Night fell. Tuberoses and jasmine scented the sultry air. From behind a bougainvillea-twined wall rippled chords from a guitar, and a liquid voice lifted up the slow-cadenced melody of La Sandunga (graceful woman):
. . . I'm ugly, but I'm a lover, heart-heaven,
I'm like wild pepper, sweet mama, for God,
Burning, but delicious, heart-heaven.
Ay, Sandunga, Sandunga!
Elsewhere, marimbas and flutes picked up the tune. In a dusty square 600 years old, graceful girls gathered, and three days & nights of fiesta, fun and fireworks, drinking and dancing got under way.
A Noble Race....