Again the band wore orange and gave it everything. Five hundred or so, more than the town houses, were seated for lunch, all cooked and served to the table by townsfolk, along with as much beer as could be drunk. Very frail old ladies with hair drawn tight in Karlo like coils, hopeful young families, sharp in cowboy best, groups of gangly, baggy jeans lads, farm hands, business owners, less than a handful of gringos and, as always, scores of very young children, this fiesta was for everyone and everyone sang, danced, ate and drank together for the whole afternoon.
Drawn by a poster announcing the last day of rodeo in the nearby town of Revilcito, we dinghied in early and walked the four miles through the woods, along the beach and then inland, arriving at the plaza an hour early, all the better to share a spot in the shade with a manky old hound and watch the scene unfold. The thirteen piece band: drums, congas, trumpets, clarinets, and singer, but heart and soul the tuba, started warming up at 1.00 and then played at fever pitch, breaking only to change venues, until past midnight, when safely back in our bunk in the anchorage we could still hear the reverberations.
In dribs and drabs they filtered in, until the covered municipal yard was full, the beer was iced and the huge domed clay oven, fueled with coconut husks, was opened. From 2.00 to 5.00 we feasted, one plate replaced with another if wanted and empty bottles replaced with full, all the while conga lines of dancers encouraged with chants from those still seated. One beer server adopted me, ensuring that at least one cold one was always in front of me, whilst periodically silently slapping me on the back as if to say " it's OK, this is for everyone, and you are welcome to."
Replete, we walked the mile or so to the Plaza de Toro, where later in the evening rodeo, in this case bull riders only, had a distinctly Mexican hue. The band played on. The rodeo clowns, who each doubled later as bull riders, danced between bulls to cumbias now so familiar they are part of the landscape.
This whole party was put on by the town for the town at no cost to those attending. This is a town with one paved street, about six stores, no bank, no post office and only the very basics of what we have come to think of as necessities. This joy and conviviality we have seen in several of the small towns we have visited. If it could be captured and put in a bottle it would be worth more than the rarest Tequila and be just as heady.

" We live in a culture that has lost its memory. Very little in the specific shapes and traditions of our grandparents' pasts instructs us how to live today, or tells us who we are or what demands will be made on us as members of society."

Gretel Erlich - The Solace of Open Spaces