Ecuador(7) - A Sixteenth Century Hacienda

Hacienda Guachala was built in the 16th century. It is located in the mountainous town Cayambe North of Quito. We changed three buses to arrive at a surprisingly broad and paved road that was lined with tall Eucalyptuses. Carrying our backpacks, we walked over thirty minutes, during which I whined many times "Are we there yet? How much longer?" In the fields along side the road were endless flower beds that were filled with roses of all colors. Finally we arrived at a bucolic ranch.

Ducks were scattered around a large pond; llamas were fenced in a little hilly slope; and handsome horses were scattered about, grazing leisurely.

The spacious courtyard has been paved with cobblestones. In the center of the courtyard, an aged simple fountain was still providing some splashing fun for the peck of German Shepherds that were guarding the estate. Two rows of guesthouses with white washed walls quietly stood facing each other across the courtyard. Another row of house, served as the kitchen and living room, connects these two rows of guesthouses. Open air corridors ran on all three sides. Potted flowers were hanging from the ceiling, blooming happily.

On the other side of the living room, was a green house filled with blooming bougainvillea in magenta, yellow, and red. The jewel of the tropical aired green house was a swimming pool. The ubiquitous hand-woven colorful hemmocks neatly stood by the pool. It was a perfect place to read, to catch up on our travel journals, or to take a nap. Sometime before dinner, it started to rain. The sound of raindrops knocking on the plastic ceiling was soothing, the air was a little muggy, and everything smelled of a small jungle. Under the bougainvillea bush lived a mommy cat with her four kittens. After the footsteps disappeared into the other parts of the house, the kittens would tentatively climbed out of the bush and curiously started to explore the green house. Every small bit of noise, like me shifting on my hemmock, would send them running into the bush again.

The mountain’s nights were cold. Guestrooms don’t have a modern heating system. Instead, we each has a ranch style fire place. Helmut was our official fire maker. After his magic touch, each fire place was filled with excited flames. Red glow from the fire lasted late into the night, filling the entire room. It was as if we all slept into a childhood story.

Dinner was served under the flower vine covered corridor. Carlos told us to be aware of “air attack”. Apparently the mommy cat has learned to watch for careless visitors, and she could steal food off your plate in a blink of the eyes. Originally we thought Carlos was pulling another of his “dumb tourist” jokes. But before salad and soup were taken away, we saw the mommy cat climb up a column in the far end of the corridor, walk along the wooden beam hidden in the flower vine, directly toward us. Without any mistake, she settled right above our table, stared down on us from behind the dense leaves and flowers. Needless to say, the dinner was a tense affair. We were all in heightened alert, ready to defend our dinner at all cost.

After dinner, Carlos took us to visit a small church on the Hacienda. It has red walls, white window pane, and snow white bell towers. Narrow spiral stairs led up to the top of the bell tower. Through the arched windows, we could see the entire hacienda lay peacefully in the setting sun. On the grass in front of the church a newborn foal was following its mom around, barely able to walk. It stopped frequently to beg for some milk, while its slender legs stuck out in strange angles to support its own weight.

Inside, Carlos told us a little history about the church. It used to be a popular worship place. People came from miles and miles away to attend mass. In the early 70s, Ecuador had a socialist president that banned religion. To make his point clear, the president picked this particular church to host a personal party. It was an orgy. The church was defiled. The family who used to own this hacienda turned it into a family museum afterwards.

The small church was filled with row after row of black and white family photos taken by one of the hacienda’s owner, who lived here in the early 1900’s. His name is Neptali Bonifaz. Between 1909-1923, he recorded his family’s travel in Europe, South America, and Africa. There were also many portraits. Walking among these old photos, reading those beautiful names of distant grand cities: Paris, Madrid, Geneva, London, Granada, Nice, Venice, Florence, Rome… This small and quiet little estate suddenly turned into its bustling old self, as if violins started to play and champagne started pouring, and formally gowned noble men and women were chattering. The clear air that was slightly filled with dust suddenly filled with ancient faces, and heart broken stories…