AT THE MINES

Trip back home. Day 2

We arrived to Portovelo, an old mining town in which four different foreign companies (from England, France and the United States of America) settled since colonial times, to do mining works in a land that was thought to possibly be the conquerer’s longed “El Dorado”.

Quechua name for Portovelo is Curipamba, literally translated as “The Land of Gold”. The mining for the native inhabitants, the Inca Empire included, was Curipamba’s reason of existence. The legend tells of the Overlord Quinara coming to Curipamba himself to be supplied of gold to pay for the rescue of the last Inca, Atahualpa, who had been made prisoner in Cajamarca by the Spaniards. The Inca was murdered before Quinara’s cargo arrived, and as the news of the assassination of the monarch spread over the empire, Quinara buried the treasure (along with the Indians that were carrying it, go figure) in a valley, but that is another story I shall relate sometime soon, as the treasure touches my family in some strange way.

In 1896, the South American Development Company (SADCO), from the USA, exploited the mines of Portovelo, rebuilt the village and obtained excellent profits from the mines that were believed to be among the biggest in south America. “The Company” as it was called by the locals, not only that made sure their officials (Americans, of course) had all the comforts that home (the distant country, USA) could provide: they had foodmarts and school for their kids, but also made sure to have a hospital located on top of the hill, where two physicians and nurses were hired to treat the illnesses or accidents they could suffer. Coincidentially, when my father and mother graduated with honours from medical school, they were offered the job at “Curipamba Hospital” as Surgeon and Gynaecologist. And even if I was born in Guayaquil, I lived in Portovelo, with my parents, during the first 24 months of my life.

All splendour of Portovelo ended when the Company left town. Only the celebration of the 4th of July –the only place in Ecuador where this day is celebrated- and a few houses that are different indeed from the local architecture but similar to America’s homes of mid 20th century are the remains of the times when Americans and Ecuadorians had a place in common.




I sought the hospital and my parent’s house that were located one next to the other, with the directions mother had provided before I started the trip back home. I found the ruins of both places. On walking inside the abandoned hospital, I could almost hear the voice of my father comforting any and all of his patients.




I could not enter the ruins of what was our home, mainly because they were inhospitable, with grown vegetation, and I was not prepared for snakes or bugs. I did pictures though (above, the operating room and the ruins of my first home) remembering what mother told me: that was the place where you danced to music before you even started walking.

We also visited the old mines, the ancient Inca stone grinders and enjoyed a wonderful landscape.




Even if the roads were not at all like American freeways to which I was used due to my job as sister’s driver in the past months, they did have lots of beauty to offer. I returned home with a singing heart.


~ August 24, 2007 ~