A night on the town

I am beginning to feel the pangs of having missed a true wenches meeting this month. Celia and I crossed town for an early dinner at Miguel’s self acclaimed for their chili rellenos. I was surprised to see that the gringo shops were all closed up for the night at 5 PM but there was plenty of activity in the local haunts. In fact, the traffic was greater than I had see any time prior – indeed, we were witnessing the early evening pre-show to coming cruising main attraction. With much less ambitious goals for the night we set out for Miguel’s and a quick top in the grocery.

Miguel did make a mean relleno but his claim to fame should be his margarita. Celia and I watched the bartender/waiter prepare margarita after margarita with the same subline simplicity: place one slice of lime in the bottom of a hand blown margarita glass, fill the glass with ice. Squeeze three lime halves into the glass, fill to top with tequila and add a splash of cointreau. At $3 each, it was impossible to stop at one and difficult to walk away at two, yet the thought of Celia walking the streets chirping “ayudame, mi mama caye” was more than I could bear. That did not stop me from quizzing her on how to get back to Casa Bentley in the event of Mama’s incapacitation.

On the way home we passed the Coca-Cola playground – site of the infamous strawberry popcicle meltdown. The play structure was crawling with dozens of local kids. Surprisingly, Celia wanted in on it. I sat for nearly an hour and watched her skirt the social interactions of the other children. She retreated into a nook of the structure that allowed her easy access to the children’s play without much threat of involvement. Like mother, like daughter. I took a seat on a bench near two other mothers. As a preventative action against yet another impossible conversation, I first took photos and then retreated into my Blackberry Pearl. Who knew it could do so much! I’ve had it for two months but this was the first moment I had had to really check it out since I got it. Maps, voice recordings, to-do lists… the ability to burn time was seemingly endless. I tested my ability to access hotmail and send Ed an e-mail. It seemed to work but I had no way of knowing. Given that my quasi-drunken surfing was conducted on Mexican telecom, for all I knew, I may have been dropping $25 a minute to send the message, “@ parque. Testing new pearl. Wish U were here.”

When I finally pried Celia away from the slides, we walked up the now dark street to see that our market was still open. Although I chided myself for being silly, I took out my lip gloss as we approached and offered some to Celia. While it was out, I took a bit for myself. At the soda cooler I caught sight of the butcher. In no time, he was assisting me with my fruit selection and working hard to charm Celia. Overhearing their banter I caught his name, Eduardo – figures. Slightly tipsy from my agave-lime libation, I struggle to recall all the items on my list which, of course, had been left back at the hotel. The incentive for missing an item being a return visit tomorrow – hmmm. The store was obviously closing so I gave Celia the go ahead to choose an ice cream treat from the cooler, grabbed a bag of rice and headed for the check out. For reasons unclear to me, Eduardo was now my bagging my groceries. We all walked out of the store together. With a simultaneous “buenos noches”, Eduardo headed north and we turned south – directly opposite the direction of Casa Bentley.

I was in search of a store we had found days ago that stocked liquor. Having just learned to make margaritas from master Miguel, I wanted to give it a try myself. The town buzzed with activity. A near constant stream of pickup trucks thumping accordion-laced tunes throbbed past us. We came upon a community center hosting a party. Inside the gates dozens of children danced about while women looked on and men stood in packs drinking beer from long neck bottles. Celia and I watched until she said, “too bad we aren’t invited.” Her comment hit a long ago retired chord in me which elicited a reflexive response, “we don’t need them to have fun!” Just then I saw the impossibly large, pumpkin orange, mist-veiled harvest moon rising above the party. “Look at the moon Celia!” I gasped. She looked up in the opposite direction, as children always do, and started laughing. Directly above our heads, peering down from the roof top above, was the snout of a German Shepherd who has been put out for the night.

Deciding that this place in time was too good to be true we plopped down and beneath the pumpkin moon and roof pooch, we sat on the corner, watched the town folk cruise. Celia led the conversation. We talked about – what else? – geology. If asked, I can summarize the Topic of Cancer, which we crossed today on oru walk, in 30 words or less – not because I am especially succinct but because that exhausts my complete knowledge on the topic. We moved on to the earth’s core and earthquakes. When we arrived back home, I still had no tequila but we went to bed with tectonic plates well covered.