COTACACHI

Joe comes to another town near Otavalo - Cotacachi. This town is framed for it's leather craft goods, and Joe doesn't want a repeat of the MATERIALISM he experienced in Otavalo, but he decides he's gonna give it a try.

But, I mean, there is just so much beauty to see in this part of the country that I have to let those thoughts go. I have the time now, and this is an opportunity to use this place as a kind of springboard.
I do finally buy that Alpaca sweater, by the way. That gives me the buyer’s rush - for, like five minutes, y’know? This is what the whole American economic and social system is based on.
Five minutes.
I’m feeling sort of hungry now, so I go to this outdoor ‘healthy’ cafe, and order an avocado and swiss cheese sandwich...when my neutral feeling is suddenly interrupted however, by a horrifying sight.
At least to me.
A tourist bus putt-putts right past me.
Oh no.
It slows down just enough so that the fat tourists can have a photo opportunity for the leather crafts stores. It’s like we’re in a fuckin’ zoo, man. The tourists are protected from any human interaction by metal and glass. A moving box. Complete safety. No chance of catching any germs.
My mind goes into warp drive now - damning thoughts flooding through me like a freakin’ tsunami.
Agh… tourist buses.
Vans.
Cruises.
Resorts!
I mean, why even leave home - if you want all the comforts of home?!
Stay on your living room couch and eat Entenmann’s Crumb Cake, y’know?
Really.
So homogenized and pasteurized. I could understand if it was just old people, or disabled, or something like that- that’s totally cool. But these people are all middle aged soft white pears. I gotta get outta here, man.
The next day, I take a short trip to one of Ecuador’s natural wonders, The Cotacachi Cayapas Ecological Reserve. I hate to use the word ‘awesome’, (it’s been overused to death in America - meeting somebody at a bar is not ‘awesome’), however - this place really is!
17,300 acres of tropical forest, cloud forest. Four major watersheds. One of the most biologically diverse habitats on the whole planet.
I mean, who in the world gets a chance to see all this stuff?
240 bird species.
I’m not a birding guy, or anything - but who wouldn’t want to see a toucan, for instance, in the wild!? Not only that, there’s all kinds of monkeys here too - spider monkeys, capuchin monkeys - and oh, howler monkeys, too. I remember when I first got to Rio Muchacho - I saw these little monkeys, right, but then they howl - and it sounds like a giant gorilla!
Scared the shit outta me, man.
Hahahaha.
There’s bears - even jaguars and pumas! Can you imagine actually seeing one in the wild!?
Holy shit!
This place is the real deal. I feel kinda like a spectator here, though. On the sidelines.
I mean, I want to drink this all in - I want it to fill the hole in my soul - like the way the sun does, y’know?
I don’t know anything about hiking in the jungle, though, and it’s frustrating as hell!
An amazing opportunity, but…
I head back to where the office is near the entrance, and after talking to one of the people that work there, I find out that you can actually volunteer here!
Wow, man.
Working in the middle of the forest, living here, taking it all in, doing something meaningful. I’m dreaming about it already. When I return to the office about an hour later, though, the same guy is telling me I have to pay this exorbitant fee - just to volunteer there!
What the hell!? I can’t afford that, man!
That’s crazy, what a fuckin’ scam! Jeez. Forget about it
Now I’m pissed. Foul mood. Ruins my whole day. Again, I’m feeling boxed in.
Thwarted.
Bummed.
I wind up heading back to my hostel and meditating myself to sleep. The next morning I decide I’m gonna check out one last place around here.
Intag.
I take another short camionetta ride there.
Again, these mountains provide some of the richest biodiversity on earth. The natives here are trying to protect the whole place from these huge mega-corporation mining interests. Same old story. All over the world, the same shit. The classic good vs. evil scenario.
Depressing.
Trekking as far as I can into the lush greenery and sopping with melancholy, I find a spot to sit. The only sounds are the rushing water and the song of the birds. God, I wish I could find a way to stay here.
A couple of hours pass.
I can’t do this solo stuff anymore man… sigh… I think about Rocia, maybe going back to Banos… perhaps I was kind of rash in my judgment of the situation. Maybe I should just pull the trigger. I don’t know… I don’t know…
After a sleepless night in my Cotacachi hostel, the next morning I stumble around the village, lost in thought…torn with conflict.
A zombie.
I gaze at the indigenous women involved in their daily activities - gardening, cooking tortillas, gathering medicinal plants… man, I wish I could absorb some of that culture - the wisdom, the lifestyle. I mean, there’s ways to do it - but they require something like a homestay with an indigenous family, learning that stuff. Again, however, you gotta pay the price, which is way more than my budget would allow.

AN ANSWER?

The long walk in nature has totally changed Joe's perspective on that trapped desperation he was feeling in the Otavalo market, as he continues to make observations.

I amble contentedly back to my hostel - and just crash. It’s the deepest slumber I can remember in… well, maybe forever. As I finally do wake up, I feel like I’m in a whole different head.
Happy.
Charged.
I mean, could this be - The Answer?
What I’ve been searching for ever since I can remember? That maybe it has nothing to do with actually achieving something - striving mightily - and being so attached to those results? With just being? I don’t know, man.
As I’m eating my breakfast, I’m all geared up with thoughts of journeying into the paramo today, checking out the three lagoons that reside in the shadows of the dark jagged mountains. This probably sounds super corny, but in a way, I feel like I’m receiving some kind of blessing from the universe. No heaviness (which is my M.O.) like when my mind is out of control, pirouetting from one anxiety provoking scenario to another. No harried worries about wasting time.
This is so great!
A couple hours more, and I’m instinctively drawn to this tree stump in an incredibly lush clearing. I give into my growing hunger, pull out this cheese sandwich that I’ve stowed away in my backpack, and begin munching peacefully. I watch this indigenous family hiking past me - laughing, joking, holding each other’s hands… you can tell just by the expression on their faces how much they genuinely enjoy each other’s company.
Kinda touching, y'know?
I smile at them and go back to my food.
A few minutes later, and now some indigenous couples stroll by me. They say hello, but that’s about it. I’m thinking that you can never really know them, the indigenous - especially the women.
Yeah.
They seem to be really clannish, man. Completely secular. Reminds me of the Orthodox Jews in New York, or especially, the Indian women (the ones from India) there - who only ever fraternize within their own groups. I mean they won’t ever even make eye contact with a guy who’s not Indian! And some of them are pretty cute, too… but, I mean, it’s a closed society, y’know?
That’s what I think about these indigenous women, too, man.
No eye contact.
No smile.
Nothing.
For some reason, this really bugs me - which is kinda weird since I don’t even find most of them actually attractive. Maybe it’s just that they’re part of a group, a culture that I can never be a part of? Could be. I’m contemplating this for a moment, when out of nowhere, this dark- but familiar sensation enshrouds me.
Uh oh. Not again.
Separate.
Floating.
The ensuing explosion in my solar plexus which follows always occurs when I don’t know what I’m thinking - or I don’t consciously understand what I’m feeling. Then overwhelm. Just like that.
Snap.
I’m afflicted, man. I figure the best thing I can do is-just-keep-moving. I retreat back to my hostel, grab my stuff and check out. I shuffle down the road, not knowing what to do, when a camionetta comes rumbling by. A camionetta is basically a pick-up truck in which you hop into the back with a bunch of other people, and pay the driver when you hop off at your destination.
I decide on impulse just to hop in, and take it to this nearby indigenous town called Peguchi - which is famous for its Cascadas Peguchi. Cascadas means ‘waterfall’ in Spanish, and I gotta say, these cascadas are fuckin’ amazing!
Pristine.
I have this longing to dive right into the pool of crystal blue water at the bottom of the falls - but I don’t know how to dive. I mean, I could just jump in, y’know? Take the plunge. Cleanse myself of all this negativity. You wouldn’t die in this water - it’s just that it is so cold! Freezing, in fact.
It’s still kinda nippy out here, y’know?
Forget about it.
I make myself content with just sitting on this rock I am currently perched on, and continue to gaze at the pool. And wish. Night inevitably falls, so I decide to stay - and check into this pretty cool place - Hostal Aya Huma.
Beautiful garden, hammocks, fireplaces…
Nice.
The lady at the reception desk keeps trying to push the hostel’s activities on me - for an inflated price, of course. Organized hikes, horseback tours, bike rides, and so on. I don’t know, it strikes me as a brochure opportunity, y’know? Where you have all these happy smiling white faces jumping in mid-air next to a bunch of horses, or something.
Not a fan.
Too corny for me. Besides, I’m running really low on money now. This place is relaxing though, so I figure I’ll hang out in the garden, meditate, and chill in the hammocks. I meet some Germans (of course Germans), we have a few beers, a few laughs… a good time is had by all.
Three days later, I’m feeling rejuvenated and ready to move on again - so I take the short bus ride to this nearby town, Cotacachi, which is supposed to be famous for it’s leather goods and crafts. I stroll around the town for a while, passing by the leather craft shops and open markets - and a part of me is wary not to get caught up in another Otavalo type situation.

WORLDWIDE MATERIALISM

Alpaca. 

That’s what the Otavalans are mainly renowned for. Their traditional weavings. It’s a type of wool, or something, that features these unique designs of all kinds.

 Quite beautiful, really.

 For years, I’ve been seeing Latino people in New York wearing these sweaters and hats, but never knew anything about them. Though I always wanted one. Here, though, they have tremendous displays of blankets, colorful sweaters, bags, capes - everywhere in the market.

 Gotta get myself one of those.

 So I continue strolling down the block, right, checking out the stalls - when I come practically face to face with this pig - except it’s whole and roasted! The whole pig, man - but it's cooked! With the head and all, just staring at you. On a table with these indigenous women with knives and forks - ready to carve it up. 

Holy shit!

Also sitting at the table benches are families, kids and all, plates out - like it’s all ordinary!  Well, here, I guess it is - but I’ve never seen this before.

 Hey, they love their choncho, man.

I’m roaming around the market for a couple of days, checking it out, navigating my way through huge crowds - and it’s cool and all, y’know, but I’m starting to get really sick of it. 

Bored. 

Agitated.

 I never liked shopping in the first place, not even when I was a kid.

 I also always hated fairs and parades, and clowns and amusement parks, for that matter. It all just seemed so artificial. 

Especially malls.

New York’s like that now - just one big mall.

It used to have an edge.

A soul.

 Now it’s just like being in anytown USA - but with all the annoyances of a city. That’s how I feel about this place now, too.

 Way too touristy. 

I hate touristy shit, man.

 All these international couples milling around - hundreds of them. Browsing and buying. Maybe it’s me, but I just don’t get it. I don’t see the point. I mean, does this really make them happy? Do they really enjoy it? Or are they just going through the motions because they can’t think of anything else to do?

 What if it’s the only thing that keeps them together? The activity of shopping? 

Really.

What if they buy, say, white wine goblets - and for five minutes they totally admire these goblets. Then they go back home, get drunk on white wine - and get into a huge fight! Then they throw these very same wine goblets at each other - smashing them to pieces!  All the while yelling and screaming at each other - before they retreat to separate rooms?! 

 It’s like TV, man.

 Couples will watch inane TV shows together for hours a night - for years - just so they don’t have to talk to each other!

Or think of anything new.

 It probably saves their marriages, y’know? 

Just the sheer act of watching mindless TV shows - keeps them alive!

A heavy gloom descends upon me as I sit there observing the shoppers with increasing disgust. I gotta get outta here, man. I head back to my hostel and sit down to meditate with my Holosync.

     I wake up the next morning, and my first thought is - I cannot do this touristy shit for even one more minute. 

 No way.

 Fuck the Alpaca sweater, man.

 I have no idea of what I’m gonna do, but I know I am not going back to that market!  I walk outside and just go the opposite way of the market, towards the countryside. Like I said, I don’t know where the hell I’m going, I’m just going. I wind up hiking around Laguna de San Pablo, at the foot of Volcan de Imbambura…and the more I hike the better I feel. Hours pass, until at one point I realize that I am completely energized. 

 Gratitude now replaces the gloom. Joy transcends the anger and anxiety. The outdoors. I can breathe out here. It’s the magic you can only experience when you’re away from the chaos of ‘civilization’. Surrounded by greenery, I take in the tranquility and sense of wonder that only nature has to offer. Swear to God, it feels like… like, I just broke out of prison, or something. I’m just exhaling the craziness and stress, and inhaling… peace. 

Another couple of hours effortlessly whiz by. I just sit down on this rock and am totally vibing with the view of the lake and the volcano in the distance, until nightfall descends upon me. 

Wow.

OTAVALO

Otavalo.
Yeah, that’s the name of the town I’m in now. Finally got my sorry ass out of the bed in Quito, consulted my ‘Lonely Planet’ guidebook - and decided to take the two hour bus ride here.
This is an Andean indigenous town which is famous all through South America for the biggest outdoor market in Ecuador. Specializing in textiles and handicrafts - but they literally sell everything you could imagine here. Why didn’t I just do this sooner, man? I mean, three weeks in Quito feeling sorry for myself is - enough.
This place Otavalo is more like what I’ve been looking for in Ecuador. It’s a place steeped in tradition. The center of Kichwa (the Andean indigenous) culture. They’re called Otavalans - and these people are for real, man. They’re not exactly what I imagined from all those National Geographic documentaries I watched on TV about the natives down in the Amazon - but…
These are Northern indigenous. They wear this type of traditional native dress. Think, like, the Orthodox Jews in New York - but better looking. The men sport white slacks, white shirts, these distinctive navy blue ponchos and white sombreros, from which underneath they feature a long braid of shiny black hair. Remember, it’s pretty chilly up in this part of the country.
One thing I notice is that indigenous people never go bald, man, I don’t know why…
And I haven't even seen one of them wearing glasses.
They’re all pretty small too, like my size or shorter, and at 5’6” I’m a midget, basically in the States.
The indigenous women, they’re pretty interesting. They’re even smaller - and they’re like little roly-polys. Not so much fat - just stout.
Strong as hell.
All day, I’ve been watching these, like, hundred year old grandmas, who couldn’t be more than, like, 4’4”, 4’ 5” - carrying these huge sacks on their backs and heads plowing straight up these mountains - like it’s nothing!
Not even breathing hard.
The dress for the women is even more elaborate - frilly white blouses with all kinds of shiny things and laces decorating them. Navy blue skirts. Navy blue shawls. A matching hat, of some sort.
These women are no joke, man.
They all have these kind of blankets around them, usually carrying their babies, and if not babies - then sacks of beans and other produce they grow up in their mountain farms!
Rugged ladies.
The market is crazy, I mean, like all open air. Not like the lame malls in Jersey. Row after row of stalls. The women sitting on the ground - displaying their wares, sweaters, blankets, bags, hats, beads - even electronics and housewares