Bargains on Sweaters, Shawls, Crafts Are Part of Any Journey to Ecuador’s Indian Villages

My wife and I had left the beaten track to visit Indian villages in the heartland of Ecuador--a small, stable and hospitable nation between Colombia and Peru, where the scenery is spectacular and the bargains abound, particularly for top-quality woven goods.

High in the Andes Mountains, not far from the Equator, we gazed out on old men trudging along, mounds of corn husks piled atop their backs, and women scrubbing clothes on rocks and bathing children in a secluded stream beneath majestic, snow-capped Mt. Imbabura.

Otavalo Indians clad in traditional outfits of wide-brimmed black-felt hat, blue shirt and poncho, white pants or skirt and espadrille sandals awaited buses along the roadside. The men’s hair was braided in long ponytails; the women wore layers of gold-colored glass beads, with the number of strands reflecting their relative wealth.

The region is best known for its Saturday market in the town of Otavalo. This Saturday bazaar, located about 75 miles north of the capital of Quito, is deservedly renowned for its bright woven woolen shawls, hand-crafted sweaters, intricately designed bags and colorful folk art.

We had visited the market the previous day and spent the night in a room with a roaring fire at Ecuador’s oldest hacienda, built by the King of Spain in 1602. Now we were on our way to villages specializing in various crafts, including some of those sold at the market.

Bumping along a dirt road, past men putting a thatched roof on a new home, we reached the village of Agato--a small, prosperous weaving town in the foothills of Cotacachi. Brightly clad children with angelic, dusty faces played in front of substantial adobe homes.

Luz Maria Andrango greeted us at her home, where music played, eight-grain alcohol was being served and a party was in full swing. The celebration had been prompted by the return of Andrango’s husband from six months in the United States, where he was selling this famous family’s beautifully hand-woven sweaters and tapestries.

Andrango’s father, Miguel Andrango, is the only designated master weaver in all of South America. The quality of his products is reflected in the tightness and evenness of the weave, as well as the intricacy and originality of the designs.

The family works together in the cluttered second-floor shop as part of a cooperative, Tahuantisuyo. Incongruously, a Rambo poster adorns a wall leading to the second-floor shop. A small television and Fisher tape deck sit amid rough-hewn rugs, potholders and vests.

Everyone in the family works here, even the children. Many of the designs are created by Humberto Romero, 26, Luz Andrango’s articulate and distinguished brother-in-law. He, too, wears traditional Otavalo colors, but his blue shirt is an Oxford, starched and impeccably pressed.

Romero demonstrated for us his intensely physical technique at a finely honed loom of smooth, honey-colored wood. Seated on a pillow on the floor, he creates tension on the loom with a halter-like, cow-skin brace that slips around his back. After he weaves a strand, he pulls on various rods and pushes off with his feet against a wooden block, hoisting himself in the brace to pull the wool taut in the pattern.

An apprentice to Andrango, Romero says he often travels to other Indian villages in search of new designs to perpetuate a culture that predates the Incas. He picks up an ornate, belt-like wall hanging to explain the meaning of the woven figures:

A woman carrying a bird reflects the ritual of a godmother giving a gift in honor of a newborn. A deer recalls the tradition of sacrifices to the sun god. A fruit tree conjures up sustenance. A cow symbolizes nightmares because Indian lore teaches that dreaming of a bovine forebodes ill fortune.

When an outsider visits an Indian’s home, it is understood that prices will be lower than the going rate at the market. Bargaining, meanwhile, is not usually welcomed.

It’s also unnecessary. We bought three handsome cardigan sweaters for about $12 each. A wall hanging that depicts four seated Indian women, one of Romero’s designs, cost $5.

In Sante Fe, N.M., Los Angeles and New York City, the family sells each sweater for $35. Retailers, in turn, price them several times higher.

The Western influence in these villages is apparent through more than televisions and tape decks.

We saw a young man clad in a New York Yankees warm-up jacket (complete with All-Star Game patch) as well as plastic toy cars in one home. And Luz Andrango’s husband had just brought their son a new pair of L.A. Gear sneakers and other American-made clothing; we glimpsed the young man proudly admiring his new attire in a mirror.

The previous day, as many residents were still making their way back from Otavalo, we had visited the nearby village of Peguche, with its rows of adobe homes and dusty, dog-filled plaza. A smiling woman welcomed us into her home, where the floor consisted of uneven stone and dirt, and corn dried above her stove. We bought two lovely knit scarfs for $7.

Jackie, our guide, explained to us that even though Peguche is among the most affluent of Indian villages, it is considered inappropriate for Indians to display their wealth.

Hence, some of those living in seemingly primitive conditions also drive late-model cars and pickup trucks, fruits of their growing export business. Indeed, we saw Indians behind the wheel of shiny new 1990 cars on the highway, but we never spotted one in a village.

Elsewhere in Peguche, we visited the home and shop of Antonio Quinatoa, who presented us with his printed business card. From him, we bought a large, ornate tapestry with an original design of iguanas that was unlike anything we saw elsewhere. After some good-natured bargaining, we paid $28, a reflection of the enormous amount of work the piece entailed.

We also bought a heavy crew-neck sweater for $9. Quinatoa said this would have cost $13 to $16 in the market. The going rate is far steeper when Quinatoa exports his work to Germany and France.

Before we departed, he showed us his bedroom, a striking site. Dogs and kittens abounded. And, to our amazement, there--in a pile of straw beneath his bed--were at least a half-dozen guinea pigs. Roasted and served whole, these animals are a national delicacy.

We stopped at other villages as well. Cotacachi is a heavily commercial mountainside town that has little charm but incredible shopping. It is known as a center for leather goods made from goat, cow, snake and lizard skins.

High-quality leather suitcases go for $25; a black leather jacket sells for $80. We bought a wallet for $5 and a woman’s leather handbag with woven tapestry insets for $11.

The Otavalo market itself is well worth the trip, which requires a sunrise start from Quito. It’s open from 7 a.m. to noon, with a nearby animal auction that ends at about 10 a.m.

The winding scenic drive along the Pan American Highway passes eucalyptus and pine trees, plus corn, onion, wheat and potato fields, and crosses the Equator. It takes about two hours.

Along the winding mountain roads, a visitor can see shrines erected to permit travelers to pray en route to their destinations. Roadside crosses mark the spot where ill-fated journeys abruptly ended.

The market is a riot of colors--blues, purples, reds and yellows of sweaters, baskets, scarves, hats and folk art in booths set up on the white square. Indians come to socialize as well as sell, sometimes over a popsicle purchased from the local ice cream vendor, who competes with those peddling tripe stew and the local equivalent of fried chitlins.

Bargaining here with the Indians--people with high cheekbones, large brown eyes, wide lips, strong chins and warm smiles--is of a gentler and kinder variety. The haggling is restrained compared to similar markets in Mexico or the Middle East.

The Indians’ native tongue is Quechua but many speak the national language, Spanish. If all else fails, a piece of paper passed back and forth with proposed prices will suffice.

Musical instruments can be heard as well as seen. Among them is an ocarina, a flute-like, avocado-shaped piece with 10 finger holes.

In small, remote villages, a young man seeking a girlfriend plays the melodic instrument in the village square. When eligible young women respond by appearing, he selects from among them. We were tempted to buy an ocarina for a hard-pressed friend back home, but decided it wouldn’t have the desired effect in Van Nuys.

A couple of words of caution. Photo opportunities abound, but some of the Indians believe that taking their picture is tantamount to stealing their soul. By asking permission, you will immediately find out whether the subject objects.

Also, the quality of some of the woven goods is not as high in the market as it is in the villages. Keep an eye out for an occasional missed stitch or irregularities.

But bargains are plentiful. A whimsical 3 1/2-foot balsa wood carving of a snake chasing a bird up a tree was $8. A Panama hat--named for where they are worn, not where they are made--conveniently rolled up in an attractive wooden box was $7. Woolen shawls in dazzling hues of purple, blue and reds were $10. And we paid only $1 for five large, carved, wooden serving spoons.

We left Otavalo and the surrounding villages concerned most about how we would manage to carry our treasures home and to whom we would parcel them out.

We had followed the cardinal rule of such endeavors: We’d spent much more than we had planned, but undoubtedly less than we should have.