Fiesta City

It has been more than a month since I’ve added anything to the blog, and “as we learned to say in marriage counseling, it doesn’t mean we don’t love you.” We celebrated Thanksgiving early with a traditional meal for Crispin’s class, then escaped to the coast—Las Bahias de Huatulco--for our first taste of Mexican beach life. It was GREAT, and you’ve probably already seen our photos since I accidentally emailed the entire batch to more than 1,000 friends in my address book. If I have not already sent a personal apology, please accept it now.

Without a Thanksgiving holiday to forestall the Christmas onslaught, stores and restaurants switched their decorations to twinkling lights immediately after Dia de los Muertos, and from about November 3rd onward, we were acutely aware that Santa was on his way—no nods to Hanukah in this deeply Catholic part of the country. But despite the ribbons and bows, November was surprisingly quiet, which was most obvious at night; no fireworks! (I am tempted to pause here and digress into multidirectional reflections on US/Mexico relations, and how we, for all our Speedy Gonzales stereotypes, can be so completely ignorant of the customs and habits of our next-door neighbor…but then I would never finish this post in time to put it up today.)

I guess I’ll just observe that when we say fireworks, we don’t just mean the sparkling, shimmering blooms that would characterize a 4th of July display—although these, too, appear above our mountain with surprising frequency—by “fireworks” we really mean the loud, irregular explosions capped by a tiny puff of smoke that our neighbors use to signal the beginning, or end, of a parade, or a mass, or band practice, or just to signal the high spirits of a group of friends. And like most of the guide books indicate, you really do know that you’ve acclimated to Mexico when you no longer startle at the random BOOM.

Which is all to say, we had a few weeks of uninterrupted sleep. We celebrated Harper’s and Amelia’s birthdays with a happy mingling of gringo and local friends. And then, in December, the virgins arrived. To be more precise, 3 different apparitions of the Virgin Mary each had their annual celebration days in quick succession. I had been anticipating the Virgin of Juquila since September, when Harper and I lucked in to her birthday parade right here in our small village/suburb of San Felipe del Agua. Raphael, the gardener who maintains the lush oasis surrounding our rental house, is also a local expert on the lighting and burning of “cuetes,” handmade fireworks that spin, fly, or simply tower over the gathered crowd on pillars of bamboo, wire, and surely a couple of prayers.

Raphael had clued me in months ago to reserve the days around December 8th, when our neighbors living in the canyon below our house would celebrate this Virgin, a tiny, Barbie-doll-sized brown face crowned by gold, enrobed in massive, lacy gowns and regularly re-dressed by the ladies of the village. Over 3 days, our neighbors paraded, sang, prayed, and honored this tiny figure through the days and the nights. At 3:45 in the morning on the 8th, we were awakened by gorgeous mariachi songs, and I decided to go see what the latest form of celebration might be. When I got down to the little chapel, it was fully illuminated, with sleepy members of the congregation huddled in chairs lining the walls, and 8 mariachis with black sombreros, zigzagged black and white wool serapes, and gold-studded ivory dress pants stood serenading the Virgin with passionate love songs. For over an hour. Afterward, still in the dark, the church members dragged long tables across the outdoor patio and served all of us steaming hot bowls of sweet atole and pan de yema, sweet egg bread. I have never had a breakfast that felt more like a true communion—with God, the universe, and the humble people who populate this amazing planet.

Art told me recently that the Virgin of Juquila is considered miraculous because her foot-high wooden body was the only object to survive a fire in the church at Juquila, a town high in the mountains near the Pacific coast. Although Oaxacans also revere the Virgin of Guadalupe—“queen of Mexico”—and the Virgin of Solitude, to whom a major basilica in the city center is dedicated, it certainly seems to us that “Juquilita” is the most popular in this region. While evangelical protestant churches are making inroads (and referring to themselves, to mark the distinction from Catholics, as “Christians”…???) the massive crowds that filled the streets for the Virgin of Guadalupe on Dec. 12th, and presented more than a dozen floats with live teenagers playing the Virgin of Solitude on Dec. 16th, gave us the distinct impression that Oaxaca is likely to be a catholic stronghold for several more generations to come.

Then, finally, Christmas! But its celebrations, too, were so overwhelming and prolific that I will have to tackle them later.