The smallest mariachi in the world?

  

On 5 May, we headed with Ryōka and John to Asukayama Park in a district called Oji (meaning “prince”) to visit the paper museum. The production of Western-style paper (as opposed to washi made by hand from mulberry bark), of which more later. When we arrived, we found a celebration of Cinco de mayo in enthusiastic full swing. 

Dance routines led by an Argentinian.

 This historic date is marked by patriotic Mexicans in many countries (including, as we discovered in Japan), but is barely marked in Mexico itself. The date is significant: on that day in 1862 Mexican forces commanded by General Ignacio Zaragoza defeated the French in the Battle of Puebla. There are some events to mark the day, in Puebla and in Mexican City, but they are fairly low key and the day does no merit a public holiday. These Mexican celebrations certainly do not match those in American cities with large Hispanic populations, such as Los Angeles and Chicago (although, alas, in the latter city the main celebrations have been cancelled for the last two years for fear that they will invite US immigration authorities to detain the participants.)

Tacos and Okinawan donuts.

 The celebration in Oji was not entirely authentic. A song and dance event had a decidedly Asian air. The tacos sold alongside Okinawan donuts would have disappointed a Mexican diner, and the anticuchos (grilled beef hearts) were honestly described as Peruvian – you will search in vain for them in Mexico. When I asked at the information table if any Mexicans were involved (meshiko jin deska?) in my pidgin Japanese, I was told with that slightly regretful mien that Japanese adopt when they answer in the negative that, no, there were no Mexicans here.

 

This turned out not to be quite accurate, since I later discovered one Mexican, the guitarist and singer of a mariachi whose line-up consisted of said Mexican, a female Chilean violinist and a Japanese trumpeter who told me that he speaks very little Spanish. I told him that he need not apologize, my Japanese was even more limited. I abandoned my family (and my lunch) for the first two numbers: a rousing Jarabe tapatío (known to foreigners as The Mexican Hat Dance) and Cielito lindo.

The Mariachi la Fiesta.

 This was certainly the smallest mariachi I have ever seen. It lacked the vihuela (a small guitar tuned like a lute) and the guitarrón (and oversized guitar), and there would usually have been more than one trumpet and violin. But needs must, and for a few happy minutes Mexico had come to Tokyo.

El jarabe tapatío.