Markets

The fairly small city of Otavalo makes its way into guidebooks and onto traveler's itineraries because of its market. On Saturday mornings, the patterned sidewalks that already possess the power to swallow me become even more maze-like as stalls spring up on the side of the road and people flock to buy and sell their wares.

Early in the morning it was the animal market. We all got up at six and trudged up the hill past the newly erected tent poles to a vacant lot teeming with people and animal noises. We wanted to see the adorable wildlife. Usually there are large animals like cows and pigs and sometimes even llamas, but because of some disease that's going around, there were only little things today. Lots of little things. Crates no taller than my calf stuffed with ducks and geese and chickens that couldn't straighten out their necks properly, crates a little taller but not wider with shivering puppies searching each other for a nipple that could offer something to eat, cages with kittens whose eyes are congealed shut with mucus. The only animals that seemed happy were the guinea pigs. Herded together in big pens, they scrambled on top of one another with no care for the cold or the noise.

If someone wanted an animal, its seller would hoist it out, hold it by the feet, and offer it up for inspection. It was hard to believe the prices we heard. A dollar for a puppy. Three for a kitten, but you could probably haggle them down. The humane part of each of us wanted to take them home, feed them, coddle them. But we don't live here so the best we could offer was fingers through bars and some gentle pats on the head.

Men wandered through the aisles carrying buckets and offering warm drinks. By now, it's routine for everyone who lives here. We left quickly, climbed back into our beds, and pulled the covers over our heads to keep out the early morning light streaming in through our too-thin curtains.

But after breakfast we went to a market whose wares we were all far more comfortable with. We looked at clothing and necklaces and shawls and instruments and hammocks. And we haggled.

The sellers like to jack up the prices on weekends because that's when all the tourists come through. So a hat that should cost $1.50 suddenly becomes worth $6, which really sounds fine to me but is apparently a rip off.

Me and this other volunteer who speaks fluent Spanish worked them down. She talked about how she lives in Mexico (which is no longer true) and is not a gringa. That definitely helped. She also asked them about their lives and in exchange told them about hers. She needs this hat because it's cold where she teaches English.

We came home with more than just our wares.