Mexico City- Day 4

Mexico City Day 4: Tepito We spend the morning just hanging around the hotel. Carlos sings me a song he wrote for me about the places he went in Europe and how he thought of me. Movies are made of this. The magic here is the stuff that makes muses out of ordinary people. Poets and singers weave their craft from the likes of us. It's what makes the world go round. Finally we muster the energy and hit the metro again for the craziness of Tepito. Our goal is to make it to the actual market itself, for more than the taste we got on the first day. It is colorful, noisy, jarring, here. Filled with people shoulder-to-shoulder perusing trinkets and baubles, clothes and shoes, frying pans, toy helicopters. Fake rhinestone jewelry and 'real' Levi jeans. Here, a 30 gallon plastic drum is filled to the top with white saucy liquid. The sign says 'Pantene shampoo'. You can buy anything in Tepito. This is the Chiangmai Night Market on the streets of New York, but in Spanish. And through a megaphone. And polite. Hawkers and shopkeepers shout to get attention: ("Bolsas! Bolsas! Bolsas! Bolsas!") but generally aren't pushy. They will point out the qualities of whatever tchotchke you're looking at, but there's no "hello looking!" or "come see come see!" I loved every minute of it. For whatever reason, I felt like I needed to keep moving through the crowds. I kept my purse in front of me, and kept aware of my surroundings, but I never once felt uncomfortable or afraid for my own safety. I was, however, in "Real Mexico" and can count on my fingers the number of gringoes I saw in my 4 days. We cruised into one store where I of course gaped at the array of fabulous wigs and rhinestone necklaces for sale. Heaven for a performer like me. I walked out with a gift or two for other people, a purple wig and a handful of jewelry for 1/3 the price it would have been in the states. Awesome! As we were weaving our way back through the streets, Carlos commented "and we didn't even get *into* Tepito!". We had apparently only reached the market's doorstep in those 7 or 8 blocks. Oh well, something for next time, then. Carlos' colorful friend Eric has a new apartment, so we visit him in a strange old house in the Zona Rosa or, Mexico City's version of the San Francisco Castro. Eric endures no small amount of ribbing for this. He, Carlos and another friend Pitbull make fun of each other mercilessly- nothing is off limits, and no-one's feelings seem to ever get hurt. To get to Eric's room, we go through an old wood door that looks like it belongs in Alice in Wonderland-climb the classic old-house creaky wood stairs and go down the hallway past several pieces of furniture and a still-wrapped mattress. Eric extols the virtues of the hot landlady. The four of us squeeze through a door and descend a shallow, narrow spiral staircase that appears to go to China, shimmy past a washer covered in copper plumbing parts and into Eric's kitchen. It's surprisingly clean and tidy, and so is his small room. He grins and shows off his new fuzzy blanket and the surroundings like a bird hopping about his nest, puffing his chest in pride about how attractive it might be to the female of the species. His machismo might be annoying in someone else, but in warm-hearted Eric, it's just amusing. The guys joke more, miming sex with a penholder and opening beers. I envy the bohemian life for a minute. I reflect on my house full of things that own me, and yearn a little for these guys' portability. Imagine the things I could *do* if there weren't so many things I *have*. Oh, to be able to pack all of my worldly possessions into a suitcase and move somewhere else whenever I got bored... On our way out, Eric stops by one of the larger unrented rooms closer to the main stairs. It has a queen sized bed and a very large desk. The rooms all come furnished, and quaintly decorated. I jump behind the desk and proclaim myself the President of Everything. Carlos rolls his eyes at me a little, but takes my picture anyway. He and I generally take turns: one of us taking an opportunity to be dramatic and the other feigning annoyance. See: yesterday's street performance. We bid Eric and Pitbull adieu and head for the metro station. Once on the subway car, we cuddle up to each other; suddenly painfully aware of how short our time is together. He admits a jealous moment- that he has such a short time with me, and I'm headed back to my other life with my other boyfriend. I allow him this, I'd probably feel the same. "Love as thou wilt" never meant it wouldn't hurt sometimes, just that we would never give in to the other's jealousy and place any limits on the free expression of love for ourselves and others. Carlos asks me: "have we ever had a boring conversation?" I can't think of one- we're both so ridiculous and different, and we've never had enough time together to get bored. I wonder if we ever would, if we were in the same place for any length of time... A late dinner with The Carlos consists of wonderful Mexican quesadilla filled with cheese and spicy chicken. I might die of spicy, but the flavor is so wonderful I eat it anyway and chase it with grapefruit soda. I get the chance to tell father and son how much fun I have had, and thanks for everything. Carlos Sr. graciously offers his house any time I come to visit, saying "my home is your home". His hospitality and grace comes in spades. I have been terribly lucky to have such wonderful hosts here. We stay awake until the wee hours of the morning, talking and doing the things that lovers do, the night before they're to say goodbye. It gets intense, as we cross a line we haven't dared before. It is sweet, then, as we hold eachother tenderly after, wondering what tomorrow will bring. Will this be the last time we are ever together? We promised, but will the Fates find it in their plans to follow through? Will we really search high seas and rocky shores, sailing far and wide through great adventures, only to find that light of hope and home shining through the years to bring us back again to this: wrapped snugly within each others arms? Who knows. If the answer is no, then I'll surely look back and smile, and remember the short time that we shared, but a great love that will always live in my heart.