Otavalo

Dipped back through Quito and headed straight for the whore house. Now don´t get any ideas. Hostal Sucre, at $5 a night for a double room, rises up above it´s filthy walls and lecherous help based on sheer financial felicity... at least for broke backpackers. Erik sat and picked at his beard in the dirty mirror on the wall opposite our bed as church bells from the Monastery of San Francisco across the street filtered in with the remnant´s of the day´s sun. I´m left to reflect on the enduring institutions of humankind.




Quito loves it´s churches as much as some love paying money for sex. Maybe more, check out the ceiling in the Catedral on the city´s stunning Plaza de Independencia.


We had only a short while in the capital on this pass through. It was a mere layover in the whirlwind of our week, in which we´ll visit four countries. We. Are. Going. To. Four. Countries. In. A. Week. Ecuador to Colombia to Miami to Guatemala. It makes me want to stockpile reading material and do spine stretches just typing about it.


There was another, regrettably short layover in Otavalo, Ecuador. High up in the mountains, Otavalo is home to the most wealthy indigenous community in all of the country. How you ask? A kickass craft market, that´s how! These people can weave. And wear a mean fedora hat. And bargain. I suck at bargaining, but then again I am a gringa, despite my ample protestations. In fact, everyone down here pegs me on the spot as a German, to my endless irritation. I think it´s the statuesque build and big round pie face.


Here´s my second favorite market in Otavalo, where you can find the sweetest, largest bananas you´ve ever tasted. I know there are very few bananas in this picture, but rest assured that entire corners of commerce revolve around sale of nature´s perfect food.

You´ll be happy to know that Ecuador, supplier of about a quarter of the world´s supply, has no less than three kinds of bananas (four if you are not judging their banana-ness on any kind of strict scale). Three kinds of bananas! you say, and yes, to some that may seem excessive. But once you have sampled your standard issue yellow guineo, the tiny baby deditos and the sweet, stalky red banana, then you will most certainly change your feelings on the matter. For those who tend to the more savory end of the banana-scale, we have you covered as well, for here there grow in abundance beloved platanos, or plantains, which I like to fry and smash and fry again and eat with large amounts of salt and salsa picante.

Oh and! There´s a fruit called a taxo that I´ve been blowing up my recent correspondence about that is a cross between a banana and a passion fruit. Small and yellow and filled with sachets of orange, juicy outrageousness. If that´s not worth a trip to South America I don´t know what is.

Back in Bogota for a hot minute, my most favorite city of this whole gypsy caravan of a trip, after a twenty-hour bus ride that somehow morphed into thrity one hours. Ouch. I have a bone to pick with an overturned tractor trailer, lemme tell ya.

And we´re re-entering the United States today! I´m hoping to get a first hand perspective on the economic meltdown, which I hear has college graduates begging in the street and working in the service industry? Horrors. Wish me luck with the culture shock, vale?

Earnestly ducking swine flu, I´m yours,

CD