Sunday, January 06, 2008

Burning the Old Man


The first sign for me, never having spent the end of the year in Ecuador before, was the pile of headless stuffed figures dressed in jeans and button-down shirts on the street corner. I didn’t think much of it at first because on any given street corner, at any given time, you can find things from mangoes to DVDs to diet supplements. But when I started seeing stacks of the stuffed people on street corners all over Quito and an array of freakish masks, I asked. “Those are the old men,” my friend informed me.

The last few days of every year Ecuadorians pick out their old man, give him a face, attach notes to him conveying whatever sentiments, thoughts, etc they want to get rid of, and then burn the whole thing on the street. The old man, 2007, is reduced to ash, and for added affect, men don party dresses and wigs and parade around
as the widows of the old men. My guess is these are mostly straight men, based on the unsophisticated drag, but I’m sure some gay men get into the act to, since it’s the only time of the year when cross-dressing is widely accepted.

On New Year’s Eve I was in Cuenca, which I discovered is fairly buttoned-down during the holiday, but that afternoon people were busy
preparing a massive float for the midnight parade. The old men to be burned were none other than the Spanish Prime Minister, the King of Spain (am I the only person who didn’t realize Spain still has a king?), and Hugo Chavez. I didn’t get the joke until I saw the end-of-the-year news montages on TV: at a meeting in Chile earlier in the year, Hugo Chavez was insulting the Prime Minister, and the King, sitting between them, said, “¿Por qué no te calles?”—why don’t you just shut up? It wasn’t long before the King’s phrase got ripped to an MP3 file and downloaded as a ringtone on millions of Ecuadorian cell phones. As my Ecuadorian friend put it, “Chavez is Chavez. We all know how obnoxious he is. But on the other hand he’s still a head of state. You (referring to the King) can’t treat him like he’s one of your servants.”

So all three went up in flames as Ecuador prepared for 2008. But not all the old men were politicians. Here’s a baby Shrek (the movie is wildly popular here—I don’t know why) named Pipicho, the Kichwa word for penis. Who knows what notes were attached to that one . . .

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4 Comments:

At 12:34 PM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

What a great piece. Did you attach any notes to any old men? Could you have burned an old woman if you wanted, or would that be considered wrong or taboo? Looking forward to more posts this year!
Melanie

 
At 11:20 AM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Fabulous! Love the comment about you wondering if you're the only person who didn't realise that Spain still has a king ... but I guess as a European I may have a different perspective :-) Suspect the Spanish lot are better than our in-bred weirdos, but a somewhat archaic concept even so. As Melanie said, looking forward to the next instalments ...

 
At 10:52 AM , Anonymous Anonymous said...

Happy to hear you're acclimating so well to Tena and are finding lots of interesting customs to trip through. Having tried to maintain a very short-term blog I know it can feel like work, but this is such a great way to check in with you when I'm sitting at work daydreaming about what Mary's up to in the jungle! Happy New Year!

 
At 12:43 AM , Blogger Jason said...

On New Year's Eve, I was at a party in Milwaukee with a couple of my friends, several of their friends, and a few of their friends' friends.

In a strikingly similar act of purging, we wrote all of the things we didn't like about 2007 onto scraps of paper. We put those scraps in a 12-pack box, which we burned symbolically just before the stroke of midnight.

Well, actually, we exploded it -- complete with fireworks and empty spray paint cans, which Paul, the owner of the house, included in the box as a special surprise before he set it alight.

The box was in an open area of the side yard (I think on a frozen pond covered in snow), and we were watching it from the open second-story window. The first explosion was exciting -- I felt the heat on my face. The second one -- well, I'm glad I shut the window before the box went off a second time. The bench near the pond was only slightly charred.

Maybe Paul started a crazy and cathartic Midwestern version of an old tradition.

Good hearing from you on the blog. We miss you around here, speaking strictly for myself. :)

 

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