¡triqui, triqui!


It was better than I had hoped. Slushy machine, haunted house (10X10 tent), train ride, great music, dancing and wild unsupervised trick-or-treating (one of the benefits of living on a gated compound with roaming security guards). E trick-or-treated barefoot. I sat on a speed bump, drinking a gin and tonic.

The “train” was pulled by an old three-wheel Honda ATV. If any of you have known me for a long time, you might know that I used to drive these around our family summer place when I was a kid. Once, when I was five, I forgot where the break was, so I turned the machine off and jumped! My parents had to explain to Emergency Room staff why I had tire tracks on my head.

I really should have asked permission to drive this:

Colombian kids don’t say “trick-or-treat”. They have their own rhyme they chant as they run up to each house:

¡Triqui, triqui, Halloween, quiero dulces para mi, y si no me das se te crece la nariz!”

Which means something like: “Tricky, tricky Halloween. I want sweets! And if you don’t give them to me, your nose will grow!”… the Colombian version of “Trick or treat, smell my feet…”

My kids had a blast. And we all met some new kids (and grown ups) on the compound.


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