I'd narrowly avoided a
cavalry charge of cross-dressing Turks riding kaleidoscopic silk-clad
horses – I was at La Fiesta de la Virgen de la Merced.
The annual week long
festival is a Pagan affair (despite its name and later approbation by
the Catholic Church) celebrating Summer equinox.
Ecuador is in the
middle of the world and on the equinox the sun is in the middle of
the sky – it swallows shadows whole and bleaches everything you
see. A friend had a sun dial in their garden and on September 21 it
was necessary to spin it 180 degrees about face or else let it linger
in shadow for the next six months.
The general flavour of
La Fiesta de la Virgen is a simple mix of dressing-up, dancing, and
drinking – lots of drinking.
No chance of rain but the sun will soak you through |
The generous locals
don't need much encouragement to pour their fire water down the
throats of visiting tourists. El Vikingo, your courageous narrator
and conspicuous Englishman, was subjected to no fewer than ten Trago
ambushes. Alcohol has numbed my lips before, but my teeth too! –
that was a first.
Even motorists making
their way back from church weren't spared the dentist's chair –
revellers wouldn't let them pass until they'd doubled the drink drive
limit. Taxi drivers too were hitting the Trago hard – I saw one
bleary-eyed cabbie transform a simple three-point turn into a
fifty-four point turn before finally saying “sod it” and
abandoning his vehicle.
I was in Merced – a
small rural town in a valley south of Quito. It's a largely
indigenous area and the festival was filled with Indians wearing
traditional clothing. My favourite outfit was worn by the Otavalenos
– that's blue ponchos, white linen clothing, long pony tails
(adorned with colourful ribbons) and all topped with a cheeky cherry
of a bowler hat. The ponchos are thick-knit wool and it was 30
degrees under the sun, so extra marks awarded for stoicism.
He was trying to shake my hand - I was trying to photograph him - something's gotta give |
Also in attendance were
Los Morenos – who paint their faces black with boot polish like it was the 1920s – and the
Zamarros, dandy cowboys, who wear comedy sheepskin chaps and iron their shirts a little too meticulously.
Boot polish and a white dress - what could go wrong? |
Top of the pile were
Los Turcos (the Turks), the cross-dressing horsemen I'd mentioned at
the start of my piece. When Los Turcos arrived the entire town made
way for their clip-clop procession through town. Their identities are
hidden by creepy masks and the significance of their dress and
symbolism has been lost in dark ages.
El Turco at full gallop |
Also at the festival I
saw lots of people dressed as Ecuadorian soldiers or policemen –
either wearing zombie-like make up or with their faces blackened. The
indigenous population aren't the biggest fans of these particular
institutions and this was mockery through mimicry.
Its unfair to say the
fiesta was a purely pagan affair – despite its Bacchanalian
character. In the town's main square a vast open air mass was taking
place – albeit interrupted by sporadic outbursts of rockets and
fireworks. The Virgen de Merced also took pride of place in the
procession through town, borne on the shoulders of local girls and a
few chivalrous chaps.
The Catholics love a
supernatural apparition of the Virgin – and La Virgen de la Merced
is one of the Mary's many personae – in this case our Lady of
Mercy. She originated in 13th Century Catalunya – during
the darkest days of Islamic encroachment in the Iberian peninsula.
The Virgin of Mercy has chimed with particular resonance in the New
World, and nowhere more so than in La Merced itself.
Our Lady of Mercy is
typically portrayed in white robes and with arms outstretched to the
faithful. In La Merced locals had stuck dollar bills to her dress
which presented a confusing cross-cultural image.
Our Lady of Mercy parades through town |
The soundtrack was
provided by the many bandas de pueblo (village bands) – who struck
up bouncy Sanjuanito, Pasacalle and Albazo tunes on trumpets,
trombones and drums.
On the menu –
although not for this vegetarian still recovering from a bellyful of
e.coli – were giant strips of crackling pork skin. The grim, black
eyes of the roasted hogs stared back from every roadside stall and a
dollar got you a generous slice of crispy flesh.
Tempted? A dollar a slice |
Finally, it's not a
South American fiesta without the humble borracho (our version of the
pisshead). I was there on the final day of a week's worth of boozing
and revelry so understandably there were casualties propping up bus
stops or sleeping off a skin full of Trago in a storm drain. We
rudely awoke one roadside borracho on arrival and he gallantly
volunteered to guard our car – although it was much more likely
he'd just be sick on it.
Borracho borrachito paso el dia solito |
La Fiesta de la Virgen
de la Merced is a chaotic and colourful affair held together into a
cohesive mass by the spirit of dance and revelry... and of course the
spirit of the spirit Trago.
See the rest of the photos from La Fiesta de la Virgen de la Merced here
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