With a vibe and cultural scene reminiscent of Florence, Italy, Cuenca continues to reap tourism awards as a hot new destination in South America. The city is investing heavily in infrastructure with a new tram line opening soon, but with all this positive press the streets are still mostly filled with Cuencanos (people of Cuenca) going about their daily lives. Masses of flag-led tour groups are unheard of, as are masses of tourists in general. We have been in Cuenca for five weeks and have never felt the crush of tourist season descending upon us.The city does a wonderful job supporting its craftspeople who still use traditional, made by hand, methods to create exceptional pieces in jewelry, textile, ceramic, wrought-iron, tin and copper workshops located across the city. Toquilla straw weavers in the villages around Cuenca who carry unfinished sacks of Panama Hats into the city’s sombrero (hat) factories also need to be included into this group. There are also several traditional felt hat tallerias (workshops) that cater to the indigenous women who live in the rural areas around Cuenca. The fine arts scene is also well represented with galleries and artists’ studios often next to traditional crafts workshops. To get the broadest experience of this vibrant arts and crafts community a tour through Cuenca’s most interesting neighborhood, El Barranco (the cliffs), and along its busiest street Calle Larga, is a must. The colonial buildings that front Calle Larga back onto the cliff which overlooks Rio Tomebamba and the newer southern part of Cuenca. Wide stairs in several parts lead down to Paseo 3 de Noviembre, a shaded pedestrian walkway and bike path that follows the river for several miles.This route actually starts several blocks west of Calle Larga at Cuenca’s Museo de Arte Moderno (Museum of Modern Art) across from Parque de San Sebastian which has a large fountain and several nice places to eat. Casa Azul, which has rare sidewalk tables that face the quiet plaza, and Tienda Café are good choices. Most of the workshops won’t have business signs over their doors or street numbers, might open by ten, but will reliably close between one and three for lunch.
Just around the corner from the Museo Municpal de Arte Moderno at 7-49 Coronel Guillermo Talbot is the unimposing metal embossing workshop of Carlos Bustos. With his workbench by the door to take advantage of the daylight and his finished pieces hanging behind him, he works until the sun sets. Still keeping the traditions of his family alive he offers embossed decorative pieces which can be traditional or whimsical. At the end of the street a mural-lined staircase will take you down to the Rio Tomebamba; instead make a left onto Presidente Cordova and then veer right at the Y in the road onto Bajada del Valo. A few doors down is the felt hat Sombrereria of Camilo M. Hanging from his walls are dozens of white felt hats in various stages of completion with name of the person who ordered it pinned into the brim. Ask permission to take photos and you will be greeted with a smile. Just past the hat maker, Plazoleta Cruz del Vado merges with Mirador del Barranco. This small plaza has several whimsical sculptures, largest of which depicts the traditional festival game Palo Ensebado (the teaching stick – climbing a greased pole) and a religious cross which celebrates the founding of Cuenca in 1557.
Walking along this scenic overlook, open doors reveal artists’ studios and Casa Museo La Condamine, a museum/antique store that houses an interesting menagerie of long forgotten Cuenca furnishings and antiquities. Next door to them is the Prohibido Centro Cultural, an alternative museum that displays sculptures and art that could have been inspirational for your worst nightmare or an award winning sci-fi/horror film, depending on how you look at things. It has a café. Further along the balustrade, musical chords waft from an instrument maker’s workshop, drawing you in, as the craftspeople test their work . Stairs from this scenic overlook lead down to Calle la Condamine and several coppersmiths.
Rounding the corner onto Calle Larga is like returning from the Amazon to New York City. It’s tenfold busier, with the Mercado 10 de Agosto (Cuenca’s central market) accounting for most of the activity in the first block. This a great short detour to get some exotic fruits or fresh bread and rolls from the numerous panaderias that surround it. Diagonally across the street is the Museum del Sombrero de Paja Toquilla (free), a still operating panama hat factory where you can watch the manufacturing process and try on the finished product. They have a lovely rooftop café, the only one in Cuenca, that overlooks the Rio Tomebamba and park below. They offer you a free cup of coffee when you purchase a hat. From the rooftop here you can see the jewelry workshop and store of Andrea Tello on Av 12 de Abril across the river. One of Cuenca’s finest silversmiths, having created filigree masterpieces that are in museum collections around the world, she earned the UNESCO Award of Excellence in Handicrafts in 2010. Just a few doors away is the wide alley Bajada del Padron where you will find the workshop of an ironsmith who makes Pucara, a symbol given as a gift to bring good fortune and prosperity. The sculpture incorporates the Christian cross with images of the Sun and Moon to honor Pachamama.
Continuing east along Calle Larga you will cross the intersection of Benigno Malo. For the next several blocks the restaurant choices are tremendous, with options for Arab and Indian cooking to gourmet Ecuadorian cuisine and everything else in between. El Mercado and El Jardin offer fine dinning experiences that are very enjoyable. For a more casual environment try Goza Espresso Bar which has outside table facing a small park. The lower level of Museo Remigio Crespo Toral (free) offers the Café del Museo, which is truly an oasis of calm in this bustling city, has terraced outside dining that looks over the lush greenery along the Rio Tomebamba and Paseo 3 de Noviembre. The museum itself is worth exploring to see how Cuenca’s gentry lived at the end of the 19th century. Or you can head to the Wunderbar Café on the Francisco Sojos Jaramillo stairway that leads to the Centro Interamericano de Artes Populares (CIDAP – free) which offers changing, monthly craft exhibits.
Back on Calle Larga the Museo de las Culturas Aborigenes looks unimpressive from its entrance, but the museum upstairs has an enthralling collection of 8,000 indigenous artifacts that spans 15,000 years and 20 pre-Columbian cultures, stone-age to bronze-age. Downstairs there is a very good, no-pressure gift store with excellent pricing. Next door is the fascinating studio of metal sculptor Julio Machado who creates hummingbirds and other animals in bronze and aluminum. Stay straight on Calle Larga when you come to the fork in the road at Todos los Santos Church; this will lead you to a store front painter’s studio where his favorite subject seems to be the church you just passed.
At the end of Calle Large at what once was the Inca city of Tomebamba, its terraced gardens still home to grazing llama, now stands Museo Pumapungo (free), one of Ecuador’s finest museums. The first floor offers changing contemporary art exhibits as well as a fascinating collection of artifacts discovered on site here. Upstairs features exhibits which represent all of Ecuador’s diverse cultural groups and their historic way of life. Topping it off, there is an unusual exhibit of shrunken heads, tzantzas, along with how-do instructions in Spanish and English from the Shuar people of the Amazon.
Across the river from the Museo Pumapungo is Las Herrerias, the street of the iron forges, where several workshops create utilitarian and decorative works; to locate the workshops, just follow the sounds of hammers striking anvils. Plaza del Herrero, at the end of the street, has a very interesting monumental sculpture dedicated to the ironworkers who helped build Cuenca. Be sure to try Tortilla de Choclo, a scrumptious corn pancake that is pan-fried on large griddles along the street in this neighborhood.
Artisans not in the Barranco neighborhood, but definitely worth the effort to visit, are ceramicist Eduardo Vega (internationally recognized for his decorative arts.) His workshop and home are a short walk downhill from the Mirador de Turi. Located on the new tram-line that runs through the historic potters’ Barrio Convencio Del 45, at 2-90 Mariscal Lamar, is the traditional, ceramic workshop of Jose Encalada where he and his son Ivan still form every piece using a potter’s kick-wheel. A few blocks over on Vega Munoz is the contemporary, ceramic studio of Eduardo Segovia where he creates whimsical decorative pieces influenced by South American traditions. Closer to the historic central part of Cuenca is the Mama Quilla silversmith shop on Luis Cordero. Here, Harley-riding Ernesto creates fine filigree pieces that reflect the cultures of the Andes.
We enjoyed walking through El Barranco, and specifically Calle Larga. The route we suggest here provides a wonderful overview of life and art in Cuenca.
The road conditions don’t warrant driving after dark, there are just to many ifs, so we departed early from Hostal Taita Cristobal, after wishing our table mates safe travels and adventures as they hoisted heavy backpacks to their shoulders. The Quilotoa Crater and Baños, the adventure capital of Ecuador, were our day’s destinations. Really, Donna’s not going to go zip lining nor am I willing to try bungie jumping. Still, we thought we could find an adventurous activity where one foot was required to be in contact with the ground occasionally. Experience has taught us to double the amount of time our GPS app suggests it will take to get from point A to B due to road conditions and the frequent stops for photo opps. As my wife says “if we continue to stop every 100 yard for pictures, we’ll never get there.” The return drive back to the main road in Sigchos seemed to go very quickly. We only stopped for photos around every other bend. Fortunately we were able to drive down the center of the road or hug the left side to avoid looking over the precipice most of the time. It was nerve racking when we had to get closer to the edge to make room for an oncoming truck to pass. We never thought the sight of a guardrail would bring as much joy as it did when we got back on the main road in Sigchos. As our host had promised the road out of Sigchos was freshly paved. Along with a bright, yellow double line down the center it had shiny, heavenly guardrails around every curve! Even with the new road there were still hazards. There were numerous signs for falling rock or mudslide zones. We also shared it with folks herding sheep or cattle, donkeys carrying water barrels and folks selling things from motorcycles towing small trailers. Suddenly around one curve, marked by only 2 piles of dirt as a warning, about one hundred feet of road had collapsed into a steep ravine. There were no flagmen, orange cones or repair crews in the vicinity. The hair on the back of our necks stood up.
The treed landscape slowly disappeared and was replaced with barren windswept vistas as we rose in altitude, the closer we got to Quilotoa. Gale force winds ripped around us on the ridge above the magnificant Quilotoa Crater (12,913ft), its turquoise waters calm a thousand feet below. Local legend believes Quilotoa fell in love with the Cotopaxi volcano, and the tears from her unrequited love filled the crater. Teary-eyed from the wind chill and altitude, we sought out some restorative coca tea.
A few miles down the road Canyon del Rio Toachi, a mini Grand Canyon, offered interesting photo opportunities from the parking area. Further on small groups of men and women could be seen in the fields winnowing grain by throwing it into the air to separate the wheat from the chaff. Barns made from thatch lined the road for storage.In Zumbahua, with the hills green again, we picked up route E30, which connects the Pacific Coast region with the Amazon basin through Baños. It is a slow cross country route that encounters numerous traffic lights as it passes through many towns along the way, but gives wonderful insight into how folks live along this corridor of commerce. Shops of every variety lined both sides of the road with their doors and workshops literally on curb of the road.
Baños is a well developed town of about 40 blocks that is know for its location under the towering, 16,575ft high and still active Volcan Tungurahua. As recently as two years ago, the town had to be evacuated due to an eruption. Mineral rich hot-springs, numerous waterfalls and the close proximity to the Amazon basin made this a must stop for two days.
The sight of a tall waterfall pouring down from a ridge above town greeted us a we turned down the street for Hostal Posada de Arte. This small boutique hotel was as whimsical as its name suggests, with a colorful interior and excellent, locally created art decorating the walls. If the wind blew just right, mist from the waterfall fell on the inn. Breakfast and dinner at the hotel were delightful with a large fireplace warming the room.
On the central plaza several blocks away stood the Church of our Lady of Holy Water which has many large paintings depicting miracles granted by the Virgin Mary. Most illustrate some mishaps centuries ago with the turbulent Rio Pastaza which rushes through town.
Clouds hung below the mountain peaks as we hiked down to the El Pailon del Diablo, the Devil’s Waterfall. This met our criteria for keeping our feet on the ground. It was an amazing descent along a cloud forest trail to a thundering waterfall. We weren’t planning on getting wet here, drenched is more like it; there is no way to avoid it, especially if you squirrel under the ledge to find the rabbit hole that leads to the highest viewing platform as we did! And you haven’t experienced the fury of this cascade fully unless you do. There is a rest hut at the bottom of the trail, by the suspension bridge, with a fireplace where we relaxed and purchased some refreshments to energize ourselves before the trek back up.
The hike back to the parking area wasn’t as difficult as we had worried, nevertheless our muscles ached. So being in the land of holistic cures we tried a locally brewed craft beer by (no kidding) Shaman breweries. It was so delicous, one of the best brews ever. Sadly, we haven’t been able to find it since.
The Swing at the End of the World was another matter. Hanging from a treehouse situated on the edge of a ravine, with Volcan Tungurahua rising dramatically to the sky across the way, you can get a thrilling swing or a swing with a twist as many times as you dare. Cost of entry for the day – $1.00. Brave soul, Donna got airborne!
We took the first left out of Baños onto Rt. 490, the slow road, heading south to Riobamba. Fortunately, the weather was with us as we began to climb out of the valley, rewarding us with tremendous views of Baños in the valley below and Volcan Tungurahua to the east. The route passed through many small villages and verdant farmland as it sinuously followed the Rio Pastaza which snaked through the valley several hundred feet below us. With such steep terrain we were always amazed that every acre seemed to be cultivated by manual labor. Constantly battling the whims of nature, a hard living is extracted from the earth here. Mother nature rules in these mountains, as witnessed by the path of older, washed away bridges we viewed.
The majestic Volcan Chimborazo came into view for the first time as we crested a small hill on the outskirts of Riobamba. At 20,549ft it is the tallest mountain in Ecuador and the highest near the equator. As the crow flies the mountain was only 15 miles away, but as the road curved it took us another two and a half hours to get to our night’s lodging at Hosteria La Andaluza in San Andres, which was very near the mountain on Rt. 35, the Pan-American Highway. The mountain was hidden by afternoon clouds by the time we pulled into the hacienda’s driveway.
Seeing two exhausted travelers approaching, the staff came from behind the reception desk to take our bags and welcome us. A woodstove in the corner warmed pots of their high altitude tea remedy Canelazo, a mixture of local herbs and fruit which also could be consumed with an optional splash of a sugarcane moonshine. It definitely warmed our bones. Red rose petals on the bed sheets greeted us as we opened the door to our guestroom. The functioning radiator was a nice surprise. This was the first hotel in Ecuador that we stayed in that offered heat; normally it’s window open, window closed, blankets on or off or light the fireplace. Our room overlooked a fountain filled with rose petals and freshly ploughed fields in the distance.
The hacienda dates from 1555 and echoes with history, “Simon Bolivar slept here,” had a familiar ring to it. Ornate, antique furnishings highlighting the craftsmanship of an earlier era filled the common areas. As we wandered about the grounds we were delighted to discover one courtyard had a family of domestic rabbits scurrying about it. A large basket of carrots was left off to the side, so guests could feed them. Two peacocks also strutted about fanning their elegant feathers. That evening chandeliers and candlelit tables created a romantic setting as the filet mignon we ordered was threactically flambéed at our table.
The majestic Volcan Chimborazo.
Chimborazo gleamed brilliantly in the morning sun and filled the horizon across the road from the inn. It seemed almost close enough to touch, but it was only an illusion. To the north just a tiny wedge of Volcan Carihuairazo appeared in the distance. We spent a good part of the day driving through the surrounding farmlands trying to get as close as we could to these beautiful peaks.
Volcan Carihuairazo
On mountain overload, later that afternoon we headed into the historic heart of Riobamba just to get a feel for the city and a change of pace. We had a difficult time figuring out the on-street parking rules, but fortunately after circling several blocks we spotted a parking attendant who issued us a ticket to park for fifty cents. Parque Maldonado centers the historic district with a monument dedicated to Pedro Vicente Maldonado, a multi-disciplined Ecuadorian scientist known for his work with the French Geodesic Mission. He also had responsibilities as Mayor of the City, Lieutenant Magistrate Governor of the Emerald Province, Horseman of the Golden Key and Gentleman of the Camera. Obviously a renaissance man; we weren’t sure if the statue was tall enough. Bordering the plaza, La Catedral de San Pedro’s baroque façade is all that remains of the original structure, one of Riobamba’s earliest, after a 1797 earthquake estimated at a 8.3 magnitude shook the region for three minutes and left thousands dead.
A short walk away, Mercado de San Alfonso filled a city block with terraced displays of flowers and exotic fruits (oh, the creative possibilities – truly a smoothie lover’s paradise), seldom seen in North American markets. Numerous varieties of potatoes in every color and size filled sacks aligned neatly down the aisles.
The next morning we left the wonderful hospitality of Hosteria La Andaluza for Cuenca, our final destination and home for the next five weeks. Fields of quinoa hugged the steep slopes as we continued south on Rt. E35. In one small village we passed parade floats and camionetas, shared pick-up truck taxis, filled with costumed revelers leaving town after what looked like a lively celebration. If we had only arrived a little sooner. These are the unexpected things you happen across when you travel the backroads. Places and events that are too small to be included in the popular tour guides, but entertaining, interesting and eye-opening nevertheless.
As we left the highway in Sangolqui, grilled Cuy, (guinea pig, the national dish) impaled on tall sticks lined both sides of the road, to entice us to stop for a taste. We drove on, unable to consume a pet animal yet. Not sure what side of the omen scale this greeting fell on. We continued for several hours, driving along the route we had chosen through green farmland, before entering the higher regions that encompass Cotopaxi National Park. The relatively smooth cobbled road soon transitioned to dirt as it began to follow a narrow ridgeline that wove between small villages. The views of the lush valleys on both sides of the road were fantastic; just finding the appropriate place to stop hindered us from taking as many pictures as we wanted to. Occasionally we were passed by a speeding tanker truck hurrying from dairy farm to dairy farm to collect the day’s fresh milk.
Slowly the terrain changed and slopes of eucalyptus trees towered over the road. Our route brought us through the eastern side of Refugio de Vida Silvestre Pasochoa, a wildlife and habitat preserve of 33,000 acres. Signs for waterfalls began to appear, tempting us to stop at the Rumipamba Falls trailhead to stretch our legs. We followed the trail until a small suspension footbridge and a glance at the time turned us back.
Forest turned to shrubland as we rose in elevation and neared Cotopaxi National Park. Having not seen a car or truck for awhile now, we were surprised when all of a sudden five vehicles were parked, a little ways from each other, in the middle of nowhere. Not a person in sight. Was this a local lovers lane? Further along more cars. Thursday afternoon, what an amorous society we thought – “obtener una habitacion” – get a room!, seems to have lost something in translation. Later we spotted folks carrying baskets full of small blue berries, Mortiños or Andean Blueberries as it turned out, which are highly sought after. Around a bend the cloud covered dome of Cotopaxi (19,347ft) appeared for the first time.
Surprised by our appearance, a “how did you arrive here?” greeted us as we checked in. A large cloud of dust behind an SUV, driven by a professional driver, usually announces guests about to check in, we were told. Our humble vehicle was lost behind tall blueberry bushes in the parking area. Being surrounded by thousands of acres Andean Blueberry bushes, Hacienda Los Mortiños, is appropriately named. Located just outside the northern entrance to Cotopaxi National Park, (which encompasses 82,500 acres and three other volcanoes , Ruminahui, Sincholaqua and Morurco within its boundary) it offers inspiring views of the surrounding landscape from every window. If you aren’t into mountain biking, horseback riding or hiking, just sitting next to the fireplace in the restaurant, watching the weather change with clouds building then dissipating suddenly to reveal the shy summit of Cotopaxi is a mesmerizing and relaxing way to spend any day.
Towards sunset, wild llamas grazed near the main building. We snapped away while the dominant male approached closer than the rest, as if to announce that he was the protector of his harem. It was a postcard perfect moment with Cotopaxi as the backdrop. The temperature drops quickly at these altitudes once the sun is low in the sky. Towards sunset a housekeeper lite the woodstove in our room to keep the night chill away.
It was not as easy getting onto a horse as it was a few years ago, but I decided to go for a three hour ride with Jorge, a guide from Los Mortiños. Pull back on the reigns and say “Soa,” sounds like whoa, when you want to stop were my instructions in Spanish. I am not a very seasoned rider, but I’ve gotten my limited experience on steep trails in the Rocky Mountains of Montana and know enough to realize that the horse is smarter than me in keeping us both safe in difficult terrain. The horse leads, “you’re just baggage” a wrangler once told me. In a stiff cold wind we saddled up, “Vamamos amigo” and we were off. Just outside the reserve, cattle grazed in the wind swept grassland and llamas could be seen in the distance.
As we entered the park and rode along a deep gully I got my first chance to yell “Soa,” at least I hope I was yelling the right phrase, when a unseen bull violently exploded from the earth and spooked our horses into a sudden gallop! That was more than enough excitement for me. We were miles away from the base of Cotopaxi, but the high plains landscape had a raw natural beauty to it. Each turn of the trail and every hill crested brought wonderful vistas. The only sound was the constant wind. Later we would flush Andean quail and ride through several herds of wild horses. The ride was exhilarating!
I’m not sure which road was bumpier, the one leading to Hacienda Los Mortiños or the one heading away, but we were relieved to be back on the Pan American highway for awhile, as we headed to three days of very inexpensive R&R at a hostel in Isinlivi on the Quilotoa Loop. Not sure what to expect at the hostel, (we are not exactly the demographic you would find there,) we decided to fortify ourselves with lunch at the historic Hacienda La Cienega which dates from 1695. As we pulled into the stately drive that led to the hacienda we wondered if there would be sticker shock when we saw the lunch menu. The elegant dining room overlooked a beautifully landscaped courtyard and bubbling fountain, where an extended family was posing for a group photo. Simultaneously, a rock band was filming a music video on the steps of the hacienda’s ancient, private chapel. Surprisingly there were many reasonably priced entrees offered for lunch. Hacienda La Cienega is just a short detour off the highway in Tanicuchi, but well worth it. It’s a great destination to experience the grandeur of a forgotten way of life.
The Quilotoa Loop is primarily known as a mountainous hiking trail that links remote, isolated villages where indigenous Kichwa is the native language, via a series of footpaths that have been followed for several thousand years.
The elevations of the villages range from 9200ft at Isinlivi to 12,500ft at the Quilotoa Crater. Fortunately Hostal Taita Cristobal, our base for three days, was the in the village of Isinlivi. Why here? We had been moving almost continuously since returning from our Galapagos trip, so it was time to recharge our batteries and just chill for a couple of days. Also we wanted to experience something more remote and less expensive. So for under $40.00 per night Hostal Taita Cristobal provided a beautiful setting, a nice private room with en-suite bath with hot water along with two hearty and delicous meals per day. Plus they had llamas on the property!
Getting there was there harrowing part. Outside of Tanicuchi the road turned to dirt and the low hills became worthy of the Alps with footpaths and stairs cut into steep slopes leading to places unseen. We glimpsed the twin peaks of Mt. Iliniza Sur (17,300ft) and Iliniza Norte (16,900ft). The GPS showed a sinuous route that wound on and on forever. We quickly developed a system to navigate the numerous blind S curves we were encountering. I would lean on the horn for 3 long blasts as we were entered a curve and Donna would try to see as far around the corner as possible and give a thumbs if all was clear as we inched uphill in second or first gear. Once you are off the highway guardrails are non-existent!!! Several times the hair was raised on the back of our necks and Donna grabbed the “Oh Jesus!” strap above the passenger door. We often faced buses barreling downhill at us in a cloud of dust and we tried to navigate the switch-back turns, clinging as tightly to the corner as possible. We passed many sobering roadside memorials to those less lucky. Many miles were traveled in second gear with a top speed of twenty miles an hour or so. Every now and then we would stop and check the road when we heard a loud metallic ping come from the undercarriage, fearing that we lost part of the car. Fortunately our wheels stayed intact. Occasionally we drove through clouds of smoke, billowing up from fields farmers had set afire to burn off the stubble left from the harvest. We saw one partially hidden directional sign for our inn, which contradicted all three GPS mapping apps we were using. Despite no mention of miles to go, trustingly we followed it. At times we were driving above the clouds.
For the next three days and nights we shared wonderful meals around a communal table with hikers from the United Kingdom, Belgium, France and Siberia. Stories told, plans and information shared, we learned about maps.me, which turned out to be quite helpful later on, and as citizens of the world how much we share in common. After midnight the wind blew so fiercely, for several hours, we thought the roof might fly off. Over the several days spent there, we turned out to be the only guests crazy enough to drive ourselves into this remote region. At tea time every afternoon the owner brought the llamas, 2 adults and a three month old, home from grazing and staked them out behind the inn for the night, to the delight of the guests. Just watching the little one playfully scamper around the yard was worth the effort to get there. We strolled around Isinlivi that Sunday just as church was letting out and villagers from outlying hamlets were sitting down on the curb to catch up on local news. Around the corner sheep grazed in the school yard, and a large hog was reluctantly led uphill through town by a woman and her daughter. Weary backpackers, dusty from the trail, inquired about lodging.
Discussing our driving plans over a map with one of the tour guides one morning, the inn keeper interjected that you can’t go that way, “YOU REALLY DO NEED A FOUR WHEEL DRIVE” for that route. “You must return the way you came, the road gets better as you leave Sigchos, it was just redone.”
I never thought I would be so happy to see a guardrail!
We were so anticipating the Otavalo Market, and better yet we were there on a Saturday, its largest day. As promised, the streets were full of vendor stalls radiating for blocks from the Artisan Square. Unfortunately, many stalls featured everyday essentials for the local populace and not the high quality crafts that the market had previously built its legendary status on. At the very center on the Artisans square, what looked liked machine woven textiles, made in Ecuador, were available and priced accordingly.
We opted to visit one of the local weavers, Miguel Andrango, at his home workshop in Agato to view his unique and one of a kind textiles, all woven by hand on a backstrap loom. A fourth generation weaver, he explained to us how everything was done by hand. From the shearing, cleaning, carding, spinning and then dying the wool using local plants or insects to create the colors needed. A hand woven blanket wide enough for a double bed takes two months to weave by hand. It is so important to support these local artisans as they are knowledge keepers of their craft and maybe the last, as the younger generation shows little interest in keeping these traditional crafts alive. Please try to avoid buying cheap foreign knock-offs at these markets. The local craftspeople suffer terribly from this competition.
The town of San Antonio de Ibarra has two large plazas, one block apart, which are lined with numerous traditional woodcarvers shops. Here we found artisans creating religious statuary for homes and churches and more contemporary pieces for decoration, in workshops fragrant with cedar and sawdust.
We were still weaving with our sea legs as we stood at the Budget Rental Car counter in dismay and frustration. We were told that our reservation (that we had had for six months) was canceled an hour earlier. Seems we were late for our pickup, and since Budget didn’t hear from us, they cancelled our car. And since we were on an airplane, it wasn’t possible to call. We quickly found the LAST vehicle available at the airport at the Thrifty Car rental counter, as more than twice the price. The best they could do was a SUV with the driver’s door severely banged in, but it was a set of wheels and as they say “vamanos amigos!”
Ecuador has invested heavily in infrastructure projects and the Pan American highway is a marvel of engineering, whisking drivers away from the Quito area through numerous S curves that steeply climb then descend, then repeat, repeat, and repeat until you’ve reached Otavalo. Sometimes the highway is eight lanes wide and at other times it’s only two. If you love S curves, the Pan American highway is a definite must drive.
Though an international highway, many times the road is the main street through small towns with active businesses lining its sides. This area is full of nurseries growing flowers, mostly roses, for international export. Numerous street vendors also lined the route selling a dozen roses for three dollars. In Otavalo we had to exchange our muscular SUV for a small 5-speed, manual transmission, sedan.
Due to the steep, long climbs and S curves of the highway we spent many miles in second gear. This continued on the secondary roads as well – they started off asphalt, then switched to flat pavers, followed by cobblestone paving (with a center stone line) which eventually turned into compacted dirt with ruts. Did I say RUTS?! First and second gears ruled now as it seemed there was not a level or straight road in all of Ecuador, especially where were we were headed. I had to treat Donna to massage therapy after one particularly bone-jarring adventure, where we were lucky that the muffler didn’t get snagged on a rock . And of course there is the thrill factor, with side roads in the mountains not having guardrails and buses barreling down hill at you in a cloud of dust as you are trying to negotiate an uphill 180 degree switchback in first gear on a dirt road wide enough for one car! Numerous roadside crosses dotted the landscape for an instant reality check. Really these roads would be a challenge for the drivers that do the infamous Baja off-road race! Why buy a ticket for a rollercoaster when you can scare yourself to death driving the secondary roads of Ecuador. As I said before, the Pan American highway is a great road in perfect condition without potholes. Once you leave it be warned. And really do opt for that SUV. Vroom, vroom!
Set at 9800ft altitude, high in the hills above Otavalo, Casa Mojanda is definitely a destination; a boutique lodge that practices sustainability. The massive dining room has 3 foot thick walls constructed using a rammed earth technique which was then whitewashed. Rustic cabins with kiva fireplaces, to ease away the chill of an Andean night, are set into the hillside to follow the natural contour of the terrain and take full advantage of the view. Lower on the property, a massive organic garden supplies the kitchen. And an authentic sweat lodge is available for those would want to hire a local, registered shaman and indulge in the indigenous traditions. For a side trip we drove up to the crater lake of Lagunas de Mojanda which is at 12,000ft, and got the feel for the first of many to follow ubiquitous cobbled roads. So far our transportation has proven to be the little car that could.
On the way to Parque Condor, a rescue center for Andean birds of prey, our GPS failed us and lead us down a dirt track on the other side of the mountain that we were supposed to be at the top of. Fortunately the first person we asked walking along the road spoke a little English and pointed us back in the direction from which we came. Before we turned around she looked seriously at our car, shook her head and said “I don’t think your little car can make it there”. We too had our doubts when we saw the condition of the dirt road and the incline that faced us. “It’s not what you drive, but how you drive it” became my favorite mantra when considering the capabilities of our wheels. And yes, we wished we had a little more ground clearance occasionally, and more horsepower. With minutes to spare we made it in time for the morning “free flight” demonstration at 11:30. In a stone amphitheater set into the side of the mountain top, high above the valley below, a falconer performed with a variety of Andean hawks, to the audience’s delight. Starting with their smallest raptor and working their way to the larger ones, from behind us his assistants would release the birds from their cages and they would fly through the crowd to land on the sheathed hand of the falconer. As the falconer tossed food in the air, the birds would grab it in mid-flight, circle around and land on perches amidst the audience. Evidently the falconer moonlighted as a stand up comedian as the enthralled audience erupted in laughter numerous times throughout the hour and a half show. Unfortunately, “no hablo Espanol,” the jokes were lost on us. The park also houses a great variety of owls and condors which were a delight to photograph.
We were so anticipating the Otavalo Market, and better yet we were there on a Saturday, its largest day. As promised, the streets were full of vendor stalls radiating for blocks from the Artisan Square. Unfortunately, many stalls featured everyday essentials for the local populace and not the high quality crafts that the market had previously built its legendary status on. At the very center on the Artisans square, what looked liked machine woven textiles, made in Ecuador, were available and priced accordingly.
We opted to visit one of the local weavers, Miguel Andrango, at his home workshop in Agato to view his unique and one of a kind textiles, all woven by hand on a backstrap loom. A fourth generation weaver, he explained to us how everything was done by hand. From the shearing, cleaning, carding, spinning and then dying the wool using local plants or insects to create the colors needed. A hand woven blanket wide enough for a double bed takes two months to weave by hand. It is so important to support these local artisans as they are knowledge keepers of their craft and maybe the last, as the younger generation shows little interest in keeping these traditional crafts alive. Please try to avoid buying cheap foreign knock-offs at these markets. The local craftspeople suffer terribly from this competition.
The town of San Antonio de Ibarra has two large plazas, one block apart, which are lined with numerous traditional woodcarvers shops. Here we found artisans creating religious statuary for homes and churches and more contemporary pieces for decoration, in workshops fragrant with cedar and sawdust.
For a change of pace we switched hotels and drove across the valley to Hacienda Cuisin which dates from a Spanish land grant of 150,000 acres in the 16th century. The hacienda is a classic example of Spanish colonial architecture, situated under Cerro Imbabura. Sprawling whitewashed buildings with red tile roofs which once provided exquisite shelter for extended family and staff now sleep guests. The common rooms filled with antiques have the atmosphere of an old money private estate. The grounds are also fun to explore with stately plantings and llamas on tether to keep the lawns trimmed. We were pleasantly surprised to find hot water bottles under the bedclothes, to take away the evening chill, when we went to sleep that night in a bed large enough for a conquistador and his horse.
Back on the road, we headed to Termas de Papallacta, a hot springs resort in the middle Andean mountains range, at an altitude of 10,000ft, to soak our weary bones in their therapeutic waters. Our room faced out onto soaking pools only ten feet from the door. Since we were there for only one night, we took full advantage of the facilities with Donna getting a much enjoyed deep tissue massage. Dinner that night was a locally sourced Andean trout which was delicious and surprisingly fairly priced considering the remoteness of the location. The next morning, a chilly early morning mist fell and steam rose from the pools as I soaked for one last time before breakfast. At $14 per person, what was offered for the buffet breakfast was highway robbery. “Levanta tus manos” or “stick your hands up”!
“Ayvalik! How do you know of Ayvalik? This is where the Turks go to vacation” And “You must go to Cunda!” is a phrase we heard proudly repeated more than once.
This post was written about our trip to Ayvalik, Turkey in 2013.
A Mount Rushmore sized, carved stone profile of Atatürk loomed over the highway and filled the front windshield as my wife and I sped north, round a bend on the E87, escaping the Izmir airport. “I will be getting married in three weeks” our taxi driver Ozzie joyfully announced, then softer and more ambivalently “there are so many preparations to make ready before our wedding, we have to buy a refrigerator, stove and bed for our new apartment.” “About half way there we will break at this rest stop that makes the best homemade yogurt. Mama likes the yogurt with mild green peppers (yogurtlu biber) marinating in it, I always stop here on the way back to buy some for her. It reminds her of the way grandma used to make it.” Ozzie continued, “just last week there was a newspaper editorial lamenting the demise of fresh yogurt and how the store-bought yogurt now lasts forever and never goes bad!” And so began our journey to Ayvalik and a week on the northern Aegean coast of Turkey last May. Located two hours by taxi (four hours by bus) north of Izmir, on the southern shore of the Bay of Edremit, Ayvalik is fortunately just a little too far north and off the usual tour circuit, a full day’s drive away from the buses full of tourists that visit Ephesus then descend onto the beaches of Turkey’s Southern Aegean or Western Mediterranean coasts. “Ayvalik! How do you know of Ayvalik? This is where the Turks go to vacation” And “You must go to Cunda!” is a phrase we heard proudly repeated more than once.
A view across Ayvalik.
As we approached Ayvalik, salt evaporating ponds lined one side of the road as gentle Mediterranean waves rolled onto the narrow beach across the way. Turning off the highway, the road rose gently through acres upon acres of olive groves, ruins of an old stone Greek Church flashed by, its roof gone, leaving only the bell tower to pierce the silver-green canopy of the olive trees. As the road crested, a quick glimpse of Ayvalik flashed by, red tiled roofs and minarets set against the sparkling, turquoise blues of the Aegean. And across the bay were the low hills of Cunda Island in the distance. The May Day celebrations were in full swing on the palm tree lined waterfront, and in front of the ubiquitous statue of Atatürk a sea of labor unionists chanted and waved crimson Turkish flags aloft as our taxi passed.
Erinç our hostess smiled to us from the door of Eolya Konukevi as Ozzie jumped the low stone wall with our bags in hand to show off his youth. The salt air and Mediterranean diet had not worked its wonders yet, so we walked the long way around to greet her. “Please wear these slippers when you enter, it is our custom.” Four years earlier Erinç escaped the urban crush of Istanbul and opened Eolya Konukevi, a small four room boutique inn in a three story, 120 year old Greek townhome she lovingly renovated, keeping its historical ambience and charm. The bedrooms were on the small side so we opted for room #7, the only one with a private terrace. The terrace was too hot to use during the unseasonably warm ninety degree mid-day heat, but wonderful early in the morning or later in the day when the sun was lower and a perfect spot to enjoy a bottle of Turkish wine bought from the local grocery store. In early May we were the only guests for most of the week. Nevertheless each morning Erinç presented, in the sunken, high-walled courtyard a bountiful variety of fresh baked breads or pastries with homemade jams, honey, tomatoes, cucumbers, a wonderful assortment of olives, local cheeses, Turkish egg dishes and the delicious Turkish staple, Cevizli biber – a meze prepared with red pepper paste, hot red pepper flakes, onion, walnuts and cumin mixed to a moldable consistency and used to garnish many recipes. “You will see gallons of it in the weekly market on Thursday, the town gets crazy full, vendors fill the street and villagers from all around come into town to shop,” Erinç told us.
Fishermen tending to their nets along the quay in Ayvalik.
Embracing the pace of village life we walked everywhere, and hoped to stay thin. Along the quay, boat hands dangled over the side of excursion boats, busy sanding and varnishing them into pristine shape for the coming high season. Some fishermen sat atop their moored boats mending nets, and others tinkered noisily with engines. Lined with boats, palm trees and seafood restaurants the waterfront of Ayvalik, though much quieter and laidback, resembles many others fishing villages along the coast. The charm of Ayvalik is that it has no major attractions, just the wonderful ambiance of a once prosperous commercial fishing and olive oil processing center, now mostly forgotten and lost in time. Far away from any major historical sites, the townspeople here are just going about their lives, and wonderfully so, not catering to a substantial tourist infrastructure. There was only one short block with several bars, just off the waterfront that looked like it would be a noisy spot during high season. With tables and chairs outside that further narrowed the already thin lane there were more cats and dogs asleep under the tables than patrons the night we passed.
Horse drawn carriages can easily navigate the narrow lanes of Ayvalik and are still used for a variety of delivery jobs.
Meandering, cobbled lanes and back alleys led us slowly up the hill away from the waterfront and it seemed into an earlier century. Slowly crumbling pastel colored homes in various stages of decline lined both sides of the streets. Missing sections of stucco revealed still solid stone construction underneath ignored exteriors. Many homes had their doors chained shut decades ago, the locks heavily rusted over from neglect or abandonment (recall pictures of Havana, Cuba). Offset occasionally by a rare renovation in progress , the early signs of gentrification were beginning to edge in. Horse drawn wagons are still used by vegetable and fruit vendors to ply their trade and to deliver refrigerators, stoves and other large household items through lanes too narrow for modern trucks to navigate. The vignettes of everyday live abounded – the world’s oldest newspaper delivery man carefully balancing an ancient moped between stops, ringing the doorbell and sharing news for a few moments before sputtering away to another door further down the bumpy lane. The lone cow tied to a bright , orange slide in a vacant children’s playground. Fresh fish and Octopus taken from the sea just hours earlier, for sale on the pier early in the morning. School children in their uniforms, playfully headed home for lunch. Lambs’ heads, beef hearts and other organs hung in the butcher’s window. Piles of freshly baked Simit (a bread ring covered with sesame seeds all over) just taken from the baker’s oven and displayed on the ledge of his open window to cool. The candied apple seller walking the streets, hawking his caramelized treats from a tree like structure. A painter carrying his buckets, brushes and large extension ladder to work, carefully, dipping it under low hanging telephone lines as he walked. Men crushing, weighing and bagging coal just off the main square, covered head to toe in black dust. Stacks of split wood – used to fire so many grills and ovens – and impart that distinctive flavoring. Scarfed women, walking together their arms linked in camaraderie. A farmer racing by on his garden tractor, pulling his wife bouncing all over in a small wagon behind him, with a death grip on its sides she held her face high into the morning sun. Her head scarf blew straight out behind her.
Delivering lemonade to vendors in the market.
Still full of energy this older villager still delivered newspapers all over Ayvalik.
Villagers resting in the shade, trying to escape the heat of mid day.
The Minaret and clock tower of Saatli Camii mosque were just visible through the fabric and clothing which dangled from the shade awnings strung over the streets on market day. (A thriving Greek Orthodox cathedral until the Turkish War of Independence ended in 1923. The resulting peace treaty forced a population exchange between Turkey and Greece. Where Ottoman Greeks on the Turkish mainland where forced to leave their homes and move to the Greece and Turks living in Greece where forced to relocate to Turkey. Many churches were abandoned and left to ruin. Others were deconsecrated and with the installation of a minaret and minbar pointing towards Mecca from which the Mullah preached, repurposed as mosques.) Overnight, the local merchants had emptied the contents of their shops onto the streets and itinerant traders erected temporary stands to display their wares. Transforming what seemed to be all of Ayvalik into a vast outdoor shopper’s metropolis offering everything for the home and farm. The village was full of families from the outlying smaller villages that had taken buses to Ayvalik for this weekly event. The women wore traditional baggy pants, brightly colored with floral prints. And various, clashing mix matched tops and scarfs edged with intricate embroidery, created an ever changing, beautiful kaleidoscope of color and patterns as they flowed up and down the lanes, and shopped for more exuberant fabrics to sew at home.
Just off At Arabacilan Meydani (the Horse Carts square) the lane was full of chickens, lambs and goats for sale. Sun dried farmers chatted and laughed with each other while they sat in the doorframes of buildings along the lane, or sent text messages as they waited to make a sale. A block over was the Koy Pazari (weekly farmers market), with baskets full of artichokes, eggplants, fava beans, mulberries, onions, quince, squash, strawberries and grape leaves, stalls full of cheeses and more varieties of olives than I have ever seen in one place. Bottles of pomegranate and grape dressing were stacked high. Herbs and spices! Saffron and Cardamom were amazingly affordable (we should of bought more) And displays of the Turkish Spice blend of Red Pepper, Oregano, Paprika, Garlic, Cumin, Cilantro, Salt and Black Pepper abounded. Each herb poured separately upon the other into plastic bags creating an attractive rainbow package. Numerous five gallon tins of Cevizli biber with their tops shaped to pyramids lined the aisles.
Old men resting and drinking tea in front of Seytanın Kahvesi,(the Devils Café) tea house.
As the day got warmer and the crowds thickened we decided to escape the frenzy and headed to Seytanın Kahvesi (the Devils Café), a teahouse we had found the day before. Very hot apple cay (.50TL) served in tulip shaped glasses soothed use as we rested under the shade of a large tree in front of the cafe and people watched. Even in the mid-day heat the old men wore the traditional sweater vest under a heavy suit jacket. Some rubbed prayer beads as they chatted with friends, while others read papers and sipped tea. One pulled his feet from his slippers and cooled them against the paving stones. At another table, a man with crutches pulled x-rays from a large envelope and held them up to sky to show the pins in his leg to his friends. In the small cross-roads, opposing drivers negotiated which tractor would give way. From the front door tea runners ran down the lane balancing trays of cay to merchants in the market. Above our table hung a sign with carved out and painted, dancing stick figures spelling Cop(M)adam,(the trash ladies) the woman’s cooperative next door. Established to give women who have never worked for pay outside the home or farm, a chance for some economic independence. They create wonderful, contemporary handbags, pocketbooks and other fashion accessories out of thrown away materials. The small shop was full of chatter and laughter as the women worked together. An exotic aroma from the communal lunch being prepared drifted through the shop from the stove in the back room. We chose several items and negotiated lively with an occasional raised eyebrow or thumbs down along with their handy calculator.
With a picnic dinner in our bags from shopping at the bazaar we headed back along a different route further up the hill to find the once grand (and never converted) orthodox cathedral, Taksiyarhis. Situated alone in the center of an overgrown square, the ruins sadly dominated the neighborhood. Large, untamed fig trees sprouted from the foundation. With part of its portico collapsed and the rear of the apse caved in we peered inside to see fallen rafters and small sections of walls with fading designs barely visible, were all that remained of its former glory.
Looking north from Seytan Sofrasi (the Devils Table) towards Cunda Island on the horizon.
“Have you gone to Cunda yet? Erinç inquired. “Not yet, each time we walk past the ferry there is no activity. We might have to take a Dolmus (shared) Taxi over for the day.” I replied. “With it being so hot this Spring they might start ferry service earlier this year,” Erinç offered. Instead, we hired a taxi and headed to Seytan Sofrasi (the Devils table) a rock formation located in a state park a few miles south of town. Narrow, winding roads followed the shoreline around the smaller coves of the bay, revealing thin strips of sandy beaches round each curve. Only a few families were out, some fathers fished as their kids plunged knee deep into the shallow water, and shivered with glee as they raced back to shore. We passed several roadside stands with various flavors and shades of local honey for sale under beach umbrellas. Eventually the road started to rise gently through a forest. The trees thinned to expose the summit and its panoramic overview to the north of two small bays below, then Ayvalik and the large island of Cunda beyond, surrounded by twenty smaller islands. Lesbos, Greece hazily dominated the western horizon in the afternoon light. Prayer notes tied to safety railings fluttered in a refreshing breeze against a flawless sky. Ignoring the railing some people still climbed over to snap a picture from the edge, no guards were there to discourage them or save them from their selves if needed. Though a sturdy iron cage protected an oval, foot like depression in the rock that local folklore says Satan left behind as he leapt to party across the water in Lesbos for some crazy reason. It’s difficult to believe but it seems the Devil spent a bit of time in Ayvalik, if you go by the number of things that include his name, and the volume of ruined churches, monasteries and mosques built nearby to dilute his influence.
Fish restaurants line the dock in Cunda. Behind them stone lanes lead to Takisyarhis Kilisesi church and The Sevim Kent Library cresting the hill above the village.
We were in luck when we realized a short line was forming for the ferry to Cunda as we exited the taxi. Storm clouds built over Ayvalik as the boat pulled away with only a handful of passengers aboard for the short journey. The weather threatened only for a brief time but did not deliver. (During high season ferries from Ayvalik run to Lesbos, Greece and Assos, Turkey. Diving trips to nearby deep, red coral reefs can also be taken, along with swimming boat charters to the islands around Cunda). A long line of seafood restaurants fronted Cunda’s quay. Several blocks inland and on a slight rise, the cupola of the old Greek Orthodox Taksiyarhis Kilisesi church (same name but a different church) rose above the surrounding homes, was finally being restored as a museum and center for cultural events after years of neglect. A candied apple seller braved the sun and walked the streets, hawking his caramelized treats from a tree like structure. The shade of the buildings offered some relief from the sun for three older villagers and their donkey called “Donkey” who had a weathered, wooden saddle tied to its back and us as we continued our walk uphill to find a windmill that we had spotted from the ferry. The windmill with a pretty veranda and small adjacent chapel now restored as The Sevim and Necdet H. Kent Library (Kent was a Turkish diplomat stationed in France during World War II who saved the lives of many Jews by providing them Turkish identity papers) are all that are left of an ancient monastery complex that sat upon the crest of the hill and overlooked Cunda and the waters surrounding it. The library’s shaded cafe (free WiFi) provided the perfect spot to rest our blisters and appreciate the views, before heading back into the village for dinner.
Many restaurants line the back lanes of Cunda with tables and chairs to enjoy an evening meal.
We rewarded our efforts later that evening with wonderfully prepared Cretan (Turks from Crete came to Cunda during the population exchange) dishes at Lal Girit Mutfagi, a small restaurant set in a rustic stone building with an outside patio across the cobbled lane. Difficult choices tempted us: which mezes to try from the mouthwatering assortment on display? Since the night was warm, we were seated under the grape vines of the patio. Occasionally the waiter hoisted a watering can and sprinkled water onto the cobblestone lane to keep down the dust from passing tractors as farmers slowly drove home through the village from their fields or orchards. The restaurant did not have a paper menu; rather, Emine the owner/chef enthusiastically talked us through what she was cooking that night. The pace of the meal was delightfully relaxed, no rushing, everything from the kitchen freshly prepared and delicious. Soft cheese with wild spring herbs; mussels stuffed with spicy rice served on the half shell; grilled octopus; fresh anchovies in a light tomato sauce plated artfully in a spiral; artichokes with dill and stuffed grape leaves; and shredded vegetables with cheese and herbs wrapped in papery thin phyllo dough and baked to a golden brown; our meal appeared before us one exquisite dish after the next, as we enjoyed each of the chef’s creations. Folks filled the lanes as dusk fell and brought in a refreshing breeze. The restaurant livened as the evening lengthened, a boisterous atmosphere reflected much laughter and heartiness. Good Turkish wine, Raki!, a fine night, and a great meal still remembered. Serife! (Days later, Emine greeted us warmly as she shopped amongst the tables of fresh produce at Rormutauk Bazaar (the Sunday farmers market) in Sirinkent , just north of Ayvalik).
A shepherd with young lambs in Cennet Tepesi (Heaven Tower Park) above Ayvalik.
A lone crenulated tower spotted from the Dolmus taxi on the way back from Cunda looked worth another uphill hike. Giant century plants and their towering seed stalks leaned over the path toward Cennet Tepesi (Heaven Tower Park) above the bay. We followed the path through a slowly thickening pine forest to the tower I had glimpsed the night before. An unattended flock of sheep quietly grazed in grassy undergrowth. From behind the tower the sound of more sheep bah-ing slowly moved closer. We waited expectantly to see another flock arrive but were amused when only a lone shepherd, baa-ing, emerged carrying two young lambs in his arms. He baa-ed tenderly as if to convey his love for his flock and reassure the lamb’s mother that they would be reunited soon.
Some villagers still light bonfires, dance and jump over the flames in celebration of Spring.
At breakfast the next morning Erinç excitedly asked if we had heard of Hidirellez. ”It’s still celebrated here in Ayvalik. Today, every May 5th some of the families build bonfires in the streets in front of their homes. They play music, dance and cheer for each other and their neighbors to jump over the flames in a celebration of spring.” It’s not organized and fewer families do it than years ago. You’ll have to wander the lanes farther up the hill, but I’m sure there will be some bonfires.” Later that evening after a long siesta we headed back into the ancient backstreets. Two drummers, carrying big bass drums along with a cymbalist, noisily led a bride in a white gown and pink sneakers and groom in a tux, followed by a small group of raucous revelers in Halloween makeup. Momentarily surrounded, we posed for photos with the party, and then they left in the direction from which they came. Not the fire jumpers we were looking for, but encouraged nevertheless we continued our search. A few blocks over, the homes and people gathered on the street in front of them were cast in the amber warmth of several small fires centered in the middle of the lane. Some revelers danced to traditional music blasted from a CD player. Couches and chairs were brought outdoors for older partiers to settle into. Behind them a few parents supervised young arsonists in training making small smoky fires. We watched as the fires popped and blew sparks skyward when any burnable material was thrown in to encourage higher flames. And with a running start, young and old jumped, when their nerves permitted, as best they could through the flames as everyone clapped and cheered them on. Thankfully we did not witness any self-immolations that night.
A wedding parade on Hidirellez ( a May 5th celebration of Sping).
Ayvalik won the regional playoffs and the small village celebrated wildly.
As we walked back to our guesthouse, the square on the waterfront was surprisingly full of triumphant soccer fans, victoriously waving the team colors. The Ayvalik team had won the state playoffs! It seemed as if everyone who owned a scooter or car (not too many people do), overloaded it with flag-waving friends and raced down Ataturk Caddesi (the only two way street in town) several blocks, did a K turn and then speed back through town multiple times that evening. The horns were still blaring when our heads hit the pillow.
The smell of smoke lingered in the air very early the next morning when Ozzie picked us for the trip back to the airport. We offered him our best wishes for his quickly approaching wedding and changing life. And wished for ourselves, that Ayvalik would not change at all, or at least very slowly.
At the main Thursday market in Ayvalik colorful fabrics hand from the shade awnings strung between buildings.
With Cunda Island and Lesbos, Greece in the distance.
Cobbled lanes and rose bushes adorn the narrow streets of Cunda.
Sunset in Ayvalik
Weighing and bagging coal on At Arabacilan Meydani (the Horse Carts square).
Shelves in the blacksmiths shop on At Arabacilan Meydani (the Horse Carts square).
Palm trees lline a waterfront park on the way to Cunda Island.
Some villagers still light bonfires, dance and jump over the flames in celebration of Spring.
Some villagers still light bonfires, dance and jump over the flames in celebration of Spring.
Street vendors still push carts of produce door to door through the narrow lanes of Ayvalik.
A view across Ayvalik towards Cunda Island .
The sparse interior of Seytananin Kahvesi (The Devils Cafe).
Turkish breakfast at Eolya Konukevi.
A shepherd with young lambs in Cennet Tepesi (Heaven Tower Park) above Ayvalik.
A shepherd with young lambs in Cennet Tepesi (Heaven Tower Park) above Ayvalik.
Fishing in front of the ferry dock in Cunda.
Rusted locks on an a forgeotten home in Cunda.
Most people still walk from place to place in town.
Grapevines adorn many homes and offer some shade.
An ornamental gate along the waterfront frames the sunset in Ayvalik.
A vibrant kaleidiscope of color fills the streets of Ayvalik on market day, when villagers from the outlying hamlets come into town.
School children having some fun on the way to school in Ayvalik.
A stray dog catching some warmth from the morning in an old cobbled lane.
The view of Ayvalik from Cennet Tepesi (Heaven Tower Park).
Slowly crimbling pastel colored homes in various stages of decline line both sides of the lanes.
Slowly crimbling pastel colored homes in various stages of decline line both sides of the lanes.
Village women rest from a morning of intense shopping.
The city does a wonderful job supporting its craftspeople who still use traditional, made by hand, methods to create exceptional pieces in jewelry, textile, ceramic, wrought-iron, tin and copper workshops located across the city. Toquilla straw weavers in the villages around Cuenca who carry unfinished sacks of Panama Hats into the city’s sombrero (hat) factories also need to be included into this group. There are also several traditional felt hat tallerias (workshops) that cater to the indigenous women who live in the rural areas around Cuenca. The fine arts scene is also well represented with galleries and artists’ studios often next to traditional crafts workshops. To get the broadest experience of this vibrant arts and crafts community a tour through Cuenca’s most interesting neighborhood, El Barranco (the cliffs), and along its busiest street Calle Larga, is a must. The colonial buildings that front Calle Larga back onto the cliff which overlooks Rio Tomebamba and the newer southern part of Cuenca. Wide stairs in several parts lead down to Paseo 3 de Noviembre, a shaded pedestrian walkway and bike path that follows the river for several miles.
This route actually starts several blocks west of Calle Larga at Cuenca’s Museo de Arte Moderno (Museum of Modern Art) across from Parque de San Sebastian which has a large fountain and several nice places to eat. Casa Azul, which has rare sidewalk tables that face the quiet plaza, and Tienda Café are good choices. Most of the workshops won’t have business signs over their doors or street numbers, might open by ten, but will reliably close between one and three for lunch.
