dos fiestas

One of my favorite things about latin america is the fiesta. Granted, after having travelled a bit, i'm not too big a fan of romanticizing what one culture has over another. We've all got wacky things that we take for granted that make life incredible. Westerners/Gringos in particular seem blind to the fact that we, too, have culture (elusive though it may be in the midst of day after-blank sales)

Cultural relativism aside, me likey the parties.

Last weekend was when the quaint little town of Guapulo just outside of Quito has its fiestas. I went with my delightfully anglican roomie Tim (he watches his home football team every saturday morning grunting go on, go on! only to be followed by a dissapointed sigh... they have yet to win a game since i've known him) and his ecuadorian novia Monica, clopping and plodding down the steep incline of the neighboring mountain like clydesdales reined in by a tipsy coachman. It's funny watching our legs trying to negotiate this new face of gravity, challenging befuddled ankles and knees.

It was clear how to get to the epicenter of the fiesta, following the sounds of music and firecracker explosions as unpredictable as the backfire of public buses here. We arrived at the town square dimly lit by unshaded incandesent 40 watts, densly packed with people around a bandstand the way that 6 year old soccer teams crowd the ball. We made our way through the crowd, Tim and I both intensly eyeing the street food (me from curiosity and fanatical penchant for challenging my gut, Tim from disgust and disdain) pushed by mongers only half visible in the partial party light.

We ended up at a dance circle, and we joined in to have a go. Only, no one would let me leave. I kept trying to nudge away, to no avail. I was having fun too until they started joking about meeting the rest of the family and, ahem, planning a wedding date... Gotta go. They chilled out after a bit and then the real fireworks started.

The two most notable features of the spectacle were the vaca loca and the huge exploding tower. The vaca loca is a wire framed, paper mache cow rigged with eplosives that some nut puts on his shoulders. The loon then proceeds to charge through the crowd raining sparks on the delighted bystanders. The tower is a 30 foot tall wonder that they spin in a circle as the fuse makes its way to the top with increasing explosive splendor. Half the folks present at the fiesta insist on dancing in a circle around the tower, including my new found matchmaker friend. Vamos! He shouted and before i knew it i too was in the thick of it. I've got wonderful holes singed in my blue striped shirt to prove it.

The next day was the mmhfff (insert unintelligible spanish word) of the oranges. Trucks packed with people and oranges parade down the steep alleyways escorted by kids costumed as gorrillas, grandmothers, cowboys and the occasional clown. The whole way down, they pelt perfectly good oranges at the crowds waving as they go by. From the balconies too, oranges are lanced like shotputs - at times 4 or 5 at once. Great fun, i ended up with a grocery bag full and didn't pay for juice for a week!

The other fiesta i wanted to write about is the Festival de Esperanza, that is, the festival of hope. You see, Billy Graham's son is coming to town. I know, i know, it's almost too much to bear in one blog. Fireworks, shotput oranges, and... Franklin Graham. But they've rented out the giant soccer stadium in town for three days. And, my spiritually permiscuous self simply can't wait to see what they're gonna do with all that space. Maybe the giddeon's will come and shotput new testaments... better yet, maybe they'll shotput each other in a jesus-praising-gravity-defying feat of faith? It's just a shame that I won't be able to share this with anyone as me brother Andy and a church buddy Ben arent coming until next monday. Think of me and mini Graham this Thursday, Friday and Saturday.