During our visit to Oaxaca, we didn't spend much time in the city itself. The villages, the countryside were too much of an attraction. Our local friend, Eric, suggested we might like to visit San Juan, a pueblo an hour or so away, to see their once-a-year festival.

Something big was going to happen. People lined up along the main street, waiting for some sort of parade or procession. The anticipation was palpable.

Banda music erupted from the plaza in front of the church. We arrived to find costumed young women dancing.

Their outfits included ornately appliqued skirts, white embroidered blouses, and baskets containing elaborate floral arrangements carried on their heads.

Check out the spike heels worn by the girl on the left. Mexican women routinely walk over cobblestone streets in these things, whereas gringos slip and fall even when wearing trainers.

The dancers braided ribbons in their long black hair. They wore their party earrings.

They have such beautiful faces.

A couple of dancers-in-training develop their balancing skills for a future festival.

These girls clearly show their Asian roots: high cheekbones, hints of epicanthic folds in their eyes; more evidence of the migration across the Bering land bridge so long ago.

At the conclusion of the dancing, it was time to make a procession through town. A bugler and drummer led the way.

The horn player was able to play near-perfect diatonic scales on his valveless long bugle. He did not play the usual martial bugle calls; instead choosing dignified minor-key processionals, adding an air of solemnity to the proceedings.

A small boy trotted along wearing his papier mâché mojiganga costume.

The procession snaked along the streets for a mile or so, winding up at the Mayor's house. Snacks and candy were distributed to children (and dogs). Mescal was distributed to Clint, Marne and Chiapas the parrot, who draws a crowd wherever he goes.

Late in the afternoon, the bright smiles disappeared, replaced by tired faces. I don't know how these girls managed to keep it up; festivities were to continue all night long. We wussy gringos, drained of all energy, headed back to the city for dinner and sleep.

We were the only foreigners present for the fiesta. It's possible we were the only foreigners to observe it, ever.

The residents of San Juan were not putting on some kind of quaint folkloric show for tourists. They were dancing and parading for themselves only, for their own satisfaction. But the townspeople went out of their way to make us feel welcome, and took obvious pride that we were so interested in their event.

San Juan is by no means wealthy. The costumes and decorations, dances and music, are the culmination of a full year of preparation. I never figured out what the celebration was about: A saint's day? A political anniversary? Doesn't matter. We were very fortunate to be there, whatever the reason.