Market day in Simiatug - who are the Gringos?

The day, like the preceding night was cold and windy. We were up quite early, got the fire going and sorted out a few bits and pieces. Jorge would not arrive until after 1pm, so we had plenty of time. I wanted to see Simiatug and Tom said it would be a good day to go because it was market day. Apparently on non-market days the place is like a ghost town.

The road to Simiatug from Santo Domingo is a steep dirt road that zig-zags down into a steep valley. Simiatug sits at the head of the valley and it’s quite a large place, perhaps the size of Crowland, but compressed right down.

We parked up in town and headed for the first market. There are three – fruit and veg, livestock and general goods. They are a serious part of the local economy, especially the livestock market.

We headed first for the fruit and veg. Because Simiatug is in a steep valley, you always seem to be walking up or downhill. There seemed to be three main product lines on offer – bags of potatoes (I guess around 25kg for $10) which were topped with potato foliage to keep them fresh and keep the light out; piles of bananas (and I mean a pile – there was a huge heap) and onions. These aren’t the onions that we have (they call those Spanish onions), these are more like thin leeks and they have a milder onion flavour. Perhaps they were leeks, but they were very long and thin. There were also a few chickens in cages looking for a new home (they were too thin for the dinner plate).

The livestock market was far busier. There were lots of sheep (rather dirty), pigs, cattle, horses and couple of sad donkeys that no-one was paying any attention to. We eavesdropped on a haggle for a llama. The woman owner wanted $280 and was having trouble justifying the price. Unlike a livestock auction in the UK, the animals were not herded in an out of pens, they were scattered across the field and all were tethered (even the sheep). If you liked the look of one, you’d approach the owner and haggle – no fancy auctioneer.

All the people in Simiatug were indigenous, the women wear skirts to the knee with thick socks and either wellies or slip-on shoes without heels. They’ll have jumpers, plus ponchos and hats. Lots of babies were being carried on the back and not one of them was crying. The men don’t wear such a distinctive dress – trousers, jumpers, some ponchos and hats. The people here are dark and no-one is taller than 5ft. You can imagine that Tom and I (the only white people in town) stood out like sore thumbs.

I was aware of people looking at us, but I didn’t detect any hostility. Tom said lots of people were saying “look at the gringos”, but I didn’t hear. It’s interesting to be the racial minority and observe how other people treat you. As white people, we get more respect because the locals assume were either Americans or officials of some kind. Perhaps if we were Indians in a white town, we would not have been shown as much respect.

A policeman wished us good morning and said welcome to Simiatug (in Spanish). I thought that was a nice gesture, but Tom thought he shouldn’t have said that – he said it was racist. I know what he meant, but I don't think it was said with any malice or mockery.

Tom knew a few people – the head of the commune, also some people from Santo Domingo, who had their own little section in the market, and the finance officer for the commune. I bought a belt, but all the hats were too small for me. It was a shame because they were $15 cheaper than in Ambato. I think I'm just going to have to accept that my head is too big for Ecuadorian hats. We did pop into a craft shop which sells things made by the community and is a co-operative, so profits go back to the people who make the things. There was a nice bag, so I bought that for Margaret.

Back in Santo Domingo, we got all the stuff ready for Jorge, who arrived about 1.30pm. We was obviously keen to get going because he didn’t switch the engine off in the pick-up. He’d come over the high pass (the one we went back on the previous week) and said it was snowing up there. We all went the slightly longer way back. Tom was moaning about my driving because I lost the back end a little (just once) and then I hit a rock in the road. I thought there was enough ground clearance to get over it, but it made an almighty bang. Thank heavens for sump guards!

Chimborazo looked amazing covered in fresh snow and partly veiled in cloud, but lower down it was quite rainy and cold.

Carlos’ brother Alberto (who they call Guaco) had been taken ill, so he wasn’t about. We unloaded the pick-up and then walked to a grill restaurant for dinner. It was blooming cold! The hospital is in a barrio called Huachi La Joya (the jewel).

No-one, unless you’re poor, walks anywhere in Ecuador, so we would have been considered quite eccentric not to have driven half a mile down the road. The pavements tend to be in a worse state than the roads and there’s absolutely no sense of health and safety over here. On the way, we passed two open manholes (covers removed) with a three-feet drop. They would have made effective bear traps!

Back home, we watched Nil by Mouth – a film that won the Palm d’Or. It was very grim and gritty, portraying a pretty miserable view of 1980s south London. However, it was brilliantly acted by Kathy Bates and a young Ray Winstone.