Nestled into the slopes of Volcan Imbabura is a town called Cotocachi, named after the taller rising volcano across the valley. Within the town, caddy corner to the ever-active bus terminal, is the indigenous community tourism organization, Runa Tupari. In the native language, Kichwa, it means “human encounter” and describes the goal of the organization: to foster intercultural exchange. I wanted to visit Runa Tupari to gain the indigenous perspective on tourism, the environment and learn about women’s roles within the organization. At the end of one week, I not only learned about their perspective, but had picked up a different lens for my own as well as new friends.
Runa Tupari was the first indigenous organization I visited. In Ecuador, the indigenous population makes up around 25% of the total population spread among 14 Peoples. The Andean Kichwa is the largest indigenous group which is the identity of Runa Tupari’s members. Although I have encountered many indigenous folks, I had never dived into their traditions and cultures. I did not know what to expect.
Runa Tupari focuses more on cultural tourism such as providing homestays for tourists to immerse themselves in the family’s daily activities. The organization also provides guided tours of the nearby volcanic lake, Cuicocha, or hikes up to the top of Volcan Imbabura, but their indigenous traditions distinguish it from other organizations. Due to this, the operations manager, Claudio, requested I stay with a local family to provide them with economic support and I agreed. Also, I hoped a host family would assist me in meeting and interviewing other community members.
I first met Claudio on a small tour van while we were waiting for a group of tourists from the Netherlands who had spent a night with host families. He was an average height for an Ecuadorian man, around 5’7’’ with clay-colored skin, an eyebrow piercing, and long silken hair woven into a braid. He smiled fully with crooked teeth and shook my hand firmly. I instantly felt at ease in his presence. Claudio joked with the group’s tour guide as we jostled along dusty roads to pick up the ten Dutch tourists from their homestays. I watched as they crouched to hug and thank the different family members in broken Spanish before loading into the van. They seemed to have enjoyed absorbing the families norms and culture.
Once we reached our destination, the Cotocachi Cayapas National Park entrance, Claudio introduced me to the group as an American researcher leading a project on tourism in Ecuador and requested they share their thoughts with me about their experience with Runa Tupari. Many were shy to share in front of the group, but as we prepared for our hike, a few approached me. They commented in heavily accented English that their families were warm and exceptionally welcoming despite the language barrier. One younger man shared an honest doubt. His host family had seemingly moved out their younger son from his bedroom so this man could “play tourist”, he explained with concern. What is my impact on these families as a tourist?, he questioned. I smiled, having had many similar experiences in the past. I looked forward to learning more about the impact of this organization on its communities and particularly the women who play the greatest role in providing homestays.
Shortly after, we began a light hike to a viewpoint of Laguna Cuicocha. The cobalt blue crater lake spanned out below us. Amid the short shrubs of yellow-green puma-maqui leaves were scattered springs of native flowers. I felt so much gratitude for the moment. On a Tuesday morning, this was the work I had waiting for me.
I followed the group as Claudio paused to identify some of the flora and fauna: a Dracula orchid in bloom, a common lizard, and bushes of mortinos, or Andean blueberries. He crushed a few up of the latter and explained that these berries were previously used to dye clothing mixed with other plants for color variety. He painted an image on one of the tourist’s arms as an example of a thick zig-zagged line with dots between them. Claudio explained that for his people this was a description of life. The lines represent the mountains as pachamama and the sun while the dots signify water as a source of purification. It was a reminder to me that we are all connected to the sun, the water, la pachamama, and to each other no matter our perceived differences.
I ended up hiking mostly with Claudio and the other guide, requesting they include additional detail, legends, or other facts about the environment I had heard from other experiences in Ecuador to the group. The Dutch did not speak much Spanish, but did speak a high level of English. Although their guide could translate to English, I also helped and stepped in as the cultural translator. Although I’ve never traveled to the Netherlands, I do know that the country is almost entirely below sea level. Yet at Laguna Cuicocha, we were around 10,000 feet above sea level. So, when a handful of the group started to trail behind on the hilly sections of the short hike, or needed frequent breaks to catch their breath, I was able to translate this experience to Claudio. He could understand their English, but as an indigenous man (with Incan blood proven to be adapted to altitude) who has spent nearly his entire life at high altitude, it is hard to grasp the struggle those of us have with thin air. Because of my role between these two cultures, but also highly immersed in Ecuadorian culture, Claudio made me feel as if I was one of the guides more so than one of the tourists. I felt very simply like I belonged. And in a country very different from my own, constantly operating in a language that isn’t mine, to feel a sense of belonging was an indescribable homecoming.
Cristina, the general manager of Runa Tupari and Claudio’s boss, also treated me with significant kindness and supported me as I learned an important research lesson. After a few days with the organization, I conducted two structured interviews with women from one of Runa Tupari’s communities. I became frustrated that they hardly understood what I was trying to ask them even though the questions made sense to me and my advisor in Cuenca. I returned to Cristina and asked if she would review and revise them so that the interviewees would understand. She spent an hour or so reviewing the questions word-for-word with me until they would be clear to my intended audience.
From this, I grasped that Ecuadorian identities are nuanced and layered not only by ethnic identity, but by education level, and lived experience. Many rural women have minimal formal education but also have never lived under different gender expectations than their current reality: a woman’s place is to care for her home, family, and husband. Therefore, my questions did not make sense two-fold. Some words were too complex and secondly, some women did not understand that they could fill a different societal role. Working with Cristina on shaping my methods to fit the context was a learning curve in this project and I am immensely grateful for her patience in helping me understand. I intend to take this to future communities for this project and others.
Cristina also helped me collect data from interviews. During a few days during my stay, we shared a taxi from Cotocachi into the nearby communities down pot-holed dirt roads to multiple wood and cement houses. She needed to review the state of saplings donated by Runa Tupari to expand the organic and local food options for the families and to offer tourists in their homestays. Her family visits also created an opportunity for me to conduct a few interviews. Cristina always showed up dressed in her traditional attire of a floral embroidered white shirt, a long black skirt, a golden ornamented necklace layered around her neck and chest, and strappy fabric sandals with heels. I was always amazed she could navigate the rural roads and overgrown home gardens we visited without hardly attracting a spot of dirt. At each home she would introduce me to the women or other individual left in the house while the rest were out to work, then leave me to conduct a semi-structured interview. Without her support, it would have been impossible to gather information not only as a foreigner, but also as an outsider to their communities.
My foreign positionality did, however, support them. The day before I left the community, Claudio turned to me suddenly and asked if I could “play tourist” in a new marketing video. I eagerly agreed and they sent me with two Ecuadorians around my age armed with a drone and Canon DSLR with an extensive selection of lenses. We set off to visit as many tourist destinations as we could in about six hours, starting with the Peguche Waterfall. I laughed as they captured video of me walking along the wooden platform in front of the 60-foot waterfall, nearly slipping on the mossy footing. The wind kicked up and doused me in cold spray. Fortunately, my jeans dried quickly in the dry Andean air and we moved on to an artisanal store covered wall to wall in widely-colored and geometrically-patterned fabrics to a music museum selling traditional flutes and stringed instruments. We ended the day at my host family’s garden with a few shots of me trying to pull down ripe canary grenadias tucked high into the tree. My host mom cheered when a few landed with a thunk at our feet. We picked them up, cracked them, and peeled back the hard shell to reveal black seeds resembling pumpkin seeds in individual sacks of plump sweet juice. We sucked at them contentedly and followed my host mom back to the house. Although exhausted from the bustling activity of the day, I was glad that my identity could support the organization in their projects.
I learned more about the impact of tourism on women from Runa Tupari’s communities from my host mom, Señora Carmen. I didn’t have many expectations for her when I first arrived. I was initially concerned that she would be more reserved toward foreigners. I had experienced this shyness with mestizo Andeans, so I imagined indigenous culture to be similar if not more so due our distinctions in lifestyle and customs. I was met with quite the opposite: a short and voluptuous middle-aged woman with an always present wide smile. Señora Carmen laughed often and with every opportunity would tell me how much she loved hosting tourists.
The first evening I was clumsily chopping carrots with a dull knife as she added ingredients into a spinach stew and I asked her about her involvement in Runa Tupari. She told me that before tourism she felt useless and believed she had no skills. After the start of Runa Tupari, she began to attend various workshops and learned that she was able to provide services to tourists. Through this, her self-esteem grew and she no longer felt fear to leave her house and attend more workshops and community meetings to voice her opinion. She shared with me that she believed she had the right to pursue what she wanted to pursue. Now, she has high hopes for her youngest daughter to attend university in the next few years, the first in her family to do so. Listening intently, I felt a swell of love and pride for her and her family as well as for initiatives like Runa Tupari which have provided their women with opportunities to feel valuable.
Not all the women I interviewed expressed this sentiment; however. This is to be expected. Machismo is still alive and well especially in rural communities. Some husbands and fathers are much less willing than others to relinquish their control over the women in their families and communities. These cases do not undermine the positive ones. They show that there is work left to do. Over the last 20 years, Runa Tupari has catalyzed change by focusing on the specific barriers that women face. They’ve made an impact, but cultural change takes generations.
At the end of my visit with Runa Tupari, I thought back to the Dutch tourist. He had his answer and I had mine. For many women like Señora Carmen, the workshops and employment opportunities that Runa Tupari has provided gives them a sense of self and awakened many to their own power. The individual or groups of tourists play a crucial role in supporting this. Runa Tupari, like many other organizations I have come to know, was heavily affected by the pandemic and is fighting to recuperate the success they had prior. Choosing to travel with organizations like Runa Tupari not only provide us a a rich cultural and natural experience, but directly augments the value of rural women to themselves and to their own communities. This impact isn’t possible without us. I encourage you to consider this as you confirm this summer’s travels and the next. Visiting impactful and sustainable tourism initiatives, like Runa Tupari, is a means for you to give back as well as receive. I am immensely grateful for the new ideas and friendships Runa Tupari has imparted to me; I hope one day we may all share this type of human connection.
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