While my northern friends are buried under piles of snow, wind, and ice, it’s starting to get blistering hot here. Sunday was a wreck from the heat, and the damage I caused myself with margaritas and music on Saturday night.
Sunday night I took a wander down some streets I’d never ventured down before. Most places, some of the most picturesque scenery is of the religious nature. I love the architecture, if not always the sentiment.
Saturday I went to the tostada stand where I get help with my homework. I ended up getting dragged, along with my guitar, to meet Pancho’s family. Pancho and his son, also Pancho, run the tostada stand where I first started playing music in town. He invites me to his sister’s house, and it turns out the cousin lived in California for ten years and speaks great English. He was my advisor for the night and kept an eye on things as people got out of hand and the tequila started to flow. We all headed down to the Parian to play some music and entertain folks, which as you can see, went very well. The bartender was extremely happy that this merry band of young men decided to stay for another round for the chance to sing along with the gringa.
When Pancho, who is older than my father, and has two girlfriends and a wife, started calling me Mamacita, I knew it was time to make my exit.
Relationships in Mexico are an interesting thing. Many of the people I’ve talked to here are not exclusive with their boyfriends, girlfriends, or spouses. I asked Pancho (the dad), how he feels about his daughter’s husband cheating on her, and he said he didn’t care. “That’s Mexico.” I asked him how he felt about the fact that Pancho (the son) has seven kids with four different women. He said he was proud he had so many kids. Very different thinking from mine I suppose. It goes to show that a church on every corner doesn’t count for much. Tequila wins over Catholicism every time. For now, I’m choosing to keep my distance and enjoy Latin men from an arm’s length.
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