Getting down to the nitty grito

After the responsible affair at the school to prematurely celebrate the bicentenary, the real shindig kicked off on Wednesday. The main event, after the preparatory cooking, primping and the fireworks in the main square, was the family gathering in the family bakery, where we did our own ‘grito’, and then tucked into mountains of to-die-for Mexican food and drink: chiles en nogada, tamales, chicken stews, fruit sweets, carlotas, tequila and beer. I flitted between the young members of the family who were interested in knowing whether or not I liked to dance, and the old, who thrust all of their homemade specialities on me, and regaled in watching me eat and getting greasy fingers (the greasy fingers are the reason for the lack of photos of this night). It was so admirable to see all of the women and girls dressed in traditional Mexican clothes, with their hair plaited, embroidered smocks, long, colourful flowing skirts – and a lot of the men had cracked out their sombreros. I had a long cream skirt and little halter neck top with some patriotic ear-rings (all a loan from Tere, one of the family). Once I could no longer fit into the skirt for eating, I ran off to get changed and skipped on down to Enrique’s ‘palapa’, outdoor bar with a grass hut roof, lights, music and beer. As is to be expected, I danced. I twirled, swayed, swooped, shimmied (Guy equally so, as he spent half the night in one of the girl’s heels)... and then ate tacos. Happy Birthday Mexico: you may be 200 years old, but you know how to party.