To begin with, it was Cor´s 23rd birthday, which deserved a weekend´s worth of fiestas on its own, and then there was this little sedated celebration of Cuenca´s Independence Day...and by sedated I mean blatantly outrageous.
If you´ve ever met an Ecuadorian, you´ll know that they carry a lot of pride for their country. They will claim that they have the best dancers (likely), the best food (arguable), and the highest quality rum (absolutely false). Within Ecuador, city-to-city pride reigns even higher, and Cuencaños are no exception.
No one is spared in the festivities. At night, the streets are electric with live music, and citizens showing off latin dance moves (and pulling along semi-humiliated gringos along with them...ahem). During the day, the markets are flooded with people selling Colada Morada (a thick, purplish drink made mostly of tapioca starch, fruit cider, cinnamon, and chunks of pineapple, grapes, and berries) and these weird baby-shaped breads with coloured icing designs. When you bite their heads off, it kinda makes you feel like a cannibal...Helloooo Clarriiiisssse...
To top it off, the parks are filled wth artisans from all over South America selling jewelry, embroidered clothing, paintings, and more! Good thing it was pay day for us teachers that week...
Although I fully partook in the market-perusing and day activities, we only did one real night of partying hard. Not because we didn´t want more, but because it was all we could handle...
It was Friday night, and our neighbours and I had planned a surprise potluck dinner for Cor, with the intention of hitting the town after to dance. The surprise worked beautifully; Cor was completely clueless about our genius plan and was very touched by it. The food was fantastic, and the wine (which comes at $2/box) was of course thoroughly indulged in. By the time we left our apartment to go downtown, some of us were nearly blind, some of us were slurring beyond translation, and others of us were just severely uncoordinated. If you put us all together, we probably had all the five senses covered, but separated, we were pretty sad cases...
Our destination was San Sebastián square, which was where we had been told would be the best place to dance, and we weren´t disappointed. The open air party had a live salsa band playing, and was packed with locals dancing, singing, and passing around shot
s of this foul (and perhaps slightly poisonous) cheap rum they have here called Zhumir. Being the gringo bunch we were, all the girls were snatched up immediately with eager dance partners. Not to worry, the guys Cor and I were dancing with were incredibly sweet and friendly...but given that Cor and I were about a foot taller than all of them, they didn´t have much of an option to step out of line.
Unfortunately, none of the pictures from the night capture Cor and I´s sheer giantness compared to our partner´s frames. In fact, I´m pretty sure that right before each picture was taken, the boys would jump on two-foot risers so as not to be dwarfed on film.
After several hours of dancing, Cor and I got a bag of plantain chips from a street vendor, and made the wobbly, giggly walk home. Much to our delight, on the way back, I happened upon a pile of 7-8 foot long sugar cane trunks, just lying on the street. In my state, I obviously thought these were precious treasures that we simply could not leave behind. So, without argument, Cor and I hoisted the branches onto our shoulders and made the last 10 minutes of or trip home looking undeniably ridiculous and absurd...an image we apparently love to cultivate...
The next morning was painful and hazy beyond comprehension, but the memories from the night before were priceless. Serving as memoirs for that weekend, we now have three sugar cane shoots standing proudly at our front door, and one roll of mildly incriminating photos...
