Nothing to Declare

Today's adventure included fireworks, dancing saints, missed directions, a harrowing death ride, a new flavor of nieve - beso de oaxaqueno (coconut, nut, carrot) - and an awesome cactus-pineapple-parsley juice.

There is a town called Etla about 20 minutes outside of the city. Actually, there are about 15 towns with Etla in their names right outside the city. My intercambio lives in Santa Domingo Etla, and she invited me and some friends to the easter procession in her pueblo. Easter in Etla is really cool, because the residents of 12 of the many Etlas carry their patron saints from their home church to the cathedral in downtown Etla. There's a sort of my saint´s better than your saint parade, with brass bands and cheering and costumes. Sounded like something to see.

I thought I'd covered all the bases...I knew from driving past on another trip, that there are TWO Santa Domingo Etlas - Santo Domingo Bario Bajo and Santo Domingo Alto. We texted eachother over the weekend, and I repeatedly asked which Santo Domingo we should go to. She said the one with the cathedral, the big church. That´s in the main Etla, which is close to both Santa Domingo Etlas. We hired a collectivo taxi yesterday and I called again at 7:30 to confirm that he'd meet us. Of course he didn´t. So a regular taxi driver gouged us for $12, which still only meant $4 per person. (The collectivo would have been $7 total)

Anyway, the cab driver let me use his remote control to crank the volume on a little Easter morning reggaeton. And we got to Etla central right on time to meet Ita. Who didn't show. Because.....she was in Oaxaca in front of Santo Domingo Cathedral. (While we waited, we checked out the market, and tried the cactus-pineapple juice, which is supposed to be good for problem stomachs and tart and soft and sweet at the same time.)

Ita hopped a cab in Oaxaca and we flagged a motocab - all tricked out and named Little Misbehavor - to putter us down to Etla Santo Domingo Bario Bajo . We ran straight into Intercambio´s pueblo´s procession. But Intercambio wasn´t yet there.

Jesus is her town´s patron.... a little unfair advantage, given the day and all. There was a brass band playing, and the town - about 75 people - was walking down the street behind jesus.

We let the parade pass and sat on a rock near the pueblo´s tiny church to wait for IC. Everyone who passed by said hello and acted like four gringas sitting on a rock was a time-honored Easter tradition. There was a very nice old man who came over to chat.
The procession is going to Etla, he told us. Yes, we know, we said.
This isn´t the Etla where it's going, he said.
Right.
You know, there will be bands. And candy and dancing. It will all be over by 11. You need 20 minutes to walk there.
Yes.
To the OTHER Etla.
Yes, yes, we know. We're not in the right place.
It`s something to see, you know.
Sigh.

Then IC called.
Where are you?
In your town.
Why aren't you with the procession?
Because you said wait in your town.
I'm with the procession.
We'll be right there.

Hopped into a mototaxi called Dracula and a few minutes later, we were wearing frangiapanni garlands in our hair, catching candy, and listening to cheers that all ended "Cristo, Cristo, rah rah rah!" (Really.)

Do you know all of these people, I asked IC.
I'm related to all of these people.

We paraded into town behind Jesus, just as Mary was coming in from another village, and San Pedro, San Lazarus, and many of your other favorites were winding their way into town. Each pueblo had its own band, its own props (ours were the flowers, another town waved rosemary branches -and smelled really good, one carried blue and white balloons, etc.) and its own saint. The men carrying the saints moved them up and down and in a circle, so they appeared to be dancing. The church in Etla is as big as a cathedral, with a plaza at least the size of a city block, and a mercado below the plaza. All of the people from all of the towns filed into the plaza in an order that never varies - Our town´s Jesus (rah, rah rah!) goes first, then Mary is waltzed in and they face eachother and the two towns´bands try to play over eachother, and each town tries to outcheer the other. Slowly the other towns file into the plaza. We climbed up onto the roof of a market stall and watched as the plaza became a swirling packed mass of dancing saints, bobbing umbrellas (very strong sun), balloons waving, people shouting, flowers and candy flying and 12 bands all playing different songs at full volume.

We tried to get into the church - each of the saints and the bands is taken in first, and the crowd was dense, hot and pushy. A priest with a microphone welcomed each town into church, reminded everyone they had to settle down when they got inside and, in between this running announcement, held up a little girl. "Where´s Laura´s mother? Does anyone know Laura's mother?" IC perservered and made it into mass, but three hours in the sun was too much for us so we went to the market for ice cream and tamales with mole negro.

Afterward, IC took us through the mercado and introduced us to her aunt, who sells cheese. We bought several kinds of sweet bread including one called boracho (drunk), which is bright red and doused with mezcal.

We started to walk back to IC's house, then got picked up by the Little Misbehavor - he and IC went to school together. All of the houses on IC's road belong to members of her extended family. We had tamarind juice and talked to her mom and younger brother and sister. And then we got caught in a Mexican hospitality trap. We planned to take a collectivo back, but they wouldn't have it.
We can get someone to drive you back. He'll be here in 10 minutes.

Over an hour later, he arrived. And two minutes after he pulled out of the driveway, he started telling my one of my friends how beautiful she is. He was acting weird. Then he apologized for driving slow and made the international symbol for tipping one back. Ah, he´s not weird. He´s loaded. Plastered. And not in a cute, amusing way. In a - we´re all stone sober and all too conscious that this is really not good - kind of way. He slowed down to 15 miles an hour. Turned around in his seat to talk to me. Veered across lanes. A gas truck swerved to avoid us. I have done some risky things in the last few months, and some things that I have been afraid of, but this banal drunk driving incident is truly the most terrifying thing that's happened to me on this trip. In the end, we made it home safe, but all four of us were badly shaken.

We recovered enought to go to dinner later, and after, walking home, there were fireworks, Mexican style. Castillos are castles of fireworks about two stories high. It takes a day or two to build one, and in the daylight, they look like a cross between scaffolding and a tinker toy building. At night, they are lit off in stages, while a brass band plays banda tunes. The bottom is a twirling pinwheel that shoots off sparks, and changes color. The middle is a sign - in this case, Viva la resureccion de Cristo! in flashing colors of pink, green, purple, red. And finally, the crown at the top whirls and sparks and shoots off frisbee-sized halos into the crowd. In between each segment, regular huge 4th of July style fireworks are set off...about five feet from the crowd. The embers fell in our hair, burned our clothes, started some small grass fires and threatened the temporary market set up to sell sweet bread, cajete covered pancakes, candy and other treats. Kids screamed and the crowd ran in fear, only to run back to see the next segment of the castillo set off. Interactive fireworks. A little danger, a lot of color, big bangs, something sweet to eat, a brass band and screaming laughing people. Keys to a successful fiesta.