Noah Klein-Markman/Foreign Correspondant

I just looked at my arm. Its still got little burns that have lasted about two months, from when I ran around a spinning, flaming tower to celebrate the Virgin Mary.

This is the tradition of the small town of Guapulo, Ecuador. On the one hand (literally, my one burned hand), the event made me understand why the U.S. has a few laws about fireworks. But on the other hand, I did appreciate this unique kind of good time that can only be had where safety isn’t always first priority.

Guapulo is very close to the capital city, Quito, so the festival had a solid turnout. The main event was held in the plaza in front of the church. People began pouring into Guapulo at about 9:00 p.m. By 10:00 p.m., there were so many people that it became hard to move on the narrow cobble-stone streets.

That’s when the concert started. A large man with a deep voice began moving his hips to salsa music and singing. He looked up at the sky while he sang. The horn section that backed him up had about 10 members who moved in sync with each other.

The crowd danced like crazy. It was as if the whole city had showed up; the little kids on their parents’ shoulders and old men with canes seemed to out-dance everyone.

But they were overshadowed by a group men in rainbow masks who then arrived. These masks had slits for eyes; with their identities hidden they exuded confidence. They would go up to girls and perform ridiculous moves (which made me think that alcohol was involved). They would then dance with girls until their friends gave excuses for them to get away.

Someone started a conga line. The people in the front had to fight to move the line through the crowd. I was holding down the caboose when the music stopped.

“Abre! Abre!” (Open up), people were shouting. Open what? People were confused, the gringos most of all. And then I saw sparks. About 50 feet through the crowd, four men were holding up a model of a metal cow that had fireworks shooting out of its horns, mouth, and butt. As I tried to run through the crowd, people scampered to get out of the way. The cow ran back and forth through the little pathway it had created until about a minute later when the fireworks died.

The plaza erupted in applause. The band started playing again. When it stopped for the second time a few songs later, I was prepared.

This time, about 10 men carried a giant metal tower out into the center of the plaza. When it made it to the center, the horn players lifted their instruments, and a man began climbing to the top of the tower. He reached the top and raised his hand.

I heard the powerful chord of the band the same moment I saw the fire beginning to pour from the tower. The band played the fast rhythm of bachata, and the tower started to turn. The crowd surrounded the tower and walked in a circle, in sync with the tower’s revolution. The fireworks sprayed directly onto the crowd. I could barely lift up an arm to dance to the music, let alone take a breath. The crowd carried me around the tower. It was a matter of luck whether one of those sparks landed on me or the person next to me.

At one point, I felt a pinch on my hindquarters. I looked towards the men who were turning the tower. The men with the rainbow masks now had whips. Facing out from the tower, observing the crowd that was frantically running, dancing, and screaming, they whipped anyone and everyone who passed by them.

That one moment of distraction led me to lose my friends who were swept away by the wave of people. A few moments later a friend who also had been drifting was carried by the crowd over to me. We linked arms, but it was barely enough to keep us together as we were buffeted about by the force of hundreds of people.

At this point, I was exhausted from running around and uncomfortable with the pinch on my butt and the burns on my arms. Finally, the fireworks went out, the music slowed, and the tower stopped turning. I could breathe again.

But it turned out to be a short reprieve—within minutes, they were already preparing the second tower.

The second tower lasted longer and had more powerful fireworks than the first. The third, and final, tower was the most intense. The tower turners would go one direction for a minute and then reverse, which caused huge clashes between people who hadn’t yet reacted to the switch and those who had.

I went home that night bruised, tired, and sore. I’m glad to know I heaped a lot of praise onto the Virgin Mary. For that, I was rewarded with a night of deep sleep.