Wednesday, October 19, 2011

Atahualpa Nearing the End

My time in Atahualpa is coming to a close- about a week left here, and three days if those I will be in Tena for Independent Student Travel, or travel away from the leaders.  It should be great, but I am starting to look back on my time here and think about how I will miss the atmosphere.  Here are some of my latest adventures.

Last weekend we took a trip to Otavalo, a touristy market area about 4 ish hours away from Atahualpa by bus.  We did a lot, but one of the highlights was visiting a huge craft market on Saturday morning.  Apparently the craft market is one of the biggest in South America, and we arrived early in the morning to see rows and rows, blocks and blocks of stalls and shops lined up.  Vendors yelling up the walks, the bustle of people, and store owners negotiating with customers screamed through my brain.  I could barely think through all the peripheral debris- we had to walk from the center down all of the individual walks before we could even think about buying anything.  Cloth pants and shirts, alpaca jackets, tapestries, bracelets, necklaces, I did not even know where to start.  I ended up buying pants and a few jackets, plus a bowl as a gift for my host family and some other items.  But what I bought did not really matter- the more intriguing experience was interacting with the stall owners.  In the market, it is customary and almost courteous to negotiate a price with the owner.  Almost all of the items I looked at were made by hand, the materials collected or bought by the owner, so I felt bad negotiating down a product that was made by hand.  The backpack I bought was about thirteen dollars, but the materials were collected up in the mountains, painstakingly by hand, and then hand sewn to make the backpack.  13 dollars.  But still I continued to try an lower prices at every stall- a girl in my shopping group named Mijal mentioned that they would not sell the item if they did not profit, so I felt a bit better.  We spent about four hours walking around the market, and after I left with my items I still did not feel satisfied.  I felt strange- mad at myself for splurging on items that I wanted, but did not really have time to assess and make sure it was a product I would love.  The market was so huge that I knew there was another item there I missed or overlooked, an item I knew I would love more than the one I bought.  I felt slightly consoled that profits went directly to the stall owner, but still had a huge bout of buyer's remorse yet buyer's hunger, I guess.  Yet going back to the owners, rarely have I talked to someone about their product.  I learned that making some necklaces requires a lot of drying time and effort, and that the makers are very willing to talk about their products and how they are made.  Interestingly, one bracelet maker was wary of our taking pictures of his collection for fear of reproducing the same bracelets for vending.  The vendors exuded happiness and friendliness, amazingly courteous to us, even agreeing to teach some of the girls how to make similar bracelets to those they were selling.  I never really had that kind of experience with any of my previous consumer experiences.  Even stranger was that many other foreigners were in the market, Americans and Europeans.  I saw many older Americans snapping pictures, taking videos of a lot of vendors without even asking the slightest courtesy.  I saw an American couple trying to negotiate and talk with a vendor in English, which struck me as almost rude.  It was an odd feeling, seeing other Americans in that market.

Later that day, after lunch, all of the guys in the group, 4, went to a Condor park where some of the condors and other birds such as owls and eagles are kept.  All of the birds were kept in cages, and in some places with signs for the birds, no birds really stayed.  The park was semi under construction or addition of other cages, but the birds we saw were fascinating.  The faces on some of the owls looked like warped pieces of wood, and when we passed they stayed dead still.  The condors though were massive- their wingspan must have been about 8-10 feet, and when they flew they needed huge flaps of their wings to stay aloft.  Towards the end of the visit, we got to see a free flight of some of the smaller birds; the birds were trained, and they easily walked, flew, and snagged meat around us without any danger.  I got to hold one, with a glove on, and comically brought my face closer to the bird to examine it.  I did not realize it at the time; luckily nothing happened.  Seeing the birds in cages felt strange- one even had a mask over its eyes, probably so it would not panic at the sight of visitors.  I tried to really look at them, more than a casual glance at its claws or wings, really try and imagine how they live.  Being in a cage, they probably couldn't show me much about their way of life.

That night, we went to an even more interesting cultural event in Ecuador- a rooster fight.  Many aspects of the fight struck me, but even more was the atmosphere in the ring.  Literally a ring with feathers everywhere, beers passed out like tickets for a sports match, cages surrounding the area above the ring, all filled with roosters bred to fight.  Very odd to watch- I did not see a single woman there, besides the girls in our group, and a lot of the men bet.  We had to pay a dollar to enter, and we saw one fight.  I was pleasantly surprised that there was no blood or death, but the men would intentionally hold the roosters next to each other to rile them up, to snap their beaks and encourage anger before the match.  They would handle the roosters like toys- after flapping and snapping and biting out feathers, the men would snatch up their rooster, lick its feathers, suck out the feathers from its mouth, and give it a nice pat before shoving it back in the ring.  I did not figure out the system for points or how one rooster wins, but eventually the aggression died down and the roosters sort of layed on each other.  We only stayed for one match, and watching became quite repetitive after the first few minutes of the ten minute match.  Though I am sure betting and yelling and beer add to the excitement of the experience.

After game nights and food outings and an amazing pie shop, two other activities stood out for me in Otavalo.  One was an Ecuadorian bar/night club.  Having a guy in the group for such an outing is essential, and despite my somewhat frail figure, I played the role of bodyguard for four girls in this bar with excess smoke, beer, and guys.  Quite the role to play- I basically gave mean looks and danced around the girls to deter any Ecuadorian guys from them.  Even more interesting was that the party was actually a birthday party- being obviously foreign, I do not know how the man at the door let us in without any questions, while he shoved others away and even patted some down.  We stayed there for about two hours, constantly dancing while under practical surveillance by everyone around us, mainly the guys.  We were the only Americans there quite clearly- we recognized a few American songs but most of them were electronic spanish songs.  Despite the aroma of smoke and beer, I enjoyed the experience- eleven o'clock when we left and the party was still going strong.  Quite the birthday party- I did not even know whose birthday it was, but it didn't really matter.

The last activity near Otavalo was climbing Fuya Fuya, a peak near a lagoon that reaches over 14,000 feet.  The group split into two groups, one that would circle the lagoon and one that would summit Fuya Fuya with a guide.  The climb up took about an hour and a half and was not that technical, but more than that was the altitude.  14,000 feet is the highest altitude I have reached, and reaching that altitude took a bit of a price.  At times, especially after trying to run a short section, my chest pounded and my heart ached for oxygen.  I didn't notice it right after or during the burst, but a few seconds after stopping my chest exploded.  No headaches or anything, but at times my chest heaved for air.  The terrain was steep in sections too, but crazier was that the guide summits four times a week with other groups, and with one group of Frenchmen, they summited in 45 minutes.  The hike totaled about 2 km, so 45 minutes is blazing fast.  Two of the group climbed in loafers, which was quite the accomplishment.  After a bit of lake gazing and four hours in a bus back, some watching a movie with little sound called Universal Soldier and some squeezed in the back of a pickup truck, I arrived back in Atahualpa under a red-orange sunset and the welcoming handshake from my host dad, my host mom's soup and rice, and a hot cup of tea.  The smell of food here will be something to miss.

I'll try and post some pictures in my next post sometime soon- gotta run to dinner.      

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