El Mercado & A Visit to Chiautla

The first jog in MatamorosMemo cooking me eggs in the outdoor kitchen next to the water reservoir

Sixta Veronica Rios y Guillermo Zaragoza Veronica.
Two peas in a pod ;)

Memo atrapo una naraja!

Everyday, Sixta places fresh flowers on the table for the shrine to the Virgin Mary.

The view from Sixta Veronica Rios' front door.

Outside the Mercado Nuevo

If you can't tell at a glance, the two of the three are holding live poultry by the feet.


The best store in the whole market, where we purchased a very cute local outfit for my niece.

Guillermina

Getting our tamarind juice (with ice!) at the Mercado Nuevo.

Sugar cane

On the road to Chiautla, with Popocateptl in the background

Today is November 21, I am currently on a bus from Izúcar de Matamóros to Chiautla with Memo and his mother to visit his “Aunt” Irene. Technically, I believe that she is actually his mother’s first cousin, which would make her more like my “Cousin Gary” or “Cousin George” – first cousins once removed. The bus is a step down from those we travelled on Saturday. There is no video, but rather some very cheesy romantic music being piped in along with the nauseating smell of air freshener coming through a broken vent above my head. We are passing acre upon acre of sugar cane, along with road side tiendas and food stall in the middle of nowhere

It seems that every one is selling something here, and that it gets sold everywhere imaginable. We bought a hammock and some fruit while waiting at the bus station. Memo bought taquitos from a vendor next to the bus station. As we were walking back from the Mercado Nuevo (flea market), we passed his nephew selling wrought iron furniture on the sidewalk near the cemetery, and Memo’s mother sells chips and candies to the children she teaches at Sunday school. Even those with regular jobs, like Memo’s brother, Armando who owns a gym, vends fruit and juices door to door during the mornings. To buy your drinking and cooking water, you just wait for the truck to come around with the guys yelling “Agua!” and head outside, and the same with your propane (though they usually operate at night, presumably so that the propane doesn’t overheat and explode with the heat of the day).

We started our day today with a 2.5 mile run to Memo’s mom’s house. I joke that we are training for the Matamóros Marathon, which is taking place this Saturday morning. Depending on our travel plans, I think it would be grand fun to enter, but I think I could make it only 6 or 7 miles and then where would I be…the middle of a hot and dry nowhere. I was initially worried that people would think it strange to see people running through the streets, but then I recalled the number of sports groups, both male and female, that participated in yesterday’s four-hour parade extravaganza, and I decided not to worry about it. The mornings are perfect for running. The temperature is the low sixties and the sun is high and bright. There are no sidewalks to speak of in Izúcar de Matamóros, but then again not everyone owns cars so the traffic is not bad. Most of the traffic in the streets are motorbikes or converted minibuses that act as the local transportation system. There are dozens, if not hundreds, of these buses operating throughout the city, and for around $0.50, you get pretty much anywhere if you find the right bus.

At the Zaragoza Veronica house, Memo made me eggs on the outside propane stove that seems to serve as the primary kitchen, and Armando came by with fruit and granola. We picked oranges and limes from the trees in her backyard, and talked about the possibility of applying for a non-immigrant visa for la Señora Veronica. After recalling the process that we went through with Memo, and a quick call to our attorney in Greensboro, we spent some time brainstorming the type of proof that she could offer to the US government to prove that she really only wants to visit the US, and not live there.

We all went to the Mercado for a few hours after breakfast, with Memo and I roaming through on our own to find some special Mexican cooking utensils and to look for fun dress-up presents to bring back for my nieces. The size of the place and the amount of goods was overwhelming. Anything you want, from bridal gowns to live turkeys, could be found in the market. The grocery items were not as exotic as what I saw in Southeast Asia when I was there 10 years ago, but it can still be a little jarring to see cow hooves from the knee down sitting uncovered on a countertop, or a woman pulling a live chicken out of her recycled plastic shopping bag. Realizing that we were to tired and sweaty and hot to make any more purchasing decisions, we stopped by a drink stand and bought a large glass of tamarind juice (with ice! Oh the joy!) and returned to the hotel to clean up for the trip to Chiautla.

The hotel was deliciously cool, but we ran into a problem as we tried to take a shower. First, there was no hot water, and within 3 minutes there was no water at all. It took over 20 minutes, several calls to the front desk, and having to watch blackish-water pouring from the faucet and showerhead for 10 minutes before we could finally use the shower. What is remarkable to me is Memo’s calmness about this. My instinct is to get huffy and demand service or an immediate solution, and his response is “we just have to wait for them to finish their water repairs and for the water to run clean again.” Of course he is right, which is why I find being with him so amazing at times.

The battery is getting low on Memo’s computer, and I think I would rather look out the window at passing landscape for a while. Sugar cane, corn, oranges, cacti, unidentified crops. All are passing by the window in the foreground, and in the background are large mountains and outcroppings that can only be volcanic by their shape. There is much to see here. Hasta luego!