How can you not love a country whose milk is made in LaLa Land, the bread is baked by a Bimbo and every single clerk in the entire country says, "May your way go well."
Part of the adventure is the language. I'm trying. I practice my Spanish every day, but one thing I've learned is that one must always be careful to watch for unintentional mistakes with words which sound similar. Sometimes I still ask for my Thursdays (Jueves or huevos?) over easy for breakfast and I really didn't want my onions cut just above the ears at the barber shop. The words "Cebolla," (onion) and "cabello," (hair) just look too much alike. So, I switched to "pelo," another word for hai, so my onions would remain long. Still, I must have some kind of linguistic deformity when it comes to the subject of hair. When I lived in France I wanted the barber to cut my horses short: "cheveux" instead of "chevaux." My most embarrassing mistake here was at the closing of our house. In Spanish I insisted on a lawyer being present. There seemed to be some protest and a great deal of very rapid Spanish in return, but I stuck to my guns. "I would like a lawyer, please," I repeated. So, as you might guess, I arrived to find an avocado on the desk in front of me instead of my abogado.
But I'm learning. I never ask someone to repeat what they just said, "mande?" on Tuesday.
I love Mexican children, the best behaved in the world. Last night at a restaurant, a family of six small children showed up with parents. In Atlanta I would just pay my bill and leave, anticipating the total chaos to come. Here from time to time the little ones would go in the back yard and play soundlessly. Two girls, probably twins, around five years old, made some motions to run around the tables, just having fun. They got "the look" from their mother. The rest of the evening they sat quietly on chairs and whispered back and forth.
The year-end fandangos here are great entertainment. The festival of San Andrés, spelled for some reason "Andreas" in California, takes nine days, the time of the novena. Each night the church bells ring forever accompanied by rockets, forever. On the feast day itself it is 24/7 World War III in rocketville. I am fond of saying that San Andreas, as holy as he was, still had his faults....but with the exception of all these damn explosions which are certainly his fault, his were mostly in northern California.
The San Andres fiesta is over, the rocket brigade more or less over. But right afterwards comes the feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe with its own explosive entourage. On December 12th, her feast day, the procession is one grand event. It starts at the main church in the Ajijic plaza and travels to the church of the Virgin at Six Corners. The guys dressed as faux-Aztecs with fake feathers and headdresses get to lead, followed by a blaring mariachi band, followed by the pilgrims, many of whom carry small children on their shoulders: the little girls with small cages on their backs, symbolizing the singing of the birds as part of the apparition miracles and the boys all dressed like miniature Juan Diegos, the apparitionee. Finally the large picture of the Virgin comes borne by several men, the whole phalanx of folk weaving their way to Six Corners and into the church....but without the poor phony Aztecs who have to stay outside....pagans you know...and drink beer and smoke while everyone else is inside singing hymns. They don't look like they mind much.
One of my favorite things is the balanced view Mexicans have about spiritual things. For example, on the Day of the Dead, ancestors are honored. Families go to the cemetery, bring drink and food, pray, play music. It is both fun and serious at the same time.
And speaking of balance, last Christmas in the courtyard of the church in San Antonio Tlayacapán, there were paper maché replicas of scenes of the Bible. The first in line was Genesis. On top of a mountain were Adam and Eve. Down below, Cain was stabbing Abel. An angel was hanging out. Animals roamed over the terrain. I looked more closely at Adam and Eve. They were portrayed by Ken and Barbie dolls. Ken was Ken, macho and cool. But this Barbie wasn't any ordinary, well dressed Barbie....this Eve had a miniskirt and partly exposed bosom. Cleavage! This Eve was hot. I can't imagine something like this in the USA. In fact, religion is taken so seriously and literally much of the time, I can see hoards of people with pitchforks and torches like in the Frankenstein movies, moving in on the church, protesting the "sacrilege." Here everyone, gringo and Mexican alike, chuckle.
Then there are Los Eventos. The Events, usually musical, are in my front yard, more or less. The Charro, the stadium, is one block away with no sound control in our bedroom. Most last well into the early morning. I'd heard them often enough, so one day I decided to go to one.
The crowd was predominantly very young. Of course, most people on the planet are younger than I am now, but couples, groups of teenage girls, some parents, a few older people were all dancing to the music, and they seemed to be just jumping up and down to my undisciplined dancing eyes.
I made my way to the top of the stadium. While the groups were singing I looked down on the field. There were men on horses which were prancing to the music. At the end of the song, the horses reared, riders waving a sombrero to the crowd, everyone going nuts applauding, me too, high fives to the young lady and her boyfriend next to me.
Then a door opened at the bottom of the arena, and out came a bull, I mean a big damn bull, horns and all, snorting and charging. Was this going to be a tragic ending to a wonderful evening, would it hit a horse or knock a rider off?
No chance of any of that....this poor old bull was part of the act. It did what it was trained to do, dancing with the horses. A bull, dancing? Talk about an act against God and nature. Bulls are supposed to at least try to knock bull fighters on their asses, fighting the inevitable ending to the last minute. This one had lassoes around its neck just in case, but I wondered as he pirouetted if perhaps it was thinking of the good ol' days when bulls were fearsome creatures, terrorizing toreros. Unlikely. This Ferdinand ran around having a good time, bouncing up and down, clowning with the caballos (not the onions or the hair).
So there are many things I like about living in Mexico. The sick and elderly are taken care of. I see no homeless here. Perhaps in the big cities, but not here. Mexican workers can fix anything. My friend, Efrain, also our contractor, has the magical hands of a surgeon which design, repair and build from scratch. And he trains all his lesser experienced helpers in everything he knows, passing skills to another generation.
Oh, I almost forgot....at El Evento; I learned a great new way to dance by watching the couples in the aisles. This is how it goes. A guy and a girl face each other. They get close enough to touch from forehead to toes. Then they jump up and down rubbing against each other in time with the music. I can do that. This is the best dance technique I've ever seen.
Right. As if the world population isn't sufficient as it is, for God's sake.
