Dancing with the Sun: My Inti Raymi Experience in Ecuador

There are moments on the road when travel becomes more than just seeing a new place. Instead it becomes a homecoming of the soul. That’s how I felt during Inti Raymi in Cotacachi, Ecuador.

I was traveling with a spiritual group and we were fortunate enough to stay in homestays with local Indigenous families. These kind, grounded people welcomed us with open arms and generous hearts. They prepared our daily meals and shared everything with us. There was no facade, just authentic warmth and a sense of deep-rooted connection to the Earth and to tradition.

In the days leading up to the festival, the air was charged with anticipation. Our hosts invited us into their outdoor kitchens, where we watched, wide-eyed and reverent, as they prepared traditional foods. The sight of cuy (guinea pig) sizzling over the outdoor stove is etched in my memory as a powerful blend of culture, ceremony and community. It’s not just a dish; it’s a sacred offering, reserved for special celebrations. Nearby, steaming pots of giant corn kernels simmered, and these were the ones that we helped prepare. They weren’t the kind you find in your average grocery store. These women infused everything with purpose.

Then came the day of the festival.

Inti Raymi, the Festival of the Sun, is a time of deep spiritual significance. Rooted in Incan tradition, it’s a celebration of the winter solstice of the Southern Hemisphere. It’s a sacred dance between darkness and light, and between gratitude and renewal. In Cotacachi, the streets came alive with color, music and energy. We joined the procession through town, surrounded by people in elaborate costumes, vibrant headdresses and traditional attire. Some wore woven belts with bells that jingled as they danced, their feet pounding the earth in a rhythmic call to the spirits. My host family had dressed me up in the traditional attire. They braided my hair and wrapped it in a colorful cloth.

There was a massive feast afterward with plates overflowing with roasted cuy, potatoes, corn, beans, and more. We were invited to sit and eat with the community. Strangers became friends and I felt, once again, that sense of belonging in a place where I had never been before.

The most magical moment for me was when we were invited to dance. At first, I hesitated — unsure of the steps, unsure if I even belonged. But then, a woman about my mother’s age took my hand, smiled and pulled me in. We twirled and laughed and stomped together in a circle of joy and movement. I wasn’t just watching the tradition. Now, I was part of it.

That night, as I lay in my homestay bed under my blankets, I reflected on the day. I thought about how the sun returns after the longest night, and how we, too, are constantly finding our way back to our own light.

Inti Raymi was more than a festival. It was a reminder that we are all connected. We are connected to each other. We are connected to the land. And we are connected to the cycles of life that continue no matter where we are in the world.

And in that connection, we rediscover what it means to belong; and not just to a culture or a moment, but to the living heartbeat of the earth itself. It was a good reminder that we are never alone.

In the echoes of the drums and the warmth of the sun, I remembered what I had forgotten—we all belong. We belong to the land, to each other and to something far bigger than ourselves.