"What the fuck are we doing in Mexico?" She said. "I mean Mexico! Of all places. Fuck."
He smiled and shrugged. It was a rhetorical question. They both knew why they were there. It was just that Mexico was the last country on earth she wanted to be in after everything that had happened.
They had missed their flight to Cuba, it was just one of those things. The flight into Cancun had been delayed 30 minutes on the Tarmac and the flight out of Cancun for Havana had left 30 minutes early. Go figure. She wasn't even particularly upset. And hey, he'd wanted to go to Mexico all along.
They were sitting in a "Mexican" restaurant... "Piknik" in downtown Cancun. They'd asked the guy at the hotel desk for a recommendation. What kind of food do you like? He had asked.
"Safe food. I don't want to get sick." he replied. The girl at the desk giggled.
They ordered Fajitas and margaritas... It was Mexico after all. And the food smelled like authentic Mexican food. Like it did the last time she was there, so many years ago. It must be the oil, she thought absent mindedly. The waiter, a tiny happy man who looked Filipino, offered them two for one cocktails and beers. So they ordered both, even though she doesn't drink beer.
She look dubiously at the crushed ice in her margarita but drank it anyway. The fajitas came with salad, he ate his, she prodded hers with a fork.
"Try the cucumber." He said. "It tastes really good. Really fresh."
She eyed him suspiciously.
"You know I don't eat salads in third world countries, I shouldn't have eaten the ice!.
"Just try it." He said. "This is Cancun! the food is... probably safe! Plus it's been peeled." She was glad that he didn't remind her that she doesn't normally eat meat in third world countries either. But she had to eat something.
She ate the cucumber, it tasted really fresh, English cucumber, like her dad used to grow, with the same slightly bitter aftertaste. He smiled at her triumphantly.
The restaurant was located in a narrow pedestrian-only laneway behind their hotel. And their table, out the front, in the warm night air, meant they were prey to a constant stream of hawkers. They were all good spirited and accepted her "no" and abrupt wave of the hand without argument. After a few she realised that a simple shake of her head had the same effect.
First there was a young man in a blue shirt who serenaded them to the strains of a beaten up guitar, then a couple of guys selling souvenirs. A chubby man cruised by with a large bouquet of red and white roses... She thought she smelled aftershave as he brushed past, but it was the scent of the roses that had lingered.
Another guitar player came by, his voice competing with the faint doof doof of a nearby "nightclub" and the intrusive "caterwailing" from the karaoke bar across the way.
"I don't even feel like I'm in Mexico" she said. "I feel lost in
translation again" she continued. "I feel totally ambivalent about being here, unconnected."
"Disconnected." He corrected. But she meant unconnected. He was sipping on the second beer.
"I don't even care that I'm here." She went on. "I should be excited that I'm in another country, but I'm not." She knew she was being grumpy, and she didn't care.
"We didn't plan this." He said. "But we should make the most of it, while we are here." He started channeling his inner Desi Arnaz. Saying things in a thick Spanish accent to make her laugh. What is it with the men her life, she thought, and their love affair with all things Spanish?
She thought about the other one, and pressed the heels of her hands in her eyes in an effort to hold back the tears. They spilled out anyway.
"Hey." He said, trying to distract her from her thoughts. "Come back to planet earth. We are here."
"He would have been so much fun to travel with to these places." She said.
She could visualise him speaking Spanish to everyone, charming them with his way, delighted with himself at their surprise. So blonde, so tall, so blue-eyed, so fair, so pretty. He would have been the centre of attention.
It was only a year ago that he was here in Mexico. Her eyes prickled with
tears once more.
"Fuck!" She said again.
She looked across the street, past the families promenading with their kids and the odd tourist couple holding hands. She could tell the locals, they were dressed simply, short people, even she towered over most of them. The tourists were either earthy backpackers or young couples way over dressed for this seedy bus-station end of town. The girls teetering
awkwardly on ridiculous high heels, clack clacking up the cobblestone lane way. Escaped from their natural habitat of "resort land", they looked so out of place. Two Rastafarians had spread out their wares on an old blanket. Just near them a young Mexican man was juggling pins. No one was
watching.
The waiter arrived offering more beers. "Do you have desserts?" They asked. "No," he replied . "But we have Tequila! You can have Tequila for dessert!" He announced proudly. "Tequila isn't dessert." She said flatly.
"I just saw a girl walking up the street with a bag of churros" she offered as an alternative. she knew he loved churros. "And I think there might be a street fair at the end of the street." He didn't question her, she was invariably right. Years of travel had honed her intuition.
"I have to say..." He said "I really appreciate your calming influence and words of pragmatism in times like these." He was referring to the missed flight and the "change of plans". He looked good, relaxed and happy despite the stresses of the day, his blue shirt unbuttoned at the neck. She envied him his insouciance.
"It's only money." She said. "It doesn't really matter. I've never placed much value on money. It's a first world problem. I used to say to my kids when things went wrong 'no one is bleeding, no one is hurt, no one has cancer, no one is dead'. I can't say that anymore. There are a lot of things I can't say anymore... "
She fell silent for a minute and then she sighed the heaviest deepest weightiest of sighs. He knew that sigh, he knew it well. He knew not to ask. Her response was always the same and he didn't hold the answers. No one did.
"The worst possible thing that could happen to me, has happened." She continued. "This is nothing. This is a gnat bite. This is just a missed flight. It's not like we had to be in Cuba, we don't have to be anywhere right now." She just wished she wasn't in Mexico. She had been there years ago before Cancun had been "discovered", she had flown into Merida and
visited Chichen Itza, perhaps if they were stranded for a couple of days, she could go back there. Nobody went to Cancun back then, there was nothing there, just an unremarkable town and a stretch of empty beach. She counted in her head the number of times she'd actually been to Mexico. The first time she was 10 years old, she remembered shops full of silver and buying a sombrero in Acapulco... The second time she was 17 and a man in a silver shop had asked her father if he could marry her for all the jewellery in this shop. ...Five times, this would make six.
She watched the juggling man go past, his pins tucked under one arm. His black hair was fine and plaited in one skinny braid that reached almost to the back of his knees. It was warm and humid, 4 nights ago, they had been in New Mexico in sub-freezing temperatures. She'd scrunched through snow.
Travel is weird." She said out loud to no one in particular.
The street was lined with mango trees snaked in fairy lights. They walked past a by-the-slice pizza vendor and shop declaring it sold "hot dogos".
The street opened up onto a night food market with local people, families, friends, young lovers and the occasional backpacker promenading under the yellow glow of street lamps. A wagon train of food stalls surrounded a central space that had been set up for a small open air concert. Churros
stands, taco stands and Icecream vendors. A young man scurried past wearing blue shorts, a singlet and red clown shoes. His face painted as a clown with a small upturned red prosthetic nose.
She watched in fascination at one stall where a man was making marquesitas. He poured the batter skillfully out onto a hot black skillet, once it was cooked he spread it thickly with Nutella and sprinkled it liberally with yellow grated cheese. He then rolled it tightly into a skinny cone shape parcel, smeared the side with a dab of Nutella, placed it in a paper bag and gave it a little top knot of grated cheese. She couldn't quite get her head around the chocolate and yellow grated cheese combo.
In the central area small ride-on battery-operated model cars were available for hire and being driven by a mad chaotic traffic jam of small children. Swarming mindlessly like ants on an anthill.
They passed an open fronted street stall where three men were dressed up as the The Three Wise Men. One on a plastic camel, one a plastic horse and one on a fluffy elephant. It was a set up as a tacky nativity scene where children could have their photos taken with the three wise guys. Like our Santa photos she thought.
"I think Its time we got the cameras out." He said.
He smiled and shrugged. It was a rhetorical question. They both knew why they were there. It was just that Mexico was the last country on earth she wanted to be in after everything that had happened.
They had missed their flight to Cuba, it was just one of those things. The flight into Cancun had been delayed 30 minutes on the Tarmac and the flight out of Cancun for Havana had left 30 minutes early. Go figure. She wasn't even particularly upset. And hey, he'd wanted to go to Mexico all along.
They were sitting in a "Mexican" restaurant... "Piknik" in downtown Cancun. They'd asked the guy at the hotel desk for a recommendation. What kind of food do you like? He had asked.
"Safe food. I don't want to get sick." he replied. The girl at the desk giggled.
They ordered Fajitas and margaritas... It was Mexico after all. And the food smelled like authentic Mexican food. Like it did the last time she was there, so many years ago. It must be the oil, she thought absent mindedly. The waiter, a tiny happy man who looked Filipino, offered them two for one cocktails and beers. So they ordered both, even though she doesn't drink beer.
She look dubiously at the crushed ice in her margarita but drank it anyway. The fajitas came with salad, he ate his, she prodded hers with a fork.
"Try the cucumber." He said. "It tastes really good. Really fresh."
She eyed him suspiciously.
"You know I don't eat salads in third world countries, I shouldn't have eaten the ice!.
"Just try it." He said. "This is Cancun! the food is... probably safe! Plus it's been peeled." She was glad that he didn't remind her that she doesn't normally eat meat in third world countries either. But she had to eat something.
She ate the cucumber, it tasted really fresh, English cucumber, like her dad used to grow, with the same slightly bitter aftertaste. He smiled at her triumphantly.
The restaurant was located in a narrow pedestrian-only laneway behind their hotel. And their table, out the front, in the warm night air, meant they were prey to a constant stream of hawkers. They were all good spirited and accepted her "no" and abrupt wave of the hand without argument. After a few she realised that a simple shake of her head had the same effect.
First there was a young man in a blue shirt who serenaded them to the strains of a beaten up guitar, then a couple of guys selling souvenirs. A chubby man cruised by with a large bouquet of red and white roses... She thought she smelled aftershave as he brushed past, but it was the scent of the roses that had lingered.
Another guitar player came by, his voice competing with the faint doof doof of a nearby "nightclub" and the intrusive "caterwailing" from the karaoke bar across the way.
"I don't even feel like I'm in Mexico" she said. "I feel lost in
translation again" she continued. "I feel totally ambivalent about being here, unconnected."
"Disconnected." He corrected. But she meant unconnected. He was sipping on the second beer.
"I don't even care that I'm here." She went on. "I should be excited that I'm in another country, but I'm not." She knew she was being grumpy, and she didn't care.
"We didn't plan this." He said. "But we should make the most of it, while we are here." He started channeling his inner Desi Arnaz. Saying things in a thick Spanish accent to make her laugh. What is it with the men her life, she thought, and their love affair with all things Spanish?
She thought about the other one, and pressed the heels of her hands in her eyes in an effort to hold back the tears. They spilled out anyway.
"Hey." He said, trying to distract her from her thoughts. "Come back to planet earth. We are here."
"He would have been so much fun to travel with to these places." She said.
She could visualise him speaking Spanish to everyone, charming them with his way, delighted with himself at their surprise. So blonde, so tall, so blue-eyed, so fair, so pretty. He would have been the centre of attention.
It was only a year ago that he was here in Mexico. Her eyes prickled with
tears once more.
"Fuck!" She said again.
She looked across the street, past the families promenading with their kids and the odd tourist couple holding hands. She could tell the locals, they were dressed simply, short people, even she towered over most of them. The tourists were either earthy backpackers or young couples way over dressed for this seedy bus-station end of town. The girls teetering
awkwardly on ridiculous high heels, clack clacking up the cobblestone lane way. Escaped from their natural habitat of "resort land", they looked so out of place. Two Rastafarians had spread out their wares on an old blanket. Just near them a young Mexican man was juggling pins. No one was
watching.
The waiter arrived offering more beers. "Do you have desserts?" They asked. "No," he replied . "But we have Tequila! You can have Tequila for dessert!" He announced proudly. "Tequila isn't dessert." She said flatly.
"I just saw a girl walking up the street with a bag of churros" she offered as an alternative. she knew he loved churros. "And I think there might be a street fair at the end of the street." He didn't question her, she was invariably right. Years of travel had honed her intuition.
"I have to say..." He said "I really appreciate your calming influence and words of pragmatism in times like these." He was referring to the missed flight and the "change of plans". He looked good, relaxed and happy despite the stresses of the day, his blue shirt unbuttoned at the neck. She envied him his insouciance.
"It's only money." She said. "It doesn't really matter. I've never placed much value on money. It's a first world problem. I used to say to my kids when things went wrong 'no one is bleeding, no one is hurt, no one has cancer, no one is dead'. I can't say that anymore. There are a lot of things I can't say anymore... "
She fell silent for a minute and then she sighed the heaviest deepest weightiest of sighs. He knew that sigh, he knew it well. He knew not to ask. Her response was always the same and he didn't hold the answers. No one did.
"The worst possible thing that could happen to me, has happened." She continued. "This is nothing. This is a gnat bite. This is just a missed flight. It's not like we had to be in Cuba, we don't have to be anywhere right now." She just wished she wasn't in Mexico. She had been there years ago before Cancun had been "discovered", she had flown into Merida and
visited Chichen Itza, perhaps if they were stranded for a couple of days, she could go back there. Nobody went to Cancun back then, there was nothing there, just an unremarkable town and a stretch of empty beach. She counted in her head the number of times she'd actually been to Mexico. The first time she was 10 years old, she remembered shops full of silver and buying a sombrero in Acapulco... The second time she was 17 and a man in a silver shop had asked her father if he could marry her for all the jewellery in this shop. ...Five times, this would make six.
She watched the juggling man go past, his pins tucked under one arm. His black hair was fine and plaited in one skinny braid that reached almost to the back of his knees. It was warm and humid, 4 nights ago, they had been in New Mexico in sub-freezing temperatures. She'd scrunched through snow.
Travel is weird." She said out loud to no one in particular.
The street was lined with mango trees snaked in fairy lights. They walked past a by-the-slice pizza vendor and shop declaring it sold "hot dogos".
The street opened up onto a night food market with local people, families, friends, young lovers and the occasional backpacker promenading under the yellow glow of street lamps. A wagon train of food stalls surrounded a central space that had been set up for a small open air concert. Churros
stands, taco stands and Icecream vendors. A young man scurried past wearing blue shorts, a singlet and red clown shoes. His face painted as a clown with a small upturned red prosthetic nose.
She watched in fascination at one stall where a man was making marquesitas. He poured the batter skillfully out onto a hot black skillet, once it was cooked he spread it thickly with Nutella and sprinkled it liberally with yellow grated cheese. He then rolled it tightly into a skinny cone shape parcel, smeared the side with a dab of Nutella, placed it in a paper bag and gave it a little top knot of grated cheese. She couldn't quite get her head around the chocolate and yellow grated cheese combo.
In the central area small ride-on battery-operated model cars were available for hire and being driven by a mad chaotic traffic jam of small children. Swarming mindlessly like ants on an anthill.
They passed an open fronted street stall where three men were dressed up as the The Three Wise Men. One on a plastic camel, one a plastic horse and one on a fluffy elephant. It was a set up as a tacky nativity scene where children could have their photos taken with the three wise guys. Like our Santa photos she thought.
"I think Its time we got the cameras out." He said.
