The wedding and the divorce

After my previous, somewhat emotional post I'll continue where I left off two weeks ago. My cousin Magu had invited me to a wedding party despite the couple didn't personally send me an invitation card. I had met them a week before in Tepic, but only briefly and we weren't that sober either which made the encounter rather superficial. At first I was a bit reluctant to attend the ceremony for said reason, but eventually I conceded and invited myself as Alejandra's couple in order not to appear as an unkown party crasher. And why not? After my first wedding in a tiny town near the capital a few weeks ealier I could start turning it into a sport. So, Saturday quickly came around. For the first time on my trip I actually dressed up nice for the occasion, i.e. black jeans with minor holes, a borrowed shirt and a pair of black shoes. I even combed my hair. It felt strange, but whatever. In this life I always try to think 'why not?'. Really, that question can take you to places you never imagine you'd go to. It's like saying 'yes', but less direct. The wedding wasn't too formal. Everyone was kind of dressed for the occasion, but not to that extent that a whole two-week salary was spent for the outfit. Oh, right, the (now) married were Pillo and Francia, who decided to marry just to get over the hassle. Let me tell you both are very fond of norteño music, so it doesn't surprise that genre dominated throughout the whole wedding party. It could be classified as a boda ranchera, or a real cowboy wedding, only loaded with money. Lots of money. The event started around 14:00 with the ceremony taking place in the same salon where the party was held, seen that it was a civil marriage. No religion interfered. Despite that aspect, the ceremony lacked a bit in charm. But the subsequent celebration made everyone forget that part.

Three five-liter bottles of Red Label scotch, 300 bottles of beer, an all-you-can-eat taco stand and a jukebox playing non-stop banda and norteñas for not even a 100 guests. As you could imagine, I was prepared for a binging feast just like Bacchus commands, with the expectation of at least ending up lying completely zoned out on the grass like a squashed spider. Unfortunately, precisely on that day ole' uncle Murphy came to apply his law on to me. Thank you, asshole. From the beginning I started feeling a minor stomach ache that grew worse as the evening passed by, abstaining me from alcohol and delicious tacos. I couldn't even go number two. So there I was at the table, observing how everyone else - except for Magu who suffered of diarrhea that day - launched themselves onto the party's delights. Ah yes, most oportune. Well, in the end I did manage to eat and drink a bit, so the evening wasn't completely ruined.

The time I can't remember, but suddenly a large-numbered brass band appeared and started extremely loud banda music, comparable to norteño but more focused on wind instruments instead of guitar and accordion. While the poor jukebox had trouble making the invitees move, the band instantly lifted them up. It's fascinating to watch how live norteño music incites people, a phenomenon I've witnessed on various occasions. These Mexicans sure know how to fuel up a party with good vibes. Although I'm completely fed up with the now incredibly popular genre, I tried to dance to it anyway. It's not that hard. You just have to grab your partner close to you and jump around with cartoonesque allures. It's quite fun, actually. And it made me forget the discomfort in my bowels.

The evening slowly, but pleasantly turned into night while the band played on and the guests handed themselves over to drunken revelry, when a minor drama was starting to build up. I won't go further into it, instead I'll just say it inspired me to write the previous entry which reflects the moral weight I was carrying. It got a bit out of control when the party was moved from the salon to the couple's roof terrace of their house. Eventually I managed more or less to ignore the ordeal and enjoyed the rest of the night. Meanwhile Pillo was introducing me to his by then inebriated friends, most of them wealthy licencees with interesting stories about their cars and travels. There's only a slight sarcastic tone to it, because some of them had really interesting things to talk about. While I was chatting around suddenly a group of musicians started hoisting their equipment onto the roof terrace. Indeed, Pillo had ordered a second band to entertain the guests. This time, a norteño band consisting of accordion, guitar, bass and percussion. My cousin Magu told me they charged 3000 pesos (about 176 EUR) per hour. I didn't verify that figure, but just imagine the cost of hiring two bands playing for two hours or more. And so the party went on untill I was too tired to talk and drink. Unpercieved I descended and lay down, physically and mentally exhausted. I wasn't even slightly tipsy, probably due to the moral hangover as my cousin Mariana described it perfectly. The day was done.

In the end I had a pretty good time: a vibrant mood, people dancing, music, food, alcohol,... Indeed, it was a succesful evening despite the drama. Eventually it wasn't that unfortunate that I couldn't binge on. It would have worsened the situation without a doubt. And sometimes, it's kind of fun observing with sober eyes others evolve from decent, withhold and formal guests to loosend up, intoxicated and exhilirated satyrs. A bit lonely, but fun nonetheless.

After that weekend with a mindset of getting the fuck out, I left GDL and its affairs to make a final family stop in León, Guanajuato. Actually, I was ready to jump back into the unknown but I couldn't just ignore that part of my vast family tree who I hadn't seen in about ten years. Ten years! That's a whole lifetime. So there I stayed for week and left just time before I would be tempted anew to stay longer. Taken the long time gap into consideration I was confronted with a couple of interesting developments. For instance, the younger child of the bunch - Marcelo - has grown from a crying toddler into a 15-year old adolescent with an interest in music and parkour. The second youngest Manuel is now 19 years old and keeps himself busy with handicrafts, djembe and the guitar. I discovered he is one of the few cousins with similar interests and view on life. Then, both females Arzi (23) and Rosi (21) have become mothers of two. There you go, Mexicans are really hasty in that respect. It's kind of like: "Oh, gosh, 25 is coming close. I better get knocked up and marry quick so I can waste the best years of my life to early adulthood." Well, more or less. It's like how I look at it in a humoristic way. But obviously cultural differences make early family planning in this country common. Anyway, for the first time I was reminded that I've been an uncle for a quite a while without even noticing it. That was a pretty enlightening experience. When I heard them say: "Look darling, here's your uncle Diego", "What do you think of your uncle?" or "Your uncle Diego comes from very far" I was stunned, silenced, even endeared. Now that's instant aging right there.

In that week my cousin Armando and his girlfriend took me to the yearly fair which isn't that much different from fairs in Belgium with the exception of the food stands. Man, there was so much to eat for such moderately cheap prices! Endless rows of tacos, hamburgers, hotdogs, gorditas, more tacos, seafood, etc. colourize like christmas lights in the night. And don't forget the odours, they make you hungry all the time. A typical snack of that region are dorilocos: a bag of Doritos cut open and filled with peanuts, cucumber, tomato, animal skin and a very, very spicy sauce. A delicacy, only I couldn't finish it because it was way too hot for me. I couldn't even talk. The cool thing is, afterwards you get a high feeling, as if it were some kind of drug. Anyway, the rest of the week I spent hanging around with Armando's youngest brother Marcelo (15), who I feel kind of looked up to me. Manuel, the second youngest, taught me about working with leather, i.e. making handicrafts such as satchels and bracelets. Whenever he was home we would do some jamming, a delight I haven't experienced for a long time. On Saturday the family took me to Guanajuato, the state's capital, probably the most enchanting city of the republic. Extremely colonial, cozy plazas, colourful markets, street artists, romantic squares and narrow alleyways. Definitely, I could live here. But before that we went to see a high Jebus statue on a hill. Honestly, I wasn't really that interested since the symbolic meaning of the place is nihil for me. The view from the top was worth it, but lunchtime was my personal highlight of the day. Litteraly, I ate like a pig. The place was kind of an open house construction with inside a woodfired stove where Doña Carmen prepared the dishes and freshly made corn tortillas on. It was no more than a buffet: you simply pick a plate, grab some warm tortillas and serve freely from a dozen typical Mexican dishes. Man, it was eaters' paradise. All that for just 40 pesos (2.40 EUR). But because the lady knows my family for over 12 years now she charged us 30 pesos for everything, including drinks. Filled up with for two days for little money, now that's happiness right there. Later that day we even went for tacos at a place where everything you ordered was 2x1. I didn't need to eat anymore, but refusing tacos al pastor (spit-frilled pork) with cubed onions, coriander leafs and sweat chili sauce is just too hard. If there's one strong memory of Mexico I'll have back in Belgium, it's its cuisine.

And so the week passed on with frightening intranscendence. Monday I said my goodbye to the family, the last ones I'll see on this trip. Now I'll be moving around in more southern areas, where I think I will feel more at home. We'll see.