Navidad en Ensenada

It didn’t look or smell much like Christmas in Ensenada. Not with the hot sun beating down against the torn-up concrete. Not with the cumbia music blaring from the passing cars. Not with the aroma of sizzling fish emanating from the taco stands. I couldn’t even spot a single snowbank.

But some things were the same. Just like at home in Toronto, Christmas in Ensenada really began on the 24th. Here, what seemed like the entire city flocked to one particular Church for evening mass. Cars stretched around the building in every direction, crowding the dirt roads surrounding the parking lot. At the Church itself, people spilled out of the doors to fill a hastily-arranged patio. People smiled. They hugged each other. They sang along to the hymns.

Just like in Toronto, much of the night wss devoted to eating. This was my third day with Ruth, Erika, and Enadina, a wonderful family who have taken me in for the holidays. After mass (common practice for Enadina, a rarity for her backsliding daughters), we all headed over to eat with some family at Javier and Susy’s home. Dinner was pozole, a traditional stew of meat and corn.
Javier was also happy to share the traditional tequila.

The group seemed excited to have a random Canadian joining them for Christmas. And I was thankful. With my mind often wandering to family in Toronto and loved ones across the country, I was happy to have found such a welcoming space for the holidays. And even though my Spanish wasn’t yet good enough for smooth conversation, my hosts were content working slowly with me.

Christmas Day was more of the same. I don’t usually begin Navidad with a dip in the ocean, but it’s a routine I could get used to. The streets were quieter through the afternoon, most folks at home with family.

By evening, we were back at Susy and Javier’s for more food (and a gift of boxed chocolates for the Canadian!). Eventually, Ruth and I headed over to a friend’s Christmas party.

Very fun. Ruth’s friends were upbeat and welcoming. And with a few English speakers in attendance, I enjoyed the chance to speak freely in my native tongue. So far, complete immersion in Spanish had been exhausting: when Mexicans get yammering in full flow, all I can do is sit and stare.

I chatted a bunch with Elizabeth and Robert, Mexican-Americans siblings born here but raised in San Diego. I craved their effortless bilingualism. And since Elizabeth’s birthday was at midnight, we all headed downtown for some live music (Takon Machine) and dancing.

So far, Mexicans have displayed an obvious joie-de-vivre. People are happy and social here. They speak quickly and laugh often (although I can’t always understand the jokes). It was more of the same tonight: plenty of eating and drinking and banter, before an excellent night of dancing. (I’d left home thinking my dance moves were alright, but I’m a rank amateur in this country.)

Ruth and I returned home to Abasolo late, ears ringing but feeling happy.