Jazz in Ataco

I was having a great time in Juayua.  The pueblo was small, though, with a limited amount of activities for tourists and young people without children to participate in.  There was a large food market on the weekends.  A restaurant and bar, El Cadejo, was open Wednesday through Sunday.  You could usually find someone who was a friend of Cesar's there.  But the thing that kept me in Juayua for over two weeks was the people.  The locals were so open and friendly, very different from what I had experienced in other cities and countries in Central America.  Even while he saw new people shuffle through his hostel daily, Cesar was continually friendly, inviting new guests on unique adventures; he would welcome them to a get-together at his house or persuade them to come see the candlelit Semana Santa procession in the neighboring town of Nahuizalco.

One afternoon, while I was plotting my entry into Guatemala, Cesar invited me to a jazz concert in Ataco, a town about 15 miles from Juayua.  We took Cesar's yellow truck, me riding shotgun and Edu and Hector, two of my fellow guests at the hostel, riding in the back.  Edu, in his early 50s, was a short and thin man.  He had reasonably long and straight hair.  He usually had a small clutch hanging off of his shoulder.  He dressed and had an attitude that was very European.  Edu was raised in Mexico City but was a citizen of the world.  He was a continuous traveler and had been exploring Latin America for the past 15 years.

I had been to Ataco just a couple days before, but it wasn't Semana Santa then.  Now there were plentiful people and festivities in the center square.  The jazz concert was in the restaurant of a friend of Cesar's, about a block from the town center.  When we arrived, it was still daylight.  The band was setting up on a small stage.  There was grass extending out about 30 feet from the front of the stage, with the restaurant on one side and a small, grassy hill on the other.  There was a thin barrier of plants separating the band from overpowering the diners at the restaurant.  The concert was very intimate.  Although people wandered in and out, at maximum there were only about 10 or so attendees. 

The band had four members: a piano player, bassist, tenor saxophone player and drummer.  Since I play the one-handed saxophone when I'm back in Tucson, I was excited that there was a saxophonist.  I talked with Jahaziel for a few minutes before the concert began.  He had curly hair to go along with a young but handsome face.  He was tall and very thin.  His pants fit on him like he was a teenager.  He was in his mid-20s.  He spoke very good English with a small accent.  Originally from a town just outside of Panama City, he attended the Berklee College of Music in Boston for about four years.  Now he was trying to sharpen his acumen of jazz by playing with various people from Panama to Mexico City.  He was very interested in my one-handed saxophone, asking me specific questions.  He brought up Roland Kirk, the saxophonist who had played multiple instruments at once, including playing the saxophone with one hand.  He obviously knew his stuff.

Seconds after they began playing, I knew that I was in the right spot.  Jahaziel was extremely quick and dexterous with his fingers but also managed to play with his own particular style.  The drummer, Octavio, a bald man in his 30s who spent many years perfecting his trade in New York City, was extremely creative without being flashy.  The piano and bass players, the least talented musicians in the group, held their own but were usually relegated to playing backup parts.  

The crowd listening to the band

The band playing outside

After they finished fifth or sixth song, it began to drizzle.  Since they were not under a shade, they quickly transferred all of their instruments to another intimate place within the restaurant.  Now, they were playing between two large tables in a patio facing a garden.  Still, less than 10 people were actively listening.  They continued their set.  The spectators continued drinking and socializing.  I was constantly tapping my foot on the ground or my knee with my hand, increasing and decreasing in intensity as the music ebbed and flowed.

They eventually ended their set.  The piano and bass players said their goodbyes and left the restaurant.  The rest of us - including Jahaziel and Octavio - ordered food and continued socializing.  I sat between Jahaziel and Octavio.  As we devoured our food and drank our spirits, we became louder and more enthusiastic as we traded stories and anecdotes.  Jahaziel told me about playing at Berklee and the differences in jazz in Latin America versus the United States.  Octavio told me about how he met his girlfriend in New York City and had convinced her to move back to El Salvador with him.  

As the concert attendees became more inebriated, they lost their inhibitions and began pushing Jahaziel and Octavio to play more songs, this time as a duet.  The musicians eventually acquiesced.  This was, by far, the best part of the evening.  Naturally, they continued to be amazing musicians.  However, the spectators - with a bit of alcohol courage - became much more extroverted and free-spirited.  Some of them danced in their seats.  Others were in complete awe and amazement.  Edu kept comparing the musicians' technical and musical skills to Louie Armstrong and Charlie Parker.

The Jahaziel and Octavio duet

When the concert ended, we all went our separate ways.  Cesar, Hector, and I walked to Cesar's truck around the corner.  However, I felt like I still had that jazz high, and I didn't want to lose it so quickly.  I volunteered to ride in the bed of Cesar's truck, standing and facing forward over the cab.  The ride back to Juayua was one of the most enjoyable car rides I've ever been on.  It was midnight, and there were few cars on the highway.  The only lights I could see were the headlights on Cesar's truck.  We went around corners and curves, with me shifting my weight back and forth.  As we approached Juayua, it started to rain mercilessly.  I didn't mind.