Tings es still muy bueno in paradise though Becky and I are working our asses off, attacking our little courtyard garden as if our very lives depended on it. Bought out Los Trojes yesterday during a torrential rain storm then headed back to Casa Brawner for more digging and planting and pruning. Hummingbirds flittin’ around, cows mooing over our wall, roosters crowing, various sound systems around the ‘hood playing Reggaeton, Ranchero, and/or bad American power ballads. Love it. I love the contrasts down here: hole in the wall internet cafes tucked into decayed adobe dwellings with unattended horses walking by, men carrying full bird cages stacked on end to the mercado while Jehovah’s witnesses go door to door smiling, shoeshine guys shinning in front of 16th century cathedrals built on top of ancient Purepecha ruins while school girls busily text message friends. And telephone wires running every which way overhead.
Today was trash day, so I carried our bags to the little dirt corner. Actually, everyday is trash day: Monday thru Thursday is household trash, Friday is organics, and Saturday is recycling. But everyone really just throws it all away everyday. Between 8 and 9am you can count on hearing cow bells clanging, and that’s the call of the trash man. Then around 9:30, a clown horn starts honking, and we hear a little metal cart rattling along on our funky cobblestone street. That’s the knife sharpener dude. He usually sets up just outside our bodega. He’ll honk and honk then folks will usually show up to have knives or lawnmower blades sharpened, or to have raw chickens chopped up. He has great hair and seems very popular with the ladies.
Some guy just drove by in a pick up truck full of random metal objects announcing that he buys scrap metal. Actually, my Spanish ain’t much punkin’, so I am guessing that’s what he announced. He didn’t seem to have a political agenda.
Tomorrow we’re off to the Friday market for pottery, plants, and stories. And we usually see our pal Santiago there, who also has spectacular hair. Last December we bought some roses from a buddy of his who offered me a milky drink from an old plastic jug. It was pulque, a fermented drink made from agave. Apparently it was used as part of an Aztec ritual involving human sacrifice. Nasty stuff. Tastes kinda like a mayonnaise soda. Didn’t kill me though…not yet anyways.
