Birthday

Our calendar was particularly harsh on us this week: we only got ONE DAY to recover, sit and do nothing, before we were off again experiencing the true Mexican ‘fiesta’ spirit. Well, we did go to a fiesta on our 'off' day, but as Mexican do's go it was a very quiet affair, with traditional 'posole' (maize and chicken soup) and family banter to-ing and fro-ing between tables, regularly bouncing off the 2 English guests. My actual 21st wasn’t until Saturday, but I shall forever see Friday as my true celebration: so would you if you’d spent the day sunning yourself in the back of a pick-up truck with some upstanding Mexicans (and two dodgy Brits), eating snails, oysters and prawns, swimming in the sea, a crystal-clear lagoon, and singing Mexican pop songs at the top of our voices speeding down the highway. The lagoon is called Catemaco, and it’s a famously beautiful natural sight, and in all honesty we only managed to cover a tiny slither of the breathtaking coastline and jewel-like nooks and crannies. It didn’t do any harm that with every beer opened there was a general ‘To Claire’, and that many pop songs were spontaneously re-written in my honour. Once back in Cosoleacaque, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, as there had been talks of a party, all very vague. We actually ended up at Antonio’s house (unsurprisingly, another member of the family, but also a teacher in the school), where they cracked out the expensive tequila and another drink which they described as ‘tequila as it was before the Spanish arrived and turned it into water - ie it was STRONG; ‘no-voice-the-next-day’ strong. The bunch of guys we found ourselves with were perfect specimens of Cosoleacaqueños: they accepted us with open arms into their group without prejudice, they proudly showed us all of their ways and taught us their phrases (some of which I’m likely to get into trouble for if I repeat them in polite company) and made the whole day truly special – we were among friends, however little time we had known them. I almost fell off the top of the mountain of happiness that I’d been climbing all day when they brought out an ad-libbed cake of chocolate cupcakes and a chocolate bar (those of a naughtier disposition might be able to figure out what sort of shape this might make...), with a candle, accompanied by raucous singing and many hugs, all at the stroke of midnight, as I stumbled into my 21st year.

The day of my actual birthday was a hot hot day, beautiful sun, a fresh bunch of flowers first thing in the morning and a seafood restaurant for lunch. The party in the evening was hosted by another birthday boy, a Lady Gaga-wannabe who managed to unite the entire gay community of the town of Minatitlan in one place for one night only, though he insisted that it was our joint celebration. I’m not sure I want to be associated with the slightly surreal cross-dressing Paulina Rubio impersonator who managed to cop a feel of Jeremy, or the big singing mama of dubious gender who repeatedly touched up Guy. However, it was a one-off experience of a night, topped off by a torrential downpour (I should mention that we were outside), and being told ‘you’re not beautiful, but because of what you’re doing here in Mexico, you’re beautiful’.

A Sunday at the beach the day after in Coatzacoalcos was deserved and needed.
Thank you Mexico for validating my score of years,
Thank you everybody for the birthday wishes,
Thank you Jeremy for coming to spend the weekend with us AND bringing me a very well-chosen present,
And thank you in advance universe for letting me turn 21 every year to come.