A few weeks into semester there was a planned excursion to Tuxpan, a relatively nearby ‘pueblo’ or small rural town that was home to a religious festival each year towards the end of January, it just so happened that this year the festival fell on my birthday, the 27th of January. The festival was an authentic celebration of Mexican faith, a traditional festival that honoured this unique brand of Catholicism, as a result almost all international students were encouraged to head along.
On the day of the festival the students piled into a convoy of private buses owned by the University, which then slipped out of the cast iron gates of the campus and set out along the highway across the desolate landscape towards Tuxpan. Stepping off the bus, a group of two hundred foreigners from Europe, Asia, Australia and North American were hardly inconspicuous but the attention of the locals was firmly focused on the events at hand. We all wandered towards the centre of town, unsurprisingly we congregated around a large Church, as I would find during the rest of my time in Mexico and on my travels throughout the countryside, the Church would almost always provide the centre piece and the most impressive piece of architecture for any village or town no matter what the size, a remnant of Spanish colonialism.
As we approached we saw the Church entrance surrounded by locals that overflowed out through the large doors into the adjacent town square. There were those who were there as believers but mere observers and those dressed up in a rainbow of different colours and outfits clearly prepared to take part in some of the celebrations that were to follow shortly. Not long after we arrived a large group spilled out from the tall wooden doors of the church and stood a flight of stairs above the crowd, together grasping wooden carvings of three distinctly religious figures, they made their way through the crowd slowly and gently to a mix of different sounds, a mariachi band off to the side were responsible for much of the atmosphere and the procession moved forwards in harmony with the sounds that they spewed forth. From the crowd of followers came a mix of clapping and singing and the slap of metal on wood as dancers energetically played their improvised instruments. The atmosphere was intoxicating and it was impossible not be energised by the steady flow of this river of people that sprung forth from the church and gained volume as soon as it spewed into the square. About a hundred or so metres in front of the church the procession came to a halt as the music and dancers continued to move energetically behind the wooden figures, the head of the group then split into three. After asking a nearby local, I was told that each of the figures went off in a different direction through the city and it was your choice as to whom you wanted to follow. The decision seemed largely arbitrary, there was an equally large group of locals following each of the figures and they all contained a group of dancers and musicians who created the fantastic atmosphere that trailed behind the wooden figures. With a couple of other students, together we followed the group through a number of narrow streets for about half an hour, the town had clearly shut down business for the day as those not directly involved in the procession stood out the front of their houses, waving and smiling as everyone passed. Eventually the crowd reached a dead end and from the back of the group came a push to cram everyone in as close as possible, a generous attempt to involve everyone as intimately as possible more than anything else, personal space and preciousness had no place at a time like this. The music continued to blare, scented smoke filled the air, fireworks shot from rooftops all around and the wooden figure was passed to the front of the crowd and adorned atop a small stage that had been carefully erected in the middle of the street. Children danced in the street, playing their instruments loudly as everyone bore a smile and watched on intently.
After the ‘formalities’ of the celebration had ended we wandered carelessly through the streets where groups of neighbours continued to dance in the streets together in carefully choreographed pieces. When we stopped to observe we were offered drinks and food from every direction, part of the festival was the sharing of traditional food and drink that was generously provided by those who had stayed at home. The speciality of the day was a weakly alcoholic ‘ponche’ that came in a range of different shades of red and maroon and was deliciously sweet. As you wandered the streets with an empty, or half empty cup for that matter, local mothers would spring forth with a large jug of their special blend of ponche and re-fill your small plastic cup before you had a chance to protest.
While for some, tokens such as the generous feeding of strangers in the midst of a festival may not seem particularly significant or meaningful, for me, both at the time and upon reflection, the hospitality shown to us as obvious outsiders said much about those locals. When viewed in combination with the rest of that day and the rest of the celebration it said much about their sense of community and togetherness largely through their shared faith in the Catholic Church. Coming from Australia such togetherness and sense of community are not always evident in the same way. Although as a result of Australia’s significant multiculturalism and religious diversity minorities will often have similar celebrations or festivities, those without a direct cultural heritage to somewhere outside Australia such as myself seem to lack the cultural richness that was so obvious on this day. More than anything this is a positive reflection on Mexican culture than a criticism of Australia. The day left me with a lasting impression of Mexico’s great cultural richness, the kind, loving and proud way that we were received and how the experience was shared with us.
No comments:
Post a Comment