Sunday, March 27, 2011

Festive Weekend Part 1

So much has happened since I’ve written last. I have floated through loathing, ambivalence, frustration, acceptance and adoration for this place in the last week. Last Thursday we went to WalMart to get staples - jam without high fructose corn syrup, soap, etc. (alas, no peanut butter besides Skippy and Aladdin), and novelties such as hummus (woohoo!) and tequila. We made a night of it, and ate gigantic burritos at the brothers Mariachi, where I’d had the pleasure of dining late one Saturday night with my bosses. Early Friday morning, Karma decided to take a swing at me (deservedly so for my meat consumption and patronage at America’s keystone monstrosity), and I was either flat on my back or in the bathroom for the next 4 days.
 My housemate offered me antibiotics, which I begrudgingly started taking on Saturday night, and had to go to the doctor to purchase the rest of the treatment on Monday. The doctor was so pleasant and helpful – I was really surprised having paid the whopping 30 pesos ($3 USD) to get a checkup – but my friend didn’t understand the translation of my question: “­do you get what you pay for?”   And so, I entered blindly into the Mexican health system and managed to come out the other side alive, more educated, and with the proper medication, all for $9 USD (and the near collapse of our sewer drainage system).  
So after much recooperation and a long work week, we were very enthusiastic about the coming weekend...and rightly so.
We went to Saida (the woman around the corner with the AMAZING juices and  whose sopes (fried corn pizza crust thingies with beans, avocado, lettuce, cheese, mushrooms ) I had been craving since I got sick) and planned our adventure for the vacation time we have during Semana Santa (the week before Easter).  Then we walked to the center of town and climbed the pyramid. As we looked out across all of the night lights of Puebla, we discussed what it means to live in this moment. There is a Buddhist philosopher who says that you don’t need to indulge yourself in every novelty because if you close your eyes, you can taste the chocolate, hear your friends’ laughter, feel the course fur of your dog’s back or stand on the street corner in Asheville.  So what happens when you live too much in nostalgia? It’s not that I am sad or homesick even, but the feeling is one of reaching and reaching and not being able to grasp what I’m reaching for – like trying to remember a dream that’s just outside of my recollection. So we discussed this for a long time, and how to be fully present. 
Later that night we went to the Cuban salsa club, Mojito, with our friends Teri and Blanca. Aside from a few classes at the Y, this was my first experience, and it was so intuitive (and such a sexy dance!). Cecilia immediately zeroed in on a very attractive Cuban waiter, and I on the young Mexican doorman. We left four hours later with our ears ringing, with significantly fewer pesos than when we'd arrived, and with the telephone numbers of our respective interests. Well, mine didn’t have one so I told him I’d come back, but each of us perfectly satisfied with the evening.
Saturday we didn’t have much time to ourselves because we’d been invited to the birthday party of Teri and Blanca’s Aunt Conchita. I don’t know what you know of Mexican parties, but they last for anywhere from 12 to 18 hours. We arrived around 4pm, and the living rooms were filled with long tables of family members munching on deep fried tortilla chips and a salsa made of chipotle, cream and mayonnaise (sounds awful, but in reality it was frustratingly delicious). The next dish was a plate of rice cooked in spiced tomato water. This was followed by a vegetable and shrimp soup and finally the cake, which was similar to ours but very moist - nearly saturated like a pudding.  

Once we finished eating, they moved all of the tables and the space became a dance floor. The aunt and her more extroverted daughter spent nearly the entire time making rounds about the room saluting the guests with cheers and chants, and any time our glasses were nearly empty they hastily took it and refilled it. (Lesson 14 of Mexico: adding "ito" to the end of nouns makes them smaller. By offering you a "tequilito", somehow the giant shot you are being handed is less of a challenge and you can consequently drink twice as many). I didn’t want to be rude so I continued obliging their offers; so from 4pm to nearly midnight I had a glass of tequila in my hand. Consequently, everything I recount about the evening may have a slightly more congenial perspective, but I’ll continue nonetheless. We started out in our own little corner by ourselves (Cecilia and myself with Teri and Blanca and their father). At one point when Patty (the extroverted sister) offered to get me yet another tequila, I asked if I could help. She led my by the hand down the line of men sitting at the table, introducing me and telling each of them that I wanted to dance. She then plopped me down in the corner with all of the aunt’s friends (all of whom she’s known since elementary school) and left me alone, forgetting my tequila drink for another twenty minutes. One of the friends has been a judge’s secretary for 33 years. The other is a teacher who has traveled all over the United States.   When I explained the organization for which I work and some of our challenges in the curriculum, she told me that she was just about to retire and would like to donate all of her books and materials to us!
Then we began to dance.* I'm going to change the names in my story.* First I danced with Fernando who is a friend of the family, a conspiracy theorist and in his last year of studies in gynecology in Mexico City (he seems dedicated to medicine, but to his particular field solely for the opportunity to investigate the vagina more closely). I am to call him for dinner if we wind up in the city. Humberto was very pleasant to dance with and had exceptional English. He was getting notably more intoxicated as his kisses on the cheeks of his aunts (and once my own) got more drawn out. I also had the pleasure of dancing with Conchita's son, who gave a profound speech about his mother that moved me to tears, and was the best dancer in the salon (having learned only by watching others).  I also danced with Sr. Manuel – the father of Teri and Blanca, but more enjoyed watching him dance with Conchita, the aunt. Her energy was sheer joy and it showed as she danced and saluted and chatted with each of us. She told me about her heart – where her deceased husband now resides, and the overwhelming appreciation she has for each of the guests who showed up to love her that night. So beautiful. The familial relationships of Mexico are one of the most beautiful aspects of this culture that I have encountered thus far. I also got to talk to Teri and Blanca’s aunt, Guadalupe, who is in her 50s with grown sons, but starting a new track of working in psychology. We chatted for a long time about the cycle of violence in families and where and how to interrupt it, the relationships within communities and the power of the small work of individuals.  She had a pure heart and a good vibe, and I left our conversation beaming.  Did I mention the mariachis? Two separate sets came a few hours apart, the first dressed in business suits and the second decked out in official mariachi attire. They sang beautifully, and the whole party knew all of the words to their folk songs. It was an incredible evening, only to be tampered by our witnessing (what seemed to be) a fatal accident on the way home from the party. Apparently driving is the second leading cause of fatalities in the nation. How quickly life twists and flows through elation and tragedy.

No comments:

Post a Comment