an afternoon fiesta.

Me and my gringoness followed closely behind my homestay mother and her youngest daughter as we entered the house. The floor of the main room was covered in fresh green pine needles. At the back of the room stood a large impromtu shrine. In front of the shine on the ground burned 30+ candles.  Each side of the room was lined with friends and family who sat reverently on benches made of cinder blocks/wood planks.

I quickly found myself shaking hands with a well dressed, indigenous, drunk elderly man. I guessed at the peak of his inebriated sway he stood 4'9. He had deep creases running down both sides of his dark face. His Posh (tradional whiskey of Chiapas) smile displayed a chaotic mess. His gums had dark colored gaps, permantent shadows of teeth long gone. The slanted pillars of whiteness that remained were as orderly as a clump of coral cactus. His slurred spanish was far beyond my level of comprension but a smile and nod sufficed. I learned after from Marina, my homestay mother, that it was his party and he was very happy to have us.

After introductions I was instructed to follow a few men behind the house. It was there that I watched as a very large pot was lifted from a square two foot deep hole in the earth. It was lunch. It had been cooking on hot coals for the better part of a day and night. We headed back inside to feast on this incredibly tasty stew.

The meal came to an abrupt halt when the sound of a giant two-man marimba began playing outside. The band was stationed on the lawn over looking the valley and the surrounding geriatric volcanoes.  Dancing of all ages ensued. The sun was warm and high in the sky. The heat was cut by a fresh breeze. Further down in the valley kids dodged in between cows, chickens, and pigs as they chased a kite they made earlier in the day.

Left: a view of the valley. Right: The elder man reaching for soda... for a change.