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I was just a few steps into the town’s main attraction when I heard an unmistakable, nettlesome noise.
SSSST.
Convinced there was no way this hissing was intended for my ears, I disregarded it and ventured deeper into the big and bustling Sunday market.
SSSST. SSSST.
Now, the vexatious sounds were twice as loud. Since I was a couple of hours north of my home in Cuenca, I was sure that no one could have possibly been trying to get my attention. At least nobody I knew.
Still, I was curious and, therefore, turned around to see a portly Ecuadorian, who was no more than five feet tall, waving me towards him. Puzzled, I walked up to the middle-aged man.
“He wants to see you,” the gentleman stated while pointing to a car full of uniforms parked a few meters to his left.
Wondering why the police wanted to speak to me, I slowly proceeded to the compact car and met the dark-featured driver, who was opening his door. The stout man extended his right hand.
“Good afternoon,” the aging cop said while we shook.
I returned his greeting.
“What’s with the camera?” the officer asked.
“Well, I’m from the United States. I’ve never been to Cañar before, so I thought I would take a few pictures,” I answered.
“Oh, I thought you were one of us. You don’t look gringo,” the flatfoot responded, obviously acknowledging the dark, Filipino traits my mother had given me.
“Yeah, but I speak it,” I added while referring to my first language, which was also my white, American father’s native tongue.
The plump man chuckled.
“Is it okay if I take pictures then?” I further pried.
“Sure, sorry to bother you,” replied the policeman, just before he shut his door.
Swiftly turning my back to the tiny, weighed-down car, I let out a sigh of relief and ambled into the heart of the open-air marketplace.
With my camera now confidently redrawn, I snapped another shot on the opposite end of the tent-laden grounds a few minutes later. Despite my earlier pardon, I could feel someone lurking behind me nonetheless. I subsequently glanced over my left shoulder to see a young and lanky Ecuadorian man, who was donning a green military uniform, looking at me. Although he was trying to do it discreetly, I made eye contact with his beady peepers, which were staring at me from under the black brim of his lime hat. Confused and annoyed, I consequently stuffed my camera into my backpack and immediately exited the market.
I found myself ogling Cañar’s main plaza many minutes later. Figuring I was far enough away from the fuzz, I took my camera out once again. As the drizzly skies continued to land drops on my lens, I was able to digitally preserve the city’s bull’s-eye without interruptions. Not only was I impressed with the municipality’s lush, tree-lined central square, but I also admired the striking church that overlooked the park from the south.
In addition, two dozen colorful flags (representing Ecuador’s 24 provinces) were proudly mounted just in front of the vibrant chapel. The pretty and calming town center was definitely a nice change from the bothersome vibe I got from the market a half-hour earlier. Satisfied with the plaza, I then read a nearby tourist map to choose my next adventure.
My selection brought me to Cañar’s northern outskirts, where I ran into Guantug Park. Hoping the greenspace was different from its dirty, graffiti-riddled entrance, I wandered inside. And at first, my wish was granted.
Guantug’s pastel paths were lined with healthy trees, bushes, and lawns. Aside from the verdant vegetation, a gigantic, manmade snake coiled its way around the park’s bellybutton too. Moreover, the mammoth serpent was circled around an odd statue, seemingly protecting this peculiar pedestal that held up the stone heads of what appeared to be three women. After gazing at the colossal reptile for a short while, I then blew past the park’s closed museum to investigate its ample lower area.
Unfortunately, this section of the grounds proved to be quite displeasing. Not only did I catch the evil eye of four kissing couples as I paced along the brick walkways, but I was also turned off by the sickening amount of waste that littered the yard. In truth, my eyes didn’t leave the ground for fear of stepping in the trash that consumed the trail ahead. Utterly repulsed, I consequently dashed for the exit. I couldn’t leave Guantug soon enough.
The last part of my tour took me to another portion of Cañar’s periphery. More specifically, I came upon the bottom steps to numerous flights of cement stairs on San Antonio Hill, which stood on the municipality’s western edge. Wanting to get a closer look at the pair of churches high above, I began my uphill battle.
I eventually arrived at the dusty hilltop, out of breath and with my hooded sweatshirt now in my backpack. Nevertheless, the sweat-inducing climb was worthwhile; not because of the weathered chapels up top, but for the vistas this platform provided.
While the strong mountain winds rapidly dried my perspiration, I absorbed the all-encompassing views of Cañar’s green basin. For several minutes, I gawked at the hundreds of Easter-colored houses below, which were surrounded by the majestic evergreen hills of Ecuador’s Southern Sierra Andes. Because of the coldness of this lookout, however, I had to leave the holy high ground and descended the stairs sporting my black sweatshirt once again.
Shortly after, I flagged down a Cuenca-bound bus on the Pan-American Highway, which was close by. As the leaded-fuel-guzzling beast roared south, I scrolled through the photos I had taken that day. The camera reminded me of my interesting start in Cañar and I still couldn’t understand why I was questioned about my picture taking.
Suddenly, I noticed the long-haired, teenage boy on my left lift his head from the window.
“What did that sign say? Biblián? How much longer until we get to Cuenca?” the groggy-faced youth asked me.
I cracked a smile. His questions made me think about how many times during the past several months I had initially been mistaken for Ecuadorian due to my physical characteristics. And although the kid didn’t catch the gringo undertone in my Spanish right away, I knew it would be just a matter of time before he figured out I wasn’t from his neck of the world.
At least the youngster wasn’t wearing a badge and, hopefully, I wouldn’t be asked about the camera this time.
Copyright © 2009 Ty Nelson
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