El Mejor Fin de Semana

As far as weekends go, I couldn't ask for much better than our last one. After clinic on Thursday we went to Otavalo, a small town known throughout Ecuador for its giant indigenous market. That weekend they were having their corn harvest festival, called Yamor. Kind of like an Ecuadorian Oktoberfest. Yamor is Kichwa for corn. But first, I needed to get money at a bank in Quito. I used the ATM, then went inside to get smaller bills I could actually use there. I asked the lady at the counter, in Spanish, for x amount of $5 bills. She looked at me confused and asked again what was it that I wanted. I told her again, as clear as I could, but she still didn't get that I wanted to change the twenties I had in my hand, waving in front of her, for fives. Then a man in line behind me told her what I wanted using basically the same words, and she goes Oh, cambio? Yes, please! I've never had a problem with locals not hearing past my accent, so I still don't know why there was any confusion. I laughed and asked the guy behind me, Mi español está bien, no? He said he understood me, and shrugged at why she didn't. She looked pretty embarrased. After, I met up with Andy a few blocks away. I was waiting for him, sitting on a short concrete wall when a lady walked up and asked for directions to some street. At first I thought it was a joke, asking the only gringo in sight in a busy street full of locals for directions. By chance, she was looking for a street that I knew of and I got to flex my Quito knowledge and point her in the right direction. When Andy showed up he realized that somewhere between walking from his house to me, someone had cut a hole in his backpack with a knife hoping for something nice and expensive to fall out, like some kind of cloth piñata. Luckily there wasn't anything in the pocket he cut, and Andy got to practice his suturing later fixing it. We found Francesca and headed out to to the North bus station. We were the only ones on the bus when it left the station, but on the first corner it stopped at outside the station enough people got on to nearly fill it up. Two young kids that worked as ayudantes, the ones who lean halfway out of the bus and yell at people to get on, hopped on the bus and started talking to each other. They were having a normal kid conversation, every now and then giving each other a playful shove, but as soon as we neared a bus stop their eyes would light up and they'd jump off the bus and run alongside it yelling ¡Otavalo, Otavalo! and try to help people with their bags whether they wanted to go to Otavalo or not. I've seen street vendors selling some strange things, but the most random was a guy along the road before we got out of Quito selling cheap plastic brooms. I wouldn't have thought much of it, but the bus driver stopped, stared at the brooms for a good 30 seconds while the vendor described how awesome they were, and decided to buy one. The ayudante made the exchange and put the broom in the overhead compartment above us. That was about the 300^th time I thought on my trip, “Only in Ecuador”.

After we got to Otavalo and tossed our stuff in the hostel we went searching for dinner. There was a drunk guy sitting on the sidewalk that asked us where we were from every time we walked by. He listed all the countries he could think of where white people come from. We ate at a mexican restuarant located at the roof of a 5 story building that was otherwise completely empty. Just a concrete shell of a building with a restaurant on top, overlooking the plaza that would hold the center of the indigenous market on Saturday.

The reason we left on Thursday was to go to the indigenous clinic in Otavalo Friday morning. The Kichwa people have a lot of unique beliefs when it comes to illness and treatment. For example, a common way to be diagnosed is to go to a curandero, or a shaman, and be cleansed with a cuy. The curandero says some prayers in Kichwa while smoking and blowing it all over you, spitting alcohol on you, then rubs a guinea pig over your chest, stomach and back. They shake the guinea pig so hard that it normally dies in the process. Then they cut open the cuy and look at its organs. Whatever ails you is supposed to transfer to it, so if its liver is inflamed, you have hepatitis. If its kidneys or stomach or lungs are inflamed... you get the idea. We never got to see the cleansing with the cuy because there were no patients for it, probably because of the holiday weekend. What we did see wasn't as strange, but still pretty interesting. After waiting around in the clinic (which looked like a hotel) for a long time, the coordinator told us to follow an old lady into an office upstairs. She must have been in her 70's or 80's, dressed in tradicional indigenous clothing, walked really slowly and never said a word. We wondered what she was there for until she put on a blue coat, and we realized she was the doctor. The first patient she had was a pregnant woman. She was there to have her check her out and tell her how the baby is doing. She poured olive oil on her stomach and massaged it for a couple minutes and said a few words in Kichwa. Then she told her the baby might be dying. I felt like that was kind of a drastic thing to say after only touching the stomach. But the mother either didn't believe her or was being optimistic because she didn't seem to be effected by the news. Later, a mother brought in her 2 year old son with “mal viento”, a children's illness that they believe is caused by spirits. After massaging him with olive oil, she rubbed two eggs all over his body while saying more prayers in Kichwa. Like the cuy, the eggs are supposed to absorb whatever's wrong in the kid. Above the exam table there was a picture of Jesus. A lot of people I met were Catholic, but there are still a lot of Incan beliefs that carried on. A lot of religious Ecuadorians can remember when their parents took them to see the shaman. There was a Yachak at the clinic, a healer who supposedly has known the secrets of using herbs and his connection with the gods to cure people since the day he was born. He looked like a normal guy to me. His office smelled strongly of herbs, incensce and jungle medicines. I asked if we could go inside to see what he uses and possibly see him work with a patient, but he said it was forbidden. I later found out that was bullcrap because a girl on the trip who went a few weekends earlier had pictures of the inside.

Entrance to the indigenous clinic

Offices

I wonder what eggs taste like with extracted evil spirits inside...

Can of olive oil

When she wasn't seeing a patient, she was knitting

For lunch we had $1 burgers at a hole-in-the-wall. While we were eating, a Canadian guy sits down at the table next to us, orders, and starts talking to us. When we told him we were there on a medical internship, things got kind of wierd. He treated us like rock stars. In fact, he literally said that it was like meeting rock stars. He talked about our personality types and how we think compared to other people. Then he talked about the TV show Scrubs for about 15 minutes. I like Scrubs, but not enough to pick apart individual episodes with someone I just met and will never meet again. And somewhere in all the awkwardness the conversation shifted to World War II for a bit. I don't remember how, though. We got out of there as soon as we were done eating, not a second more.

During Yamor, they make a lot of traditional food and drinks. Chicha is one that I've been wanting to try for a long time. It's one of the oldest alcoholic drinks in the world, and it's made with corn. Originally, the Incan women would chew up the corn and their saliva would start the fermentation process. They use a different method now but it's still made using the same kind of ingredients, clay pots, etc. It tasted much better than it smelled for some reason. It was very earthy, a little sour, and with lots of sediment from the corn. On the wall of the place we ordered it at there was a collection of postcards from all over the world. About one in four were from Oregon, and above the postcards was one of those stickers with a heart in the middle of an outline of Oregon. The guys working there noticed that we were looking at the Oregon postcards and asked us if we were from there. He had a few friends from the Portland area. I met a handful of people who had either visited Oregon or had friends or family that lived there. One guy had even been to Corvallis.

Chicha de jora

That night there was a big parade. And by big I mean about 5 hours long. It was mostly dance group after dance group, with a float mixed in every now and then. The dance groups were from all over Latin America, and one from a sister city in Germany. Mexico, Peru, Honduras, Brazil... a few of them were groups of Ecuadorian citizens from foreign countries. After a while we realized it wasn't ending anytime soon so we went to eat pizza. There was a TV in the restaurant that showed a scrambled live video feed of the parade, complete with commentary. Later we squeezed through the crowds to a giant stage for a salsa concert. Andy and I mustered the courage to climb on an elevated platform in the middle of everyone that was used for VIP seating for the parade to dance salsa with some girls, but they had boyfriends watching intently from down below. It didn't take us long to find others. Later I was talking to the cousins of the girl Andy was dancing with. They were passing around a steaming hot fresh blackberry and sugar cane liquor, taking turns sipping like they always do in groups there. They asked me where I've been to in Latin America. I told them Mexico a bunch of times, Peru, and now

Ecuador. They asked me which was my favorite in a jokingly threatening tone, and of course I said Ecuador. Then their very inebriated friend, who had been glaring at me and not saying a word the whole time, put his hand on my head, got really close and said ¿Cuál es tu favorito? I repeated, Ecuador, and he slowly backed off, then punched me in the face. He was too drunk to make it hurt, so it was more surprising than anything. His friends held him back and apologized for the idiota. I didn't mind, it was actually the first time anyone had punched me seriously, and I was glad it happened in such a cool place under such interesting circumstances. A few minutes later they invited me to a cocaine and weed party in a nearby town that Sunday night. That was about the time I decided I was done with those guys. Besides, I had clinic on Monday. Not the best thing to show up high on cocaine to.

Selling cotton candy before the parade

We called it a night around 2:30. I got up the next morning at 8, had breakfast and headed down to the market. It didn't take me long to find it. I thought it would be just in the plaza that's designed for setting up shops, but nearly every street in a large section of town was lined with people selling things. It's amazing that they do that every Saturday. It's best to get there early because the sellers believe it's good luck to start the day off with a sale, so they're more likely to let things go for less. A few times I was able to bargain pretty steep because it was their first sale of the day. Another thing that helped me save a few bucks was speaking the little Kichwa that I know. Before coming to Ecuador I learned the numbers and a few simple phrases like good morning/afternoon/night, yes, no, thank you, how are you, etc. I got a few double-takes when would I walk up to a stand and say alli puncha (good morning). They were all happy to teach me more words, and one lady called all her nearby friends to come see the Kichwa-speaking tourist. There was a woman selling spices of nearly every color you can think of. I showed some interest in what she had, so she made me sample every single one. The people selling things were surprisingly mellow. I'm used to markets in Latin America being a constant fight between you and people dragging you this way and that way, telling you want you need. “No gracias” becomes a reflex response to anyone speaking to you. There was a little bit of pushing every now and then, but in general just looking at the merchandise was accepted. It didn't feel like glancing at what they had meant signing a contract that you'll buy something.

Typical market scene

Just before we left we ate the traditional Yamor dish that they only make that one time a year. It was a mound of different types of corn, fried banana, fried pork and chicken, potato, avocado, and salad.

Mmmm...

We drank a type of chicha called Yamor, which is what the festival is named after, made from corn and a bunch of other grains. My favorite Yamor food, though, were the little empanadas. The night before they were selling them for 20 cents each and I had my fill. On the way to the bus station I bought a chirimoya from a woman sitting down, selling fruit on a blanket. It was bigger and half the price of the one I bought in Quito, so I had my suspicions. But it was delicious and didn't make me sick. She even gave me another smaller one for free.

When I got back to the house in Quito I immediately fell into bed and slept for 3 hours. I needed the rest because that night I was going to Andrés' graduation party. Being the head of the class, he organized the whole thing. It was from 10pm to 7am, at a mansion about 30 minutes outside of town. He and his classmates were having dinner together at 7, then taking a Chiva bus over. After a quick stop by the mall to try out Ecuadorian Taco Bell with Andy, I got ready for 9 hours of dancing and headed out with my host sister Ana, her friend and some of Andrés' friends. We stopped by his house to pick up his brother and sister.

When we got there someone came around and put oversized foam ties and masks on us. The mask didn't stay long but the tie was kind of cool. The drinks were all free, and even though everyone could get a cup if they wanted, our group still took turns with the same drink. There was easily more than a hundred people there. It was really cool to see some people again that I met on week 2, when I worked in the hospital that all the graduates were at. They were surprised to see that I was still there over 2 months later. After a little while the dancing started up and didn't really stop until about 6:30am, with a few exceptions. At midnight we all went outside to see a fireworks show. At 2 in the morning there was a chicken soup break, and at 6 we had a shrimp ceviche breakfast. Toward the end of the night (or beginning of the morning) Andrés and his school buddies were hugging and crying telling stories about their 6 years of med school together. By the time we left I was deliriously tired and slipped in and out of consciousness during the ride back. Just like the previous time I arrived at the house, I went straight to bed.

I woke up around 1pm, the same time Ana did, and we had lunch. Cristina, my host mom, was really interested in hearing all the details. Later I ran to a mall to buy more minutes for my phone. On the way back it started pouring rain, and it reminded me that in less than a week I would be back in Oregon. I knew, back in the first few weeks when I had all the time in the world, that when last few days came around I would still feel like I had just arrived. That's exactly how it felt. I studied Spanish that night for the first time in weeks, and watched ¿Quién quiere ser millonario? With my family. One of the contestants was a man from Guayaquil, Ecuador's biggest city. Ana jumped up off the bed (the TV is in the parent's bedroom) when she saw him because he was the ex-boyfriend of one of her friends. He didn't leave with much money because out of a list of wine, he chose Merlot over Chardonnay to be the white one. The top prize on Ecuadorian “Millionaire” is $50,000. My family asked what the prize was in America, and their jaws dropped when I told them.