My first weekend in Oaxaca consisted of a mish mash of activities. Most importantly, it was finally some time without homework! I spent a few hours late Saturday morning reading 'The Motorcycle Diaries' at a café in the zócalo (town centre). It´s a beautiful centre with tall trees, fountains, street musicians, shoe shiners (just what I need!) cafés and eateries, wandering sales people (many of whom are children) and young Mexicans snogging in every corner. After a lunch of memelitas (little tortillas with frijoles, cheese, and a pork paste) and a beer, I moseyed up to the Church of Santo Domingo, a major landmark in the city. Unfortunately, I was unable to get in as god was out to lunch and it was closed. Hopefully, I'll be able to catch him (or her) at a better time another day. After a two-hour siesta at Chez Garcia, Ruben and I watched Lord of the Rings (The Return of the King). Golum saying,"mi precioso, mi precioso" was brilliant!
Later that evening, at about 9 pm, Ruben and I caught a cab to a friend´s house (Armando), who was hosting a birthday party for yet another friend (Poncho). Armando is in the horse business - i.e., he buys horses cheap in the U.S. and sells them in Mexico for a profit. Who would have thought! He also knows how to host a party. There were a ton of guests, all locals, and I got to practice my español in the real world. I also got to practice my 'I am pretending I know what you are saying, but I really have no clue' look. I've heard it's an important skill to have for a happy marriage. Maybe I need a little more practice. ;) The background music was muy interesante: a little mariachi, a little banda, and a little Bee Gees. And the beer and mezcal were flowing, making the "Ah, ah, staying alive, staying alive" a tad difficult. Mezcal is a Oaxaqueñan form of tequila. Also made from the agave plant, it's a more fiery cousin. I love tequila, but mezcal is going to take a little getting used to.
By 4 am, I was ready to crash with a resounding thud. However, the remaining guests, which, not surprisingly, consisted now of only five guys, decided it was important to visit the local strip club. (Note: Dear mom and dad - please skip the following section.) Now it's been a long, long time since I've been to a strip club. Maybe it's my age, maybe it's being a social worker, or maybe it's something else, but strip clubs are not really my thing (seriously, mom and dad!). But, when a bunch of drunk Mexicans ask you if you find their women attractive, start forming hour-glass shapes with their hands and making clicking noises with their tongues, you say, "Claro!" "Of course!". Twenty minutes later, we were standing outside Baraimas, the local strip joint. 4.30 in the morning and there was a line to get in!! It was like what I expect walking into a prison to be. Two large metal doors, huge and fat security guards, and pat downs that would make Richard Simmons giggle. The inside was, for the most part, like any other strip club (or so I've been told). Primarily men with their tongues dragging on the floor, a lot of booze, cigarette smoke everywhere, and scantily and "un-scantily" women (both slim and curvy) gliding sensually about and dancing on stage. However, here the men are actually allowed to touch the women, so there was also a lot of groping and fondling going on. And...get this...there were porn movies playing on two big screens! One can argue about which side of this social event is being exploited and which is doing the exploiting. But, my take away from this experience is pretty clear and simple. It doesn't matter what culture you've grown up in, what language you speak, or what grasshopper species you enjoy: horny, pathetic men are horny, pathetic men. It IS a small world after all. ;)
