SHAKIRA SHAKIRA!!!!

If I could swap identifities with any woman in the world, I'm sorry Hilary Clinton, but it would be Shakira.

Which is lucky, really, because I'm sure she would feel the same way... about me.

Having temporarily forgotten that her concert was on last night, I had to make a last-minute dash into el Centro when Tara and Gabe discovered everything was ready to rock'n'roll. The Zocalo in Mexico City is huge, and was completely crammed with people from six hours before the show. To give an indication of the level of pants-wetting going on in Mexico, they closed all other tourist attractions (museums etc) for the entire day.

With lyrics like these, you can understand why:

For you, I'd give up all i own
And move to a communist country
If you came with me, of course
And I'd file my nails so they don't hurt you

Mmmm... the layers of meaning.

The goal of finding G&T in the middle of a crowd of 200 thousand people was an epic journey that served as a personal metaphor for life. I spilled out of the metro and followed the hoards of post-adoscent boys, trying to look less excited than they actually were, but unwittingly giving themselves away by sporting even more hair gel than usual.

Extraordinarily, Mexico was exhibiting very strange behavioural symptoms. Anyone who's seen people drive in this part of the world will be shocked to discover that 10 blocks from the entrance, people started forming a line. For a free concert. I mean, there weren't even any gates to get through.

No thanks. I joined the flow of people walking alongside the self-imposed line-followers... and eventually - like a leaf floating on the river - found myself up against a dam wall. Bodies jam-packed beside each other as far as the eye could see.

HTF was I going to get to the other side of the square, and then into the middle?

Firstly I pretended I was 'someone' and entered the restricted section. Not so hard when you're wearing the outfit I had on.



Just kidding. We bought the Shakira! shirts and headbands after the show. I crossed half the width of the square in this manner.

Next, I joined a snake of adolescent crowd-pushers and let them carry me halfway to the stage, looking blank... as though it wasn't my fault I was being pushed in front of all the people who'd been waiting in the sun for hours on end. The only trade-off was that the guy behind me erection-assaulted me, so I turned around, scowled, and pointed my finger at him in a menacing way. Cheeky bugger.

Then I had to go several hundreds of people deep - left. This was the hardest part, I was on the phone trying to ubicarme... shouting 'Shatara Shatara, your hips don't lie underneath your clothes'. I could see people around me souring at the thought I didn't even know Shakira's name (not realising that I was doing a clever sample of song lyrics and then morphing with the name of my friend).

To anyone who tried to block my way, I looked helpless and said 'I'm alone... and lost', which was actually true.

Finally Tara's face, partly obscured by a black Shakira! headband, appeared through the crowd. It was quite a moment.

(Just to spell out the life metaphor: to reach the final goal, sometimes there'll be obstacles, sometimes you'll have to bend the truth a little, need the help of other people... and sometimes men will try to rub their penises on you even when you don't want them to. But if you stick to the goal, you'll make it. Phew)

When I say we 'saw' Shakira, it's actually a bit of a stretch. The Zocalo is flat, and Mexico has discovered periscopes - long cardboard boxes wtih mirrors in the top to see over the crowd. Now, if one or two people have a periscope, they are a great concept (for the people in possession). If everyone has one, well we're back to square one aren't we?



Everyone had one.

Tara, Gabe and I spent the entire duration playing pass-the-periscope, so for approximately one third of the show, I could look through a 4 square centimetre mirror, through a very thick forest of cardboard, to slivers of Shakira displayed on a screen. Seeing the actual flesh and blood on stage was completely out of the question, although I think I may have seen one of her sleeves once.

The rest of the night was spent looking up at the aforementioned forest of cardboard.

My usual thought in visually-challenged situations like this is, 'oh well, I'm here for the music... at least I get to hear this at live. Wow!'

Well, I don't like Shakira's music. I like Shakira. Also, Mexicans love a good sing along, and they know all the words to every song. Unfortunately the guy behind me had a great set of lungs, and was tone deaf.

So there we go, the life metaphor extends: sometimes you discover the thing you battled for and strained towards is an elusive illusion obscured by cardboard and drowned out by a cacophony.