tourism

Falling for Peguche

Posted on by Laurie Paternoster

DSC_0041I chose the path that got us lost.

And once we found the grand entrance, it was a challenging admission to make.

Nonetheless, we had lots of laughs and a grand adventure finding the Las Cascadas de Peguche, tucked into the foothills of the Imbaburu volcano in Otavalo, Ecuador.

My buddy Carol is a good sport. She followed me dutifully. We skated down slippery, muddy slopes. We tiptoed across barely-there wooden bridges. When we lost all signage, we confidently walked the animal paths along the edges of the mountain.

The unmistakable roar of cascading water led us there. Frothy foam and churning liquid is spell-binding. Falling from 50 feet through the jungle foliage into the Peguche River, the scene was all the more mesmerizing.

It was well worth the walk – and the detour!

DSC_0036Peguche is one of many waterfalls throughout Ecuador. But it holds three distinctions: It’s found inside one of the most beautiful forests of northern Ecuador, it’s easily accessed from the main road through Otavalo, and it’s an indigenous ceremonial site.

Inside a 40-acre protected forest known as Bosque Protector Cascada de Peguche, the falls can be reached in 20 minutes. That assumes you go through the front gate. There is no charge, but donations are accepted inside the interpretive center. The waterfalls  originate at the foothills of the volcano, at the northern tip of San Pablo Lake, about two and a half miles south of Otavalo.

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Peguche is considered a sacred place in the indigenous culture because of the native people’s relationship to nature. Villagers from throughout the region visit the falls to perform purification rituals in the days before Inti Raymi. Inti Raymi is an Incan-based celebration of the sun and harvest, traditionally set for June 24.

Like many ancient sites, the falls are also the stuff of legends.

We rested outside a cave leading behind the falls, but neither of us had any interest in, or equipment for, crawling through the mud into the inky blackness. Later I heard one of many folktales: There is a cauldron of gold guarded by two black dogs deep inside the cave. The devil sits next to the cauldron, according to the legend, holding a plate of sand. The falling water washes away the sand in the plate, little by little, until the plate is empty. At that point, the devil snatches the soul of whoever has entered the waterfall at the same moment.

No problem there. We weren’t in the purification mood. And while the mist felt rejuvenating, the icy cold water was not appealing.

Hikers in the area need to look pat the ever-present, shameful graffiti, to appreciate the forest foliage and an abundance of birds. While we didn’t see most of them, I’m told the lush vegetation houses doves, owls, Quindes, hummingbirds, reptiles, frogs and various other species.

We passed through a Quichua community on the way to the falls (or on the way out for those who follow signage). We were a bit early for business, but the villagers living there are dedicated craftsmen. Still weaving in the traditional ways, they produce blankets, ponchos, bags and other textiles. They offer photos with a fully outfitted llama for a price and refreshments in a small café.

There is public transportation available in Otavalo to get to the waterfalls at Parque Central Simon Bolivar. Buses leave every 20 minutes from there. Taxis are readily available and charge about $3 one way.

If you are planning your trip from Quito, there are buses from the main station every 5 to 10 minutes. The Terminal de Buses de Carcelen is on the north side of Quito. The two-hour ride costs about $3.

Just a reminder. Look for the main entrance. You can still have the adventure but maybe a little less stress.peguche-entrance

The Low Down on a Slow Down

Posted on by Laurie Paternoster

DSC_0599Cool, crisp air crushed me as I hurried to a nearby pool.

There, steam rose in a puffy cloud from the gurgling, blue water. Its wispy tendrils framed the great, snow-capped, Antisana Volcano towering above me.

Ah. There’s something about taking a dip in a hot thermal pool on a quiet, chill morning. Surrounded by abundant vegetation and serenading birds, it can take your breath away.

DSC_0561Luxuriating in a shallow bath in the tiny town of Papallacta, south of Quito, seemed almost decadent. With few fellow bathers, it was serene, peaceful and soothing.

I was at Termas de Papallacta, a lodge artfully constructed of stone, wood and concrete. Nestled into a valley high in the Andes Mountains, its grounds are immaculate. The landscape is well-populated with dozens of plants and flowers I have come to associate with this verdant, lush country of Ecuador.

How could I not know about his place? My preferred tourism expert in Quito, Amanda Mena of Ecua Touring, casually mentioned it as a possibility for a recent girl’s trip.

Never heard of it, I said.

As they say, once you have heard something, you can’t unhear it.

Termas de Papallacta is permanently on my Quito layover list. It was born of a dream in 1994, when a group of six Ecuadorians combined their love of nature and healing waters to launch the project. Two years later, the first five hotel rooms were built. In 2014 it received its first World Travel Award as Ecuador’s Leading Spa Resort.

Just an hour from the city’s airport, it is doable in a day. Day passes to the spa range from $15 to $23. There is a lovely spa that rivals any in a major U.S. city, offering services such as a heavenly hot stone massage for $59, a sleep-inducing facial for $45, and a variety of wraps for $45 to $60.

The hot springs that feed Termas de Papallacta bubble up through layers of volcanic rock and ash at temperatures ranging from 86 degrees Fahrenheit to 158 degrees Fahrenheit. The pools are kept at 97 to 100.4 degrees. Far from my understanding are the elements that make thermal bathing “healthy.” The springs are said to be rich in sulfates, sodium, calcium, chloride and traces of magnesium.

I was a bit disconcerted that the first three items on my welcome information involved the availability of doctors. But I guess with the resort at 10,660 feet, the extreme temperature of the pools and the availability of alcoholic beverages made this a prudent offering.

Meals are available at the public pools (there are five hot pools plus a polar pool), at the spa, and inside the hotel restaurant. We didn’t get a chance to dine at the pool or spa, but the hotel has a diverse menu of Ecuadorian and international cuisine. Most dishes are made with fresh ingredients and vegetables grown in the hotel’s own gardens.

After dinner, take time to relax in the hotel’s comfortable, rustic bar. We found it to be a great conversation center and enjoyed the fireplace as the evening cooled off.

DSC_0597Rooms at the 10-year-old lodge range from $158 to $200. You can include breakfast on your reservation. And breakfast is a lovely display with eggs cooked to order, a variety of cereals, fruits and breads, plus juices and coffee. There are family bungalows for $246 a night and a separate area of cabins for the same price as hotel rooms.

The 32 hotel rooms are cabin-like, made of preserved wood, with a homey feel. And, surprise! The bathroom floors are heated by the same thermal waters used for the pools. What a treat to walk onto warmed tile floors with cold, bare feet. The hotel rooms are grouped around shallow hot pools that are open 24 hours a day, to overnight guests only.

If relaxing in thermal pools, warm sun and during therapeutic treatments isn’t enough, the hotel has a well-though-out interpretive museum and five hiking trails. Termas de Papallacta owns a protected area of just under 500 acres, called Canyon Ranch, located at the entrance of Cayambe Coca Natural Reserve.

The easiest trail, a self-guided walk along the river, is free to hotel guests and $2 for day-trippers. It is one of the most beautiful one-hour walks I have ever taken in Ecuador. The circuit ambles along the Loreto-Papallacta River through a primary forest and grasslands. Throughout the route are multiple varieties of orchids and other flowering plants, as well as the beloved paper trees. The route offers multiple river crossings on sturdy, well-constructed bridges as well as viewpoints to enjoy waterfalls.

The two most challenging hikes scale the mountaintop and require a local guide. Hikers are charged $2 to $15 depending on which path they choose.

Termas de Papallacta. Easy to get to, blissful hot baths, heavenly spa, substantial food and drink, and a wide variety of breath-taking hikes. What are you waiting for?

 

https://www.termaspapallacta.com

https://www.ecuatouring.com

Shared Visions

Posted on by Laurie Paternoster

The Shaman made me laugh.

The leader of his Achuar community, a revered elder in full regalia, was chuckling. Having met him earlier in the evening, I was enchanted. Sumpa introduced himself to me as I was admiring tables of beautiful handicrafts at a benefit for the Achuar foundation, IKIAM, and Cuenca’s Hogar de Esperanza, in their Minka restaurant.

DSC_0778The Achuar are one of Ecuador’s 14 indigenous nationalities. They existed relatively unknown,  deep in the Amazon rainforest, until the 1960s. It was then a few missionaries entered the territory, promoting Catholicism and making the Achuar aware of other forms of development.

In the early 1990s, as outside interest in the indigenous group grew, the Achuar began to further organize themselves to protect their land and their interests. They formed the United Achuar Nation. They united in their decision to keep their land free from natural resource development, such as logging, mining, and oil.

The Achuar are a “dream people,” and their dreams warned them of the dangers of the Western World’s thirst for oil. Estimates of their dwindling population range from 6,000 to 10,000.

Tonight, Sumpa is dressed as if he was at home, thousands of miles away, in the wetter lowlands of the Amazon rainforest, east of the Ecuadorian Andes, near the Peruvian border. Granted, Cuenca’s cooler weather encouraged a layering under his traditional dress. Still he looked every bit the authority.

DSC_0751According to the event organizers, shamans are honored for their knowledge and their connection to nature. They serve their communities by attending to people who have illnesses or are experiencing problems in their lives.

His weathered face gave him a fierceness, accentuated by the black chevron markings on his cheeks and nose. A vibrant head ring of yellow, black and red feathers from three native birds, called a tawasap, crowned his graying head. He wore a wrap, called an itip, covering his lower body from wait to feet. His simple cotton shirt provided a canvas for crisscrossed white, black and red beads and seeds, and the intricate beaded turquoise pendant around his neck.

Sumpa was perched on a chair in the middle of the room, watching the performance of his countrymen who were dramatizing a tale of the hummingbird. The story involved a hardworking man and his lazy brothers and a father, portrayed by Sumpa, who lived with two beautiful daughters.

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The Achuar women are, at the very least, beautiful. With long, black straight hair and bright eyes, they have drawn circles on their cheeks to indicate they are the keeper of the family. Some have added stars to represent strength. Two of them wear braided belts with seeds that shake as they walk.

The complicated fable – presented in the Achuar dialect – involved trickery, men turning into birds and women turning into frogs. While the drama was entertaining, Sumpa’s unmitigated joy watching the silly antics of the actors was infectious. I clapped as much for him at the play’s end, as I did for the rest of the cast.

But the evening produced a somber message as well.

The Achuar’s spokesman, Napoleon, or Napo, was in Cuenca to educate. It took the group 11 hours in a canoe and eight more on a bus to reach their destination. Born in the Amazon, he grew up with a dream of creating a force to fight for the survival of the rainforest. Now, serving as the president of Fundacion IKIAM, it is what he does.

Napo is dressed similarly to the Shaman, without the beaded adornments. His face markings are slightly different, with inky black design on his chin emphasizing the seriousness of his demeanor. At 26, he is an accomplished speaker of multiple languages and is passionate about his homeland.

DSC_0740While Ecuador currently is reducing the amount of oil drilling it is conducting in the rich southeast Amazon, the new president of Brazil produces a grave threat, Napo said. The newly elected hard-right Jair Bolsonaro has promised to roll back protections of the rainforest and the rights of indigenous people in Amazonia.

“Twenty percent of the oxygen we breathe around the world comes from the rainforest,” Napo said. More than half of the world’s estimated 10 million species of plants, animals and insects live in the tropical rainforests and one-fifth of the world’s fresh water is in the Amazon Basin.

He stops to give us a mini science lesson, explaining the relationship of the rainforest to carbon dioxide.

While humans continue to pump massive amounts of CO2 into the air by burning fossil fuels, coal, oil and natural gas, a major driver for climate change. Under natural conditions, plants remove carbon dioxide from the atmosphere and absorb it, then turn it into oxygen which is released back into the air. Without the rainforest, Napo explains, the greenhouse effect becomes more significant and climate changes will increase.

“If we lose the rainforest, we lose everything, wisdom, knowledge, culture…our lives,” Napo says. “It is our market, pharmacy, ferreteria (hardware store) and origin of life.”

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His companions are nodding in agreement. I look at them and wonder, again, at the grand plan that placed me in a privileged home in El Paso, Texas, and located this passionate group in the wilds of the Amazon. I think about my passions for the border, for a reasonable and humanitarian answer for immigration, for the protection of women and children.

Napo and his neighbors are worried about their livelihood, their future, the global climate and health. We have the same hearts, the same drive for change, and the same fears. We live in different worlds, but share universal concerns.

DSC_0725“I was born in the rainforest. I feel the rainforest in my brain and in my spirit. Please protect the rainforest for our generation,” Napo says.

My heart aches for him and the future of the next generations. Yes. We have the same passions.

Weaving Memories

Posted on by Laurie Paternoster

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I remember sunlight streaming through the windows.

Bright beams of light punctuated the rippling threads under my mother’s hands as she shoved a wooden shuttle through her loom. Her feet frantically pumped pedals below, trying to keep up. Her face always was a study in concentration, her bright blue eyes twinkling as she blissfully focused on the design growing out of her imagination.

She wasn’t a professional weaver. My mother was a hobbyist who fell in love with table machines and handmade looms of twisted driftwood or circular quilting frames. She graduated quickly to bigger projects and invested in a complicated floor loom. The joy that consumed her when she discovered weaving is something I will never forget. It was handmade art. It was escapism. It was creativity. It was imagination gone wild, as she wove in bones, shells, wooden fragments and even a horseshoe.

This creative period didn’t last long. But it lasted long enough to gift each of her older children with a Christmas treasure and to create a few pieces for her walls. Then the huge floor loom stood empty, gathering dust for many years until it finally was sold.

For a moment, I again saw my mom’s twinkling eyes as I entered La Casa de la Makana about 30 minutes from Cuenca, Ecuador. Ana Maria Ulloa greeted us with a warm smile and gleaming brown eyes. She drew us inside her home and workshop, housed in a large adobe building that is a highlight on most artisan tours from Cuenca to Chordeleg and Gualaceo.

DSC_0643DSC_0683Ana Maria shares the home with her husband, José Jiménez, and various family members. All  contribute to the family’s fame as the Royal Ikat weavers, rivaling  any of those in Asia.

It is hard to know where to look first. The two-story rustic building is a museum – giving voice to hundreds of iron artifacts, wooden objects, pictures and memorabilia hanging on the walls. There is evidence of weaving – looms, bound threads, vats of dye – in every corner.

Before starting the tour, I am drawn toward the ratcheting sound of what I know to be a floor loom. I peek around a dusty corner to see a young man slinging a shuttle back and forth. In my mind’s eye, I imagine my mother sitting there, her excitement palpable as the beautifully designed material cascades into her lap.

DSC_0652I am called back to the present, where the ever-charming Ana Maria shows us the process of weaving the sheep’s wool into threads. A young woman nearby has been transported elsewhere,  rhythmically winding threads around a loom, oblivious to any visitors.  Ana  guides us across the dirt floor to the dye station, where large clay pots hide a surprising variety of color. The family uses natural ingredients, she says, ranging from insects and worms to walnuts, a wide variety of plants and even rocks to create their  radiant palette.

With weathered, practiced hands, Ana Maria expertly crushes cochineals between her fingers. The dried insects are the source of her deepest red dye. With the addition of lime juice, the dye turns brown.  She reaches behind a pot to pinch a bit of baking soda and sprinkles it into the brown dye. The liquid abruptly changes into a  vivid purple. Her eyes twinkle at our amazement. The corners of her mouth turn up slightly in the satisfaction of having performed magic.

She waves her hand toward a nearby wooden staircase, inviting us to the witness the next stage of the weaving process.

Upstairs,  José  takes over. He uses a smaller version of the floor loom, called a back loom. Nimbly dropping onto a worn cushion, he  straps on a belt attached to the threads of the loom. He leans back, adjusts the belt around his lower back, and wiggles back and forth until he finds the right position. He begins. Throwing the large shuttle in and out of the design, he simultaneously pulls individual threads up and slams them tightly down to create a seamless Ikat pattern.

DSC_0659Ikat refers to an Indonesian style of woven material that is tie-dyed before weaving. The technique was brought to Europe by Dutch traders in Southeast Asia and to South America by Spanish explorers. Ikat patterns can be precise or, more commonly, hazy or blurred looking, depending on how the weaver uses the threads in the loom.

Jose’s family has practiced this traditional weaving for generations, he says, and he himself learned from his grandmother. One seemingly ancient piece holds a place of honor on the wall. It is over 150 years old and was woven by his great-grandmother. It features the seal of Ecuador and intricate hummingbirds. Sadly, there are few families who still weave as his does, he tells us, entirely by hand.

We watch in silent admiration as he works. After a time, he points to Ana Maria, who has taken up a position at a table where she is knotting the fringe. The elderly woman’s nimble hands work so quickly we cannot see the threads slip into knots until she has moved on. She grins. She is comfortable with her skills.

We finish our visit in the small retail shop. Brilliantly hued shawls and ponchos hang on both sides of the room. Vivid scarves and multi-colored purses are neatly stacked on wooden tables. Ana Maria hurries to dress each of us in one of her creations, smiling with satisfaction. She knows at least one of us cannot resist taking home some of her beautiful work.

We don’t disappoint her. We make our selections and head for the door with our treasures. Again, Ecuador has charmed me with the talents, skills and uniqueness of her people.

As we leave La Casa de la Makana, I turn back to see Ana Maria, already at work on her loom.

Her eyes are twinkling.

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Worth its Weight

Posted on by Laurie Paternoster

42399199_10217288540435649_4388915926028779520_nSilver has always been my metal of choice. Simple. Elegant. Affordable.

Filigree silver jewelry, in my mind, was an Art Deco style that was popular in the early 1900s. I never gave the light, airy, lacy look much thought. It seemed dated. Old.

In Ecuador, filigree jewelry, both silver and gold, IS old. And my mind has been forever changed.

Known as filigrana in Spanish, filigree is a metal work formed of gold or silver threads, united and soldered with delicate perfection. Interestingly, filigrana also refers to a transparent mark or mark made on paper, like a watermark.

In Chordeleg, a mountain village just 30 miles from my home in Cuenca, craftspeople have certainly made their mark, although a more permanent one, with filigree jewelry.

On a recent trip with Polylepsis Tours, my friends and I spent time visiting the silver shops of Chordeleg. There we met Flavio Jara, whose family has crafted precious metals into intricate wearable designs for several generations. He began learning the trade at age 12, 50 years ago.

With a flourish of his hand, Flavio invited us into his workshop. It is a neatly organized, quiet, but busy place behind his shop, El Puerta Del Sol. He is ready for his guests, having fashioned a sort of mini tour by way of a sectioned wooden box. Each box displays silver in its various forms, from raw cylinders to finely crafted finished pieces.

He stands, motioning us to a rustic steel machine where all filigree is birthed, he says. When his father began creating jewelry 80 years ago, Flavio explains, he used a small iron plate in which various holes had been drilled. The jeweler pulled the soft silver – or gold – wire through the holes at random, guessing at the diminishing sizes until the strand was as fine as he could get it. Now Flavio uses a steel draw plate with carefully calibrated holes, each marked in tiny measurements. The difference – and speed – in which a piece can be created is… well it can’t be compared, he says, throwing his hands in the air and laughing.

While the calibrated holes make for more precise measurements, the silver – or gold – still is perfected the old fashioned way. Flavio gives us an opportunity to pull threads through the plates, with a pair of pliers. It is harder than it looks!

In his demonstration box, Flavio shows us the frame he will use for the threads of silver he has just created. Thicker pieces of silver or gold are bent until the desired shape is achieved. The jeweler then curls, twists or tightly winds silver into shapes that are gently placed inside the framework and flash soldered into place.

Some pieces require a zig zag. Flavio proudly cradles the palm-size machine invented by his father 30 years ago. Until then, the zig zag pattern required painstaking measurements and careful handmade bends in the wire. Now, he runs the wire through his father’s invention and “Mira!” he says, gleefully pointing out the bent thread emerging from the tiny machine. The zig zag is created in moments.

I watch his large fingers expertly twist a tiny circle and drop it into its frame. I am amazed he does not fumble. Deftly moving tiny pieces of silver from one piece to the next, he proudly demonstrates what will be a finished piece. He points to a flower – which will become a brooch. He beams, delighted at our astonishment when he explains it will be made of 220 pieces of handcrafted silver filigree.

DSC_0567The demonstration over, Flavio answers a few questions, then invites us into his sparkling store. Half museum, half retail operation, the artwork and jewelry are mesmerizing. There is an intricately built evening bag graced with a tiny hummingbird. In the window is a collection of vehicles – a plane, a motorcycle, and an ancient buggy. Now armed with the knowledge of creating filigree, we can’t take our eyes off of the complex works.

We linger over the showcase of candonga earrings – the traditional chandelier-type earrings popular in this culture. Even the light poles in this charming town boast oversize candongas! We make our selections from the hundreds of earrings and rings, all weighed for the price, and none costing us more than $18.

We emerge into the sunlight with treasure more precious for the experience of watching gifted hands create, than for its physical beauty. We will never look at filigree the same.

Birthing Music

Posted on by Laurie Paternoster

DSC_0432I played guitar for a season, long ago.

Then, I looked at my Epiphone as a tool to accompany my not-so-special voice that favored 60s ballads and 70s love songs. Recently, I learned the guitar can be a vessel full of life and character, crafted with purpose, precision and love.

On the road to the popular tourist villages of Gualaceo and Chordeleg, there is a small community called San Bartolome. It is cradled in the green grasslands between high Andean mountain peaks. For more than 100 years, it has been the birthplace of a guitar-making industry.

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DSC_0403Even the main plaza bears testimony to a rich heritage. Mosaic fountains are adorned with iron sculptures of guitars, each a hand-crafted piece of art different from the next.

On a tour with Polylepis Tours, my friends and I stopped along the roadside at a small casita with an open air workshop. It is the home of Guitarras Uyaguari. There, Jose Homero Uyaguari and other family members spend their days crafting some of the best guitars in Ecuador.

Today, he greets us with a wide grin and carefully shoves aside the intricate mosaic he is designing with roughened, dye-stained hands.

“Welcome,” he says in Spanish, throwing his arms open wide.

He asks if we would like a tour, and an explanation of the guitar-making process.

We huddle around the rough-hewn desk. At one end, a worker tightens strings on an otherwise finished instrument. The occasional screech screech of the strings being pulled taut punctuates Uyaguari’s words as he describes the centuries-old process of creating musical instruments.

First, woods are carefully selected depending on the size, use and expected cost of the instrument. Many of the guitar bodies are made from Ecuadorian hardwoods like Nogal and Guayacan, or fruit trees like the Capulì. Other woods, like white pine, are imported from Canada for high-end guitars.

Uyaguari is a third-generation guitar-maker. Of the roughly 10 guitar-makers left in the San Bartolome area, about half are brothers, sons and uncles yoked to the Uyaguari name. They use templates to cut the bodies of the guitars, but the rest is guided by years of handed-down tradition and experience.

Uyaguari picks up several razor-thin wood shavings to show us how they are dyed and glued together. When multiple layers are dry, he carefully cuts tiny pieces with an aging box knife. Instantly creating multicolored, handmade wooden beads, he drops them into the intricate design around the sound hole of a guitar.

I am mesmerized as I watch his aged, work-hardened fingers push the bits of color around the table. He moves two together, and then pushes them apart to insert another shape, a different color. His pride radiates, even in a demonstration. The work is painstaking, but yields original mini masterpieces beyond compare.

He shows us different woods, heavier and stronger, used for the fingerboards. Cow bone is most often used for the frets. Chonta, a dark wood from a palm, is traditionally used for the neck. It is hard, almost stone like, and is known for its durability. He grins, and knocks loudly on a piece he holds out to us.

“Duro. Muy duro,” he says, nodding his head.DSC_0450

On both sides of us, men keep working. One has finished stringing his guitar and is hanging it up. Another has extended a guitar at the end of his reach, eyeballing the neck of the piece, a self-satisfied smile indicating he has done good work.DSC_0433

Uyaguari points us toward his “showroom,’ to examine the finished products. In this second room, guitars are hanging in neat rows. Some are wrapped against the elements but most hang in the open air of the dusty room.

Today’s selections range from $60 to $1,000. They include classical guitars and their smaller cousins, the requinto, a smaller, higher-pitched instrument. There are Venezuelan four-string cuatros as well as the traditional Latin American 10-string charangos.

The cuatro sometimes has a viola-like shape, but most resemble a small to mid-sized classical guitar. The cuatro, which means four in Spanish, evolved from the Portuguese cavaquinho which has four strings. Modern cuatros often have more than four strings.

The charango is a small Andean stringed instrument within the lute family. Just over two feet long, it was traditionally made with an armadillo shell. Many guitar-makers have exchanged the shell for wood, believing it to be a better resonator of sound.

He shows us a delicately carved and brightly painted toucan on a charango made entirely of wood. We pass it, almost reverently, between us, tracing the grooved pattern with appreciation.DSC_0460

We admire the wide variety of woods, the gleaming, jewel-like patterns surrounding the sound holes, the flaring shapes of some of the guitar necks and the bowl shaped-backs of others.

One guitar after another is more beautiful than the last. They hang silent, waiting for willing fingers to urge a unique sound from deep within the wooden bowels of the instrument.

Uyaguari is cradling a guitar across his chest. He silently strums, but no sound emanates because he is barely stroking the strings. I point to his hands and ask him to play for us.DSC_0467

He doesn’t play guitars, he says. He just births them.

“How do you know they are good? How do you know that the sound is perfect?” I ask.

“Because I made them,” he says simply. The light literally twinkles in his eyes.

 

Coloring the Coast

Posted on by Laurie Paternoster

There’s a tiny town on the Pacific coast of Ecuador poised to fulfill big dreams.

The big dream was seeded by Shell Spivey, a former banker who emigrated to Ecuador eight years ago from Arkansas. He and his wife, Marsha, a CPA, moved with plans to live in a beautiful, tranquil country by the water.

They found La Entrada, “The Entrance,” a sleepy fishing village of 850 inhabitants, a handful of restaurants and no hotels. Villa de los Suenos was born. The Spivey’s bed and breakfast, House of Dreams, is highly ranked on Trip Advisor and popular with expats. With just five rooms and a casita – all with ocean views, the Villa offers an intimate, personal experience. Breakfast is complimented with local bakery delicacies served with an expansive ocean view that never ends.

But this story is about something bigger than the Spiveys retirement plan. It’s about an American couple giving back to the community that welcomed them. It’s about two people making a difference in a fishing village that ekes out its subsistence dependent on Mother Nature. It’s about leaving a place better than you found it.

After launching their B&B, the Spiveys immersed themselves in the community. They volunteer at the orphanage, where Christmas now is a bonanza. Marsha helps shepherd little ones through a ballet class, then helps out in choir. Both spend time and funds to aid senior citizens. The Spiveys even formed a support group, the Friends of La Entrada, as a grassroots effort for expats to sponsor projects in health care, education and other basic needs.

They tackled their first major community project, the rebuilding of the town’s Catholic Church, with hours of research and planning to create the region’s first destination wedding chapel. With a beautiful white chapel featuring an exterior wall of floor-to-ceiling glass highlighting spectacular ocean views, the Spiveys were confident renters would flock to La Entrada.

“After the government took over the project, they told us there was not enough money to build the glass wall that would allow the Pacific Ocean to be the church’s backdrop.

Shell told them the glass could not be eliminated,” Marsha recalled. “He asked an interpreter to tell the contractor, ‘God wants the front wall to be glass.’ The contractor looked down and got quiet. Then he said ‘Then God can come up with the $15,000.’ ”

Marsha said her husband negotiated the price down to $12,000 and launched a crowd funding campaign. The funds were raised just in time to pay for the glass.

While work continues to expand and equip the church, which has already hosted weddings and other celebrations, the Spiveys turned their attention to the town.

That big dream Shell had? It is to colorize the tiny town’s 128 buildings. Then, muralists from throughout the country will be invited in to produce as many as 50 murals. By brightly painting the town, Marsha explains, La Entrada will become a one-of-a-kind tourist destination. Travelers will want to see the beautiful artwork, spend some money, and maybe stay awhile.

It hasn’t been an easy process. Some buildings are in such disrepair they must be torn down. Other residents must replace bamboo walls with concrete. All exterior walls are first plastered, and then painted in vivid colors with contrasting trim. Only then are volunteer artists invited in to paint murals. Homeowners must agree to the makeovers, then to help protect the artwork. Painters of 23 murals so far committed to return to maintain the murals, which are virtually unprotected in the harsh seaside elements.

All of those improvements come at a cost. Some has been raised by the Spiveys and some provided through donations and discounts on paint by Sherwin Williams and Unidas in Ecuador. Unidas was the first to donate the paint and a group of community representatives picked the most colorful complementing colors from their color charts.

Homeowners choose from the varied pallet of colors, but cannot paint their homes the same color as their neighbors. Homeowners provide the labor, so patience is sometimes key, and some require more convincing than others that ALL sides of their home must be repaired and painted. Some wanted to paint the street front and be done. But in some cases, the backs of homes overlook the main streets, Marsha says. She points to the side of second-story adobe wall. That WILL be painted, she says with determination.

In addition to the colorization of the town, plans call for new restaurants, stone ovens on the town square for cooking street food, and artisan shops. La Entrada already is home to at least two artisans, a jewelry designer and a painter/sculptor. The jeweler, Armando Asuncion, also serves as the community president. Asuncion’s workshop also serves as a school for aspiring jewelry makers. Well-respected for his trade and leadership, Asuncion is a spectacular role model at 26.

The painter, Darwin Ruiz, specializes in bright acrylics of ocean life and Ecuadorian natives. His whimsical sculptures are built of car parts and other found mechanical pieces. The Spiveys are hoping to work with the Ministry of Tourism in Ecuador to help provide training and workshops for residents interested in learning artisan trades.

The community’s vice president, Benito Pincay left La Entrada at 16 to earn his culinary diploma in Guayaquil. He became a pastry chef and worked 12 years for four top hotels in Guayaquil then returned to his hometown to establish a now well-known bakery. With two other locations on the coast, Benito’s Bakery brings customers from cities three hours way looking for his delicious cakes and pineapple turnovers. I can speak with authority here – my chocolate birthday cake was divine and the pineapple treats were breakfast favorites.

It is exciting to think a return visit next year may reveal a flourishing small town that is self-sufficient in providing for the needs of its 15 fishing families. In a place where few children expect to complete their education, much less go on to college, the dream of American expats could mean huge opportunities for the next generation.

As dreams go, this one is tangible and achievable. As Yoko Ono said, “a dream you dream alone is only a dream. A dream you dream together is reality.”