Here We Are

No matter how much I write it still seems impossible to put into words everyday life for you. I guess in this case the worn out cliché “you have to be here” is true.

At the moment I’m sitting in a small restaurant looking out across the road into the park. I’ve just finished a pounded and breaded chicken sandwich served on a bun called a torta. Flies are buzzing around and dust rolls up from the street as heavy trucks pass by. I couldn’t have imagined myself eating here a few years ago and my guess is that you couldn’t have imagined it either.

Buses pass overloaded with passengers, a school girl runs to catch one of them, a BMW drives by as do many vehicles that certainly wouldn’t pass inspection back home. An older gentleman walks by pushing his bicycle.

Just outside a huge kettle filled with oil is used to fry up huge pork skins. The dry season is under way so the sun is in full bloom. I see a lady carrying her “for water” (umbrella) that is used more for sun than rain. The streets are dirty. Men from the city sweep up trash.

Across the way big and small tents have been set up. There’s a week long traveling fiesta (carnival) with food, games, exhibitions and rides. School is out for the day and the park is filled with young people wearing their school uniforms - hanging out, laughing, hugging, kissing. Women carry babies wrapped in heavy blankets on a warm day. A gentle breeze is catching the myriad of colorful flags. The church has been painted fresh and a sign over the gate welcomes the archbishop.

Back inside the restaurant it’s noisy. Traffic continues to bustle by and the radio volume is about three notches louder than is necessary to hear well. A fifty gallon drum sits outside the restroom for flushing the toilet and a pink waste paper basket awaits the arrival of the used paper. It really is a nice establishment. Ancelba is friendly and customers began showing up for the “comida” hour.

Oh yes, the King is here. I'm here too. Here we are.