Sunday morning in Otavalo

Beautiful days of sunshine and afternoon rain here in Otavalo.   Yesterday I spent the day wandering with Gracia, the new multilingual teacher at the University here who is originally from Italy.   We walked about a mile or so to the Saturday market at the Plaza of Ponchos which is quite an experience.   This Saturday market is famous all over South America for the weavings, knitting, ponchos, tablecloths, you name it.   The whole center of town is dense with vendors although the crowd was sparce because somewhere between Quito and Otavalo, a huge number of pilgrims were walking to honor a particular Virgin who's name escapes me.

After a bit of shopping when I exercised remarkable restraing for a grandmother tempted by endless adorable baby things (knowing that I'll go back next Saturday with Phyllis and Helen), Gracia and I found a garden restaurant run by a Swiss woman and her husband who is from Otavalo.   We feasted on fresh fruit, yogurt, homemade bread and strong coffee.   Enjoyed the wi-fi connection of which there are many including free wi-fi in the park of San Bolivar nearby.   We spent the entire day wandering the streets sometimes on a wild goose chase because I thought I wanted an apron from Otavalo.   Asked lots of folks where I could get an apron and usually heard "mas alli" (thataway) with a hand gesture.   When I finally saw someone selling aprons from a blanket on the street, they were all too small for this gringa who towers over everyone.  Found a bookstore run by a woman who's sister wrote material that Gracia used in her thesis for her master's in international communication.   Small world indeed.

Then back to the garden restaurant to listen to live music.   Lots of time spent fiddling with a lousy sound system.   By the time the music started the sun was setting and the air was chill.   Good musicions filtered through a lousy sound system, clearly disappointed.   The restaurant owner gave me a blanket to wrap up and we listened for awhile.  It was then that I learned when I'm tired, I open my mouth and the Spanish that comes out is jumbled, wrong verb tenses and strange words proceed from a tired woman..  Asi es la vida...  Carlos kindly came and brought us home.  Dinner was left-over meatball sandwiches and salad.   To bed early with a good book, Edwidge Danticat's autobiographical, Brother I'm Dying:

This morning I woke to wonderful smells wafting from the bakery next door.  I spent some time in  what I thought of as a meditation on barking dogs and yoga accompanied by barking dogs.  Many homes have what I think of as roof dogs which function to ward off intruders.   The roof dog here, Mike has matted fur and a sore nose.  He does his job of barking diligently changing to a howl when sirens go off in the area.  After a shower, I caught a bus to the food market.  Carmen had warned me about the bus and she was right.   You get one foot on the bottom step and the driver takes off careening through the street while you hang on for dear life stumbling to a seat.   Same with really old folks hobbling on canes.   Having found a good thing yesterday, I returned to the garden spot for breakfast where the musician-owner was still feeling blue about the sound system fiasco yesterday.   Then to the mercado for ingredients for minestrone which we will have when we get Phyllis and Helen home from the airport tomorrow.   I had to take a cab home because my bundles were too heavy.   I bought the smallest cabbage in the market, about the size of a basketball, soup bones with some lean beef thrown into the bag.   A dozen long stemmed roses for $2.  Fresh pineapple, papaya and mandarins.   A woman gave me a tree tomato to taste when I told her I'd never eaten one and asked if it was fruit or vegetable.   Fruit it is, very tart, probably better as a juice with lots of sugar!

In an hour or so when Carlos and Carmen are out of church, we'll drive to a lake for lunch of fresh caught fish.

The mountains are breathtaking.   Driving home yesterday, there was a dense cloud mass about a quarter of the way down the top of Imbabura which was golden in the setting sun.   Today the clouds dance around the tops of the peaks, the sun is warm, churches are overflowing, music everywhere.

Six word story.   Senses wide awake, soul happy singing.

Sara