I have temporarily escaped the wintry weather at home to enjoy a warmer climate in the mountains of Mexico.
The groups of Mexicans milling about puzzled me. Were they waiting for a bus? But there were too many, and as I maneuvered jam-packed sidewalks, I figured out this was more than a casual Sunday afternoon gathering. The crowd spread along the sidewalk and into the street for several blocks.
It was a three-day holiday weekend in Mexico, and I assumed whatever was happening related to the holiday, Mexico’s Constitution Day. The Mexican Constitution was signed on February 5, 1917, during the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920). The document is considered one of the first in the world to recognize social rights, including free education, land reform, and workers’ rights.
The event witnessed, ascertained after questioning locals in my very broken and barely understandable Spanish, marked a different occasion – a religious-based celebration.
Carnival (Carnaval) is a pre-Lent festival that merges Spanish, Indigenous, and African traditions. Events begin 40 days before Lent, and include a series of processions that grow bigger each Sunday, the largest signifying the beginning of Lent, which starts 40 days before Easter. Pre-Lent festivities include spectacles with music, masked participants, and dancing.
The first indication that a procession was about to pass was an old woman carrying a tall stick with smaller sticks of pink cotton candy attached. Cotton candy to me means carnival or parade, followed by sick children.
But I no longer have young kids. No little ones begging me for stomach-churning eats.
I squeezed onto the narrow walkway as the woman and her companions swept passed. Gazing down the street in the direction they came from, I realized something was happening…now. First I heard the music, then spotted the top of a tuba swaying side to side as its musician and accompanists played a knee-thumping number, entertaining spectators and challenging anyone indoors to venture outside and join the festivities.
A swarm of people of all ages swooped down the street, carried along by the moving human wave. Suddenly they arrived at my spot, young folks first, jumping around, moving in and out of the crowd, yelling at friends and bystanders. Many sported white stuff – which I later learned was flour – smeared over their heads, face, hands, and clothes. As they passed they threw tiny flecks of colored paper on me, glitter-like but not shiny, which subsequently adorned my apartment.
The revelers, dressed in casual clothes suitable for a warm sunny day, were followed by masked and costumed performers dancing their way along the road, not in any choreographed pattern, simply rejoicing in the music while regaling onlookers. There didn’t seem to be a particular theme, or so this observer unfamiliar with Mexican traditions presumed. I did not see aliens, animals, or weird costumes.
Horseback riders clasping cans of beer to quench their thirst trailed the masqueraders.
Riders appear on the cobblestone streets of Ajijic fairly often. The horses clomp by my lodging on their way to a tree-covered dirt path in the middle of the road a couple of blocks beyond to hang out and graze, awaiting equestrians.
As the horses disappeared, a lone police vehicle slowly drove down the street. The crowd dissolved, many folks heading to afternoon activities in a nearby park.
I walked back to my accommodations and settled in for an afternoon siesta, a Mexican custom gladly adopted.