Arrival in Tlaxiaco

I arrived to Tlaxiaco on the afternoon van. There was a little trouble finding a taxi; the Cordero's truck broke down, and so I was left without a ride last minute. In the end I had to lug my gear and bag down to the main road to hop a cab quickly to the van stop. I was up front next to the driver, and some guy bringing two exotic goldfish to his kid brother in Tlaxiaco. Poor things. At one point he drifted off to sleep, and when we hit a tight curve, the fish took a dive for the floor. Still alive, but with minor concussions (I imagine) they resumed their place on the guy's lap for the rest of the drive.

I hop out at the station. The driver unlatches my bag from the top of the van. I'm delighted that my green duffel has made the whole trip with such a supreme view of the afternoon sun setting on green and burnt red hills--instead of getting shoved under a seat in back. I weigh whether I should mention this to the driver, and decide better of it.

I leave my things in a studio at the station and head over to the auditorium to find Daniel, the Director. He's off to Tuxtepec in the evening--so we double back to the station so he can write me a letter of support for an extension of my grant. Yes, I'm applying for an extension. (Don't get worried, Mom & Dad--it's just two additional months).

Later, Rene and I trek over to the auditorium for teh CDI's Christmas Party. A modern band (as opposed to the regional bands that are at so many of the pueblo parties to which I've been) plays norteñas at a volume just loud enough to prevent conversation. I'm served a plate of shrimp, some kind of charred fish, and what I think is salad. The salad is actually freshly chopped onions, carrots and chiles (that look like green peppers). They've been soaked in vinegar and chile sauce, and then sprinkled with salt. So after one bite, and some painful tears, I leave that section of my plate untouched. Too hot for this gringa's mouth! I like spicy food, but I don't want to die at 29. I dance, I drink a few sips of some 100 year-old tequila. I eat a few dulces from the recently-smashed piñata. (Can I just say that we, in the U.S. are big wusses when it comes to piñatas. We hang them from a fixed point, and blindfolded attempt to find the piñata and hit it. Here, they blindfold you, but the piñata is not hung from a fixed point--it's strung up by a pulley system so someone can constantly change it's height and location. Much harder!)

I arrive at the little room in the big house somewhat late at night. Things are still aflutter due to the upcoming wedding of Augustin's nephew. Mary and Augustin are in charge of decorations. And thus, baskets, clay pots, flowers and ribbon have been coming and going from the house at all hours; it is a Martha Stewart way station.