Hans left me behind in Xalapa about a week ago. I spent a few days there recentering in a private room much posher than I could normally afford - all because the hostel I inquired at is currently hosting an entire baseball team, and has a deal with another spot for their overflow. I had my own kingsized bed, coffeemaker, electric safe, swan-shaped towel...water pressure...the works. I even watched a stupid movie on cable tv.
Thence I made my way to Chiapas for Gen's and Ale's wedding, which was beautiful! They were married outside under a giant tree, with pine needles spread on the ground all around it, to wise and poetic vows, and the applause and tears of an international family. I cried, too. And saw old friends, and made new friends, and danced the night away to Marimba, Mariachis (if Hans ever gets a pair of those sexy sequined pants, I'm done for), and wonderfully horrible pop music. Yes!
I tried to go directly to the coast after that...but the toenail I turned black and blue hiking in the Sierra decided to detatch itself when a friend scuffed it in the process of hugging me. Oops. For some reason that meant I stayed in Chiapa de Corzo one more day, which happened to coincide which the incredibly silly first night of the "Fiesta Grande" de San Sebastian - Chiapa de Corzo's yearly, two-week hoedown/carnival in honor of...well, I still don't know much about him. What I do know is that it appears a cross between a typical small-town carnival (rides, cotton candy, electronics raffles...?) and funky traditions from the area, including a jolly, all-night parade of hundreds of guys in drag, dressed impeccably in traditional Chiapanecan women's outfits. My friends and I spent the night wandering the streets with the rest of town, watching (and joining) the wandering stream, which played marching music, danced, threw confetti, and got steadily and pleasantly drunker.
I love Mexico. The sense of humor, everything. I can't even tell you. It was a very warm-hearted night. We were like salmon, trying to fit through the street, following the current, going uphill, scattering to rest on the steps of churches.
~
Among other things, this apparently means that while Mexican kids cast their fishing nets from the black rocks of the cove, and women cross the beach draped in heaps of handmade bags or shawls or bracelets, and a man wheels his wheelbarrow of coconuts...steadily browning white folks will lie naked on the sand, and occasionally make barking noises, or break into modern dance.
The beautiful, strange, and hilarious culture clashes here never fail to surprise, confuse, and intrigue me.
Anyway. I am grateful to be here! To be absorbing sunlight, like a camel, for the months ahead of Portland rain. To be camping yards from the ocean. For last night's yellow moon, and the sound of the waves at night (augmented by the neighbor's goose). I am glad to be here by the graciousness of my hosts, big and small, obvious and not: the ocean, the people, the other ways of life here, the iguanas by the bathrooms, and the little boys who live with their family on the edge the camping area, and used my cooking equipment as sand toys.
I'm getting what I came for: S U N S H I N E.
And when I've had my fill, and collected scattered belongings in several cities, and said a few goodbyes, I can come home. H O M E.
