Observations on Observing

Or, Pics or it Didn't Happen

Week 7

When you don't speak a language as badly as I don't, getting to know the locals is a little hard. All the little things you'd like to say or ask—“Why is every single boat painted blue and white?” “What is this delicious bread called and can I have your recipe?”—are pretty much impossible unless you have, a) a translator, or b) a dictionary, a lot of time, and very patient interrogatee.

Plan B is observation, and I like to think I've become a pretty good people-watcher. This past week saw Carnaval and the start of Lent, which offered ample opportunity to flex my observatory muscles. For those non-Catholics among you (or those not-very-good Catholics among you), Lent is the holy season leading up to Easter. It's a time to reflect and repent sins, and traditionally involves fasting—anything from giving up meat for a single day each week (fairly common) or giving up everything but bread and water (extremely rare). Sweet, fatty, or otherwise rich foods are off the menu. In the bad 'ol days before supermarkets and refrigeration, this meant you had to use up all the fat in the house before the first day of Lent, so it wouldn't go bad—plus, if you're about two spend two months in penitential solemnity you need a little something fun to tide you over.

Thus: Carnaval, Fat Tuesday, Mardi Gras—whatever you want to call it. A festival of overindulgence, of too much food and too much drink and too much dancing and too much a lot of other things. Puerto Lopez's Carnaval was a far cry from New Orleans' Mardi Gras, but compared to its normal tranquilo self the town was pretty loco.

Puerto Lopez is one of the larger towns in the area, and people poured in from all over. Cars crowded the streets—every seat filled with an adult and a child on each adult's lap—and the beach was so full of people it was difficult to find room to walk, let alone swim. The beachfront cabanas put out tiki torches and people danced on the sand to reggaeton. Ad hoc restaurants sprang up everywhere; it seemed like every local who owned a grill put out an awning and started serving up platefuls of rice, beans, and fish. And everywhere—people. The town felt like—well, like one big festival.

Aside from the usual annoyances crowds bring, Carnaval brought a host of new nuisances. Ecuador is not a quiet a country, and there is always someone, somewhere, playing music loudly or revving their engine, or otherwise making lots of loud noise. Carnaval took this usual noise level and multiplied it by about ten. Then there was the foam. A couple of days before Carnaval cans of colored foam, a little like Silly String, began to appear in the hands of children. Throughout Carnaval children and adults alike would spray each other with this foam. It was pretty entertaining watching the kids chase each other through the streets, or sneak-attack their parents—but not so funny when a pack of young men sprayed you in the eyes, as happened to Carolina. Water balloons and even eggs were thrown as well. Basically, going outside was a little dangerous.

But go out we did, at least for a few drinks. Now, I'd heard Ecuadorians were good dancers, but this was something else. It wasn't just that the people dancing on the beach were good dancers, though that was true. It was that everyone did it: old, young, slim and sexy, fat and hairy—everyone danced, and no one was at all self-conscious. I think they were so good because they weren't self-conscious. It was a lot of fun to watch them—but a little creepy as well, because the small children danced with the adults and they danced like the adults. One little girl stands out in my mind—not more than ten, with a two-piece swimsuit on her flat, straight body, shaking her skinny booty like she was looking to get laid. The adults around her encouraged her, egged her on. Or a small boy, maybe 12, grinding with two women, probably relatives. To them it was probably good, clean family fun, but to my American eyes it seemed deeply inappropriate.

Carnaval ended promptly on Tuesday; the next day was Ash Wednesday, the start of Lent, and Mamita and I went to Mass at the local church. It's been a while since I've been to Mass, and I was a little rusty, but a lot of it was like I expected—and a lot of it wasn't. Of course, I couldn't understand a word anyone was saying, but the structure was the same—opening song and prayer, readings from the Bible, the sermon. The church itself was similar, too, with a few differences: Mary's altar, rather than being in the back of the church, was places prominently at the front, and the statue of the Virgin was dressed in real robes of cloth. A poetic touch was the crucifix, which was surrounded by a sweep of bamboo and a mural of the ocean, so it appeared as though Christ was affixed to the bowsprit of a boat: a powerful image for the residents of a fishing town.

Despite the familiarity of the Catholic rituals, the behavior of the people was strikingly different than in any church at home. In keeping with what I've experienced of Ecuador, they talked—during the hymns, while walking to receive the ash cross or the Host, even during prayers and the priest's sermon. During the “offer each other a sign of peace” part, people went all out, going far beyond the polite “peace be with you” and a handshake I'm used to and greeting everyone they knew (which in a town like this, is most people) with hugs and kisses and effusive salutations.

Probably only half the congregation rose to receive the ash on their forehead, and far fewer for the Host. I felt terribly sorry for the cantor, as hardly anyone sang along and people kept talking over her. The church was packed, and the lines to the altar disorderly; by the time everyone had filed through her voice was becoming hoarse. There was no wine, for which I was thankful, since I didn't fancy sharing a glass with so many people, and the priest placed the host directly in my mouth, which I was expecting even though it's not how we do it back home.

Great vignettes, you say, but where are the pictures? Well, the camera-crazy gene my mother's side of the family has seems to have skipped me, and I always forget to bring my camera with me. So I don't have any pictures of Carnaval or anything else I've written about. But don't worry, I'll upload random pictures of Puerto Lopez as I take them, so you'll have something to look at.