(This post going out to Beth, Hunter, Taos, Eli, Estella, Denis, Kelly, Helen, Dave, Cindy and Leo for being such wonderful and welcoming friends during our time in San Cris).
Easter seems to be a completely different story in Mexico. Apparently it doesn't celebrate the birth of a bunny after all.
On Thursday night the Zocalo (main square, plus every other street and square for that matter) was full of people. There seemed to be a natural flow between the square and the cathedral - outside buying food and knitted things by torchlight, groups talking and laughing, out for the night - without changing pace and still chomping on tamales people came into the church, knelt before statutes brought into the aisles, kissed robes, lit candles, lifted children so they could touch, not pausing to genuflect, which was done often. Not to say it was irreverent or without feeling - quite the contrary, it seemed familial, natural, and honest.
And the explosions! So many explosions. And bells, all day and night, all weekend and all the week leading up to Easter and all the week after. They must have a very sleepy God here in Mexico.
Friday morning Artie and I got up early for a bit of a church tour (there are 3 major churches within 500m of us). There was lots more statue touching as they were mounted for the procession later that day, loads of candles and floors covered in mountains of beautifully scented pine needles (which confusingly, reminded me of Adelaide and of Christmas). Chamomile was big too, as statues of Christ's body were kissed and rubbed and adored and then whacked with bunches of the stuff. We had in true Australian fashion prepared for a commercial lock-down over the Easter weekend, and had war-loads of eggs, cheese, bread, milk and beer pre-purchased, thinking we were very clever. But on Semana Vierne everything was open, in fact the town was more vibrant than ever. Art and I went on to watch a re-enactment of the Passion in the Plaza Mexicanas (poor, cute Mexican Jesus!), and then met Andy and LuLu in the bustling market. Without warning there was a sudden and steady torrential downpour, and a whole market-load of people piled into church. We caught the last of the service, most people nursing a staute of the Virgin of Guadalupe in their laps, chatting, talking to the kids, babies gurgling, oldies singing loudly. I like it how they call Jesus 'El Señor'. No one moved after the service, it was really bucketing down, and there was a lovely feeling of camaraderie as we waited it out. I did think of suggesting the priest handed round the port, but the clouds of incense were enough to keep us giddy and giggling. Andy amused himself by remember the Simpsons episode where they get snowed into the church - when Lisa starts to pray Bart says "Lisa, this is neither the time nor the place".
25 minutes later we decided to make a run for it - the rain had died down a bit but we hadn't counted on the waterfalls pouring off the cathedral, making the cobbled plaza into a river. There was literally water cascading down the stairs, we ran home (not far) ankle deep in water, laughing somewhat hysterically all the way. Had hot showers, made pizza, drank wine, then snuggled up and read stories to the kids (finished 'Alice in Wonderland' and started 'Fantastic Mr Fox') listening to the rain plopping on the clay roof tiles.
That evening we caught a flick at the Ambulante Film Festival (free, of course, with an amazing program), then picked up some cheap and delicious tacos al pastor (fresh corn tortillas with pork off a spit and pineapple and coriander salsa) and a litre (mas o menos... okay, mas) of beer. Good Friday night in San Cristobal was as lively as ever. People were out for dinner or following processions or doing a bit of both, lots more genuflecting, shopping, candle borrowing. There is an amazing and wonderful sense of a public life here. Kind of like you could never really feel lonely.
And throughout all this there was not one single sign of an easter egg.
Apologies for the very lateness of this post (and bad grammar). Some mysterious mental blockade has been keeping me from it... also from my diary and from taking photos. Denial at being over half-way through our trip? Probably. We're now in Morelia, on the other side of the country, a completely different story. I will need to write again soon. xxx
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