Paradise: Once Lost, now Found

GUEST BLOG PART 1: Dad

Beth and I heard from Kent by E-mail on Monday, that the night before, following an Ecuador – Brazil World Cup qualifying match, he and 3 friends had been mugged feet away from their hostel in Quito. Our travel plans were immediately revised and by that Thursday night we were in Ecuador hugging our son. Sounds dramatic, but that was the inauspicious start of our early April visit to this land of poverty & thugs (or at least that’s what we thought). The first night was spent in American luxury, as we holed up in the Royal Quito Radisson.

I had been on business to Quito some years before and was not impressed by the dirt, filth and crowded streets or shallow American mimicking culture of the city people, much less the altitude sickness upon arrival.

Ten years later none of my perceptions had changed, including my inability to breathe for the first 3 hours.

A side note – by pure coincidence and on the day of Kent’s departure from Florida in January, I read in the Guinness Book of Records that Ecuador had the highest murder rate on the Continent (Pg.248) 2009 Edition.

Anyway, the next morning we picked up a micro-sized standard SUV (I had ordered a large automatic luxury) and began our trek to the primitive jungle outpost of Otavalo where Kent had been imprisoned by a bunch of Amazons for 3 months. Beth did not talk much as our Suzuki Grand Vitara was stopped & ticketed for crossing a median by a motorcycle-riding policeman, dark glasses & all, 15 minutes into our road-trip

Unbeknown to Kent, we had two prime objectives prior to take-off from Miami. One was to feed and re-clothe our off-spring, not to mention removing his beard and uncut hair, and the second was to kidnap him and return the young man to civilization, as we know it in America. In short, we were definitely on a mission to rescue our son from the dark abyss of cannibals, bad food and loathing living conditions.

It took about 2 hours to reach Otavalto. I must admit that we were impressed with the road, but then not surprised after learning that it was part of the Pan-American Highway and had benefited from international funding. So far so bad.

The arrival at our hacienda in Otlavalo over a pot-holed, narrow, cow laden pathway was not unexpected.

The gates opened and to our surprise we saw something that was much more than first anticipated. A 400 year old luxury resort stuck in the valley of the volcanoes, Ho ! Ho ! Ho!. “Just an anomaly” I thought. It got better. From lush gardens, to 4-star accommodations outfitted with fireplaces, a 16th century tapestry decorated dining room, pub, squash court, games room, well-stocked library and wonderful long ornate balconies; we had reached Shangri-la !!! An Oasis in a land of thin air, mean people and American hippies.



After a few Rum & diet Cokes, Cohiba Cigars, the sight of a genuinely happy son and dozens of hummingbirds whirling around us, our perspective on hell began to change, but only slightly. Kent suggested that we rest, drink and talk, which lasted hours.

The big plan for Saturday was to visit the Animal Market, an adventure that Beth prior-dreaded. By 9am we were in the midst of hundreds of pigmies with their chickens, goats, pigs, llamas and cows. You can imagine the minefield at our feet.

It was a curious undertaking being the only gringos in sight. At 6ft 6ins, I definitely felt like Charlton Heston in the land of the apes. Beth looked so out of place wandering behind us in shock & awe.

That was our first interaction with these funny-dressed little people of unknown language – I mean who’s ever heard of Quechuan! – Later I was to learn of their centuries-old culture and enslavement by the Incans & Spanish.

Then it was on to the World Famous Craft Market (Sure !!!). We parked and began strolling and, to our amazement, were witness to some of the best artisan productions & presentations I have ever seen.

We could have bought the whole expansive market – yes, it was huge. Colorful, well-made unique blankets, exquisite embroidery, wood carvings, leather belts, jewelry and so much more probably not available in any other corner of the Earth, surrounded us.


Again, to our surprise, the stall owners were not aggressive or pushy. They just smiled and said Buenos Dias a hundred times.

I thought to myself, these guys need a crash course from Jamaican hagglers who accost you at sight until surrender. Regardless, we spent a relaxing time strolling and buying Quechuan treasures from these delightful leprechauns.

The market visit was our first insight into Kent’s Spanish speaking proficiency. There he was, as relaxed as ever, bantering and bargaining with the vendors. And make no mistake, Kent is a mean negotiator. If someone quoted a price, Kent would offer 80% less and each time I would walk away red-faced and embarrassed. At one point our capitalistic son threw out a $10 bid on a Llama blanket that would easaily fetch $150 here in the U.S. When the vendor agreed it was more than I could take, so we out-bid Kent and paid double the amount. I just could not stomach ripping off someone to that extent, although we ended up with one bargain after another.

Late afternoon Kent, Beth & I returned for a siesta, but only after Beth spent an hour cleaning her shoes from the morning’s Animal Market experience.

That evening we met the Owner of the Hacienda Cusin who invited us to join him for dinner.

He believes himself a John Cleese eccentric clone, but other than being of English extraction, there is no real resemblance in look or management style to the Fawlty Towers star. Nik Milhouse is gracious, quick-witted and loves being the center of attention. Even Kent’s loud & gregarious Father met his match that night. I’m sure I never got a word in edgewise. In appreciation for his kindness to our son, we presented Nik with a 50-year old Benson manufactured mantle clock (another family story), which prompted but a moment’s pause of silence from Nik, then it was back to his disjointed conversation, that lasted for an hour or more. The food was excellent, as was his beration of a terribly boring French couple seated at the same table.

Lauren joined us for the “Milhouse Dinner-show”. She works for Anna’s health organization part-time and is an English-language teacher the other part of the time. An American from Hawaii who came to Ecuador a couple of months after Kent, she can endure Benson teasing for more than a day & that is to be much admired. Easy to smile, Lauren is delightful lady in every way.

The next morning it was off to meet Kent’s adoptive parents and an inspection of his accommodations. To get there you head for some mystical banyan tree on the top of a mini-mountain (not my invention) overlooking the 50,000 person city of Otavalo. The uphill road was blocked because there were mountain biker’s racers going at break-neck speeds down the main path. Never thought the excuse we drove for an SUV would make it, even if we were to use the reverse gear up the precipice, but we did.

Upon arrival at this half-built 2-story compound,


we were greeted by a bunch of smiling munchkins, all of which Kent described as his “family”. The differences between my blond haired blue-eyed son and these black haired pig-tailed dwarfs could not be more of a contrast, but I sure thousands in Ecuador believe Kent’s fantasy kinship story. I honestly could not distinguish ‘Cousin It’ on the left from ‘Bert or Ernie’ on the right – a tribal outburst of color and smiling teeth. The Gringo parents had arrived. Ducking under the doorway, I entered the incomplete concrete-walled enclave. But these were delightful people whose affection for Kent was open and obvious.

Immediately I removed the image of savages from my mind and cuddled into their warmth and conversation. Before long guitars and flutes were out with Quechuan folk songs ablazing. Even Beth got into the act and was soon singing “This Land is my Land” (Canadian version).

Like a visiting Earl or Duke from afar, I was clapping and talking up a storm in English with Kent rapidly translating in the background. Anna Taft, who heads up the health organization where Kent volunteers, arrived minutes later.

Anna is so nice and fit in like a glove. Her demure, presence and intelligence, not to mention her Denise Richards smile, are to be admired.

A native feast of chicken, rice, & vegetables was served, which although uninspiring, was much enhanced when doused with loads of seasoned pepper sauce. It was the thought that counted and rarely have we encountered such generosity and hospitality. These were wonderful parents to their biological children and to their adoptive son. Our stress level was fast disappearing as I thought to myself, “Wow, what a Country, what a people – my boy is in good hands !”

We took pictures of Kent’s Fraggle Rock Cave room,

noted the chicken coups just a few feet away INSIDE the house and exchanged gifts before taking a picture of the Gulliver Bensons among Quechuan midgets.

Love,
Dad (and Kent) (and Mom)