Someone told me to do this so I set it up. A good way to support the protesters and subvert the Iranian Clerics. Plus I need to keep cornering the market on the andresmitchell username so I signed up for Twitter. Help a muslim brother out:
"If anyone is on twitter, set your location to Tehran and your time zone to GMT +3.30... Iranian security forces are hunting for bloggers using location/timezone searches. The more people at this location, the more of a logjam it creates for forces trying to shut Iranians' access to the internet down. Cut & paste & pass it on."
I'm not sure if you actually have to send a Twitter message but I'm guessing you do. My very first Twitter entry (to nobody in particular) was "I just shit my pants."
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 29, 2009
Post this on five pages
You know those things people send you where you are supposed to send them to some number of people and then something bad or good happens to you (maybe after pressing F6)? They are very popular on Facebook. Facebook, which, by the way, I am starting to hate. I am really hating it because I find out the political and/or religous views of some people and then start to hate them. Anyway, this is good. Do what you want with it. I know what I am doing with it. One down, four to go....
“ Since you already started reading you cant stop. My name is Kalena. I have black hair, and green eyes. I am 13. I was abused my whole life. I have no ears or nose, because my parents chopped them of with a rusty fork. I am dead. I will show up in your room in 13 days and kill you by chopping off your body parts with a rusty fork unless you repost this on 5 pages. THIS IS NO JOKE!!!! If you do, something good will happen to you within 13 days. If you don't believe this, just wait and see ”
“ Since you already started reading you cant stop. My name is Kalena. I have black hair, and green eyes. I am 13. I was abused my whole life. I have no ears or nose, because my parents chopped them of with a rusty fork. I am dead. I will show up in your room in 13 days and kill you by chopping off your body parts with a rusty fork unless you repost this on 5 pages. THIS IS NO JOKE!!!! If you do, something good will happen to you within 13 days. If you don't believe this, just wait and see ”
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Chiapas y El Rancho la Granada (Part 2)
The Ranch
On our second day in Chiapas we were heading out to El Rancho la Granada. We had to stock up first because my friend Anoushka told me we could bring "whatever we wanted." That leaves a lot of options. And certainly would include beer. This meant we had to snap our chinstraps and drop into the Central Market in San Cristobal for some provisions. As I mentioned in my last post, this market is something to behold. We mostly loaded up on tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, peppers, avocados, and squash. We would have picked up a couple of live chickens or turkeys but we didn't know how we would carry them around town. We bought three chickens al carbon, cans of beans, local cheese, bread, pastries, and a couple of kilos of tortillas. We grabbed a collectivo in town and asked the driver if he knew where the ranch was and of course he said yes. Because they always say yes. Even if they have no clue. There is a certain swagger and confidence to it, even if it proves to be really annoying when you realize the guy has no idea where he is going. So we rode down to Teopisca while the driver made the standard seven or eight passes into oncoming traffic where he has to force himself between two semis to get back in our lane. We dropped off a couple of passengers and pulled into the beer store. Four cases later we were on the road. When we got to where we thought we should be, we realized that the driver had no idea where the ranch was. We drove up a few dirt roads and saw a party up on a hill and thought maybe that was it. It was a party with a ten piece band and like 15 guests. It wasn't our place but you gotta love the Mexican party spirit. We drove a little further up the road and asked a campesino working in a corn field with a machete if he knew about the house with the gringos. His first response was "why didn't you ask all those people at the party?" Fair enough. We had a pretty good laugh at that one. But then he told us that we "might want to check the big house on the hill, pointing with the machete. We drove through the gate and pulled up in front of the house in a taxi which was the first time they had seen that. They only have a motorcycle and a couple of horses most of the time (and no electricity) so when we pulled out four cases of cold beer, their was much rejoicing among the residents who were all out on the front porch. We gave our driver a huge tip and asked him if he could come back in a couple of days. He agreed and so there we were.
The ranch is owned by a guy named Luis, who lives in San Cristobal. The place is kind of his vision and his son (Cristobal) is basically overseeing things. Cristobal is probably in his late 20's and has an American mom who lives in Florida. He looks like a Gringo and speaks English and Spanish with no accent. Luis wanted to create a self-sustaining place where they would grow their own food and where artists and other creative types could work. The idea is to get some things going to generate income. They do sell some things and trade other things but people are paying 10 pesos a day to live there (about $.80). That means I could probably retire there today with the money I have. They asked me what I would do if I moved there and I said I would make beer. That sounded like a very good idea to them.
The main house is a 500 year old Spanish hacienda. It has both a gas and wood stove and a big stone fireplace. The only light is the fire and candles. Everyone kind of cooks dinner together and then cleans up. They usually break out the guitars and people play chess by the fire at night. With no electricity and lots of physical work to do, bedtime is pretty early. The current breakdown of residents is three Argentines, two Spanish, two French, one and half Americans, one and a half Mexicans, and one Brit. They have built adobe houses that most of them live in. My friend Anoushka has one with a loft. It's pretty cool. I don't know all the stories about how people havre come to be there but I know that they just found the French couple sitting in a doorway on a street in San Cristobal as they were looking for a place to stay. The one American guy (Justice) rode his motorcycle down from Canada this time but originally he rode up on a horse from freaking Nicaragua! And that horse tried to kill me. More on that in a minute.
There were a lot of people there when we arrived because a few people had come up for the day. I spent most of our first day hanging out with and talking to this doctor, Antonio, and his wife Guadalupe. They had such good energy and we all just clicked once we started talking about the environment and politics, the general state of the world, and what the people are trying to achieve on the ranch. I will stay in touch with them and have an open invitation to their home whenever I want it. These are people who really get it. Guadalupe is a student of the Mayan calendar. If you haven't read about it or don't know about, check it out. Fascinating stuff. They were some smart motherf**kers. The calendar runs out in 2012 and there is a lot of debate about what that means. There are anthropologists and mathematicians here right now trying to figure out if it actually ends or if it resets (or if there is a way to reset it). In any case, they predicted some big changes in the world, a great awakening in 2012 that will be precipitated by some natural or man-made disasters. I'm kind of hoping all religion will disappear in 2012 and the concept will be erased from everyone's mind so people can actually wake up and address the coming man-made catastrophes instead of waiting for salvation from an invisible man in the sky. I know, I know he's coming. And in 1000 and 10000 and 50000 years he will still be coming. Someday. I will try to look busy in the meantime. Or get struck by a bolt of lightening.
Hay is for Horses
So this guy Justice rode a horse from Nicaragua to Mexico. It took him four months. He said they confiscated the horses first when going into Guatemala from Nicaragua and then when going from Guatemala into Mexico. Of course they had all kinds of signed waivers and paperwork from customs but, as I said before, all laws here have a giant loophole. Or, in this case, a reverse loophole. What's that called? I think the legal term is clusterf**k? So now Justice is here on his motorcycle that he rode down from Canada. And he's taking another four month horse trip around Mexico. He's also talked me into buying a motorcyle and riding through the Andes in about 18 months. I know, make my funeral arrangements now. However, I would much rather die on a mountain road in Bolivia than have a heart attack in my car on Hwy 101 driving (sitting in traffic) to the job that I hate in Mountain View (there is no mountain nor is there a view there) where my douchebag manager is giving another Power Point presentaion on the virtues of Who Moved my Cheese.
If you ride a horse up from Central America, the horse should have some attitude. Clearly, the horse that Justice rode up has a serious chip in his horse shoulder. "Andy, meet Dragon. Dragon, this is Andy. He will be riding you today. If you actually let him get on." That SOB of a horse wanted no part of me. They told me he may be a little difficult to get on. So someone holds onto the headgear and I try to get on. He swings his ass around and knocks me onto the ground (to some nice applause from the ten people watching). We get a couple more people to help hold him, I walk up, and he steps on me. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, he might try to step on you." With four people holding him and Justice pulling down hard on the headgear, I mount the bastard. We spend the next 20 seconds bouncing around the yard rodeo style with me hanging on for dear life. Once that stopped, Justice told me that he would be fine because now the horse respected me. Until we got into the trees. He tried to scrape me off his back on just about every tree and wanted to bite me every time I pulled on the reins to either steer him or slow him down. We ended up riding to some waterfalls where we smoked a funny cigarette, after which I decided I was terrified of the horse. Anoushka and I switched horses and the ride back to the ranch was much easier. At least after we got Anoushka back on Dragon and gave him another chance to step on me. Bastard.
Speaking of Dragon the Satan Horse, we needed tortillas and poche (the local moonshine) so Cristobal decides to ride Dragon into the village. We were cooking dinner and the trip was only about 15 minutes each way. After about an hour, I asked if we should be worried about Cristobal but everyone assured me he was fine. As it approached two hours, I asked if we should go look for him - "no, he will be back." At about the two and a half hour mark, we here "goddammn, motherfucker, I'm going to kill that horse." Cristobal comes through the door dirty and all cut up. His first mistake was not taking a light. His second mistake was not bringing an extra rope (which he says he always does). Apparently, after getting poche and tortillas, he was riding next to the corn fields and the Dragon's headgear broke. He got off, fixed it, and it broke again right away. Dragon, being a horse, has an affinity for fresh corn and corn stalks. So dragon bolts and Cristobal doesn't know which direction he went. He spent the next hour and a half looking for the horse and finally found him standing in the middle of the cornfield having a feast ("there is going to be one pissed off campesino tomorrow") but he has no rope and this horse is a pain in the ass. He ends up having to drag the horse by its mane a half mile up the trail back to the house. He lost the tortillas and poche. And he thought we should eat the horse.
The next day we would leave the ranch and go to Comitan. Another adventure...
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Chiapas y El Rancho la Granada (Part 1)
Wow. What an incredible place. Both the state of Chiapas and the ranch. There is something about both places. Chiapas could be a place to spend part of every year when I start my next life which will look nothing like the one I had before. If anyone reading this wants everything I own, you can go to my storage unit in San Francisco and clean it out. I won't have much need for couches, knives, pots and pans, a bed, a desk, or a dining room table. My brother and sister can pretty much throw everything away that I left at their houses except for the photos, art, surfboards, and mountain bike gear. The way I look at it, I can live on El Rancho la Granada for 10 pesos a day (about $.80) which means I have already saved enough money to live there for the next 20 or 30 years. And electricity is overrated. OK, I'm not there yet but it isn't out of the question.
San Cristobal
After an overnight bus ride, we arrived in San Cristobal de las Casas. We were very disappointed to find out that we could not bring beer on the bus. Oh well, the lujo class (luxury) buses are very comfortable and have good seats for sleeping. Everyone was asleep and I stood behind the driver and watched out the front window from 2-3 AM on these crazy, twisting roads. No margin for error. These drivers are good. And they have an extremely difficult job. They are also very well respected here. After a while I went and passed out and woke up for the beautiful drive into the mountains out of Tuxtla Gutierrez. We met a very nice girl from Honduras who worked at the bus station and watched our gear while we went and looked for a place to stay. We found an Italian-run hotel and decided it was good enough. There are lots of Italians in San Cris and in Oaxaca, something I didn't realize. They are easy to spot because they are the white people with bad teeth.
Chiapas is the poorest state in Mexico and it's pretty evident when you visit the mercado central (central market) in town. It has the best market I have seen though. Fascinating and filled with colors and sounds that come at you as soon as you enter. The most beautiful fruit and vegetables I have ever seen displayed and with so much care and precision. The place is at the same time totally organized and completely chaotic. Live goats, chickens, and turkeys in one area. The newest Hollywood movies (all legal, I'm sure) in another. Herbs and bread and cheese and the best meat in the world. All stored at an FDA-approved 80 degrees and hanging in the market. Don't get me wrong, I buy all of my meat at the market. But something is missing for me. We have these strict regulations and rules we follow in the US and all of that is thrown out the window here. And people are not getting food borne illness here. Ecoli is more rare here than in the US. And again, I eat it every day. Not sure what to make of that. And it tastes so much better because it is fresher and hormone and chemical free. I do know that I come from a society that is fear-filled if not fear-based. It's the only way that certain political factions and industries can survive. Anyway, I don't know what the deal is but there is something wrong with the way we produce and distribute food in the US. And big US corporations would love to change the way it's done here. And people are aware of that fact. There are some pretty enlightened people resisting the influence of the Monsantos of the world and the fact that they are poisoning people. I'm not anti business but I do have a bit of revolutionary in me. Viva Zapata!
The part of the market where the market is located is a crazy, chaotic place. People will run you over with their carts, run push you out of the way with their baskets, and have no problems putting you onto the hood of their car. It is solidly third world. The rest of the town is a beautiful colonial place with cobblestone streets and Spanish architecture. Like Oaxaca, art is everywhere. It seems like everyone makes art and/or plays music. The Zapatista rebels are alive and well here also. They have broad based support and there are lots of photos around town of people who have disappeared at the hands of the governement or at least with their tacit support. There is also a lot of indigenous graffiti. It's a very indigenous place. People are very proud to be from Chiapas. I would be too. It's incredible and almost completely devoid of tourists.
After we grabbed our stuff from the bus station and checked into our hotel, we walked around town. There is a huge set of stairs that lead up to a church on top of the cerro in the middle of town so we decided to climb it. We were met half way up by two indigenous girls with pads of paper. They had names of people and what country they were from. They lived next to the stairs and needed money for school supplies. Sounds like a racket to me but we complied and gave them some pesos. The one girl told me that she couldn't afford a backpack for school. She was so cute and suprisingly spoke some English and I let her sucker me. I wanted to go to the mercado and buy her a backpack because I'm sure the money went for food. I never did. The Kernal and I hiked over the hill and down through the colonia on the other side. We saw some guys setting up a beer stand at a church and they told us there was a party and we should come back. We ended up returning to the party at about 10 or 11 and people were absolutely hammered. We soon figured out why - they were serving these giant, 40 oz micheladas. A michelada is a beer with chili powder, tomato juice, lime, and whatever secret ingredient you want to add. In this case, the secret ingredient was tequila. People were just stumbling and falling and throwing up. We felt like animals in a zoo. People were looking at us like we were from another planet. Not a place gringos go. And certainly not at night. But the guys who invited us back were great guys and poured us a couple of HUGE drinks. We drank them and stumbled back to town. We ended up finding a great band from Spain called Kaso Perdido. They were playing in this cool attic space above a bar. They were kind of a punk/ska band. We closed down the bar and of course decided we needed a beer for the room. We stopped into this little bar restaurant and asked them if we could take beers to go. They agreed to it so we grabbed a couple and headed out. Our hotel was extremely quiet and noise carried very well so we couldn't go back. We decided to ask four cops if we could do something illegal - drink on the steps to the cultural center...."I don't care, do you care, I don't care, I don't remember a gringo asking me if he could violate the law before but ok, I guess you can." So we did. And everything was ok until the Kernal decided to pee on a tree. Boom, four cops appear out of nowhere. Some of the same guys and a couple of new ones, including one scary guy with a black mask and a machine gun who was defintiely playing the bad cop. Kernal tried to apologize and they were talking about a mandatory 36 hours in jail. Someone said something about a 500 peso fine and I laid out 300 pesos and just walked away. Kernal was still trying to reason and I told him to just come on and we went back to our room a little lighter in the wallet.
The next day we were off to El Rancho la Granada.
San Cristobal
After an overnight bus ride, we arrived in San Cristobal de las Casas. We were very disappointed to find out that we could not bring beer on the bus. Oh well, the lujo class (luxury) buses are very comfortable and have good seats for sleeping. Everyone was asleep and I stood behind the driver and watched out the front window from 2-3 AM on these crazy, twisting roads. No margin for error. These drivers are good. And they have an extremely difficult job. They are also very well respected here. After a while I went and passed out and woke up for the beautiful drive into the mountains out of Tuxtla Gutierrez. We met a very nice girl from Honduras who worked at the bus station and watched our gear while we went and looked for a place to stay. We found an Italian-run hotel and decided it was good enough. There are lots of Italians in San Cris and in Oaxaca, something I didn't realize. They are easy to spot because they are the white people with bad teeth.
Chiapas is the poorest state in Mexico and it's pretty evident when you visit the mercado central (central market) in town. It has the best market I have seen though. Fascinating and filled with colors and sounds that come at you as soon as you enter. The most beautiful fruit and vegetables I have ever seen displayed and with so much care and precision. The place is at the same time totally organized and completely chaotic. Live goats, chickens, and turkeys in one area. The newest Hollywood movies (all legal, I'm sure) in another. Herbs and bread and cheese and the best meat in the world. All stored at an FDA-approved 80 degrees and hanging in the market. Don't get me wrong, I buy all of my meat at the market. But something is missing for me. We have these strict regulations and rules we follow in the US and all of that is thrown out the window here. And people are not getting food borne illness here. Ecoli is more rare here than in the US. And again, I eat it every day. Not sure what to make of that. And it tastes so much better because it is fresher and hormone and chemical free. I do know that I come from a society that is fear-filled if not fear-based. It's the only way that certain political factions and industries can survive. Anyway, I don't know what the deal is but there is something wrong with the way we produce and distribute food in the US. And big US corporations would love to change the way it's done here. And people are aware of that fact. There are some pretty enlightened people resisting the influence of the Monsantos of the world and the fact that they are poisoning people. I'm not anti business but I do have a bit of revolutionary in me. Viva Zapata!
The part of the market where the market is located is a crazy, chaotic place. People will run you over with their carts, run push you out of the way with their baskets, and have no problems putting you onto the hood of their car. It is solidly third world. The rest of the town is a beautiful colonial place with cobblestone streets and Spanish architecture. Like Oaxaca, art is everywhere. It seems like everyone makes art and/or plays music. The Zapatista rebels are alive and well here also. They have broad based support and there are lots of photos around town of people who have disappeared at the hands of the governement or at least with their tacit support. There is also a lot of indigenous graffiti. It's a very indigenous place. People are very proud to be from Chiapas. I would be too. It's incredible and almost completely devoid of tourists.
After we grabbed our stuff from the bus station and checked into our hotel, we walked around town. There is a huge set of stairs that lead up to a church on top of the cerro in the middle of town so we decided to climb it. We were met half way up by two indigenous girls with pads of paper. They had names of people and what country they were from. They lived next to the stairs and needed money for school supplies. Sounds like a racket to me but we complied and gave them some pesos. The one girl told me that she couldn't afford a backpack for school. She was so cute and suprisingly spoke some English and I let her sucker me. I wanted to go to the mercado and buy her a backpack because I'm sure the money went for food. I never did. The Kernal and I hiked over the hill and down through the colonia on the other side. We saw some guys setting up a beer stand at a church and they told us there was a party and we should come back. We ended up returning to the party at about 10 or 11 and people were absolutely hammered. We soon figured out why - they were serving these giant, 40 oz micheladas. A michelada is a beer with chili powder, tomato juice, lime, and whatever secret ingredient you want to add. In this case, the secret ingredient was tequila. People were just stumbling and falling and throwing up. We felt like animals in a zoo. People were looking at us like we were from another planet. Not a place gringos go. And certainly not at night. But the guys who invited us back were great guys and poured us a couple of HUGE drinks. We drank them and stumbled back to town. We ended up finding a great band from Spain called Kaso Perdido. They were playing in this cool attic space above a bar. They were kind of a punk/ska band. We closed down the bar and of course decided we needed a beer for the room. We stopped into this little bar restaurant and asked them if we could take beers to go. They agreed to it so we grabbed a couple and headed out. Our hotel was extremely quiet and noise carried very well so we couldn't go back. We decided to ask four cops if we could do something illegal - drink on the steps to the cultural center...."I don't care, do you care, I don't care, I don't remember a gringo asking me if he could violate the law before but ok, I guess you can." So we did. And everything was ok until the Kernal decided to pee on a tree. Boom, four cops appear out of nowhere. Some of the same guys and a couple of new ones, including one scary guy with a black mask and a machine gun who was defintiely playing the bad cop. Kernal tried to apologize and they were talking about a mandatory 36 hours in jail. Someone said something about a 500 peso fine and I laid out 300 pesos and just walked away. Kernal was still trying to reason and I told him to just come on and we went back to our room a little lighter in the wallet.
The next day we were off to El Rancho la Granada.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Off to Chiapas
Where the heart of the revolution is still alive and well. Viva Mexico, Viva Zapata.
The Kernal arrived here Monday night and we proceeded to watch the sun come up the next two days. Ouch. We are getting on a bus for San Cristobal de las Casas tonight for the 10 hour ride. Tomorrow we are going up to El Rancho La Granada about 40 minutes out of San Cristobal where my friend Anoushka lives. We will stay up there at least one night and maybe more, depending on the accommodations and how we are feeling about the place.
Did some voice over work this week for a documentary these guys are making here. It's actually more like Catholic propaganda. But they paid me 500 pesos for my time. I had to entirely re-write the script as well but the guys doing it (some local filmmakers) were such good guys, I didn't mind. It was probably the most poorly written thing I have ever read.
I really am leaving Oaxaca for good at some point. I need to buy a ticket for Peru but these guys have a little more work for me and I just ran into a girl I have been looking for two months. I met her my second day here and have been trying to track her down ever since. I need to put in some quality time with her. I think I will go to Peru in about three weeks. But I will return to Oaxaca next Wednesday and start to wrap things up. I hope.
The Kernal arrived here Monday night and we proceeded to watch the sun come up the next two days. Ouch. We are getting on a bus for San Cristobal de las Casas tonight for the 10 hour ride. Tomorrow we are going up to El Rancho La Granada about 40 minutes out of San Cristobal where my friend Anoushka lives. We will stay up there at least one night and maybe more, depending on the accommodations and how we are feeling about the place.
Did some voice over work this week for a documentary these guys are making here. It's actually more like Catholic propaganda. But they paid me 500 pesos for my time. I had to entirely re-write the script as well but the guys doing it (some local filmmakers) were such good guys, I didn't mind. It was probably the most poorly written thing I have ever read.
I really am leaving Oaxaca for good at some point. I need to buy a ticket for Peru but these guys have a little more work for me and I just ran into a girl I have been looking for two months. I met her my second day here and have been trying to track her down ever since. I need to put in some quality time with her. I think I will go to Peru in about three weeks. But I will return to Oaxaca next Wednesday and start to wrap things up. I hope.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Barro Negro and the Wedding Fiesta (no lo hagas!)
I have been helping some high school students with their English studies and one of the girls in the class (Gloria) invited me to her village, a place called San Bartolo Coyotepec, where they make barro negro (black pottery). I am always amazed by how generous people here are with the most valuable commodity any of us have - time. I can't tell you how many people have taken an entire day and sometimes a night to show me around or help me out after doing something as simple as asking for directions. Americans are the most generous people in the world with their money. We are far and away the best tippers in the world (and whoever is second isn't even in the same league). But most of the people here don't have the money to share so they share something much more valuable. And without a second thought. They don't just invite you to their house for dinner, they invite you into their lives. You are part of the family. They will do anything for you. It's why I was never worried during the flu outbreak. I had an army of people who would have dropped everything and rushed to help me. However, of all of the generosity and goodness that I have been shown, Gloria stands out. I hate to speak in superlatives, but she is possibly the nicest human being I have ever met. She is completely un-jaded by the world and lacks even the smallest hint of cynicism. Except about the Mexican government of course. She invited me to her village to see the black pottery and go to a "fabrica" to see the process. The process and results are interesting but seemingly every person in the place makes the stuff. I have no idea how anyone makes a living when virtually every store on every block sells exactly the same products. I figured I would be there for a couple of hours and then catch a bus back to town. After walking around for two hours with Gloria and two other students, the other two left and Gloria invited me to her house to meet her family. We walked down a few dirt streets until we reached her house. Her mom was outside in the kitchen (outdoor kitchens are very common) and her sister and brother were playing Pac Man on an old classic console like youi would have seen in an arcade circa 1982. I guess by an American standard the family would be considered poor. I have a very hard time figuring out where people fit here. I don't want to judge, I only want to try and get some perspective or context. I do know that I have some rich friends here. I also know I have some fairly poor friends. People are very sensitive about using the word "poor" though. There is also city middle class, country middle class, and village middle class. And another very American assumption is that people are unhappy if they are poor or don't have as much shit gathering dust in a garage. Absolutely not true. On any level. These are some of the happiest people in the world and they have the same life expectancy as we do. And it's certainly not the stress that's killing them. Anyway, I think Gloria is pretty solidly middle class for where she lives. Her parents definitely have some foresight and resources if they sent her to a private high school and are sending her to a university. After we arrived at her house, her mother (of course) offered me some food which would have been rude to refuse. Gloria disappeared for an hour without saying a word (another very typical thing here) and her mother and I sat looking at pictures of her old Mixtec village up in the mountains. She also told me stories about Mezcal and the different types of agave and let me sample some of the goods. Gloria finally returns and tells me that I am going to a wedding with her. I said that I couldn't go because I wasn't invited and didn't have the right clothes. She explains to me that where she lives, I am her guest and therefore she can bring me. She also said that I am a guest of the entire village and it is a great honor for the novios (bride and groom) to have me at their wedding as a visitor and especially a foreigner. We weren't actually going to the wedding but to the fiesta/reception. It's funny because when we were walking by the church, the groom was walking in and I was saying "no lo hagas" (don't do it) not knowing they were friends of Gloria's. She thought it was hilarious. Kind of like when I call myself a pinche gringo. Always good for a laugh here if you can make fun of yourself. You will get a good response every time here if you call yourself a pinche gringo. No lo hagas from a gringo definitely got some good laughs. So, after Gloria changes her shirt 15 times (some things don't change no matter where you are in the world) we go the fiesta. The fiesta was at this little ranch or "ranchito." There were burros, horses, oxen, and lots of chickens and turkeys walking around. When you walk in, everyone gets a giant back of regalos (gifts). You get junk food, fruit, photos, and some handcrafts. There are people (not waiters but friends) walking around with trays of beer and Mezcal and you Will drink. Even if you are 15. The first course was hot chocolate and sweet bread. The second course was soup. The third course was a different kind of hot chocolate that you had to eat with a spoon. I didn't know how to eat it which was very entertaining for the people sitting across from me. I tried to drink it. The main course was pork mole and tortillas. The really interesting part was that they handed out bags for every to take food home. And everyone did. Gloria told me that the tradition for all parties there is to make a bunch of food so that everyone can take food home. At the wedding fiesta, everyone took their food home and then changed clothes to put on their dancing duds. The bride and groom don't even show up until after 9 PM because their immediate and extended families go to their homes after the actual ceremony and wait for them to visit. Then they show up at the fiesta, the band starts, and it is ON! I spent the next six hours (that would be 3 AM) getting salsa lessons from five high school girls while drinking Mezcal and getting introduced to basically every single person there.
All of this could be mine if I would go to a village and buy a girl. Yes, I said buy a girl. More on that and other things Gloria and her friends have told me later. However, I will say that Gloria told me that her family doesn't really buy into that tradition but I could change that according to her and her mother. Slow down, ladies.
In any case, I know that where I come from, nobody gives up an entire day and night to someone who was previously a stranger. I constantly feel like repaying people but A) I can't and B) they won't accept it.
All of this could be mine if I would go to a village and buy a girl. Yes, I said buy a girl. More on that and other things Gloria and her friends have told me later. However, I will say that Gloria told me that her family doesn't really buy into that tradition but I could change that according to her and her mother. Slow down, ladies.
In any case, I know that where I come from, nobody gives up an entire day and night to someone who was previously a stranger. I constantly feel like repaying people but A) I can't and B) they won't accept it.
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Gay Gringo
Just a conversation I had the other day with some very confused guy while having a beer. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
"I'm not gay. Well I think there is a 10 or 20% chance I may be gay."
"Dude, I don't care one way or another. I'm not one of these right wing tools who say they are for personal freedom and lack of government involvement and regulation while at the same time legislating against what people do in the privacy of their homes. I don't care what you do or who you do it with as long as you aren't stealing or molesting children."
"Man, that is so cool. I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm not gay but there is a small part of me that is really open to anything. But I like your approach."
"OK, dude, you're gay. If one part of you is open to anything, you are gay. And again, I don't care but you need to quit talking about it. So do you want to come with me and meet girls or do you want to go off by yourself and meet guys?
"I want to meet girls. I don't want to meet guys but I wouldn't say that means I wouldn't be open to some other shit."
"OK, we can hang out but if you bring this up again, you are buying all the beers tonight. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
"OK then, let's go talk to some nice Oaxacan girls."
"That's cool. Do I look gay?"
"Yes. And you're buying."
And he did.
"I'm not gay. Well I think there is a 10 or 20% chance I may be gay."
"Dude, I don't care one way or another. I'm not one of these right wing tools who say they are for personal freedom and lack of government involvement and regulation while at the same time legislating against what people do in the privacy of their homes. I don't care what you do or who you do it with as long as you aren't stealing or molesting children."
"Man, that is so cool. I mean, I'm pretty sure I'm not gay but there is a small part of me that is really open to anything. But I like your approach."
"OK, dude, you're gay. If one part of you is open to anything, you are gay. And again, I don't care but you need to quit talking about it. So do you want to come with me and meet girls or do you want to go off by yourself and meet guys?
"I want to meet girls. I don't want to meet guys but I wouldn't say that means I wouldn't be open to some other shit."
"OK, we can hang out but if you bring this up again, you are buying all the beers tonight. Agreed?"
"Agreed."
"OK then, let's go talk to some nice Oaxacan girls."
"That's cool. Do I look gay?"
"Yes. And you're buying."
And he did.
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