Reading: American Pastoral by Philip Roth
Holidays down here always make for an interesting cultural experience. Many of them line up as far as timing, since they are often the left overs of Christian traditions, but the manner and extent to which they are celebrated varies greatly between Ecuador and the States. Halloween in the States marks the beginning of our "consumer holidays" - merchandise is cycled from Octobers witches to Novembers turkeys to Decembers santas.
In Ecuador, however, there are no costumes, youthful trick-o-treaters or drunken college parties to celebrate All Hallows Eve. Instead the emphasis falls on el dia del difuntos, the day of the dead. Whereas few Americans would think of visiting the cemetery for Halloween (I mean, whats Memorial Day for?) Ecuadorian tradition involves spending the day visiting the graves of loved ones and saying rosaries for them while attending mass.
As an outsider with no family here to mourn, I simply go to reap the benefits of the colada morada, a drink made from blackberries, mortiño (Ecuadorian huckleberries), pineapple, cornstarch and spices. The idea is that this dark purple drink should be left at ones tomb along with a piece of bread shaped like a baby to sustain ones spirit for the next year in the after world.
The result is that the cemeteries are lined with vendors selling colada, bread, candles and flowers to decorate the graves. Even more, is once you enter the cemetar, you are bombarded with people selling cleaning supplies, painting services and musicians offering their dirges for your dead uncle or cousin. Coming from our reserve Germanic culture, the whole spectral seems almost distasteful - as one would think that you should be able to enter a cemetery without having to turn down peddlers...
It is hard sometime to bridge the disconnect in a culture were it is acceptable to snap photos on your cell phone of the thief that was killed on the side of the road and the women sobbing over the grave of her dead nephew. The front of his small tomb painted with a mountain scene lifted from the Alps of Europe, inscribed with a bible verse and the dates of his death. Like so many of the graves surrounding his, there is an absence of a birth date, the start of a life that would simply pass by, fading like the candle now burning in its honor. Life, it feels, is less valuable then the memories you carry with you after death.
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| Cemetery in Tumbaco |
In Ecuador, however, there are no costumes, youthful trick-o-treaters or drunken college parties to celebrate All Hallows Eve. Instead the emphasis falls on el dia del difuntos, the day of the dead. Whereas few Americans would think of visiting the cemetery for Halloween (I mean, whats Memorial Day for?) Ecuadorian tradition involves spending the day visiting the graves of loved ones and saying rosaries for them while attending mass.
As an outsider with no family here to mourn, I simply go to reap the benefits of the colada morada, a drink made from blackberries, mortiño (Ecuadorian huckleberries), pineapple, cornstarch and spices. The idea is that this dark purple drink should be left at ones tomb along with a piece of bread shaped like a baby to sustain ones spirit for the next year in the after world.
The result is that the cemeteries are lined with vendors selling colada, bread, candles and flowers to decorate the graves. Even more, is once you enter the cemetar, you are bombarded with people selling cleaning supplies, painting services and musicians offering their dirges for your dead uncle or cousin. Coming from our reserve Germanic culture, the whole spectral seems almost distasteful - as one would think that you should be able to enter a cemetery without having to turn down peddlers...
It is hard sometime to bridge the disconnect in a culture were it is acceptable to snap photos on your cell phone of the thief that was killed on the side of the road and the women sobbing over the grave of her dead nephew. The front of his small tomb painted with a mountain scene lifted from the Alps of Europe, inscribed with a bible verse and the dates of his death. Like so many of the graves surrounding his, there is an absence of a birth date, the start of a life that would simply pass by, fading like the candle now burning in its honor. Life, it feels, is less valuable then the memories you carry with you after death.
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