SPYING IMBABURA; LOOKING AROUND; LOCAL COSTUME
Otavalo, Ecuador, Friday, June 23, 2006

Spying Imbabura

This morning we wake up to bright blue skies and, although I do not exactly dash out of bed, I get myself up, dressed and climb to the roof terrace of Hostal Runa Pancha. Although there are small cotton-ball clouds drifting by and snagging themselves on the peak, Valcano Imbabura is clearly visible perhaps about fifteen miles away. The rocky cone on top is dusted with white snow. The little clouds hang for a moment and then drift off and dissipate until, perhaps five minutes later, another small puff of cloud forms around the peak for a minute or two.

The shoulders run off far to the right and left, the surface between the town and the cone being unwooded or fenced in as meadows. In the crevices lower down there is forest but otherwise we seem to be above the tree-line
here. Imbabura is over 4,560 metres above sea level (Otavalo itself is 2,556.) Finally there’s a volcano to be seen. I go downstairs again to wake the others to tell them.

Looking around; Local costumes

Otavalo is a prosperous-looking town of about 35,000. The local people are famous throughout Ecuador and even throughout the world as musicians. If you see men walking around in Europe playing Andean music in bars and wearing black woollen ponchos and their hair in a long pony tail, possibly braided, they come from Otavalo. Walking around in the late afternoon and evening we run across small groups of men practicing or teaching guitar, mandolin, flute, pan pipes or even a mouth-organ thingie with a keyboard attached. There are lots of instrument-makers around too. So the tradition is strong.

The clean streets are laid out in a grid and everything looks well kept. The people look somewhat different that farther south and the local costume is everywhere present. It is most original in the old ladies and men but many young women wear it as well. And it looks real comfortable and attractive.

Except for the long black hair and, perhaps, the black or white fedora hat, the men seem to have been quicker to adopt “western” garb, i.e. ubiquitous jeans, windcheater jacket and sneakers. But you still see older men, perhaps just in from the country, in white duck trousers to just above their ankles, canvas sandals (are they called padrillos?) that cover the forefoot and tie in a black lace around the ankle and with a woollen poncho through which the head sticks. Not infrequently the costume is masked by the terrific loads which many people seem to be carrying on the backs, mostly wrapped in a blanket but sometimes inside a wicker basket. It is also not uncommon to see one of the older women bend parallel to the ground with a huge, bulky parcel tied up in a cloth and perhaps held on with a rope or tump line.

The local costume for women is uniformly a white bodice with puffy mutton-chop sleeves with lace attached to below the elbow, a decorative sash belt, an ankle length wraparound skirt made probably originally from a blanket but now of almost any dark material and with a slit up one side to the hop exposing an underskirt if white or cream material, padrillos, a cloth headdress that hangs down the back until it gets to warm and then is piled up on top like a turban, and a blanket cum shawl around the shoulders. This blanket is in some cases for show but, for most, it is also the backpack-in-waiting. If a baby or a load has to be carried, unless some other bigger piece of textile is needed, the shawl will be used. Babies are tied tight with their heads sticking out near Mum’s shoulder and their feet hanging down straight. The blouses, by the way, are intricately embroidered or bejewelled. Every women or girl wears string after string of golden or at least gold-coloured beads and as much flashy jewellery as possible including gold teeth fillings.

A large number of the people we see on the streets are wearing these costumes in their daily life and not just the people selling textiles at the Plaza de Ponchos. We even see girls coming home from school and their school uniform is clearly this local costume. Delightful.

I mentioned that the town is prosperous. Clearly these Kituan speakers (different from Quechua spoken farther south, we are informed) have learned to mix traditional with modern. In that sense they remind me of the Bavarians, the Austrians and the Swiss who have local Trachten (costumes) that come out for special occasions and who have a modern version that they can wear to work.

We have arrived at the Summer Solstice and this weekend is to see a lot of all-night music and dancing. We have heard that it can be pretty hair-raising with so many drunken indigenous people. But a young man, who operates the internet café where there are about six or seven young guys playing guitars and other instruments in the corner, tells us that this is all overdrawn. This is a religious festival that he emphasises has nothing to do with the Roman Catholic Church, even though the latter have tried over the many centuries to link the solstice to the Festival of St. John the Baptist. It is native religious and very holy, from his, the young man’s, point-of-view.

On the night of the 22nd there is a ritual bathing at midnight at a waterfall far out of town. This is to unite the person with the universal. Tonight there is ritual feasting on bread, fruit and other foods. On Saturday there are special religious services.

Whether we shall witness these religious services is an open question. Certainly tonight, Friday, there is to be dancing, playing and singing in the market square and we intend to witness some of it.

I am only slowly recovering from my bout of diarrhoea. After five days without improvement I finally bought a five-day cure at the farmacia and hope it will soon effect. I am constantly dashing back to the hotel and feel quite weak from lack of nourishment and dehydrated from lack of fluids.

Last night we met an elderly ex-German from Stuttgart in a restaurant who has lived his adult life in Latin America as a horticulturalist. In Mexico we were always told that a week-long cure with coconut water was the ideal thing to clear up this sort of thing. He recommends drinking papaya juice, seeds skin and all and without much sugar. He swears it will clear it right up. I drank one and like it a lot but I can’t tell that it has done much. We’ll see how it works together with my pills.

Other than the market and the weekend festivities, Otavalo does not have a lot to see. We have looked inside the 17th or 18th century stone cathedral. Clearly Spanish in origin. It is strangely spare on the outside and inside, only the high altar being golden. The entrance doors are beautifully carved in stained wood in Quito Baroque style. But other than that, this Franciscan church is all somewhat crude countrified baroque.

While I am looking around, three women come in, light candles and begin to pray sotto voce before different side altars and an elderly man in a white fedora, padrillos, white trousers and a blue poncho kneels intensely before an effigy of the infant Jesus, a stature of such 19th century vulgarity that it might have been excommunicated but apparently holds some place in this man’s affections.

We visited the daily textile market on Thursday but take advantage of the sunny weather to be out and about. At the corner of the market is a wonderful bakery-café where they make excellent sandwiches and terrific rolls and croissants. We head back there this morning before Antonia embarks on her souvenir-buying expedition.

The market is a city block large and they exhibitors, nearly all in local costume are still setting up as late as 0900. I was dying for a camera with a zoom lens: the faces; the costumes; the colours; the patterns; the goods! It was wonderful to see. If you simply intend to look rather than buy – definitely so in our case- the constant badgering by the exhibitors can be a little annoying. But just walking away with a comment like, “Hoy non!” (“Not today!”) will bring the prices, already very low, down immediately by a third.

You can see these Andean products everywhere around the world now. They include brightly woven cottons, alpaca wool blankets and clothing, knitted garments, carved wooden items, jewellery, etc., etc., etc. We bought one or two small items like a belt-holder for the cellphone, a little purse and a money belt in bright colours, not spending more than a few dollars. Antonia bought me a brightly-coloured woven band for my sombrero as a belated Father’s Day present.

It is Toni who goes back later with Kathleen in tow to do her souvenir shopping. She winds up spending less than twelve dollars and saving probably about five or six on the opening bids to buy little gifts for all her friends and family back home.

Kathleen and I discuss a nice piece of colourful cloth as a hanging inside Vilisar’s cabin to brighten the place up. It will have to wait now for more money to come in. Woven cases for throw pillows would be good too. As a matter of fact, I could decorate a big house with the variety of stuff here!