Uruguay’s Booming Beef Industry

Along the Corridors of History

OU’s Quick Guide to… Viveros, and Growing Plants in Uruguay

An Expat Account of… The Fiesta House Phenomenon

An Expat Account of… The Fiesta House Phenomenon
By Suki Davis

There is a distinctly Uruguayan phenomenon that both intrigues and repulses me—the immensely popular party or fiesta house, where children and adults celebrate birthdays and other significant events.

Birthdays here are no small affair. A child is usually required to invite his entire class or grade, his whole extended family, and possibly neighbors and his parents’ friends or co-workers. Speckled throughout middle and upper class neighborhoods of Montevideo, fiesta houses offer clients a worry-free party. The staff there cooks, serves, and cleans, along with entertaining children. All you have to do is bring the cake, and even then, it can be included in the price of your rental. So, why do I hate them so?

Well, let me set the scene. You have been invited to a party at some place that is illogically called something like “The Enchanted World” or “Queen Froggy’s”. Your invitation comes on shocking pink or green paper. This is just the start of the colors that will abuse you. You buy a gift and bring it to the party house. A young woman meets you at the door, takes your gift, and puts it in a gift bin with all the other presents. After the party, on a sugar influenced high, the birthday kid will plough through that bin of gifts, ripping off paper and tags, never knowing who gave what.

The walls of the party house are painted bright colors. Actually, each wall is a different color: mandarin orange, fire truck red, neon yellow, and each wall has a poorly painted replica of a Disney character with glitter and butterflies to accompany it. The music is blaring. You go outside to the soccer pitch. Here, twenty boys of differing abilities are hurtling themselves after one rather flat soccer ball. You hear people talking about the piñata that is to come, and head in to the house.

Inside, you pass several children who are in a trance playing video games; another pair is smashing at the floating puck of air hockey. The air hockey table is whining like a vacuum cleaner. All the walls are deep purple. This is the teen area.

The neighboring room is crawling with youngsters. There are three youths in matching t-shirts that are working as the “animators.” Their spirited shouts rise above the din. One is cajoling children to dress up in faded cartoon character costumes. “Who wants to be SpongeBob SquarePants?” Another is applying makeup and hair accessories for the girls. A third is trying to control children who are playing in the pelotero (a cross between a jungle gym and a sandbox). With this one, there are balls in the area where a sandbox would be. Thankfully, the balls are not too hard as the children are pelting them at one poor victim in particular.

Finally, you arrive in the area with the food. On the low tables, you notice that the staff has kindly set out chips, hotdogs cut in slices with mayonnaise dip, and orange pop. This is for the kids. There must be something better for the adults. Yes, at the lovely adorned tables in the very front are some plates with interesting looking hors d’ouvres. You sit down, wedged between the wall and a table exhibiting a trio of immense cakes. Your plate of goodies, it turns out, is laden with thin sandwiches on white bread. They look rather limp and sad. Their crusts have been cut off. You try a sandwich. Your choices are ham and cheese sliced as thin as paper, or canned corn with mayonnaise. The waitress passes with another plate of appetizers—cold and cheese-less pizza.

Your soft drink options include cola with sugar or with artificial sweetener. There is no water or other soft drink. Luckily there is also whiskey.

The “animators” are now serving homespun cotton candy to the children. Then they set up a puppet show. If the performance is good, the children may sit for a few minutes but usually, the combined effects of the environment and the recently ingested junk food nullify any desire to sit still.

Finally, the exhausted animators call the guests to sing Happy Birthday. You dutifully sing the Happy Birthday in three versions: Spanish, English, and then something different like “Dog” where people woof-woof their way through the tune. The birthday boy stands with his friends and family behind the cakes and all the children sneak licks of the icing as the grandmother looks for her camera. Photos are snapped. You are served a piece of chocolate cake with very little icing and lots of dulce de leche (caramel). You leave most on your plate, gather your things and your family, and leave. But not before meeting to host to congratulate him on such a wonderful party.