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"Dress for the beach!" exclaimed one of the Colombian teachers. Nick and I, as the first English teachers at a small school on the Caribbean coast, had just been invited to the local municipality's `teachers' day' celebrations. We translated the dress code the British way: swimming costumes, shorts and t-shirt. Trying to hide their dismay, our glamorous colleagues picked us up, decked out in high wedge sandals, studded jeans, sparkly tops and full make up. As we approached the front gate of the pristine hotel, complete with table-clothed banqueting area, the guard eyed our flip flops dubiously. We had completely forgotten that Colombians dress up for the beach in impractical footwear and tight clothes, despite the smothering humidity. Looking sheepish (and hideously underdressed), we tried to hide at the bar. Impossible. As the only `gringos' present we were given a special welcome over the microphone and promptly dragged on stage for the first of many dancing competitions. Nick somehow won first prize, whether due to his partner who gamely threw herself into the dance, and sometimes into Nick, or out of sheer pity. I managed to escape and exchanged our drink coupons for sweaty beers. We were aware that these public holidays existed in Colombia. Indeed, we only ever worked one full week at the school due to the constant disruptions from festivals - children's day (which turned out to be a week), international language day (also my birthday which we celebrated instead), the day of trees (not even kidding). But this was the first time we had been the beneficiaries of such an event. Flat screen TVs were handed out as prizes for bizarre miming competitions - pretending to salsa while soaping up in the shower, for example - and a live band played energetic cumbia classics. Suddenly our teachers were babbling excitedly at us to jump in the pool. Struggling with the local dialect, the Glaswegian equivalent of Spanish, I stood, baffled. Impatiently, my colleagues proceeded to strip me in front of the crowd and pushed me in the pool to loud cheers. A few moments later, Nick was dunked in too. Confused and dripping, we were handed two tickets. It transpired that this had been a sort of swimsuit competition, and had won us tickets to a music festival starring a famous folk singer, apparently because we had been the only ones appropriately dressed. Though I'll never again forget what `beach wear' means in Colombia, for once my faulty memory had paid off.