Déjàlà: My Half Orange, My Mango, My Mexico

Le bonheur est comme un parfum.

On le porte sur soi pour le faire respirer aux autres.

Malek Bensafia

Hidden in a tunnel, the colorful Heart of Guanajuato

Ribbons and metal.

My media naranja, Mike, the love of my life, has been gone for over a year and a half. As Valentine’s Day comes and goes, I am reminded of his absolute unwavering love of life. Thanks to him, I experienced many new and exciting things in our brief time together.

Continuing without him I visited ten incredible African countries; I then surrounded myself with the immensity of Alaska and the Yukon; and that was followed by the colors and art of beautiful Guanajuato.

I am slowly working out how to travel without a vivacious and unusually spirited partner. As major life transitions go, I think I fared well. I remember Mike daily (and Nikki his furry sidekick) but not in a way that keeps me in the past and prevents me from moving forward. Only in the thankful way of having had a remarkable companion and an amazing chance to live life to the fullest with a special someone.

Lately, and possibly because of the energies of Valentine Day and springtime, I have been attracted (or paying better attention) to expressions Mexicans use for their loved ones, old or young. Certainly, a more upbeat theme than in my former post.

‘Mi media naranja’

My better half or soulmate (but literally my half orange)

‘Él / Ella es un mango’

He / she is super hot!

Yes, these two delicious expressions are used endearingly in Mexico, from orange to mango.

There are kids and grandkids living or regularly visiting the Mexican family with whom I have stayed in Guanajuato for five months. Not a day has gone by where I didn’t hear one of the following names used when speaking to or about their kids or loved ones. Words of feelings vs. words of judgements.

La luz de mis ojos (the light of my eyes), mi abejita (my little bee), mi alma (my soul), mi amor (my love), mi amor mio (my own love), mi amorcito (my little love, my honey), mi angelito (my little angel), mi belleza (my beauty), mi bichito (my little bug), mi bomboncita (my little candy, my sweet pea), mi cachorro (my puppy), mi cariño (my darling), mi changuito (my little monkey), mi cielo (my heaven), mi corazón (my sweetheart), mi corazón de melon (my honey bun), mi corazoncito (my little heart), mi cuchura (my sweetie), mi dulzura (my sweetness – my name for Mike all these years), mi frijolito (my little bean), mi guapa (my cutie), mi guapísima (my gorgeous), mi linda or hermoso (my beautiful), mi lindura (my cutie), mi lucero (my little bright star), mi nene (my little one), mi osito (my teddy bear), mi paloma (my dove), mi pastelito (my muffin), mis pecas (my freckles), mi principe/princesa (my little prince/princess), mi querida (my darling), mi renacuajo (my little tadpole), mi rey / reina (my king / queen), mi ricura (my delight, my joy), mi sirenita (my little mermaid), mi sol (my sun), mi tesoro (my treasure), mi vida (my life), and many more…

What if your whole childhood you were called, my love, my heart, my sweetie, my joy, my angel, or my beautiful one instead of hey you, over here brat, fattie, weirdo, airhead, loser, or by your first name without any tender adjectives attached? I am aware there is violence in Mexico and life is by no means perfect but this aspect of how kids are treated in their childhood is a lesson we could all learn from.

A more positive reality. So many endearing names floating around the table at mealtimes, when walking with the family, or when speaking of someone. It is soothing to hear them address each other this way. Can you say the same about how you treat/call your loved ones at home?

Danzón, very subtle, I couldn’t understand the intricate dance moves

On another note…

A couple of months ago, I was introduced to danzón. A weekend filled with more than 2,500 dancers from all over the country. I hadn’t realized that the many Cuban dancers who settled in Mexico a long time ago had more influence here than in their home country. Mexico is now the Nacion de Danzón with nearly 200 danzón dance clubs.

Danzón was created in 1879 in Cuba. A mix of European influence and Afro beat and culture it is called ‘the dance of romance’. In Cuba, danzón has been replaced by salsa, mambo, and cha-cha-cha. It only carries on in Mexico and Puerto Rico.

Danzón is a precise, elegant, slow moving genteel dance. Partners don’t look at each other directly. These corners of the eye glances are where sensuality thrives. The man’s hand resting on the lower back of the woman, giving her slight signals with imperceptible movements of his fingers. Turn this way, arch that way, move to the right, stay on my left. Sensuality, elegance and tropical rhythm make you feel, when you watch, like an intruder in a budding romance.

I saw well-dressed couples of all ages on the uneven stone dancefloor. We are outside, the sun is setting, giving its last brilliance to the sequined dresses slowly fluttering around. Men (called pachucos) appeared transported from the 1930’s and 1940’s wearing zoot-suits, loose fitting jackets, high waisted tapered pants and fedora hats with only one feather. Others wear simple but stylish guayabera shirts. Women show-off brightly colored form-fitting satin dresses, some are sequined. A fan in one hand, they perch on high heels and wear fake eyelashes and too much makeup.

On a good part of the dancefloor…

Old and young intermix. Some dancers practice before the contest begins. Others parade in front of the judges. A young boy is dancing with grandma, sisters together, mother daughter duo, old couples. The dance floor is uneven, high heels get caught in the cracks or old mortar between the rocks. No one seems to care.

The man sitting next to me walks with a cane. He watches the dance intently. At one point he gets up, without his cane, to join the dance with a much younger partner. He is like a flower opening in the sun, forgetting his limits, his pain. A very old lady straightens up when she glides on the dancefloor, a younger man inviting her as dance partner. Remarkable how people totally change when the music calls.

A few visitors from Japan tried to danzón but it is not in their blood. A nearly impossible task. They are better than I for at least giving it a try. This February weekend is filled with music, dance, and romance. Impossible to not feel a bit of it touching your heart and soul.

Colors everywhere – Plaza San Roque

My last walks to and from school when I see the most interesting of scenes to which I pay particular attention since they are my lasts.

A little girl in school apron is holding a chocolate muffin with both hands, as if her life depended on it. Not paying attention to the traffic, only on her treasure. Her mother guiding her away from dangers, not scolding, only supportive.

An old woman on oxygen is sauntering around, her son at her side carrying her bottle of oxygen in his backpack. Closely tied to each other by the clear tube. Two old ladies support each other ambling very slowly. At least they are out and about. A rotund man is pushing his grandma in a wheelchair, faking a few dance moves along the way, smiling. Four men are picking up a wheelchaired man, bringing him up the long stairway back to his home. The winds of spring tousling their hair, keeping them cool. Guanajuato is not built for disabled people, but I have repeatedly seen strangers carrying others to their destination.

A very light incense smell is wafting through the air, coming from the macramé and bead vendors or the church behind them? A young dog with a piece of chicken skin in his mouth is running across the road, tail up high, proud of that sought-after prize.

A black netted-hair cook is taking a break outside the restaurant’s kitchen, smoking a cigarette, enjoying a bit of sun. A bucktooth unicyclist whizzes by, it can’t be an easy way to travel on these uneven cobble stones. Various overripe fruit smells sweeten the air in an overwhelming way. A young meat cutter comes out of his shop, hands still red with blood, to fix the light on his motorcycle parked on the street. Bloody finger prints stay behind on the chrome and glass.

Interesting mortar with small stones technique

Flower detail – on way to Pipila

For the first time I notice the various veins of mortar between the rocks of the old buildings, the various folds in the thick ancient adobe. The weight of history filling these ancient walls.

I often follow or cross path with the same blind man. How does he manage to walk miles in this city so full of obstructions? I am in awe of him but also of the people who, daily, help him or give him food, a haircut, a shave, some clothing, etc. What would it be like to only smell the incense, the overripe fruits, the baked breads, the flowers without ever being able to see them? What would it be like to be dependent on so many hands for your survival? While he begs for money, a Beatles’ song plays in the background that says I need you, I need you, I neeeeeeed you…

It is near spring break and many students pull heavy bags behind them, going home for this long break. Also carrying bags, Uber Eats people walk food to their clients. The tunnels of Guanajuato make it impossible for GPS signals to guide drivers around the city.

Peeling off the spines of the nopal cactus pad.

Squash flowers, honey, fruits and veggies for sale.

Sitting under the shade of an umbrella or in small open-air markets, older countryside folks are shaving spines of nopal cactus pads. The tasty fleshy cactus is used in many Mexican dishes. They sell fruits, vegetables, honey, or homemade jocoque (type of yogurt like cheese) in handmade ceramic jars.

Jocoque in ceramic jar

The weather is very warm. A large family is eating ice cream in the bed of their pick-up truck. The occasion is very festive, there is a lot of laughter.

Scouring the city carrying various things for sale in basket.

Small folding table on shoulder to rest basket when stopped.

Carrying full propane tank on shoulder

While rolling another one in front of him

Walking by with a basket full of breads and pastries perched on his head, someone jokingly yells at the man, wanting to know if that is his unique way of practicing for a dance. Nearby a strong man is carrying a propane bottle on one shoulder, rolling another one in front of him, looking the for flattest ground with the fewest grooves. The weight these guys carry and the agility with which they handle these heavy bottles is remarkable.

Secondary school kids set up in front of Teatro Juarez for pictures. Lines of kids await their turn, all dressed in their school colors. Green team, brown team, blue and white team, burgundy team. I hadn’t realized just how many kids go to school in this city.

Bougainvillea colors exploding along many fences

A woman is walking with her small daughter. As is very common here, people make the sign of the cross near their faces or chests then kiss their thumb when done. They do so when passing by a place of prayer, on dangerous roads, when someone talks of a dead person, etc. This woman, instead of kissing her thumb, touches her daughter’s forehead, making her part of the process. Another woman recites her rosary as she walks. I also see a rosery wrapped around a steering wheel anti-theft stick for added protection. Religion is still present here.

Carrying newspapers

Completing a crossword puzzle as he walks towards downtown

A man is carrying, on his head, a very long board piled high with cookie sheets and a few breads. He is going up the hill dunking a cookie in his coffee as if nothing was on his head. Another one carries newspaper in the same way. He is completing a crossword puzzle as he aims towards downtown with his cargo.

A diminutive indigenous woman is taking roses out of the garbage and cleaning them up to make ‘new’ bouquets. Not sure if they are for her or for re-sale?

Ambidextrous baker – two croissants made at the same time

His hands are too fast for my camera

A relentlessly screaming tortilla machine makes me aware I am near school. How can these women work in such a racket every day? Next door is an ambidextrous baker. Bathed in heavenly smell, I watch him expertly roll two croissants at a time, one in the right hand, the other in the left. He goes so fast; photos of his handiwork are blurry. On the other side is a butcher with the constant chopping of his meat cleavers.

A skeletal hunched dentist is working on some dental ware in the light of the sun. He is bent over concentrating on some miniscule task. His oversized tattered sweater stretched at the shoulders by the coat hanger it dried on gives him the appearance of an old scarecrow losing its feathers, nearly showing bones. He could be a character in a dark cartoon.

Young men are running around, looking like they mean to be somewhere. In their pant pockets, the glow of cellphone screens shows through the thin material. It makes for an interesting dance of light.

Baseball stadium

Do you want to buy a seat in the sol (sun) or sombra (shade)?

More expensive in the shade

A man with half of his face tattooed is wearing a crisp suit is sitting on the streets drawing something quite intricate. To the onlooker, one side of him looks ‘normal’, the other completely tattooed. He goes to the university, always dressed in a super-clean suit. Interesting combination.

Anna, a young woman, is selling cheesecakes in front of Teatro Juarez. It is jarring to hear her offer them in English. It jolted me the first time I heard her. There is not that much English spoken in Guanajuato. She certainly stands out. We have been on a first name basis for five months, playing the dance of her trying to sell me her cakes, and me, never accepting yet wishing her luck.

Pigeons are everywhere, it is snowing feathers. The weather keeps warming up.

Back near my homestay, the streets are very steep. Lemons escape from someone’s grocery bag and roll in front of me down the steep hill. No way to catch up with them, let them go.