The streets were bursting with color, as if someone had popped open a bunch of paint cans and tossed them every which way; the colors extended for blocks. I had been told of the Otavalo market’s vastness, but this really blew my mind.
Indigenous individuals sat by their stands, hollering prices relentlessly as I passed. I took a whiff and choked on the powerful smell of street food. The non-food stands offered earrings, instruments, hammocks and everything in between. I’d never seen so many scarves in all my life. And even though I wasn’t looking to buy anything, meandering through the aisles of vendors kept me very entertained.
We spent four hours in the market. Obviously, having so much time to be tempted, I didn’t leave totally empty-handed. I located an earthy pair of coconut shell earrings; they cost me a whopping $0.75. A lovely scarf caught my attention, too. And, lastly, I found a poncho. You can’t leave Ecuador without buying one of those, right? Now, there were about a million ponchos being sold in the market; this particular one called out to me. So, I put my champion barter skills to use and walked away with a big $12 lump of alpaca fur.
I think the shopping overload made some people a little crazy. At one point I found myself drooling – yes, drooling – over a pair of feather earrings. One BCA chick almost bought a pair of infant pants, for her nonexistent future baby, because she thought they were “just too cute.” And lots of people bought ponchos, but one of my friends bought one that reached the floor and was covered in indigenous artwork; one might call it… impractical. And, the worst of all, I think, were the overalls. I am a fan of overalls, really, I am, but these particular ones were just… bizarre. Imagine vibrant blue and red vertical stripes and legs that were about two inches too short. Again, the word “impractical” came to mind. As predicted, I haven’t seen those overalls since that Saturday in the market.
It was fine and dandy walking lazily through the rows of colors, looking for things to drop money on, but there was a sad aspect to the market, too: there were homeless people everywhere. Skinny young children would sit in corners, begging for money, while people (mostly foreigners, like myself) leisurely purchased earrings and ponchos.
There was one man who I remember in particular. Other drab, dirty clothing hung from his thin frame; his facial hair was wild from lack of maintenance. He held a cage full of puppies. The cage was too small for one puppy, let alone the ten or so that were squeezed inside. He was asking $30 per dog. I couldn’t help but wonder where this man had come up with so many puppies. I figure he probably took them from strays, but I’m still not sure.
How badly I wanted them! Accepting the offer to hold one didn’t help. How badly I wanted to buy them all – to rescue them from that cage – to help out that poor man.
But, alas, that would never fly with my host family. Plus, how does one get a dog back to the States? How much does that even cost? The point is: I couldn’t buy a puppy.
I will never forget that man. I felt the need to list for him every reason why I couldn’t take a puppy. I had been enamored with a pair of earrings just moments before encountering such a horrendous exhibition of poverty. Never had I ever felt so greedy, so spoiled. I didn’t know whether I should feel lucky for all that I had or if I should feel guilty for all that he didn’t have. That man really got to me. I think of him every time I give a mandarin orange to the homeless man who waits by my university’s entrance – something I might not do had I not taken the trip to Otavalo. Indeed, while I left the market with a new poncho and some earrings, I also left with a new perspective. I should feel lucky. And instead of sitting around feeling guilty, I should get up, take action and make other people feel lucky, too.