Carnaval

Day 2

Wailing sirens stopped me from the final act of despair. I was getting ready to stop the horror. Four hours ago, I took my place on the cold metal bleachers waiting for the opening parade of the Veracruz Carnaval, and I was still waiting. I tried several remedies for my growing frustration. I walked the parade route one mile in each direction, I watched bikini-clad girls gyrating their hips on an elevated stage, and I attempted to meditate in the midst of thousands of people. All the attempts failed, and my depression deepened. I watched street vendors dispensing gallon-sized beer bottles, and maybe perversely, decided against this sort of depression medication. After the warning sounds, the crowd in the street below started moving slowly but uniformly away from the direction of the sirens. Soon, a police phalanx, carrying transparent shields, and wielding long batons, cleared the route. The parade has arrived. One uninspired float followed another, interspersed with marching bands composed of middle-aged men. Only one Samba school, featured feather plumed, half-naked dancers, and managed to introduce a bit of sex appeal into the festivities.

It was after eleven pm when the parade ended, and we hurried to the masked ball at the Cultural Center. We arrived just as the costume competition was about to begin. Formally- dressed guests sat around an elevated walkway and voted by clapping. The costumes were elaborate. It was clear that the competitors put a lot of thought and effort into the preparation. The audience eliminated my favorite contestant in the first round, but I have to admit that the winning costume was colorful and imaginative. When the Danzon band returned and dancing resumed, Adi and I got onto the dance floor. Danzon classes as well as Wednesday night practice in Oaxaca, allowed us to have fun without embarrassing ourselves. In fact, several of the guests provided us with compliments as well as dance tips. Another dancer who also drew attention was Cha-cha-cha from Guanajuato. He competed as "El Danzonero" wearing a bright red suit with matching hat and shoes. His color and flair stood out, as he masterfully guided several partners through elegant Danzon maneuvers. It did not take long for Cha-cha-cha to ask for my permission, and escort Adi to the dance floor. I watched them dance, and after concluding that although he is a better dancer, I look better; I relaxed, and accepted the invitation of an elderly senora. Around two in the morning, the band concluded, and we bade goodnight to our new acquaintances. Before departing, Cha-cha-cha made us promise to meet him at tomorrow's Danzon event.

Day 3

Torrential rain hitting the roof woke us up the next morning. Towards evening, the storm subsided, allowing the parade to proceed as scheduled. We decided to skip it. Armed with a schedule of the Carnaval activities, we went to the first public event of the evening, a Salsa band. Salsa was another subject of our dance curriculum in Oaxaca, and we happily joined the celebrating crowd in the small plaza. As happened the previous night, being obviously foreign, and displaying a passable skill at Latin dancing, we attracted several new friends. As I warmed up with the fast-paced Salsa and lavish praise, I had my epiphany. Carnaval is about dancing in the street, not about sitting in a parade.

"Hola amigos" a loud hoarse voice hailed us.

I turned to see Cha-cha-cha, weaving his way across the packed plaza, wearing the same fancy red outfit. Soon he was dancing with Adi. At the end of that dance, a short white-haired octogenarian saw his opening. He stood up from the bench where he sat with his son (sixty plus), and asked Adi for a dance. The cute couple had great fun inventing comic variations of the traditional Salsa. The son and I watched them intently. I was looking for a good camera angle, while he probably hoped that this would not end in a stroke. The dance ended safely to the thundering applause of the audience surrounding the plaza. As the band concluded the last dance, Cha-cha-cha, again, promised to meet us at the Danzon event.

Getting to the Danzon plaza required a taxi ride: Skip. Another stage featured a rock band: Skip. The Zocalo main event was already too crowded for fun (See day 1): Skip. We chose a Latin band playing in another small plaza. With his back to us, next to one of the tables surrounding the plaza, we saw Cha-cha-cha in his flaming red suit. He did not go to the Danzon. We chose a different table. He came to our table to talk, but did not follow up with an invitation to dance. Maybe he suspected we were avoiding him. For the rest of the night it was just the two of us. We danced Salsa, we danced Cumbia, we danced Son… We danced until our shirts were wet and our feet were sore. Then we went home. Carnaval is fun.

Day 1

I did not forget day 1, I just try to ignore it.

Dense fog on the highway made the four-hour trip from Oaxaca a ten-hour ordeal. I had to apologize to the hotel receptionist for being irritable. After the annoying check-in process, we walked to the Zocalo. It was after ten PM, the main event was already in progress. I could hardly see Alejandro Fernandez (A Mexican celbrity) on the giant TV screen, let alone the stage itself. We walked back to the hotel.

Day 4

The Carnaval will continue without us. We headed for the beaches of Costa Esmeralda to decompress.

Post Script

Just prior to publishing this blog, a crowd was gathering in the center of Jalapa (Home of the Jalapeno chili) to watch a mini Carnaval parade. I learned my lesson, and went instead to "Shalom", an Israeli restaurant, to try their Labane. It is almost authentic.

Danzon

Oaxaca is not Paris. A tall metal tower does not hover over its squat skyline, a river does not cross its dry, sunny streets, and most importantly, no bridges wait for lovers to embrace and kiss. Nonetheless, Oaxaca generates its own warm romance. On Wednesday nights, when the marimba band plays under the giant laurel tree, magic flows over the Zocalo. If the old tree could speak, it would tell many stories of couples, young and old, that fell under the spell. This is one story.

Claudia did not want to take the midnight flight back home. She enjoyed her week in Oaxaca. In Oaxaca, she was again that Claudia from a long time ago, young, optimistic, and vibrant. She did not look forward to returning to her empty apartment in Buenos Aires, but the thought of the children, her Dance Therapy students made her smile. She decided not spoil the last few hours of her visit with gloomy thoughts. She packed her suitcase, said her goodbyes, and set out to stroll the Zocalo.

By the time she arrived, the sky was already dark, and floodlights illuminated the stone-sculptured saints on the cathedral façade. She was wearing only T- shirt and jeans, and she hoped the air would stay warm a bit longer. She approached a gathering of people near the cathedral. A large band sat under the laurel tree, trumpet players warming up their instruments and marimbas running thorough limbering routines. A smartly dressed audience sat on folding chairs, which were arranged in a U shape, leaving a large empty space in front of the band. Tonight, she realized, was Wednesday Danzon night, a Oaxacan tradition. A special farewell party for me, she happily concluded.

A slim and energetic older man took the microphone and welcomed the audience. The band sounded the first beats, and a few dozen couples stepped unto the dance floor. They were mostly over-fifty, and looked very elegant in their formal dresses and evening gowns.

I am almost the right age, but definitely underdressed, she thought.

Engaging arms, the couples walked majestically to the center of the floor, facing the band. After a few more beats of the music, the women twirled to face their partners and stood in a ballroom embrace. As the music switched into a new rhythm, all couples began dancing in unison. The slow measured rhythm of this Cuban dance, reminded Claudia of the Tango of her native Argentina. This is simpler than Tango, she thought, I could dance that. She moved closer to the dance floor and tried to imitate the steps.

Mike's flight arrived from California earlier this morning, he just concluded his first shift as a volunteer physician at a village clinic, and he was now watching the dancers in the Zocalo. He was not tired. He liked this pace. He came for a week, and he intended to experience Oaxaca fully during this time. A colleague at the clinic, knowing his love of dancing, showed him the Danzon steps and directed him to the Zocalo. At first, Mike observed the dancers from the sidelines. He focused on an older, formally dressed couple that danced simply yet elegantly. His long experience with different dance styles helped him to grasp the steps, and within a few minutes, he was ready to start dancing. Next, he scanned the audience for potential partners. A slim woman in her forties wearing a tight white T-shirt stood out among the aging couples and heavy-set matrons. She stood in the isle, watching her feet, and moving to the music. He liked the way she moved. He watched her intently, willing her to look up.

When Claudia did look up, she saw a pair of dark eyes looking at her. It was an older man, grey hair, medium height, looking athletic and strong. She did not avert her gaze. Neither did he. She saw him smile, and smiled back, unaware that her feet were still moving to the music. The music stopped, and without breaking eye contact, he made his way across the dance floor towards her. She observed him with a professional eye. Confident and well coordinated, she thought, he would make a good dance partner. The introductory notes of the music sounded again. Now facing her, the man extended his hand.

"Hi," he said in English, "Would you like to dance?"

Without replying, she took his hand, and together they walked to the dance floor. Watching the other dancers, they listened for the musical signal, then began to dance. He was a good dancer and her Tango training allowed her to move with the rhythm and comfortably follow his lead. Gradually they grasped the dance sequence and became a team, flowing smoothly with the music.

"You dance beautifully." He said.

He maybe exaggerating a bit, she thought but returned the compliment. "Thanks. You are a much better dancer."

"I am Mike."

"Claudia."

He looked at her, and she felt his hand tighten its hold on hers. They turned their attention back to the dance. The music transitioned to a faster pace, and their movements became livelier. He was clearly more comfortable in this free style, and she liked the way he made her twirl right, left, once and again. This was fun, she concluded, as the music ended with a flourish.

The announcer approached them while they were walking to the sidelines and wanted to know where they are from. In the few minutes that followed, after establishing that her English is better than his Spanish, they quickly exchanged basic biographical information. The announcer that stepped the front, microphone in hand, interrupted the exchange.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Visitors from all over the world come to the Wednesday Night Danzon," he proclaimed, and pointing as he spoke, he continued, "Here, we have a couples from Mexico city, there, from Canada, over there, in black, a señorita from South Korea, and in the white shirt, a couple from Argentina and California"

The crowd applauded as Claudia and Mike raised their arms and bowed.

The introductory music resumed, and they returned to the dance floor. This time, Claudia was more relaxed, and let her body enjoy the movement. She knew that their embrace was tighter than protocol allowed, but she welcomed the feeling of a man's body so close to her. It has been a while, she thought. She could feel Mike was also enjoying the intimate embrace. The fast music arrived, and they let themselves go free, twisting, circling, and turning in quick succession. The workout made her sweat, and at the end of the song, she accepted Mike's suggestion to get a drink.

They picked a table under the arched walkway surrounding the Zocalo. Around them, tourists and locals alike were drank and ate while watching life on the square. Claudia asked for a beer, and agreed to taste the Mezcal that Mike ordered. They talked, eager to learn more about each other. She saw the disappointment on Mike's face when she told him of her midnight flight.

Mike took her hand, "Why don't you change your flight and stay a few more days?"

"I am sorry, but I can't," she said, placing her hand on his, "I have to be back at work"

"Come to my room, then?"

"This is crazy," she said flushing, "I have never done something like this."

"Come to my room, and then decide," implored Mike, caressing her hair and cheek.

She did not reply, examining her feelings, and then she smiled and nodded.

The short walk to his room, passed as in a dream. They walked side by side, holding each other tightly, stopping every few steps to kiss. She liked his soft lips, and tried not to think about the flight home. In his room, he turned the iPod on, and they danced. She liked the music, and wanted to know the source.

"Enigma," he replied, "my favorites."

They moved slowly to the soft sound. Their embrace tightened as they gave themselves to the music. She felt his hand on her bare back. It was warm and strong. Suddenly she became aware of being alone with a stranger, in a strange house.

"I am not sure I like this," she whispered.

Mike loosened his embrace, "I will walk you home anytime you like," he said, and looking at her eyes he added, "I hope you stay."

She looked at him carefully. He is a good man, she concluded, then closed her eyes, and let her tension dissipate with the music. She felt Mike leading her to the bedroom and his bed. Without opening her eyes, she let herself down on her back. He softly kissed her lips. The kiss was not enough, she wanted to feel his body. She peeled his shirt off, and let him do the same to her T-shirt. She pulled him close to her.

"I like your smell," she whispered.

Mike cupped her breast with his hand and kissed it. He touched her gently at first, then with increasing pressure. She felt an invisible conduit transferring the energy of his kiss from her nipple down to her vagina. Her hips were writhing, seeking his presence. Mike placed himself between her legs and kissed her other breast. Her breath became shallow, and she heard herself whimpering softly. She needed him, now. She felt Mike lifting himself of her, and walking to the dresser. She was relieved to realize that she would not have to remind him to use protection. When Mike came back, he stood next to the bed, caressed her face with one hand, while his other slowly travelled over her body, as if tasting her neck, her breasts, her thighs... He put his hand between her legs and she pushed herself against him. His fingers inside her made her arch her back in desire. When she thought she could no longer stand the anticipation, he took his hand away, and slowly entered her.

He was on top of her, his hands holding her face. She felt his gaze, and looked up. She saw kindness and happiness in his face, and she lifted her head and kissed him. This is right, she thought. She felt love flowing between them. His hips started moving slowly and she responded. Older men are better lovers, she concluded. Now, they were dancing a different kind of dance. She could feel him inside her, caressing her, loving her, and she did the same. They moved faster. "More, more" she cried. "You are beautiful" he responded. She lost awareness of her surrounding. She was floating in a warm darkness. All she could feel was a hot white pressure rising within her, until she could no longer contain herself and with a loud cry, she came.

As they relaxed on the bed, he wiped tears of happiness from her eyes. She could not remember feeling so good before.

"You are wonderful," he said.

She nodded in silent agreement. I want to stay like this forever, she thought, but said, "I have to go".

They knew that outside would be cold, and she wore Mike's sweater for the walk back to her room. They walked side, holding hands. In the Zocalo, the Danzon was over, the crowds were thinner, and street musicians entertained the café clients.

"Are you hungry?" asked Mike.

Claudia realized that she was. They walked over to a street stall and ordered corn on the cob.

"Con todo?" the vendor inquired with a smile.

She agreed, and took a corn covered with mayonnaise, coconut chips, chili powder, and a twist of lemon. Never did a corn taste better. Life was good. She was ready to go home.