Festival De San Andres in Ajijic, Mexico November 2006

Watch the live proceedings of a Mexican fiesta through the eyes of an American expatriate

chillibreeze writer — Sylvia Perkins

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A fiesta in a tiny village in Mexico might sound like a small event, especially if the premise is to pay tribute to the patron saint. However, when the entire population of the village gets together for nine days in a row with one idea in mind, the festival turns into a big extravaganza. My vacation house, located in the center of this pueblo, allows me to witness fully all that transpires.

Meet Saint Andrew

San Andres or Saint Andrew, the patron saint of this village is said to have been crucified on a cross in the form of an X at Patras in Achaea (now Greece). The church in San Andres has a statue of Saint Andrew on the cross.

According to folklore, during a terrible drought many years ago, the farmers prayed to Saint Andrew, asking him to request the good Lord to send rain. When no rain came, the people actually took down his statue from its niche and carried it up the mountain to their “milpas” or crops so that he could “see for himself” how very dry the entire region was. When it still did not rain, they resorted to beating the statue with sticks. Two days later, the rain came.

Saint Andrew was the brother of St. Peter and was born in Bethsaida on the Sea of Galilee. Since he was born a Jew, Andreas was almost certainly not his given name but no Hebrew or Aramaic name is recorded for him. He was a disciple of John the Baptist and was one of the first to follow Jesus. He lived in Capernaum. In the gospels, he is referred to as one of the disciples very close to Jesus.

Andrew preached in Asia Minor and in Scythia along the Black Sea as far as the Volga. Traditionally, he became the first bishop of Byzantium in 38 AD a position, which would later become the Patriarch of Constantinople.

Legends say the local priests sold his relics to the Romans in exchange for the Romans constructing a water reservoir for the city. In recent years, the relics were kept in Vatican City but were sent back to Patras as per the decision of Pope Paul VI in 1964. The relics, which consist of a small finger and part of his cranium, are preserved in the Church of St. Andrew in Patras.

The villager who told me this story said that in mid- 1980, there was a small hole in the tomb where you could insert your finger and touch his cranium, but he himself chose not to.

Saint Andrew must be lucky to be this village’s patron saint. I have never witnessed a bigger party or fiesta. 

The festival

The nine-day event ends on November 30th, his feast. Each day a different group is in charge of honoring the saint, such as those involved in construction, domestic employees, gardeners, professionals, agricultural workers, students, hotel employees, etc. These groups organize fireworks to make sure everyone is called to action leading to worship in the local church. The worship session is followed by merrymaking in the central plaza with music, dancing, eating, drinking, visiting and paseos. We spend six merry days rejoicing and celebrating along with the rest of the village.

On the seventh day

With only three more days to go of the nine, the seventh day starts with a bigger-than-ever "bang"! At 6 AM, or maybe a lot earlier, (we are not sure when because last night's party at the plaza just one block away did not end until 1:45 AM with loud (very loud!) music), church bells began ringing continuously with non-stop fireworks for a full hour. The custom of employing smoke and raucous noise to arouse both mortals and the divine traces back to the rituals of Mexico’s ancient cultures and now characterize the country’s Christian celebrations.

A fireworks primer

Since there is no possibility of escaping the sounds, a basic primer on firework artistry may help enhance our appreciation for the noise, color and touch of danger that are inseparable features of the Mexican fiesta.

“Cohete” means rocket. This firework variety resembles a king-size pop bottle rocket that is gingerly hand-held while the fuse is ignited with a burning cigarette. The “cohetes de trueno” are the “boom booms” that are fired off at frequent intervals to herald the processions, church services and other highlights of the festivities. “Cohetes de luces” shoot up with a gentle fizzle before bursting into colorful comets that light up the night.

The “Salva” is a salute marking the culminating moments of the celebration. A deafening volley is created by several dozen cohetes that are fixed on an iron stand so they can be set off in rapid-fire succession. I saw one being lighted in the church courtyard and the sound practically blew me away!

The main attraction is the “Castillo”, an intricate wood and bamboo tower laced with an assortment of Catherine wheels, fountain, chalices, and other devices shaped into crosses, flowers and other familiar figures. Rigged up to burn in ascending layers, the dazzling Castillo spectacle is reserved as the grand finale of each day’s festivities, usually at 11 PM (when we are trying to sleep). The last stage displays the “corona”, a circular form that spins wildly before whooshing off the castle top to leave a trail of sparks across the dark sky. Our artist-daughter did a painting of one all ablaze and captured the light of it better than any camera would have done.

“Buscapies” (foot or heel chasers) are the devilish squibs often attached to various types of fireworks devices that let out a shrill whistle while whirling through the crowd in random search of a target. So exciting!

“El cohetero” (rocket man) is the fireworks artisan who hand-assembles explosive devices, engineers the pyrotechnical displays and hires out his services to set his creations ablaze. The trade tends to attract incorrigible smokers who commonly use glowing cigarette stubs to light their fuses.

On the eighth day

Wonder what other celebrations are in store for us for the rest of this day. The processions are marvelous with Indians dancing in their pre-Hispanic costumes (beautiful feathered headdresses, rattling nut shells strapped to their legs and arms and wearing very little clothing on their beautiful brown bodies. The accompanying music is done with drums, flutes and large conch shells.

They are followed by the ubiquitous brass bands that play all day long in different neighborhoods where they are offered refreshments of hot canela (a cinnamon tea spiked with brandy). The rockets blast all day long non-stop until November 30th. One actually gets used to the racket; at least we do.

Many villagers follow the bands in procession with lit candles and their offerings for the church where they arrive every night at 7:00 for Mass. When the dancers and musicians enter the church, the sound is deafening. These villagers love loud sounds!

Another memorable day

We hear the band and rockets and run to the corner to watch. The church looks fabulous! The eighth day is sponsored by the gardeners of the village. That meant that besides paying for the music and fireworks, their families carried armloads of flowers along with candles and proceeded to fill the church with them.

We are lucky to find a seat in the crowded church and when the band comes in, playing loudly, the sound is deafening. I actually hold my fingers to my ears. The Guadalajara bishop is in the entrance procession, along with our English-speaking deacon, Michael Closs, and the pastor of this village, Padre Alfredo. Incense fills the air along with music from the choir loft taking over when the band marches out and away.

The last day of the nine-day festival promises to be extravagant. It is sponsored by the "absent sons" or those who have left their native country and families to find work in the United States. These people send as much money as possible to their families with some of it set aside to celebrate the festival on the ninth and last day. I must add that in this new neighborhood of ours, as well as our former one, almost every family on the street has at least one member living in the United States.

Because we personally know these families and their plight, we have become more sympathetic than the average American who wants walls built to keep them out of our country. It is not men alone who make the dangerous trip across the border with a "coyote"; their wives and children too join them later putting their lives at great risk. We have heard many real stories of such border crossings.

The last day of the extravaganza

We awaken at 6 AM today with the first blast of a volley of fireworks. With my coffee in hand, I am out on our street balcony when the band comes by. What a sight! Some villagers were trailing blankets in the cobbles because it was a bit cold--55 degrees. The man carrying the large pot of cinnamon tea spots me and offers me some. His companion holds the bottle of brandy to add to it.

The second time the band comes by, our neighbors are all accepting the drinks and dancing to the music--right there on this rocky street.

The procession coming down Hidalgo was the biggest one of all, so I quickly dress and join them. Every musical group in town is included.

When we all enter the church courtyard, there are two rows of eighteen cute little boys, around 8 or 9 years old, playing bugles and drums dressed in makeshift uniforms of white pants and caps and gold colored ball fringe dripping from the shoulders of their blue sweaters. They are lined up in two rows flanking the path for the priests and altar boys to enter the church followed by all of the musicians.

During Mass, the music comes from the choir with a violin solo and a tenor. The rest of the day is rather ordinary. We proceed to the plaza to see the beautiful fireworks. The Castillo is lit up at 11 PM. The plaza is packed with the biggest crowd I've ever seen. The single boys still walk in one direction to see the girls coming toward them in the other. This is called a "paseo". We return home right after this event, but the music from the plaza goes on for a very long time.

San Andres must have been quite pleased with Ajijic's tribute.

Yes, Festival de San Andres has ended now and the village is quiet.... the silence is deafening.

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—About our writer:

Sylvia Perkins lives part of the year in Ajijic, Mexico with her husband Hal and enjoys writing about the local culture and the wonderful people there.