Fortunately Daisy seems to find them surprisingly soporific, or barely notices them at all. Perhaps when she is older she will always wonder why she is so sleepy on November 5.
We visit Manuel and Augustina’s church, a distinctively more charismatic experience than the Baptist church we have been attending. The church members are mostly indigenous, so we stick out like a sore thumb, but everyone is very welcoming.
The service features an amazing dance troupe, wearing dresses in what can only be described as grey combat material with glittery swords embroidered on the fronts. They dance for a worship session lasting an hour and twenty minutes, twirling flags, tambourines and streamers, without breaking a sweat (see short video link http://www.facebook.com/video/video.php?v=6882751532).
It’s truly awe-inspiring, but oddly like the friezes of dancing Mayans you see on the temples all across South Mexico. I keep expecting someone’s decapitated head to come bouncing down the steps, and when we get called up to the front I am sure it is going to be us – but fortunately they just want to say good morning.
It’s a day of strange sights – a sheep in a lorry just outside our door in the middle of the city, and a procession in honour of St Martin de Porres (whoever he is), which involves children on floats throwing sweets, and adults walking behind letting off (yes) more fireworks and wearing scary masks. We also see a tour bus that has managed to wedge itself in between two narrow streets, effectively shutting off the traffic for about half the city.
These things between them seem to sum this place up rather well, while the procession also proves that the Catholics here sure know how to party. They are already gearing up for Day of the Dead later this week, and I see people carrying crosses of flowers through the town. The local bread shop is selling “exquisite Day of the Dead bread”, but I’m not quite sure who is supposed to be enjoying it, the dead or the living.
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