2 sides to Mexico

When I first arrived in San Cristobal, I ate dinner in a local restaurant that caters to locals but is upscale. The tables in the restaurant were placed around the kitchen and I could watch the senora-chef of the restaurant cooking away. This was my first experience with mole. What a treat! With rice, veggies, and tortillas, I felt like I was living the life of a Mayan king!

Later this week, just before the end of class, one of my teachers announced that they were going to a local restaurant for typical indigenous food. I told my teacher that the senora of my house didn´t know that and was probably preparing lunch (the main meal of the day) at that very moment. He said, "No problem!" He then picked up the phone, called her, and said "Your 3 students won´t be coming home for lunch today. They´re going out with me." I was a little taken aback but later found out that the senora wasn´t troubled by this last minute change of plans at all. So off we went. We walked for what seemed like a mile before getting to a cantina in the scruffy part of town. It was definitely the genuine article. It was fairly dirty. It was filled with men (only) and extremely loud music. The cantina looked amazingly similar to the one in Bolivia where the bus stopped and I drank some coffee and paid dearly for it afterwards by contaminating the main (dirt) highway.

I could hardly decipher anything on the menu. When we asked the teachers what something was, they obviously looked very challenged to be able to explain the ingredients in any language other than the local Mayan tongue. It wouldn´t have done any good anyway; I wouldn´t have been able to hear them over the noise of the music. The waiter just started bringing small dishes of salads. I struggled between throwing caution to the wind and just eating anything and everything they presented knowing I might be absent from school for the next day or two as I spent an equivalent amount of time in the bathroom, or following the doctor´s advice of the "3P´s." You eat it if 1)it´s packaged; 2 you peel it; or 3) it´s piping hot. I chickened out, as it were, and ordered chicken. I truly felt like a party pooper, again as it were. Fortunately, my lower intestinal tract survived the experience. I don´t know about the others. Alas, anothing sign of advancing age: I´m willing to try just about anything, but I draw the line when it comes to putting it in my mouth.

The same evening, after my 5 ´clock espresso, I happened to walk past the central plaza and there was an orchestra of about 25 members playing away. There was the usual selection of horns, bass guitars, drums, etc., but best of all were the marimbas! In the meantime, the senora of my house tells me that they play every Thursday evening from 6 until 10 p.m. The music seemed to me to be mostly salsa. There were couples dancing, little kids were dancing to the infectious rhythm. People couldn´t help but have big grins on their faces. Even I, the arhythmic gringo that I am, found myself bouncing in place. It was wonderful!