Cumbre Tajin and Carnaval de Coatza

I’m ashamed to say I didn’t make it to the end of the wedding. But unlike the others who didn’t make it, it wasn’t due to excess drinking or dancing, but because I had a very important bus to catch. My genius planning had led me to buy an overnight bus ticket to Tajin, Mayan ruins in the north of the state where an annual festival celebrating local culture, music and the Spring equinox was the mean attraction – or at least that is what I keep repeating to myself, as amongst all the concerts, cultural workshops and exhibitions we didn’t actually get in to see the ruins themselves. That’ll be for the next time. What we did do was just as good though. We saw Calle 13 in concert, made clay animals, saw magical Voladores de Papantla, a ritual dance involving being tied by the feet, upside down, to a giant pole and swinging round, with every single aspect having a rich significance, which we also learnt about. We even got to see Camelot – such as was nicknamed the abode of our couch-surf host, Arthuro, an overly-generous young guy from Poza Rica, the nearby city, who even gave us a full, cooked breakfast on the morning we left. Having gone to great lengths to acquire white clothing, as is recommended to soak up powerful ‘energy’ from the Equinoxal air, I managed to get a little bit ill during and after the trip, leading to my second day off work due to illness in as many weeks, and I’m not proud of it. It meant I lay low for the whole of last week, leaving the house to go to school and giving my private classes as usual, but eating little and carefully, and not shoving my body about as much as I usually do. Until Saturday that is. I wasn’t going to miss Coatzacoalcos Carnival. Especially when I think of the naked ladies we ended up seeing in the parade, the big bunch of people we managed to squeeze into one pick-up, and the new, sailor friends we made. I think all the resting I did during the week tired me out, hence me falling asleep in the back of the truck on the way back. Those photos are sadly not going to grace this page.

Birth(day)s, deaths and marriages

Before a gasp of horror-stricken worry escapes your mouth, there has been no actual death to speak of, that one was merely included in the list for poetic fluidity. You could say that I have been slowly killing my brain cells by a) drinking and not sleeping much at times b) not doing much academic stimulation of the brain and c) having my brain cells fried by increasing heat. But on the ‘up’ side of things, there have been a lot of birthdays and a marriage which I’ve been lucky enough to assist in. Gallo turned...old...Oscar, a family friend who might as well be family grew a little older but sadly no taller (charmingly pocketsize as he is), Elliot turned six and got chicken pox on the first day of his new ripe old age, and my friend Betho got hitched.

The big party was Gallo’s, organised in the palapa and with all the family invited. Last time we had a big family party there I managed to give myself fist-sized blisters on my feet from running about serving everybody their food and drink, so this time I kicked up a big, high-heeled fuss insisting I wasn’t going to so much as serve a drop of liquid or food to anyone except myself, but somehow, due to lack of other helping hands and due to the realisation that actually, waitressing at a party where you vaguely know most people is pretty fun, as you get to have a decent snippet of chit chat with everyone at regular, plate-sized intervals. Once the family do was over the lads arrived, bottles were opened, and I amused myself getting the taco man paralytic and laughing at the teenager who insisted he wasn’t drunk whilst not realising that he had his eyes closed. I danced like I hadn’t in a long time, and although I can’t say I’m a salsa expert, I can generally get by on the dance floor, and have really developed a flavour for a bit of twisty turny with a man (ooerr). The dance partner I usually seek out is Juanito, as I can pretty much let him lead me, but at the same time I can ad lib and he just goes along, and doesn’t laugh AT me when I spin into my own feet. The palapa, the venue for the party, has a very special place in my heart, as the place where I first got to know my closest friends here; the first few weeks in Mexico I associate intrinsically with the largely outdoors niche of debauchery and good music where I’ve spent countless nights and balmy evenings, never getting bored of speaking Spanish, as there’s always dancing, food and/or drink to give breaks from talking rubbish amongst friends.

Oscar’s birthday fell on a Sunday, which have been renamed ‘Domingos familiares’ (family Sundays) a day to be spent with your nearest and dearest having pure, untarnished family time. And generally involving lots of food. For Oscar’s little ‘do’ we raided the butchers for all they were worth and within an hour had, as a family, managed to knock up a variety of salsas, grilled spring onions in butter, and barbecued pork, accompanied by fresh tortillas and fizzy drinks followed by unnecessary by this point in the gorging process but necessary for the gluttony and the occasion. It was one of those moments which give me a clichéd warm fuzzy feeling inside, surrounded by those who I care about and know me for all my defaults and Spanish mistakes. However, the trip to the butcher’s was almost an event in itself. The meat was stored in what I imagine was a clean, refrigerated cabinet round the back of the small market stand, but the front of shop was all bloodstained stone counter, hanging joints, dripping intestines and fat, grinning, 12-inch knife-wielding butcher man. I’ve never seen someone with a knife so sharp and a cut so precise. Despite appearances though, the meat was fresh, succulent and delicious.

Unfortunately I wasn’t actually present for Elliot’s birthday, but I was saved a bag of sweets and the present I got him was appreciated.

Betho’s wedding was an event which I had built up so much in my mind that I was almost sure that it wouldn’t live up to the hype that I had invested in it. But by God it did. Enrique and I went as the Zuñiga family representation, and were sat in the heavens with all of the other groom’s friends. I’d never actually met the bride, but she was a blooming, blushing bride...very much so, for her 7 months of pregnancy and the light heat. the reason for which I was so excited was that it is the first wedding I went to which was of someone who I considered a contemporary, a friend of MINE, not a friend of the family, or a family member. Unfortunately this meant I had to buy a present myself, an exciting set of spice jars from a list of equally enthralling domestic products.

Ticherrr Ticherrrr

Since I last wrote I have been very much conforming to the ‘ticherrr’ role (as my students call me in their sometimes adorable sometimes teeth-achingly annoying way). I am now transmitting my knowledge of the English and French language to Mexicans from 3 to 53 years old, since being taken on as the English teacher in the local nursery, three times a week, and since also starting giving classes to the teachers of one of my primary schools. Weekdays are busy, with the working day sometimes lasting from 8.30am to 8.30pm, but I still have my three-day weekend free of any form of classes, and as Mama Callie says, keeping busy stops you from thinking bad thoughts (but don’t worry, I still make plenty of time for that). It also means I get a bit more pocket money to play with, and I can start looking to the future and making travelling plans without so much worry for dosh. Many projects on the horizon with the Connecting Classrooms project, with all three schools I work with, so plenty of work, and the end of year project for the SEP, which should be huge, and makes me wish I could invite people from Britain to see how Mexican kids do our culture proud.

In my downtime I’ve been making the most of the slightly warmer days, making ym way to bodies of water at every opportunity: rivers, pools, sea, waterfalls. It’s still not terribly hot, this is just the ‘warm-up’ (haha), but I’m scouting out the coolest waters for when 45 degrees hits us like a bitch in the groin. I’ve had another trip to Veracruz, this time as whistly as the quickest whistle stop. One day only, for Carnaval of course. I believe it’s the second biggest carnival in Latin America, and certainly the biggest I’ve ever been to. Absolute drunkenness and lasciviousness at every corner, with scantily-clad young lovelies, buff hunks and loud music all night. Definitely worth the 8-hour round trip in one day, and the foot pain from breaking my flip flop when dancing with some of the salsa troupes in the parade and walking around all night barefoot.