Otavalo: Mega Market Mania

A overview of the enormity that is Otavalo´s market.


Shopping. To say I loath this word would be a lie, but disdain could work. It started at around the age of 8 when my mother would drag me around shopping with her on some sort of deranged play-date. As soon as she would release my little, innocent hand to peruse some dress rack, I would sneakily meander off designing a unilateral game of hide-and-go seek in which I would hide in the center of a clothes rack, while my mom frantically searched for me. My tiny little revenge for being enslaved in Nordstroms for two hours. As I got older I began to negotiate terms of shopping. At 10 I'd go with her if I could get the new Reebok pumps (all black with orange pumps of basketball-likeness). By 12 it was (to my eternal shame) t-shirts from the now all-but-defunct Millers Outpost. Never in my life do I remember enjoying shopping for the sake of shopping. Simply put, shopping brings out the worst in me, or at least the most capitalistic. (1)

Happy New Sweater Day, Jason. You deserve it. (Beth didn´t pay for this to get me to go shopping with her, though I should have tried to get something out of the deal)


Breaktime from shopping. Touchin´ it up at a cafe above the market.

This is why I was leery of South America's largest outdoor market, Bazaar really, Otavalo. The sole reason this city exist in any tourist guide is because of its famous market. A sleepy town on the weekdays, people begin showing up on Thursday, to assure themselves a place to stay for Saturdays market. The city's unimpressive main square is the purported center of this grandiose market, it's sadly diminutive. This only added to my anxiety as we showed up three days before the Saturday extravaganza.

Then I remembered my earliest childhood memory of shopping. A Mexico cruise at around the age of 6. It was a long time ago, but it was a time I enjoyed and perhaps the only time I truly enjoyed shopping. How was this possible I asked myself. And then I had an ephiphany, Spanish speakers. Latinos know how to handle a market. No roofs, no indoor mall, no rhyme nor reason to where specific items are located and most importantly no preordained prices. Nothing is set in stone, no item too good to discuss the end price. It's capitalism in it's freest "market" form. It's incredible, it's entertaining and everyone leaves a little mad after it's all said and done, but with the most efficient price. (2)

Admittedly, at worst it's a tad evil. Manipulative, at best. Us dependent upon our bank accounts, our propensity towards savings, but mainly our plain old simple chance (read: luck) of being born US citizens with options. They, dependent upon us and all that entails. Our worst case: no souvenir for little George. Their worst case: No food for Jorge. So, our bargaining chips are bigger and our consciousness a little heavier, but at the end of the day everyone leaves the market a little better off. And honestly, the bargaining, the challenge, the thrill, it's not always one-sided. It was reciprocated more than once, and that's when we all walked away happy. (3)


I live in a pink house, in a pink world, in a pink chair, in a pink shmok...la dida da di da
(Another break from shopping. Impulsively decided it was time to get a haircut.)


What you can´t see: My skinny jeans (80´s version), Ramones´ t-shirt and Breakfast Club DVD.

Note on Footnotes: Don´t be confused, read footnote (4).

(1) The grocery store was the only acceptable excursion. And let's be honest, that was not without reward, especially for a kid that always loved his food.

(2) this is not to say fairest price. It must be said that a couple of parsimonious travelers like ourselves have these people at a disadvantage, on the proverbial rope, if you will. We set a price, usually ridiculously low-balling what we know the going price to be. We then look at the item for an awkwardly long period of time, not strategically, but because we are both incoherently indecisive. At which time the salesperson usually takes this as a bargaining tactic and lowers the price at least twice and within an earhole of our asking price. Eventually, because we've went from frugal to stingy, we decide against the kitschy object. Invariably, because these people are-- more so than us and relatively speaking--desperate for the sale, as we are walking off they yell at us: "Ok, [fill in the price.]". It's guaranteed to work. It's unintentional, or has been in the past. Now we know and that, in this case, is well over 50% of the battle. This led to our undeniable success in Otavalo. I even began grading our transactions based upon the face of the retailer. The more enraged and the more relegated to their fate shown by a look of angry acceptance on their face, the better our negotiation, the better our deal and our budget. (4)

(3) We really did nothing of note outside of the market. However, I didn't mention the animal market above. It's a more local affair, seeing as the goods being bargained for are live farm animals. Every saturday in an open field just outside of town the surrounding herdspeople gather together (with a tourist or two interspersed) and post-up anything from their guinea pigs to their freshly delievered calves, with mothers tests and all. It's an amalgam of farm animals, people, smells, and Wall Street-like chatter between them all, including the death-cries of pigs on the block. Unique and worthwhile in its own right, even if you aren't looking to score a pot-belly, you at least leave with a cultural experience of which you are unlikely to find in the States outside of perhaps, Montana. (5)

Stayed: A Residencial for $3/person just down the hill from the central market. About two blocks, make a left, it's on the right. Bare bones, private room w/ tv and hot water in shared bathrooms. (6)

(4) Can you footnote a footnote? Whatever the case, that's what I (Beth) am doing. Unlike Bargain-for-Starvation Jason, I don't like to believe I was taking away little Jorge's food by bargaining for prices. I think it's part of the game, and I sincerely hope no children, animals, or vendors were injured during our excursion for sounvenirs.

(5) Despite my pleading, Jason declined using his self-rated 10 bargaining skills to buy-and-release any of the adorable baby animals at the market.

(6) Translation: This place was a shithole. We slept on top of a sheet we brought, carefully laid out on top of those provided by the residencial so that we wouldn't leave with any weird diseases. Our love for you may not be worth a sounvenirs more than a few US dollars (Ecuador's currency as well, in case you were interested to know http://www.mindspring.com/~tbgray/dollar.htm) but it does mean we would sleep in a craphole to fund your llama magnets and Che pencil toppers.


And now, a photo tour of Beth´s favorite part of the Saturday market, the animales:

Guinea Pigs are for eating.



Chickens are for eggs.
Baby Cow is for veal.


Not just kitschy souvenirs were for sale. Children, animals and fruit could be bought too.


Obstinate baby cows make bad veal.


Beth says ¨Bah¨to veal...and lamb.

Veg.

Enormous pig.
Animales. Muchos. Para Vende. A picture looking down on the cow-section of the animal market.

Not-so-enourmous pigs...piglets.

Beth says ¨Bah¨to veal...and lamb.

But not to piglets. Beth eating those cute little animals, if the cute little piglets were made of soy and called soyricharones.