La Virgen del Cisne
EcuadorI first heard about la Virgen del Cisne at a museum in Cuenca, in an ethnography exhibit that described various cultural traditions Ecuador. The exhibit contextualized so much of what I’d seen in rural areas I’d passed through and conjured images of regions to come. It depicted the savvy textile weaving of the Otavaleños, the rowdy festivals of the Latacungueños near Quilotoa and Cotopaxi, and the ancient practice of shrinking human heads by the Shuar tribes, who had inhabited a jungle area I would soon encounter.
But the display that really caught my attention described a “gran fiesta” in the region of Loja, my next destination, that has occurred in mid-August every year since 1829. I looked at my watch — it was August 14th! Beginning the next day, thousands of Ecuadorians and Peruvians would gather in the tiny town of El Cisne and march for five days, carrying a statue of a Catholic virgin deity seventy kilometers through the mountains to the city of Loja, the regional capital.
A five-day marching fiesta through the mountains? ¡Que loco! This was something I had to see.
A few days later, as I was marching up a climb on the highway toward Loja, several cyclists overtook me. I had seen few cyclists in Ecuador outside of the immediate vicinity of Quito and Cuenca. Surprised, I asked, “¿Dónde van?”
“¡El Cisne!” They had left Cuenca at 3am. I had left Cuenca the day before. Doing the math, I realized they must have already ridden almost a hundred miles and still had a long way to go before El Cisne. ¡Que loco!
I rode with them to the top of the pass, where they would turn right onto a dirt road snaking into the distance toward El Cisne. I thought about following them.
“¿Qué hacen cuando llegan?” I asked, wondering whether they would continue to track down the pilgrimage, which had started that morning, and as such, would no longer be in El Cisne by the time they arrived.
“Volvemos en carro esta noche.” Return? They would just go back to Cuenca after reaching the town?
“No van a ver la Virgen y toda la gente?”
“No.” They wouldn’t even catch up to the parade to celebrate with all the people or see la Virgen, after all that epic biking. ¡Que loco!
So I turned left to Loja, where I figured out that I could trace the route of the pilgrimage backwards, west toward El Cisne, run into the fiesta head-on, and then take a different route southbound to my next destination. Doing so would change an easy twenty mile day into a tough seventy mile day, but I had to see this fiesta, right?
I asked my Airbnb host what she thought about the festivities. “Es una experiencia,” she said, “pero no es para mí. Demasiada gente, toda tomando.” An experience with lots of people drinking in the mountains? Despite my host’s revulsion, what she said reaffirmed my impulse toward the gran fiesta.
So I took off from Loja the next day, climbing over a mountain ridge and descending into a desert, where I started seeing isolated groups of two or three people walking along the highway, all alone. Why weren’t they walking with the rest of the party? Must just be some really loco locos.
When I reached a town called San Pedro de la Benedita, the crowds became so thick that I had to walk my bike. Half of the people were aggressively selling things. Lunches, sodas, ice cream, cotton candy, inflatable toys, even shoes, just in case you’d already run through a pair on the walk. The other half of the people inched forward through the town like dazed zombies. Busses and collectivos honked at an endless line of weary pilgrims, testing their resolve with the option to bypass the next desert section. Tents covered the town square, where people were staked to camp overnight because little San Pedro didn’t have sufficient accommodation to host the stampede. People sat lifeless on the church steps in front of an empty stage, waiting for la Virgen to arrive.
I asked a few people, “¿Cuándo llega la Virgen?” I got answers varying from any minute now to several hours. The heavy crowd prevented me from continuing to bike upstream to see la Virgen.
I looked around. Gran fiesta? These people weren’t partying. These people weren’t celebrating. They were just sitting on the ground, too exhausted to socialize, eating chicken wings, ice cream and any other food that passed them by, and rubbing their feet, depleted from the day’s long walk through the mountains. ¡Que loco!
After several ice creams, I abandoned the locos mid-afternoon, without seeing la Virgen. I had to hustle to retrace my steps through the desert and slog back up into the mountains.
After a blistering effort, I arrived as the sun set at a tourist resort in the expat-heavy village of Vilcabamba. A handful of Americans were at the bar, raising their eyebrows as I dragged my loaded bike up a staircase to my room. I thought about introducing myself, but I was too exhausted to socialize. I ordered some chicken wings and ice cream from the hotel’s restaurant and sat in my room rubbing my feet, depleted from another long day’s southbound pilgrimage. Those people probably think I’m loco.
Translated: A boisterous example of popular religiosity is the devotion to the Virgen del Cisne. Thousands of Ecuadorians and some Peruvians gather in El Cisne on August 15th for the grand festivities, in which they sing masses, light candles and fatuous fires, and submit offerings and votives to the Virgin, in between popular fervor and music from bands. Later, the effigy moves on to Loja, in a vast procession that lasts several days. Once there, on September 8th, with the presence of a multitude of pilgrims, especially from Loja and Azuay, celebrations materialize anew.
