We had a lovely day, taking a much needed break from working on the book, which gets a bit heavy at times. There was a meeting here at Pakarinka, so it seemed a good opportunity to have an adventure in Otavalo, starting with lunch at our favourite Mexican restaurant. It was a beautiful sunny warm day, after a rainy day previous. There was snow on Imbubura last night, so you know it’s a bit chilly when that happens. But that was yesterday, today it is beautiful!!
It was a red letter day because hardly any dogs barked at Miss Mali as we made our way. This was pretty amazing because usually she is completely overwhelmed by the constant attention, and we are overwhelmed by the noise making it impossible to have a simple conversation. So it was quite nice to walk without the disturbance.
On our way home just before we arrived at La Casa de Che Guevara, we met up with a small group of young people coming back from somewhere and struggling to get their stroller over the tracks. They were laughing and having fun and we admired their youthful energy. (“Dirty Old Man” by Valdy comes to mind :)). As it happens, they were going into the house of Che, where they are staying. Patrick stood at the door until someone came to the balcony to talk to him. I wasn’t sure why he was doing this, but experience has taught me to just let him do his thing. He is braver than I when it comes to approaching strangers. It turns out that he wanted to know more about this house of Che. Of course this makes sense because of all that we are doing with the book and our particular interest in the man I now call Papa.
This man (trying to remove my hat) loves Che Guevara. He is the administrator of La Casa de Guevara which is a hostel. His parents built this home and I believe they met Che, but I am not totally positive about that piece of information. Sometimes with the language barrier, you cannot be sure you heard things right. However it is very possible because Che Guevara was here. He walked these streets that we have been walking, on his way to Mexico through Guatemala. When I saw this house the first time, and actually when I arrived here in Ecuador I had wondered at the possibility of him being here. I knew that he travelled through most of South America, so the possibility was great. I had a dream of him as he travelled, this man with the journal, which was of great importance, many years ago. This was long before I understood who he was and why the journal was so important. So being here and knowing that he was here means so much more than I can say.
Peguche falls where we have been and the square that we walk through everytime we venture downtown (or when we want an ice cream), was one of the places he was, staying in the area. One of the restaurants in the square has several pictures of Che which also made me wonder at the possibility of him passing this way. This place is very close to where we are living right now, filling me with happiness to know this. For most people, I am sure this would not be easy to understand, but then most people grew up knowing who their parents are, knowing who they are. For me that was all taken away, so to finally, finally know these things, which evaded me for most of my life, is a gift of great value. The tumblers fall into place giving me a sense of great satisfaction and peace that cannot be easily described. To at last have connection to those who are the most important people in your life, your parents – is this not information we all deem valuable? Our heritage tells us who we are, who we can be like if we choose to. When that is taken away there is a hole, a void which cannot be filled. So even if your parents are not people you particularly like, or if they make you a bit crazy, or if you love them to death, or anything in between, be grateful for the gift of knowing them, for having the time with them, for experiencing (hopefully) their love and affection at a time when you needed it most. That was what I missed out on, that time of nurturing love. It was replaced with fear and so much pain, great sorrow. I am learning to love again, now that I have those people back in my life.
So this man , who insisted I remove my sombrero, was very excited to meet the daughter of Che Guevara, someone he was named after. His parents called him Che Ernesto, and on top of that he married a woman with the last name Guevara. So this was a moment that required him to run inside to get his beret with the signature star and his camera. I was embarrassed, especially taking off my hat revealing my “hat hair”, but how could I refuse this man. He was like a kid in his excitement, and me, well I was just so happy to say out loud “Soy la Hija Perdida de Che Guevara” and know I was speaking the truth. No. I cannot prove it, but it is imbedded in my heart and no one will take that away no matter how much they hurt me. The truth is in us, it is in me and does not have to be believed by anyone else for it to be.
A very happy few moments in my life, shared with 10 or so complete strangers who thought it amazing that the daughter of Che was here.
There was a quiet excitement in me as we walked the rest of the way home which settled comfortably in my heart as Patrick and I drank some tea and talked about this amazing journey we are on. I am just so grateful to feel connected, something I didn’t have the privelage of knowing before. I now understand my memories, their significance seen in my smile, in my eyes, as the picture is taken.
so back to work…….
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