Cielito Lindo: The Melody That Changed My Life
A tale of cross-cultural encounters and unexpected romance
It was the end of the seventies, and I was barely a teenager in a small town rich with cultural exchanges. Choirs from Colorado, folk dancers from Utah, carnival groups from Munich — it was a vibrant mix of sounds and colours spicing up our quiet corner of the world.
With no hotels nearby, several families, including my own, often hosted these visiting groups, adding a delightful international flavor to our lives.
One summer, we anticipated a special visit from a group of Mexican teachers, representatives of traditional Mexican folklore, dance, and music. Their performances in their colorful outfits would certainly shake up the town and make the warm days even brighter and more joyful.
However, life had other plans for me. I was supposed to attend a summer camp that same week, but fate intervened when I broke both my wrists in a swing accident (don’ t ask) . Perhaps it was my subconscious mind ensuring I would be home for the Mexican visitors.
As it turned out, the tour was postponed, and they arrived in autumn instead.
Hosting five members of the group brought immense joy to our household, which already counted seven members. Mexicans, I learned, have a sweet tooth, and they delighted in my mom’s cakes and pastries even for breakfast. The director of the group, Maestro Pedro, who spoke fluent English, introduced me to his three children: two girls and a boy named Tonatiuh.
His name, meaning the “god of the sun” in Nahuatl — the language of the Aztecs — was fitting. To me, he was a god, with his big smile, dark eyes, and dense black hair.
My mother tongue is Dutch, and I was learning French and English in school, but Tonatiuh could only speak Spanish. Despite the language barrier, his musical talent spoke volumes. His skill with the violin, saxophone, and guitar, along with his enthusiastic zapateados, captivated me completely. I found myself utterly smitten and infatuated with him. My father would tease me about my obvious crush, joking that Tonatiuh was not the god of the sun but the god of thunder. This teasing always incited a spirited defense from me.
The performances were mesmerizing and always ended with “Cielito Lindo.” Upon my request, Maestro Pedro graciously wrote down the lyrics of the song for me so I could sing along.
This famous melody stayed as my first impression and experience with Mexican culture.
Little did I know how profoundly those few days would change my life.
The following year, the Mexican group returned. By then, I had persuaded my dad to buy me a Spanish language course — a big brown case with four books and eight tapes. I diligently studied, and by the time the Mexicans were back in town, I could speak to my crush. However, lifting the language barrier made little difference. Tonatiuh had no interest in me.
Yet, my efforts did not go unnoticed. There was someone quite amused by my clumsy attempts to win Tonatiuh’s affection. His name was Oscar. Initially, I thought nothing of him. He seemed boring and too serious, while he considered me a total nutcase. This was understandable, as he was 25 and I was 14.
A few years later, during my second trip to Mexico, I had the chance to reconnect with the group. At a social gathering with several members, now my friends, Oscar gave me his phone number “just in case I needed something.”
One day, I had planned to explore the city with a friend, but she fell ill, leaving me at a loose end. Then I remembered I had Oscar’s number and I called. To my surprise, he was available and agreed to take me out.
That day, he took me to La Ciudadela, a bustling market known for its limitless variety of handicrafts. As we walked through the stalls, my senses were overwhelmed by the sight of beautifully woven textiles, intricate pottery, and large colorful birds with abundant plumage painted on amate (a type of bark paper). The market was a treasure trove of Mexican culture, each item telling a story of tradition and artistry.
Oscar patiently explained the significance of various crafts, from the delicate papel picado banners to the detailed alebrijes, fantastical creatures carved from wood and painted in bright colors. He made me smell the aromatic Olinalá boxes made of linaloe wood, an endemic tree in southern Mexico, and named after the population and the city where they manufacture them in Guerrero, the state Oscar was originally from.
Despite making me walk the whole day until my feet were aching, I had such a good time. The lively atmosphere of La Ciudadela, with its vendors calling out and the rich scents of street food wafting through the air, made the experience unforgettable. What started as a casual outing became the foundation of something unexpected and profound.
Fate has a way of weaving intricate patterns. My youthful crush on Tonatiuh remained just that — a fleeting infatuation. But Oscar, the serious young man who once found my antics amusing, became a significant part of my life. The threads of destiny had been quietly interwoven during that first encounter with Mexico, only to reveal their true design years later. What began with vibrant music and dance led me down a path I never anticipated — a journey that was only just beginning, with secrets and surprises that life still held in store.
