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Published: July 15th 2008
People
In general everyone has been warm. This may be do to the strong sense of family which is evident whenever observation is made. During breakfast I noted a father cutting up some version of a tortilla with cheese on it for one of his children. The manner in which he was attending to his child was infused with a certain tenderness often lacking in parent/child interactions in the United States. This humanity comes across in most interactions.
We've had our fair share of borrachos, or drunks. In Mexico City near a square where the Mariachis congregate Mario and I were approached by a man. He asked Mario something. Mario firmly replied "No." The man tried again "Spanish I did not understand, ... just a dollar." Mario starting to get pissed off "NO!" A last attempt, the man pleaded some more. Mario stared at him for a second. And then with great finesse and precision, Mario replied in Spanish. Upon hearing what Mario had to say the man's eyes grew one-point-five times in circumference, he stepped back and clasped his hands as if he was going to pray, and bowed his head several times while repeating "Gracias." We walked away and I requested an explanation from Mario. It went something similar to this.
"That guy smelled of alcohol and he asked me for a drink. I said 'No' so he asked for a dollar. I refused him again and he began to beg so I told him 'May God help you my friend.' That gave him something to think about."
Upon entering Oaxaca city we took an early evening stroll to the Zocalo. In full swing a parade. But more on that later. We are just watching this parade take place, similarly to everyone else with 100 meters, when a man starts talking to U.S. "Where are you from? You're not from here." Mario takes over. He loves to do this as he is able to say witty things in two divergent tongues. "California." He man waves his bottle of Fanta, "Where in California, L.A., San Diego, San Francisco... Bakersfield, Sacramento. See I know my geography!" Mario with a sly grin on his mug, "North of Sacramento." The man "North of Sacramentooo! All of you?" motioning to Tessa and I with the orange flavored refreshment. Mario again, "Yes. All of us." The man exuberantly begins to spout off, waving the obviously alcohol laden soda, motioning with long conical finger, scrunching his brow, and coaxing his greying hair to fly about. "Well now you are in Mexico, but not just Mexico! You are in OAXACA. And down here in Oaxaca, We don´t give a fuck! Up there. Up there in California you might give a fuck! But down here we don't give a fuck!" He laughs heavily, takes a swig from his bottle, and wanders off after the parade.
Parades
You cannot escape the parades in Mexico. On the same day Mario and I saw Our Virgin Mother and bumped into the borracho whom Mario blessed we ran into a political parade. People were holding signs protesting something and police were lazily blocking streets with trucks and motorcycles. Mario and I meandered our way through the crowd to the front where the parade had stopped in front of a government building. People had gathered in a circle in front the building and two trucks from the parade were covered with people holding signs. An old man was playing a guitar and signing. Suddenly the whole crowd broke out into song. "Chinga tu madre, Chinga tu madre,... etc" Mario and I began laughing. They were singing "Fuck your mother!" old mothers, grandfathers, small children, and even some of the police. We sat there absorbing the scene and finally figured out the crowd was in front of a Federal Court and were protesting because high officials and priests were not getting strict punishment for molesting children. The crowd was thirsting for justice.
On the bright side of things, the Mexican people are close with God and His Mother. Last night while on an excursion to obtain tamales we happened upon a parade for the local patron Saint Carmen de Abajo. We hurried our purchase and followed the parade. Three bands, a two-ton-flatbed truck, with little angles and a reincarnation of the saint, women dancing with paper machete candles, harps, and flowers on their heads, five giant effigies of the saint, a priest, an indigenous farmer (sombrero, white cotton clothes, and a red cloth belt), a woman, and a clown or payaso. People were setting off fireworks, kids were throwing hand fulls of tamarindo candies the police were setting off their sirens. It was a marching party. This was probably around 8:20 and it had been going on for a while. We followed the blasting tubas, and screaming trumpets to the Zocalo and watched the parade go-ers set off lots of explosives through mouthfuls of tamels. We stayed there in the Zocalo and let the parade pass.
Two hours were then spent doing the the following activities; watching kids do BMX tricks and break dance; playing with giant balloons made from weird shopping bags; talking with and then ditching a drunk who named me Robert and Tessa Maria; drinking Pepsi retro and some local mezcal. Around 10:30 we headed back to the hotel to use the toilets and drop off some camera's and tamales. Three or four blocks from the Zocalo and two from our hotel we ran into the same parade, still as load as it was and even bigger. Rockets flying in the air and candy hitting you in the face. As I was writing this blog we heard a parade pass the internet cafe we are in. I asked Mario if that was a parade we were hearing just to make sure I was not crazy. In Mexico, they don´t give a fuck. It is always a party.
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Danny
non-member comment
Hi Miles
Miles, Adrienne and I are enjoying your blogs - keep 'em coming. Sounds like you're having a great time. Good news on the Tmen front, getting gigs.