Random Events - GUELAGUETZA, people!

I've been recently posting about the weeks around the big Lunes de Cerro celebration here in Oaxaca. Tourists descend, locals come out into the streets in droves. Me? I'd prefer to stay at home until the crowds leave. Don't get me wrong--I'm curious about what's going on in the streets. And I tried to get a taste of the little events around town for the weeks leading up to the two Mondays in July that host the big event. But like New York City at Christmastime, I would rather escape to quieter locales, sinking into my hermetic tendencies. I prefer a Oaxaca with empty streets and a quiet Zócalo. I prefer the early-morning-weekend Oaxaca. She is beautiful!

Regardless, the Lunes de Cerros arrived. The main event is the Guelaguetza--a 3-hour long dance performed in the amphitheater that sits atop the Cerro de Fortín (thus, Lunes de Cerro), overlooking the valleys of Oaxaca. Delegations of dancers arrive from all over the state, each representing a different region--the Isthmus, the Coast, the Mixteca, etcetera. Each delegation is selected by their town. They dress "to the nines" in the traditional costume of their town, recreating traditional customs (weddings, baptismal ceremonies), some of which only remain in practice in the Guelaguetza, itself--no longer finding a quotidian place in the community.

I've been hemming and hawing about whether to attend the dance itself. Smaller representations of the dances take place in outlying communities around Oaxaca. I've heard they are great, town-wide parties--less a tourist event, and more a celebration of a village. But I can't find someone last minute to trek out with me to a village to get a look. And a nighttime venture by myself to a lone community seems tricky. Last minute, however, my friend Beca invites me to the main event in the amphitheater; an agency she works with has offered her free tickets. Woohoo!

As I climb the hillside, following families up the cerro towards the stage, I notice police lining almost the entirety of the roadside. In the past the Guelaguetza has been a source of contention between the state government and the disgruntled and often-oppressed protesters in Oaxaca. Other than the parade in front of my house earlier in the week, I don't see any signs of protest today.

The thrum of the crowd grows as I get closer. I have to push through throngs of people, and food vendors once I arrive at the stage. But somehow, miraculously, I am able to find Beca at the entrance of one of the doors into the arena. The sun is beaming today. Everyone is sweating; there is no avoiding it. Hats, seat cushions and t-shirts are passed out as you enter. The sections are separated by price. The ones furthest from the stage, of course, are cheap (some even free). The closer you get, the more you shelled out. And after the first dance, I realize why you might want to pay to get close. We're in the second section (same as the Governor; I can see him just off to my left. It's weird to be so close to someone who you've read so much about.)

You can see them sweeping the stage
here from all the tossed goodies
And while we can see the stage and dancers perfectly--we are just out of range to receive the myriad of gifts chucked into the crowd. At the close of each dance, the dancers pull baskets onto the stage that are filled with "goodies" from their home village. It's mostly bread, chocolate, fruits and veggies. Sometimes a bunch of fresh, tied herbs will get hurled out. But mostly it's whole produce. So that front section gets the majority of the store. Some oranges, appropriately whipped, make it out to my section--but none close enough for me to grab. Boo. It's not that I actually want to eat a piece of bread touched by tons of people; I just want to be a part of the mayhem. At some point, though, I thank god for our seats--as one group hurls grapefruits into the crowd. Jeez!

My friends Beca, Laura and Caitlin don hats--all of us fanning ourselves. It is a hot one. I came equipped with my white reboza. I'm taking a hint from the old women in the villages I've visited. There's nothing like a light shawl to keep your head covered from the sun--but to also allow the heat to escape from the top of your noggin'. It works like a charm!

I'm familiar with a lot of the dances presented here; they're performed throughout the year in different towns during particular festivals. But it's fun to see the explosion of colors from costumes, and headdresses. It's incredible, the quantity of people mashed into the amphitheater, all hooting and sweating. And it's an unbelievable view of the valley. However, after two hours I'm growing bored. It never ceases to amaze me how impatient I am--or better, how patient Mexican people are. From the beauty contest I witnessed in Tlaxiaco, to the despezcuazada I saw in Mixtepec, I can't get over how patiently a crowd here can sit through repetitive dances, speeches, poems, songs. I think my American brain is too demanding of moment-to-moment action. So sad. My seatmates are getting tired, as well. As the lights of the amphitheater are lit, the sky grows darker and ominous. The wind has picked up--which is a welcome respite from the heat. But it's becoming clear that it is going to rain. I've heard rumors that the two days of the year assured for rain, are the Lunes de Cerro days. ¡Es un hecho!

We're holding out for our two favorite dances--La Danza de las Plumas (Feather Dance) and La Danza de las Piñas (Pinneapple Dance). The are strategically placed in the latter half of the performance. But once the Pluma dancers take the stage a very noticeable storm front is marching in from the north. Gretchen taught me that those "smeary clouds" mean rain. I'm convinced that if it begins to rain there'll be a mad rush for taxis down at the main highway; I suggest we leave early. My friends are in agreement. I think they were actually holding out for me--I kept going on about the Pluma dance. So I snap a few of the Pluma guys, and then make my way, stepping around legs and bags and umbrellas to snake my way out through the crowd to the exit.
Just in time! As we climb down the giant staircase that leads to Fortín, the sky breaks open. Laura and I jump into a bus, waving goodbye to Beca and Caitlin, who will return home. Laura and I are off to the Corderos for their annual Lunes de Cerro party. We're a bit late for the sit-down supper. But I'm positive there's more food to be had...

***sadly you can see the glaring difference between the shots Beca took with her glorious, professional-grade camera and mine with its tiny zoom.