Hail Mary Full of Explosives

One of the many thousands of reasons that I love Cuenca is that this city knows how to PARTY. Not the weed-smokin´ Montañita party nor the gringo-gropin´ Mariscal party, nor, for that matter, the pig roastin´/speech givin´ Huambalo party or cuy chompin´ Salasaca party. No, I´m talking about the kind of party that begins with a solemn mass and descends, over hours or days, into an absolute joyous riot of candy and fireworks, with ample stops midway through for traditional dancing, local bands, and random local families sharing their snacks with me.

This week´s main event has been the commemoration of the apparation of the Virgen of Carmen, who doesn´t seem to have made it past Palestine but is nevertheless deeply venerated here. One of the prettiest little churches, behind the flower market near the new Cathedral, is dedicated to Carmen and also houses a cloistered group of nuns, who spend their days praying, doing needlepoint, beekeeping, brewing weird traditional drinks, and planning cultural events for the parish. The drinks contain valerian and other mild mood altering substances: most of the events they put on involve towers of sweets and culminate in fireworks. I really want to meet these ladies.

Anyway, the Fiesta Del Carmen lasts somewhere in the neighborhood of 4 days, and for the past many years, the plaza outside the church has hosted dance troupes from across the country as part of the celebration. On the last day of the celebration, the community participates in an adorable little morning procession, with kids dressed up like nuns and angels riding on flatbed trucks and throwing flower petals. The highlight is a statue of the Virgen which is paraded around the town, trailing a huge white veil that the people walk beneath to symbolize her protection.

Thus pass the faithful days and rich, cultured evenings, but as is often the case, there´s more to reveal. All week long, the city pops at night with random fireworks, but from 11 or so on for the last two days, things really go nuts. A castilla, or tower, is built more or less in the middle of the street, loaded with little explosives and lovingly decorated with streamers and tape, waiting for the vaca loca to finish so that someone can set it on fire.

Vaca what, you say? The vaca loca, or ¨Crazy Cow¨, is a tin cutout of a spotted Holstein, mounted on a slender metal post. A truly insane person picks up the vaca loca, which, like the tower, is utterly saturated in things that explode. Someone lights a match, or does whatever one does when one wants to start fireworks, and the vaca loca careens through the street, scattering sparks and little rockets at completely unpredictable intervals as it goes. People rush the cow, the cow rushes the people, everyone screams and runs around like mad. I found myself cowering against the outside wall of the New Cathedral with a cluster of Cuencanas and a terrified blonde college girl.

Eventually, the vaca loca runs out of explosives and it´s time to set the tower on fire--frighteningly enough, the local guy who was explaining things to us suggested that this , not the cow, merited a few steps back. Things start popping from the bottom level, and the energy makes the wheels on a fiery pinwheel turn, then the sparks jump up a level and start shooting out in all directions. It was like a Rube Goldberg contraption, culminating in fireworks at the upper level spelling out ¨Viva la Virgen de Carmen¨ and a scattering of stars from the tip.


And thus, the good people of Cuenca celebrate the mum of Christ, meek mild and innocent as she always seems to be. I imagine the nuns sneaking peeks from the cloisters, snickering madly beneath their dark veils.