring by at a moments notice, he has a propensity for getting the job (whatever it may be) done.

Patricio, his stepson, drives his own bus while Sandra, daughter of Fidel and wife of Patricio, founded a private elementary school in Otavalo. Uncle Julio works in the factory and keeps an eye on the many employees.

Anita, affectionately known as Mamanita, keeps the whole works running smoothly. From sending the kitchen help scurrying for the odd dinner ingredient to hooking up the hot water heater so a pair of stinky Gringo's can take a shower, Mamanita is the keystone of a family spanning 3 generations.

Mamanita took us to our room and got us settled in for our two week stay, giving a short tour around the house and explaining some of the quirks of living in Ecuador, like the catch as catch can water supply or the need to be off the streets before 10PM. She then sent us scurrying off to school for our introduction and first days lessons.

The school is a semi-random collection of Otavolans and visitors from other countries, who are in need of a little work during their stay.

Teaching Spanish to the travelers and English to the natives, the school is a bustle of activity, where you are as likely to find a German patent attorney, as you are an indigenous man trying to make heads or tails of our native language.

My teacher turned out to be a lifelong resident of the city, named Jenny. She was the 26-year-old mother of a beautiful little girl named Sidney. Her husband was in Spain, working to get his family's immigration papers in line and provide a better future for his daughter. Jenny is an upbeat person with unbound patience for slow learning North Americans... namely me.

One of the most wonderful aspects of the school were the activities that Washo had planned for our stay. We had found ourselves enjoying some of the world’s most beautiful landscapes. Climbing around the rim of Cuicocha, a not-so-active volcano to the north of the city or trekking off to some of the high mountain lakes of Mojanda to the west, I was in wonder at the beauty and majesty of Ecuador