Presumably because today is University Student Day here in Guanajuato, there's been a party going on at the house above and behind the school (that's how things are structured here in Gto--due to the hilly terrain, each building seems to be rather perilously perched not quite directly on top of the one below it) since about 2 this afternoon. It doesn't bother me, really; it sounds as though they're having fun, and whatever they're cooking smells good. There's essentially been a party going on throughout town since around 2 this afternoon, as far as I can tell. I ventured twice into the Centro, only to be rather overwhelmed my hordes and hordes of young people, many decked out in their finest Vaquero outfits, all heading in the opposite direction. I'm very cutting edge and daring, I suppose, battling my way through the crowds. Or foreign and lost, more likely.
Once I got downtown, having avoided being trod upon by any dangerously pointy boots, I stopped in at El Unicornio Azul, a small healthfoodish shop, where I was able to get a cup of yogurt, half an inch of honey at the bottom, piled precariously high with sliced fruit and sprinkled with granola--$1.40. I wandered around downtown for a bit, under a soft mid-afternoon sprinkle, throught the strangely quiet streets--Everyone had headed uphill, I thnk, to take part in the festivities.
I returned to the school a little before six in order to attend the intercambio: Mexican students learning English meet with us Falconians, as I suppose we might be called. We get to practice our Spanish, and they their English. It was quite fun really; I ended up staying an hour and a half talking about politics and politicians, both Mexican and American, with John, another student of Spanish, from Colorado, and a Mexican fellow, probably 30 and balding, whose name escapes me. He likes Calderon, Mexico's new president, who very narrowly defeated Lopez Obrador, the more liberal candidate; this surprised me, as I had only every heard him be slammed by Amy Goodman. As far as I'm concerned, his opinion is just as valid--he is, after all, Mexican.
After the intercambio, I again headed into the Centro to find some sort of dinner. I took a bus down, which was most likely no faster than walking, but easier. We putted past the stadium where the majority of the festivities were ocurring. It looked packed. Mariachi-style bass thumped and throbbed. I ended up eating again at Truco 7, mostly for the convinience of not having to search for somewhere else. Needless to say, it was much busier this evening, but the waiter remembered me. "Enmolejadas de queso?" he asked, impressively. I had only been in once, and he probably saw 500 people everyday. Regardless, I decided to try something different: green chile cheese enchiladas. I must say, our green chile in NM is hotter (although this place probably caters largely to tourists). Nonetheless, they were quite good. at the table across from me two Gramita-ish types (who might very well ahve been mother and daughter) were eating soup and drinking beer. When their main courses arived, they argued about sharing food, they younger one trying to putt some of her food on the older one's plate, only to have it returned. "No lo voy a acabar. Pruebelo," the younger woman urged, to no avail.
As it had grown dark by the time I was done, I opted for a taxi back to the school. On the radio played lovely, calm guitar music. The cool night air rushed in through the open window, fresh and cool (except in the tunnels, where it was flat and smelled of gasoline. Have I mentioned all the subterranean roads? Madness.).
In the distance, there is still the sound of music, the surefooted booming of the bass.
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