THE NIGHT BEFORE .. THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS

Night of 23rd December: Posada. I wasn't quite sure what to make of the word (sounds like food to me), but it's something about singing and doing things to remember Mary and Joseph's quest for a place to stay.

We head to Ara's family's street for the night. It kicks off (in a turn-up for the books) on the dot of 8pm as scheduled. We emerge from injecting the turkey with white wine in the kitchen - if I'd known working with syringes was so fun I would have become a doctor - to find all the neighbours walking up and down the street. Two of them are carrying a platform with statues of Mary, Joseph and an angel. Everyone is singing.


Is the donkey trying to bite the angel?

For some reason, tonight is the night the electricity system has decided to crash, so it's all pitch black aside from polystyrene cups with candles burning through the sides and one portable florescent light that adds a slightly 21st century feel to proceedings.

This is a serious business. For the next hour we act out the search for a room. The songs have lyrics that are printed out in a Posada song book and the group splits in two. Half go behind the gate/door of a given property and the other half stand outside singing, "In the name of heaven, don't be inhumane, we're exhausted, I'm a carpenter called Jose".

The people behind the gate sing, "Keep going, I don't have to open up, I don't care what your name is".

And so it goes, back and forth, door to door. At one point the outside group hatches a plan to run away while the inside group is still singing and much hilarity ensues.

Finally we settle on a place, which has four piñatas.. and a steady stream of kids don blindfolds and wildly swing something like a baseball bat dangerously close to cars and spectators. When I say kids, I mean anyone up to the age of 35, so yes, I had a go. I was a bit worried about my new jeans falling down in the middle of my efforts but they made it. Must remember to wear a belt in future.



Fruit falls out and everyone scrambles.

Hot ponche circulates, it's a fruit drink that takes a day to prepare. Tostadas. Sandwiches. Other stuff.

Then we go upstairs where everyone chats and dances. The matriache is old and lost her vocal chords somewhere along the path of life. She is an absolute delight and we sit right in front of the speakers, each trying to decipher what the other is saying. She has turned out a family of beauties, and they all dance around her and later she jigs along. Until 2am.



After 5 farewells (it's a tradition to say goodbye and then keep talking) we finally head across the road for some rest. Tomorrow's a big day.