Cuy Celebration & Dance Competition, Ricaurte, Ecuador

Diane: We took a city bus to the outlying town of Ricaurte. They are at the tail end of a weeklong celebration of their patron saint, San Carlos, and today was the final day-long party. Shortly after we arrived, a parade carried a life-sized figure of San Carlos to his church on the main square. A band followed. The townspeople were the last to file into the church.

Ricaurte is renowned for its cuy, an Ecuadorian specialty that takes several days to prepare properly. Cuy means guinea pig. Yes those cute little cuddly pets are a favorite delicacy here.






Not surprisingly, today's staged festivities began with an hour-long tribute to cuy. One of the local authorities waxed eloquent for about 15 minutes on the linguistic roots of the word cuy. It was far more interesting, yet repulsive, to see the Ricaurte women (and occasional man) rotating the skinned and skewered critters over hot coals. Don't look at the next pictures, if you are easily grossed out.

A university theatre troupe followed. The tale they reenacted was simple. Their movements were lively. They involved their audience. And their costumes were colorful. The audience was charged up at the end of the show. The masks reminded me of a mask I made with Calliope for Halloween, when we still lived in Wayland. It had wild hair radiating out from the face.






The dance competition followed the theatre troupe with even more color. I caught some of them getting dressed and putting on make-up before the big event. They were both shy and attention seeking at the same time.






The audience spent quite a while waiting in the strong sun. Many bought umbrellas to provide shade. Tom claims that a woman in front of him with a white umbrella reflected so much sunlight onto his face that his SPF 45 sunblock did not provide adequate protection. Some people had climbed to the top of a basketball backboard to get a better view of the upcoming dances. To my non-Ecuadorian eyes, the faces and dress of the audience members provided sharp contrast to one another. Standing near me was a woman with her hair in braids wearing a lace shirt and baseball cap. An older man with wrinkles carved in his face wore a brand new white sweatshirt with characters from US cartoons. A woman in jeans and a striped cotton shirt carting a large video camera. Some kids were dressed up in their Sunday best. Indigenous woman interspersed in the crowd provided color with their woven shawls and bright red and blue skirts.

And finally came the dancing. During the overture, each group danced into the square individually and then all stood lined up one next to the other. Twenty minutes later, when the last group had danced out, they were looking hot, bored, and fidgety.

The colorful flowing skirts of the women whipped up a vibrant mass of color as they swirled. The men were very dramatic in their furry chaps and with their big drums.






Each group provided their own music representative of a particular region. The music blared from the large speakers set by the stage. But to my ears, all of it sounded the same. At one point there was a mix-up and obvious consternation amongst those performing. Once all the fuss was over, I had to laugh. The corrected music seemed to have the exact same beat, rhythm, and instruments with only a difference in the melody.