Day Ten.

Today's assignment: Get ready to let go.

Our last day in Teotitlan. Our last plates of fresh mango and papaya, our last breakfasts made by Josefina, Magda, and Rosa. Our last time wandering around the village. Our last time buying chocolate and water bottles from our friendly corner drug store. Our last time seeing Omar.

All of the lasts we had today may sound insignificant, silly. We've only spent collectively about twenty days here. We've spent less than three weeks with Omar. But somehow, Teotitlan has become a place more

dear to us, more significant, than places we've spent years in. Omar has become one of our best friends, what the Irish call anam cara. This is not an ordinary place. It gets under your skin, latches onto every part of you, long after you have left it. It is a home. 

This is not the first time we have had to leave our Teotitlan. We had to make the same painful departure exactly one year ago. But this year is a little different. Last year, we already knew we would be returning this summer, we could reassure ourselves by making plans for what we would do the next time around. Tomorrow, when we load into a taxi in front of Las Granadas, it may be the last time we see that beautiful turquoise door. Tomorrow, we watch Teotitlan disappearing through the car windows, not knowing when we will be able to return. Not knowing when we will see our new family here again. Not knowing how long it will be until we see Omar's face.

Tonight, I am not writing about the day's activities or what we saw and did. This single place, this single small village, has created changes in me, in us. Sam Robbins, our teacher and mentor, once gave us her rules to photography. Her wisdom has always transcended a single subject, and with her words, I can make sense of these ten days. Tonight, I am remembering everything Teotitlan has taught me, not only about photography and capturing a place, but how a place can capture you, every last part of you. 

Teotitlan del Valle.

Our Omar.

Rule Number One. Move your feet.

 

Behind a camera, you have to move to get the best shot. If you stay still, you'll get the same frame over and over. You'll never find that one, wonderful photograph.

Without moving our feet, getting our of our comfort zone, we would never have landed ourselves in Teotitlan. Standing still, we would've remained ignorant of the wonder and beauty that awaited our discovery so very far from home. How different things would've turned out, for all of us.  With that one decision, we flipped our worlds upside down and found the image we'd unknowingly been looking for for years.

Rule Number Two. Look for the light.

Without light, a camera cannot function. No light means no photograph.

It is easy in this day in age to see the bad, the ugly, the evil, the darker side of things. Nobody, and no place, is perfect. But it is truth that everything has its light, if only you look for it. Mexico is by no means a place without flaws. It has its problems, and they are many: a stumbling economy, abundant poverty, increasing violence from drug cartels, a population dissatisfied with its government. All of those crises, yet a warm, dappled light shines on so much here.

The light is apparent everywhere you look in Teotitlan. It shines from every Buenos Dias from passers by, in every story of someone taking in a complete stranger, in the intense connection to family and culture. In all the time I have been here, there has not been a single second in the darkness. For there is no place in my world on which the light shines brighter than my Mexican home.

Rule Number Three. Consider what you want your picture to say.

A good photograph is one that evokes some kind of response, any kind of response. A good photographer will think about what she wants that response to be, and works to capture that emotion.

It seems to me that every person in this village has long ago decided what they want their life's picture to say. They want it to say that they have worked hard for everything they have, and everything they have is worthwhile. Their pictures tell stories of loving families and traditions. They struggle, they work their fingers to the bone, but ultimately, their picture evokes happiness. That, my friends, is something we should all consider a little bit more. 

Rule Number Four. Take plenty of time to look.

If you shoot before you take in your surroundings, odds are, you will miss the point. 

The same goes for Teotitlan. If you dive in before taking time to actually look at what is around you, you will miss over half of what makes this place so beautiful and unique. Spending our time here behind a camera forced us to look, I mean really look. And what we saw was both soul-lifting and stirring. Just watching the people, trying to understand their culture, what things must look like behind their own lives' cameras. Taking time to not only look, but to see, was what led to our true connection with this place. We look, and we see how life can be, we see ourselves. If we had wandered around Teotitlan with seeing anything, we would have missed this part of us completely.

Rule Number Five. Spend time looking through the viewer.

As a photographer, you have to not just look at all that surrounds you, but also at the narrower image your camera sees. You have to choose a focus, see the details.

I have found that it is the details that really create what Teotitlan is. Whether it is the significance of the Danza de las Plumas or the way two women greet each other in the morning market. Through that smaller window, I could connect to the village on a more intimate level. I could begin to become a part of some of those details and rise above our apparent differences. The small things are what make Teotitlan different from the other lovely villages in Mexico. Looking through the viewer, we all discovered the extra things that have changed Teotitlan from a travel destination into a haven.

Rule Number Six. Take a context shot.

You have to know where you are. Ignorance may be bliss, but it is only bliss for those who have never truly experienced happiness.

We have spent the past ten days in a village that resides in one of the poorer regions of Oaxaca. Just minutes away are villages practically crumbling from poverty. The outskirts of Teotitlan are dotted with houses assembled from varying materials and metal sheet roofs. While the people may be happy, their happiness is not without cost, and it is no secret that many a Teotitlan citizen has suffered. 

Just here in Las Granadas, our salt-of-the-earth hostess Josefina has born tragedy after tragedy. Her husband passed from cancer, caused by his exposure to acids while dying wool. She was left alone, without a way to support herself. But then, she found our Norma, our beloved Norma, and she found a way to help herself. Now, she runs a successful bed and breakfast, is surrounded by a family that loves her and constant bouts of laughter. Without knowing that story, we would miss a large part of who Josefina is. We may have been spared the sadness of her history, but we would never know just how strong she is.

Josefina is a lot like Teotitlan. Strong, beautiful, kindly, but not without work to get that way. Half of the beauty comes from the history. Why would we want to put our own personal comfort above knowing the wonderful truth about this place?

Rule Number Seven. Move your feet.

Once again. Moving once is not enough. You have to keep moving, keep trying new things, keep pushing yourself to do something you are afraid of. We may have moved once to get ourselves here, but our work is not done. Teotitlan does not cease to exist because we are gone, and the changes we've undergone will remain. Every day, we have to work to keep Teotitlan alive within us. We have to move our feet, running towards our better selves, like the people here do every single day. Most importantly, we have to move our feet back towards this place, hoping that some day, we will walk once again into its open arms.

Rule Number Eight. Be willing to discard.

The photographer must be able to toss the less than stellar photographs, to get rid of those that will go no where. So it is in Teotitlan. Discard your preconceptions, discard your discomfort. There are a few things that if held onto, will prevent you from experiencing Teotitlan. In these few short weeks, we have discarded a lot of things about ourselves, but gained so much more. Out with the bad, in with the Teotitlan.

And so the sun sets on our adventure in Teotitlan del Valle. We have to leave almost everything behind, taking only our photographs, memories, and a few pieces of the town. Most things we can accept having to relinquish and leave behind. But there is one thing we, the three of us, cannot seem to accept leaving. Rather, one person.

Omar Chavez Santiago is the purest soul I have ever met. He is unfailingly kind, infinitely patient. His deep brown eyes never falter from yours, giving you the feeling that he is not only listening to what you are saying, but caring about it. A lot. He is never without a twinkle in his eye and mischief in his step. A hilarious joke is always right around the corner, and he has reduced me to tear-ridden laughs more times this week than in the past several months. He is genuine and real. He is intelligent and driven, hoping to become a civil engineer to help the ailing villages in Mexico. He is our friend, greater and truer than many we have known.

My words and descriptions fail compared to the actual person, but starting tomorrow, that is all I have for quite some time. Let it suffice to say that when we leave Omar behind, we will leave a little bit of us.

In a matter of hours, I will wake up and leave Teotitlan del Valle. It is a diamond true, a place I love with all my heart. It may be years until we will once again walk along the dirt roads and breathe in the rich, earthy air. 

But I know I am not alone when I say that I will carry Teotitlan with me every day until I do.

Day Nine.

Today's assignment: Soak it in.

The penultimate day in Teotitlan. Need I say more about the thoughts on that one?

Three of our comrades left us early this morning, in a cab to the airport before Magda was even cooking the tortillas. The breakfast room was just a little bit less crowded, a few less hands reaching for mango and granola. Lovely, nonetheless. We said our goodbyes to Hollie, the ever-so-artsy ceramics teacher, Deanna, the bubbly California math teacher doll, and our Norma, la jefa and commander, the woman responsible for our happiness here. While saying farewell is never fun, and it feels like it was just yesterday that we first came together, all good things must come to an end. No upsetting goodbyes would mean never meeting anyone worth knowing, and that would be a sad existence indeed.

Our Normita.

11 AM. Kellie and Foxy were feeling a bit under the weather. Not to worry, nothing catastrophic. But without their full strength, they thought it best to stay in Teotitlan for the day and rest up. Knowing they would not be by my side, as they have been for the past nine days, broke my heart in two. But after two or three rounds of tear-sodden hugs, we parted ways, not to see each other for several of the longest hours of the trip.

12 PM. Putting the melodrama aside. Omar, Ellie and I hopped a bus into Oaxaca and kicked it city-kid style. With no real plans and nowhere to be, wandering was the name of the game. Getting lost was no issue, seeing as Omar has several handy maps stored in his noggin. We flitted from church to church, cuadro to cuadro, winding through the Benito Juarez market and stalls on the street. We drank lattes and ate the best G.D. blueberry muffins from Cafe Brujula. We looked through art galleries and swanky shops. We ate traditional helado oaxaqueño. In everything, we talked and laughed, talked and laughed. Ellie I've only known nine days. Omar I only met last year for a week. Yet today, I felt like I was with two of my best friends. 

Stumbled upon a show of regional Oaxacan dancers.

During one of our strolls to the zocalo, we ran into a rather interesting sight. 

We could hear it before we could see it. "Peña no ganó, el IFE lo ayudó, Peña no ganó, el IFE lo ayudó." We were witnessing a protest march against the recent elections in Mexico. Hundreds of people walked straight toward the spot of asphalt where we stood watching, turning at the last minute in the direction of the protester-filled gazebo in the center of the plaza. The atmosphere was thick with dissatisfaction, ringing with tones of unrest and anger. Spray-painted signs bearing images of Enrique Pena Nieto's face with a swastika on his forehead bobbed above marching heads. Grievances about the corruption of the election, cries of injustice, were smeared on parchment brown signs and hoisted into the air for everyone to see. Protesters passing by gestured to on-lookers, encouraging them to join the march, to fight against the perceived deceit of their government. We dodged through the crowd to get a better look, and saw where everyone was headed. The center of the zocalo was nothing but a sea of bodies and signs, the raised gazebo packed with people like a jar full of pickles.

"La lucha estudantil por America Latina."

"Pena, Pena, Pena, cudera, cudera, cudera."

"Oaxaca, empice la lucha."

The final election results for the presidential race were announced on Friday. This protest is one of many that have occurred all over the country, and they will only grow and get worse. The people are angry, they are scared, and they feel like their opinions and votes are being discounted by government corruption. Only time will tell how this recent event will play out. Watching the protest, Omar recounted stories of the last election's protests. Violence. One can only hope these so-far peaceful marches will not turn. But hopes are often dashed.

7 PM. We eventually found our way back to the village via foot, bus, taxi, and more foot. It's not about the destination anyway, right? A dinner of vegetable soup and quesadillas con quesillo y agucate, made by our lovely host Josefina, was hot and steaming in the kitchen. We were on our way there when Omar surprised me.

Earlier, while he, Ellie and I were browsing in the street markets, I discovered that I had lost one of my earrings, a pair that I had bought in Teotitlan last year and wore all the time. I was disappointed, but shrugged my shoulders and said it really wasn't a big deal, I had others, maybe it was just time for my relationship with that particular pair to be over. But Omar, living up to his nickname OhMy, decided to do something to make up for the tiniest of losses. On the way to Josefina's kitchen, he stopped me, and told me he had a present for me. I thought he was just kidding around, like always, but he fished from his bag a pair of beautiful Oaxacan earrings he had bought at the very same street market. "I know they're not the same, but I tried to get a pair that looked similar," he said in his beautifully Spanish-accented English. "I got them because you are such a good friend to me, such a very good friend." He barely had time to finish his sentence before I threw my arms around his neck. As if I needed another reason to be upset about leaving him. Omar is one of the kindest people I have ever met, and this anecdote shows only a sliver of what fine, fine human being he is.

11 PM. Another round of cohetes, even more spectacular than the last. We watched firecrackers, wincing under their bright lights and unnerving proximity, but smiling all along. As the glittery explosions lit up the night sky, we stood all together, cracking dirty jokes and laughing over memories of the workshop. I'm really, really going to miss this.

Day Eight.

Today's assignment: Finish strong.

The sound of wistful sighs and frustrated grunts filled the air. As we all soaked in the last day of the workshop and tried to narrow down our collection of hundreds of photographs into a final twenty for the "Best of Week," a mix of emotions filled the courtyard of Las Granadas.

First, the utter most feeling of contentment. Teotitlan is one of the most beautiful places on Earth, inside and out. It's people are as warm and inviting as its landscapes are breathtaking. How can anyone feel anything but tranquility in a place like this? The high spirits of everyone was tangible throughout the entire day, a day in which our only scheduled duty was g on to enjoy the village and to enjoy each other. Sitting on the azotea of Las Granadas, reading my book and sipping on a Mango Boing, I could hear the chirpings of happy people all around me. Sam and Tom nearby in their room giving advice to Deanna about her photos, doing what they do best. My best friends in our room downstairs, giggling away at something with Omar. Itzia and JoBeth chattering cheerfully.

Second, a twinge of sadness. The wonderful week we all had looked forward to for months has now come to a close, and today was our last day all together. The final day in the workshop. Usually, when a vacation or a trip nears its end, everyone is relatively ready to go home. It was nice to get away for a bit, but people miss their own beds, their dogs, their daily routines and familiar lives. But it is different with Teotitlan. This village is not a place that you are ever really ready to leave. So on a day when we are all reminded that our time here is almost out, we cannot help but to already miss it.

Finally, that daggonit immovable irritation that comes with working with hundreds of your own photographs all at once. For our final gathering as a workshop, each of us had to select around twenty photos to show the group. Our assignment from Sam and T-Dog was to choose some sort of theme, to put our pictures into portfolios. They could tell a story, showcase a certain technique, have a common subject, anything. Sounds easy enough, right? Wrong. Before today, I liked a majority of the photos I took on this trip. But suddenly, as I put them under a microscope, trying to decide which few were good enough to represent my entire experience in Oaxaca, I found  fault in each and every one. Frustrated sighs coming from surrounding rooms told me I wasn't the only one. Enter T-Dog, with his deep, smooth voice and always-calming demeanor. He encouraged us to not be stressed, to instead simply have fun. Whatever we put together would be wonderful. With his kindly words in our heads, all of us managed to wrangle a fair few photos, which all combined, made for one heck of a show.

Though the official workshop is now over, I am lucky enough to still have a few days here in the village. Kellie, Foxy and are not leaving Teotitlan until Monday. But let's not talk about that just yet. For now, I want to lay back, listen to the now soothing sounds of the burros and gallos, and be lulled to sleep, knowing that tomorrow is another day I get to spend in the best part of Mexico.

My Final Photographs
By Emily Más (my assumed Teotitlan name)


Portfolio Number One: Things That Hang

 Portfolio Number Two: Shadows and Silhouettes

Portfolio Number Three: Whoosh

Day Seven.

Today's assignment: Explore the city, capture the life after dark.


10 AM. Off to El Tule, the site of a nearly three thousand year old tree. All of its burls and knots, curls and crevices, combined to make a perfect subject for photographing. The base of the tree itself could fill several large rooms, and its weight is somewhere around six hundred thousand tons. That tree has seen the course of three millenniums. It has seen the world change around it, grow to an immense size alongside it. It has seen millions of lives go by. Simply by living, it has connected the stories of people for hundreds of years, intertwining human history with all of the intricacies of its own tangles and whorls.

An evasively large subject.

Rawr. See it?

12 PM. Oaxaca City was our next and final stop for the day. With Omar as our guide (per usual), Kellie, Emily, and eventually Ellie, and I, romped around town. Through the streets and markets, we meandered and  bumbled along. There was no rush, nowhere to be, and nothing to do except enjoy ourselves. What a wonderful day. The city seems to be everything Teotitlan is not: busy, heavily populated, loud. At every street corner, there are a multitude of things competing for your attention. Embroidered blouses and sparkling jewelry flutter in the wind while street performers light up the calles with a song. Oaxaca is combination of the traditional and the modern. With all the spice and color of Mexican life, plus the added pockets of true cultural heritage, it manages to be a contemporary city with all the trimmings of places like London, Paris, and even Columbus, OH.

El Mercado Benito Juarez

La Calle

8 PM. Eventually, we grabbed a taxi (which we stuffed to the gills) back to our Teotitlan. After a wee bit o' rest, it was time to hit la feria, the carnival. Spinning lights, whooshing vueltas, and hot cakes sizzling on griddles. It was a sight to see, the place to be tonight. We took it all in, capturing the night's glamour with slow shutter speed and wide open apertures. The excitement left us worn out and content, ending the night in the courtyard of Las Granadas, soaking up one of our last nights of being together. Perfection.

Una vuelta.

Day Six.

Today's assignment: Stay awake.

6 AM. An early start to a long day. A few of us somehow managed to wrestle ourselves from bed at 5:30 this morning to prepare for a hike up to the top of Picachu, the sacred mountain of Teotitlan. You can see the rugged summit from virtually everywhere in the village, and for me, it has become somewhat of an icon of this beautiful place. A nice leisurely walk through the mountains will do you some good, I told myself. What a refreshing way to start the day. Ehm. A bit of a wrong assumption on my part there.

Don't get me wrong, it was insanely gorgeous. We started our hike before the sun rose, when the valley was completely dark save the twinkling lights of the villages. As soon as we reached the base of the mountain, and actually began to climb the little bugger, we all realized it was not exactly going to be serene. Just like the people here, it was tough. Fickle rocks that prefer to not be stationary, steep pathways lined with scrumptiously squishy mud, and a high enough altitude to make it hard to breathe.

The valley at dawn.

About an hour later, after a teensy bit of sweating and a sound track of huffs and puffs, we declared ourselves victors, standing on the highest point of Picachu. Muddy and satisfied, we scampered down the slightly treacherous slopes, eager for the breakfast that awaited us. I almost made it off scott-free, too. Some son-of-a-gun pebble decided to give my balance a test. I failed. Starting to fall, and panicking in a completely drama-free fashion, I flailed around, hoping to find a source of rescue. I ended up high-fiving a thorn bush, which returned the gesture so enthusiastically that a couple lil' fellas are still firmly implanted in my wrist. Now that's what I call a souvenir.

We made it!

The view.

12 PM. The rest of the day had a pretty lax schedule, and thank the lord we stayed in the village The Danza de las Plumas, Dance of the Feathers, started at 1 PM and would last until 10 PM. Exhausted from the hike and the lack of sleep, I decided to stay at Las Granadas and "read a bit." After a lovely nap, I woke up refreshed and raring to go. Though that only lasted a few hours, we packed in some time at the church courtyard and a few photos.

4 PM. Comida at La Tierra Antigua. BEST MEAL EVER. Tamales con mole amarillo y pollo, chiles rellenos, y shots de mezcal. Our hosts started of by telling us that their family was our family, and we all ate the traditional meal of the festival together. It was a table filled with laughter, with Spanish and English. We managed to score some facts about the Danza:


The Danza is a tradition that predates the Spanish conquest, and as such, is a very special tradition to Teotitlan. Originally, it was connected with nature. The people did not have one God, or one specific religion, and the happenings of the Earth determined their fortune. So they danced for mother nature, to the rain gods and for the harvest. They danced for the full moon and the eclipse. After the Spanish conquered the land, they maintained their dancing tradition, but incorporated their new history. Today, the dance depicts the Spanish conquest over the Aztecs, and includes representations of such famous figures as Moctezuma and Malinche, the indigenous woman who as a sold slave to Hernan Cortez was thought to be a traitor to her people. Though the costumes and movements now are different, they are very similar to the original, and the tradition lives on.

People come from all over the state, and all over Mexico, to see the festival and the dance here in Teotitlan.

8 PM. The crash. A couple of very full days make for one tired gal. Nothing that a good night's sleep can't fix. For tomorrow, we go to Oaxaca City, and I'll be damned if I don't have oodles of energy to expend there (along with a few pesos I'd think).

Abrazos!

P.S. Happy Independence Day! USA, USA, USA!

Day Five.

Today's assignment: Pattern and Texture.

Our first "go-go-go" day was jam-packed with sights to see, history to discover, and photographs to take. We ventured about an hour outside of Teotitlan and realized we "weren't in Kansas" anymore.

7 AM. We rose before the sunrise to the jubilant noises of bands playing, celebrating the festivities, which are now in full swing. New York may have a rival for being the city that never sleeps. An early start was in order, since our schedule included three different places, none of which were particularly close together. By 7:45 we had boarded our giant white van (very subtle), with home-made lunches and cameras in hand.

9 AM. A traffic and bump filled ride landed us in Monte Albán, a Zapotec archaeological site dating back to nearly two thousand years ago. First stop was the museum on the grounds, where our guide-for-the-day, Pablo, took us on a brief yet eye-opening tour. He hit us with some major knowledge about the site's history. 


Out of the sixteen or so indigenous ethnic groups in this region, the Zapotecs are the largest. They chose the location at Monte Alban around 500 BCE, and in following with the deep religiosity of the time, built many temples among their houses and living spaces. Unfortunately for us, the Spanish destroyed all of the adobe temples long ago (the bastards), so we had to leave that particular image to the imagination, aided by expertly constructed models. The museum was designed just like one of the ancient houses common in Monte Alban, complete with a tomb that housed a real skeleton and the offerings left for its soul.


Pablo led us to several large stone tablets, symbols and pictures carved into their surfaces. Though not everything on the tablets can be deciphered just yet, there are a few things archaeologists have managed to get the skinny on, a few of which are a window to the religious and social lives of the people. The Rain God was clearly the most important and most revered, and pops up pretty frequently. Pelota, a game played in the middle of town with a rubber ball, was the ancient Mexican version of America's football, at least in its popularity and appeal. On a more practical note, Pablo pointed out that the tablets were forms of record keeping, evidence that the Zapotecs kept historical and mathematical notes. Because of their diligence, we are now able to roughly decode some of their stories, told with circles and lines (representative of numbers), pictures and symbols (that convey key meanings). 

Carved stones in the museum.

From the museum we were unleashed onto the site. Talk about something that stops you in your tracks, forces you to confront your smallness, and stare . My instincts as a photographer got lost in my desire to somehow grab the scene in front of me and put it in my pocket for later. The population at Monte Alban is estimated to have been around forty thousand: a big number encapsulated in a vast, wide open space. Large stone structures reached to the skies, with steps built into their sides. Many of them once housed temples on their summits, and others once held terraces with houses. 


The mere remnants of those who came before us, the bits and pieces left behind, a small slice of their once wondrous world, seems to belittle our modern existence. Two centuries ago, a relatively small population (by our standards) accomplished feats of tremendous magnitude using nothing but their hands, their minds, and the tools made by using those two. They leveled a mountain using nothing but simple tools. They built structures that dwarf the individual out of stones and brawn. Standing on top of the efforts of our human ancestors, one thing came to mind: What happened to us? Take that as you will, interpret as you wish, but it was a question that struck me then, and only gained significance through the day.

View from the top of the North platform.

Kellie taking it all in.

The expanse.

Beautifully conglomerate steps.

1 PM. With sighs and hesitation, we departed from Monte Alban, and bumbled along to Atzompa, the pottery village. Though only an hour from Teotitlan, it looked like an entirely different world. No longer were we surrounded by the charming array of motley edificios and friendly Zapotec faces. Instead, the world I saw out my window was one permeated by poverty. Muddied streets, rutted roads, graffitied walls. And people, working their bones to the grind. Despite the conditions people live in, there was so much beauty to be found in the village. Beautiful pottery peeked out from behind doorways and through windows. Of every shape and size, shiny and matte. We visited Irma, a renowned potter not only in Atzompa, but in many parts of the country and beyond. It was in her home, watching her work, that I felt both fascinated by her artistry, and saddened by the lack of wide appreciation for it.  


It seems deeply and intrinsically wrong that a greatly skilled woman of fifty-two, who has been making pottery since age six, should sell one of her pieces of art for one hundred and twenty pesos. It is her passion and her life's work. Is that the value attributed to such talent and beauty?

Irma transforming clay into art

5 PM. Exhausted and hot, we returned at last to Teotitlan. After spending a mere five days here, it already feels like somewhere I can call home. It's a rare feeling, the feeling of belonging, and a special one at that. I've only felt it in two other places, and each has been a home to me. The longer I am here, the more I get the feeling that I am supposed to be.

10 PM. Another night of the festival, another round of fun-tivities. A group of us ladies, plus Omar, moseyed down to the church courtyard to first watch the dancers, and later, for the cohetes, or fireworks. Mexican culture is so rich and colorful. It is loud but nowhere near obnoxious or in your face. It is lively and fun, because the people are proud of their heritage, and show no hesitation in showing that to the world. More people should learn to be like that: unashamed of where they come from, honored to be the ones who get to continue a tradition. As we lose that appreciation, we lose ourselves. Without our culture, we are finished.