Not even an "authentic" 5:30 wake up call from the neighborhood rooster could diminish our enchantment with the homestay. Although, in all fairness, it's not like that rooster was waking us up from a dead sleep. The neighborhood dogs did that sometime around 1 am. And then the pigs did the same around 3:30. It was like living inside of one of those Fisher Price animal sound wheels we grew up with. Except we wouldn't throw this one out the window. Sure, it wasn't our best night of sleep, but when when we walked into the main house to see Mimi and her new buddies deep into a multilingual Lego session, all was forgiven.
There would be a lot of that back and forth over the next several days. We were hoovering just over the “yeah, this is worth it” line, but at that point, it only would have taken a stomach bug or a bad day of mosquito bites to send us back to the city.
Much of our back and forth was highly influenced by our level of hunger. Lucia was a fantastic cook. Her food was easily some of the best we’d had in the country. But we ate when her family ate. And for a family that tends to plan their vacations at least three meals into the future, that was a challenge. So we resolved to get some fruit in the market that day to keep around for first breakfast. And that was about all we had on the agenda that day, so we grabbed our daypack and set off for town.
Taxis into Cotacachi from the outlying farms are a bit hard to come by, so sharing them is the default. It's not that much of an issue, since the nearly everyone is heading into town. So the drivers round up as many passengers as they can, and charge by the seat. And by seat, I mean, “a spot in the back of the pickup truck.”
As long as I suspended everything I knew about motor vehicle risks (they’re far and above a greater hazard for travelers than malaria, dengue, typhoid, and the usual things we disproportionally worry about), it was pretty fun.
When I sent that photo to Isaias (who spent his youth in Nicaragua riding in the back of pickups), his immediate response was, “but you put the car seats in, right?” I don’t think I can top that line.
In addition to stocking up on some light groceries, our other goal was to find a coffee shop and talk through our next steps. We had been flying semi-blind on the homestay, so I intentionally scheduled myself off of work that day so we could feel it out. Our goal of getting the kids exposed to some non-school Spanish was met pretty easily. The neighborhood kids were delightful. Mimi kept asking if there were any girls in the village, but it was otherwise about as ideal as we could have hoped for. The rest of the family was equally wonderful, the neighborhood felt safe (as long as we didn’t chance it with the stray dogs), and even the farm animals were a charming part of the experience. The only part that brought us even a bit of pause was that we were pretty far outside of town. Since our living space was essentially constrained to the bedroom (unless you count the backyard we shared with the chickens, it would feel a bit tight for a couple of weeks. That would be particularly challenging when I had to work. A few days, no problem. But we weren't planning to head back in Quito for about three weeks, and it would be nice to do a bit more exploring before then. The upshot of not really having any information about the homestay beforehand is that we didn’t pay a deposit, we didn’t sign a contract, we could pretty much come and go as we pleased.
As we sat at the coffee shop talking through options, I had the realization that this was our first trip since having children in which our itinerary wasn’t fully locked in well before we ever left our house. It was a little unsettling, but also pretty liberating. There’s something very special about just wandering around a place like this, especially since our kids are now old enough that aimless wandering wouldn’t be absolutely insane.
The town of Cotacachi itself was particularly charming. With all the livestock farms on the outskirts of town, there was easy access to cowhide, and leather shops are the big industry in town. Plus there are a handful of cafes and other restaurants catering to both locals and tourists, in addition to the considerable expat population that straddles the line between both. We figured a week here would be just about perfect.
The other big draw for Cotacachi is the festival of Intiraymi, the massive dance that we had been told about yesterday. It would be going on all week, and I’m glad our host family gave us a heads up of what to expect. It would have been more than a little surprising to stumble upon it unaware.
The centuries-old festival has its roots in anti-colonial protest marches thinly veiled as religious celebrations. It clearly hasn’t changed much, based on the considerable police presence lining nearly every street downtown. We heard that it can get a little rowdy at nighttime, but what we saw (from a safe distance) was mostly just dance processions with a variety of costumes and local instruments.
Nothing works up an appetite like trying to figure out if we were about to stumble into some civil unrest. But thankfully, the festival blocks were lined with food vendors.
Lunch was some sort of pineapple street empanada, followed by a sit down feast at the local market. The kids had a literal mound of shrimp for just a few dollars. Vegetarian fare was a bit tricker to find, but we were able to piece together a meal from various corn dishes and some fried eggs. All in all, it was a pretty delicious feast for less than it would have cost any one of us to eat out at home.
A belly full of delicious food sealed the deal. A week here would be perfect. There was plenty to explore, the internet connectivity seemed good enough for for me to do some telehealth visits, and the town was safe enough that I wouldn’t need to worry when Aimee and the kids were out and about on my work days . So we made our way back to the house so Aimee and I could take a nap after pretending to put the kids down for a nap.
As dinner time came closer, Lucia asked me if I could help pull some giant bean pods down from one of her trees while she and Aimee shucked them with a couple members of the rotating band of cousins and sisters in law dropping by the house.
I've been debating if I should share what Aimee told me they were talking about as I took that photo. I will. It's a good story. But just know that if you're a bit uncomfortable with it, I am, too.
As is often the case whenever we bring our kids abroad, Aimee was asked by her new friends if we were going to have any more children. She replied “no” with enough definitiveness that the ladies asked her if she had her tubes time. She said, “No, el” pointing to me. Her companions almost collapsed with surprise. Vasectomies are clearly unheard of in rural Ecuador, and I’m pretty sure Aimee launched a female empowerment movement throughout the northern highlands with a single sentence. That's just what she does.
