Retro Cool

This bar down the block from us has long been intriguing to E. I don't think it's a new found appreciation of Duran Duran, but rather the colorful paintings of Lucha Libre masks and superhero logos hanging on the walls. And for several weeks he begged to go inside.

So one afternoon while K was at a lecture at the Oaxaca Lending Library, I took him in, hoping to hang out for a few minutes and maybe have a cerveza.

But we were thwarted. Four year olds may be allowed to ride on their parents laps on motorcycles with no helmets here in Oaxaca, but they are not allowed to step foot in a karaoke bar at 4 in the afternoon when nobody else is there but the bartender. Oh well, E will have to wait until another day to hear "We Got The Beat".

Senor de Esquipulas

A big chunk of our weekend was taken up by the festival that our neighborhood church (which I say despite the fact that there are at least a half dozen large cathedrals within a five block radius of our house.  But this was one of them) was throwing in celebration of the Senor de Esquipulas, often referred to as the Black Christ.  This is an important and meaningful celebration throughout central America, which you can read about here, but being the heathen that I am I viewed it mostly as a chance to soak in more Mexican culture and traditions.  And this festival was full of them.

Friday night we went to the church in time to hear the end of mass and then watch the churchyard erupt into celebration with music and dancing and chocolate to drink.  We then joined in a calenda, which is a celebratory procession following a truck with the black Christ statue on its back through the streets of the neighborhood, with fireworks and music and giant puppets and dancing.  It was lots of fun.

Sunday afternoon we wandered back over to the church for a cultural festival featuring dance performances from different regions, food, and lots more live music.  E even got to take a turn inside one of the giant puppets:

But the highlight was Sunday evening.  After dinner and some rest at home we returned to the church and watched another procession with the statue, but this one was much more solemn, with quieter music and incense and lots of banners decorated with silver.

 

When the statue returned to the church, the whole place turned back into a party with confetti and more music and dancing.  And a fireworks show.

I know what I said the other day about how fireworks shows were more casual here in Oaxaca, and for the most part I stand by it.  But last night was the exception that proves the rule, as it was just like an American fireworks spectacular in scope, but not in content.  You see, when we arrived at the church on Sunday afternoon we saw what already looked like a pretty big structure covered with firecrackers.

But that was nothing compared to what it looked like later in the evening:

I would guess it was fifty or sixty feet tall.  And covered with firecrackers decorated as words and flowers and Guadalupes and a Christ figure.  And when it was time for the show, it was indeed quite a show.  There was dancing -- including a series of people dancing in a cow costume that was covered with firecrackers that were shooting off while they were dancing! -- and there were angels made out of firecrackers that flew into the air as they were going off.  And there was that structure itself.  Which did not actually seem quite this scary when it was doing its thing, but still sent smoke and debris and sparks everywhere.

I'm not sure I have seen anything quite like this show.  The closest thing would be at a festival that Fort Worth held in conjunction with the 1995 MLB All-Star game, but that had those pesky safety standards that Americans seem to hold dear, whereas this was just lights and colors and noise.  And smoke.  Lots of smoke.  It was quite an event.

Gunpowder and sky

One of the things about Oaxaca is that there are a lot of fireworks. A lot. In my experiences in the US, fireworks typically mean a big event -- the Fourth of July or a carnival or something -- and they come in big elaborate shows, often with synchronized music. Not here. Pretty much every evening there are fireworks somewhere around town, and they often come in very short bursts. An explosion here, an explosion there. Sometimes on a weekend, sometimes just on a Tuesday afternoon. Sometimes it seems to be at a party or a church, but other times it is just kids playing in a park.

At first, my inclination when I heard fireworks was to run outside and watch the show or to try to figure out what the event was that was inspiring them. But over the last few weeks I have realized this is a futile effort. By the time you look up the show is likely to be over, and who knows when the next explosion will be. I am slowly getting used to this and realizing that I should just enjoy the lights when I see them and not worry about the ones I am missing because there will be some more soon.

There's probably a deeper life lesson there, but I'm just going to go back to my taco now.

Earthquake!

Really! At the end of my yoga class this morning, we were all seated on the ground for meditation, and we all felt the temblor. It was awesome and profound, not scary at all. In that moment, I realized I had been subconsciously hoping to experience an earthquake while we were here. When I checked the news, it turns out there have been several earthquakes in the 5-6 range since we've been in Oaxaca. I guess we just need to start paying attention.

Born To Be Wild

It will probably come as little surprise that the standards for road safety here in Oaxaca are not quite what we are used to back in the States. We regularly see kids riding in the back of pickup trucks (not to mention the police carrying their assault weapons), kids riding on the laps of the person driving a car, or men riding on the back of flatbed trucks through town. And lest I seem too high and mighty, there is certainly some relief that comes from not needing to use a carseat for our fifty pound preschooler. But it does make it hard to explain to said preschooler why it is that he can't ride in the back of a pickup truck or, as he seems to ask me every day, why I won't buy a motorcycle so that he and I can ride on it together. "Cmon, Dad, it would be so much fun!" I'm not sure where this fantasy comes from, but I sure hope that it dies down before Bike Week.