¡Fiesta!

How can I describe the single most culturally ornate and marvelous event I have yet experienced in my 26 young years? El coliseum, no resemblance to those wild romans, yet I cannot delete this whole latin descriptor from my brain and this title does not help, is huge. For you yuppy gringos (I am scribing this description, so what does this say about me? don’t get offended just yet I have much more obnoxious material to follow), think maybe 12 volvos long by about 18 wide. Or, for those sports enthusiasts, imagine 2 basketball courts long and three wide. Why won’t I relent and use yards, feet, etc? because no one down here uses them and I am forcing you to join me in my incoherence.

Since I refuse to stick with one topic anyway, here is something for all of you to try at home. I have no way really to explain how my ignorance of language, customs, etc. impairs my daily existence. So as you cool in your refrigerated rooms, offices, whatever, begin doing everything for the rest of the day with your left hand (lefties, you get no easy out here, switch it too). Insert key and open door with your left hand; brush your teeth tonight with only your left hand; open the frig (my roomie victor and I have a frig that does not work but looks nice supporting the microwave) and grope for food with your left hand; dial numbers on your phone (again, I have none) with only your left hand. You want to cheat don’t you? No one is watching; go ahead. But remember, I cannot. When I get stuck for words or simply don’t know what is happening (why is that everyone understands my Spanish when I am paying for something and during rare other instances?), I cannot simply revert to the comfortable. No choice. Deal.

Ok, back to the event that you may actually think might not be so important now. You are wrong. My first fiesta in juchitan, neighboring city, was more than invitation only. The event, sponsored by one of the wealthiest families in the area, and believe me, juchitan is incredibly important in the history of the istmus of tehuantepec (where I live), was simultaneously the most formal, foreign and yet familiar affairs I have ever attended. La familia lopez hosts this annual event for the benefit of friends and family. the occasion? Celebration of life, love, food and friends. Ok, and inebriation to some extent.

To get in the front door you need a few items. First, the men must, absolutely must, wear a guayabera and dark, preferably black pants. I hate black pants, my legs are skinny enough as you all know, so I certainly brought none with me. So I wore dark green pants. Did I stick out some? I am white, remember? Silly question. I have my pants, black dress shoes and victor loaned my a guayabera, which is a lightweight white (or white-ish) longsleeve or shortsleeve shirt that one normally does not tuck in to the trousers. Don’t forget, I am over a foot taller than victor, and most everyone here, so hopefully the picture I took turns out. Either way, the shirt hangs down well below the belt (when the size is correct, which mine was definitely not!) and in my opinion, looks damn snazzy. I want one. Anyway.

I have my clothes, thus I only need one more item. Each male who enters the fiesta carries a case of bolletas de cerveza, or the little 6oz version of corona, xx, modelo, etc. where does one find such a commodity and if one takes public transport, how does one transport it? This particular Zapotec family like numerous others I hear, (did I mention that the family is an extremely old and well-connected group indigenous(zapotec is a culture, native lengua) to the area), made the genius decision of hiring an entire tractor trailer of corona and placing it right outside the front door. No joke. That is a lot of beer my friends. each male, as I was writing, carries this case like a u.s.a. waiter carries a tray of food, drinks, with one arm about shoulder level or higher. All males enter like this, no exceptions that I saw. Once inside, the male approaches the particular patriarch who has extended the invitation and hands it to him with many thanks for the invite. Case of corona botellas? 80 pesos(8 dolares).

Men, we have it easy. The female variety of our species have a slightly more involved routine, but when it comes to looking elegant, they often do. I did not bring my camera, though I wish I had, because I stick out (again, white, taller than every other person there, bad dancer, no hable) and did not want to look like a tourist at an obviously non-tourist event. The ladies were incredible. I have never in my life seen more meticulously designed and crafted dresses. Imagine every color you can. You cannot even imagine close to the myriad colors worn by these damas. Imagine floral designs. Hawaii, arguably, has something on them here, yet all of us estadounidense (a particularly difficult word to pronounce) have nothing similar (I should say that like many Hawaiians, I respect the desired autonomy of the Hawaiian islands) in our culture. Think hand-stitched patterns with lace, silk, velvet, fabrics I don’t even know about, and you are on your way. Incredibly ostentatious, but in a positive way because this is a celebration where you show off a bit how wealthy you are, or how skilled you are at sewing and creating. Floral arrangements (my only name for something this incredible), real and faux, imbedded in hair pulled back away from brightly painted faces, that all somehow highlight each other. Some have different colored hair weaved in as well, but in a manner that looks incredibly refined and beautiful.

All of these ladies, and there were some young girls (four years old) dressed just as elaborately bring something as well. Be it a bottle of fine tequila or other liquor (mainly tequila) or just simply cash, they present their gift to the matriarch who has graciously extended an invite to this incredible evening.

To set the scene a little better, and I like putting setting, character description et al out of order to give you an idea of how completely exotic this occasion was to me, we arrived around 9:30 or so and there were probably about 150-200 people already there. Now the coliseum, remember the Volvos, has about 500 or 600 chairs arranged around a large central area in a horseshoe shape so that everyone can see the newest arrivals. Above the entrance is a huge balcony (the ceiling is about four-five Volvos high) with a staircase separating two large open spaces. No longer open, the spaces contained equipment for the two (dueling, in my opinion) bands containing roughly 10-15 members each. Horns, bass, sax, drum sets, singers/dancers. Rocking music that played almost continuously the entire time.

Getting back to these chairs, they were arranged in about 24 sections. Each section had a main food/alcohol table at the back where the women and wait staff took control and the men were shooed away from in most cases. In front were oh, 10- 15 or so rows of about six folding chairs wide. If you like math and have decided to count, stop. I hate math and have no use for your helpful input about dimensions. Next to the six rows is a small isle and then another set of chairs two wide. Next to these chairs, perpendicular to them actually (think of a street that dead-ends into another), is another row that runs the entire length of the other rows. I refuse to go back and check to see if have created for you an accurate picture of these dimensions. Use your imagination.

Victor and I enter with the family husband and wife who invited us. Each of these 24 or so separate sections contains a different family and their friends. oh, but I know this person over across the room, let me go say hi. No. unless you take that family a case of beer, the boys stay where they are until invited (especially guerros). So we find our group, sit and immediately find cold beers thrust in our hands. A minute later, the first plate of food. Delicious foods, foods with names I don’t even know, were delivered throughout the entire evening/morning. I was introduced to about 15 people, stand, hug, shake, single kiss (right cheek to right cheek only), sit, stand hug kiss. Violet, one of the younger heads of her particular branch of the family, particularly enjoyed introducing me to everyone (show off the guerro). She also lavished alcohol on me. In the first hour she handed me at least ten coronitas. I could not drink them, but she seemed not care. The fact that the family could give me these drinks was the point.

Come back with me to the stand, sit, hug kiss shake part. The aisle,is wide enough for small children, not women in incredibly long, flowing dresses. My legs, to return to one of my least favorite subjects, stick out pretty far in chairs made for people much shorter than me (picture the knees about a beer bottle higher than the hips). I knocked into everyone around me, and no, I was not drunk, I just had no room. No one cared.

The first hour I simply sat with a huge smile on my face as I gazed dumbfounded at the costumes. When one band starts playing, the song is often fairly slow and without words and the women dance first, sometimes they ask men to join them. They move very slowly around in slow circles and raise their dress up. Before you think the zapotec’s scandalous and more ancient roman (Caligula) than anything else, keep in mind that under this outer layer of embroidered perfection, lies more lace and other stuff (I know nothing of women’s clothing) just as long. So they sashay in circles while moving their dresses in unhurried and deliberate motions. The lucky few males who are either patriarchs or invited, dance around these damas in larger, quicker circles. The feet do the talking here. Not quite riverdance, but something like that. Then more songs, more dancers, more alcohol, more food.

Luckily, the first band took a break forty-five minutes in. ready to relax? No, the second band starts up immediately. Repeat first dance sequence. Got it? Now imagine this happening every forty-five minutes or so. The whole night. Non-stop. How long did it go on? I will get that quite soon.

Violet snatched me up and pulled me onto the floor early on in the evening. We laughed (I could not talk or hear because the music was so loud, ok, and because I cannot speak Spanish too well, but you knew that) and danced around for a few songs. I sat. another older woman grabbed me and out again I went.

Is the coliseum cooled effectively? No. the few windows are located about three Volvos up, and the puny ceiling fans might as well have not even been on. Luckily, everyone was sweating. Of course, the ladies had the perfect accessories, elegant fans. They either had their own or were given some. No fair, the ladies get party gifts. They also have to wear uber-hot dresses and make-up and . . . you get the idea.

Food. Drinks. Dancing. Over and over and over.

Victor, by the way has a little novia, although I am not allowed to call her his girlfriend for reasons which I don’t quite understand. He has barely noticed I am there for much of the night, so if you guessed how much I stuck out by looks alone, imagine me unable to talk effectively to people, for several reasons. Sweet.

When he turns and declares vamonos, I am quite ready. Due to the sweating and dancing and eating, the 24 coronitas I have consumed don’t seem to be doing too much damage to me. As I contemplate this on the way to the cab to take us home (the police and army, guns and rifle often drawn, are keeping order outside all night, along with the beer truck and other vendors who showed up for the occasion), I ask for the time. We arrived at 9:30pm. Victor tells me it is a little after 3. wow, that might be why I am not drunk, though everyone did their best to get me and every other person there that way (and there were many many many people who were, let me tell you). No no, says a fellow partier next to us. 4:30am. Good god.

We get home around 4:45 or so (the cab ride itself deserves its own story) after a drive down back roads that takes a bus about 45 minutes to an hour to travel. Bed.

I have done no justice to this momentous gala, but I hope you get a vague idea. I am still amazed that I was invited and had the chance to take part in this, probably for me (insert cliché here) event. If I ever doubted living with a local, that has gone completely. Without victor I would have been in salina cruz at some discoteque. Words, although I have valiantly tried, do little justice to this experience. On top of it all, I was treated as part of the family, albeit a family of about 500, and to be included in something like this truly shows me the welcoming and gracious demeanor of a culture (I know I lose all credibility generalizing here) that I am slowly getting to know. Extraordinary, staggering, zapotec.