At 9 I met the Instagrammer at the spot from where one can catch colectivos to Tlacolula’s Sunday market. It was a pleasant journey, quite chatty. I told hre about my limpia, she told me about her limpia, and with this early morning exchange of innermost secrets it was easy to get along.
We arrived at Tlacolula fairly early, around 10, but both being very hungry we immediately bought half a grilled chicken to share. Very tasty, and not at all what I would normally do with the Gentleman Friend. Then some strolling around and we found an ancient woman selling gathered skirts in white cotton, of a type that is slowly dying out. The instagrammer bought herself the full outfit. They were very beautifully worked, though less ornate than the one the seller herself wore. I was bit envious of the Instagrammer’s purchase but then there was so much fabric in the skirt that it was quite heavy so it would have been hard to transport. Moreover, I am not sure that the heavy pleating would suit my more rounded figure as well as it did the straighter-hipped types.
A bit more strolling, in the course of which we admired the lovely damask roses, had some chocolate to drink with a concha, and nearly bought an apron each. I did buy a couple of jicara bowls, which I’d had my eye on for a while. Then on we went to Teotitlan, where today was the final day of the Dance of the Feather, the Danza de la Pluma. This is a Zapotec village famed for its carpet weaving and they celebrate this traditional dance every year, in honour of the blood of Christ it is said, but over several days the dance tells the tale of the Spanish conquest. The main characters are Moctezuma and Malinche, the latter played by two girls, one representing the indigenous Malinche pre-conversion and the other, in a pink silk dress and hat, the Christian Malinche. I am told that the boys who do the dance, wearing tall round feathered headdresses, woven stockings and images of the crucifixion on their backs, are sworn to join the dance at birth and, when they reach the correct age, are bound to perform it for several years.
It was certainly magical, sitting in the courtyard of the church hung with buntings, with the vividly green sacred hill behind, the young men in their feathers leaping and dancing to a full band, occasionally stopping for a few lines of dialogue or for a dance by Moctezuma or the two Malinche characters. All around them roved two fools, with black boar masks, there to help the dancers but also to provide comic relief. Strange how common that fool is in the most sacred contexts – perhaps not altogether strange, but certainly notable that in dance of the Tibetan monks half a year ago and now, there were identical characters.