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GUCA FESTIVAL
Anyone who thinks marching bands are nerdy, Serbs are nasty, or you can't make modern art from the lopped off head of a barbecued pig needs to spend a few days in Guca -- home of the annual Dragacevo Trumpet Festival since 1961. This sleepy Serbian village is a windy three-hour (90 km) drive south of Belgrade, mostly through haystack-filled fields and mountains. Slightly helpful map here (Guca is about where the E in Serbia is, I think). About 300,000 fanfare fanatics make this pilgrimage over the four-day festival (Aug 7-10). Since the town is a bit short on hotels (the 50 or so marching bands sleep in the elementary school), many visitors, like my very own self, stay in the homes of locals.
The festival begins Thursday afternoon with an opening procession of bands in elf shoes and folks in nifty embroidered folk costumes that undoubtedly smell like moth balls. We missed this part (not intentionally though). Thursday evening begins the heart of the goings-on -- under several circus-sized tents, brass orchestras crowd around long tables of beer-swilling Slavs, who plaster Serbian dinars ($) to their sweaty foreheads. Barefoot gypsy dancers meander through the crowd, jumping up on chairs and tables to shimmy their costumes of coins and sequins. I was accused of this behavior on several occasions, but will refrain from any formal statement until photos are produced.The rest of the village is a cacophonous mess of pigs on rotating skewers, food huts decked with corn cobs strung like garlands, makeshift bars and beer stands, porta-potties, folks hocking everything from tee shirts and elf shoes to pottery... everyone blasting brass music from Reagan-era boom boxes. Saturday and Sunday are the busiest days, and carnival rides are even brought in. It begins to feel like some Lollapalooza Swap Meet -- then a canon fires off or you spot some granny in comfortable shoes and a head scarf toting a semi-automatic rifle longer than her leg.The "official" part of the festival happens on the stages, where the bands compete for the Zlatne Trube (Golden Trumpet), which brings prestige and the highest pay for playing weddings that coming year. By Sunday morning -- the big showdown -- we were too hot and tired to make it down. However, Lisa and I managed to catch an hour or so of the competition on television at the hotel back in Belgrade on Sunday night. It was a bit hard to hear with hookers screaming every five minutes, but we managed to turn the volume up by manipulating metal prongs that were once supposedly attached to buttons.
Due to my crappy $40 camera I got in Budapest and my having 100 better things to do than stop and take pictures for your amusement, my shots are few, and often blurry. Guess I'll just have to go back! The ones on this page are taken from the official site without permission or intent to obtain any. Unlike my piddly attempts, I think these capture the feel of the festival, so I included them. My shots are on the next few pages.
I also have a page on Serbia and the festival, sans photos, within my Eastern European Tales pages. It includes an article-like profile of the festival that is more detailed and formal, plus other recollections of Serbia.
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Best photo ever. I was also accused of doing this several times, but I never got low enough for someone to balance a beer on my stomach. I think they should make a Guca trophy for that as well. |
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This is the main tent we were in, dancing between the bands or on the tables, which you can see in the back of the photo. |
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One of the gypsy dancers. |
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The Saturday night concert, complete with fireworks, rave whistles, and makeshift toilets from opposing, unlocked car doors. |
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The opening procession. Her sign says "Vranje," which means, "I am on heavy sedatives." |
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