Taxco and other happenings

The small, two-person terrace of Borda's cafe jutted out right on to the Plaza, the magnificent Iglesia de Santa Prisca staring back at our small faces, humbling us both. The premiere location offered cafes cons leches (and one presumes whatever else one might want--resembling a studio apartment more than anything else, the Senora scooted into her small kitchen and prepared everything to order) and an unprecedented opportunity to voyeur, to snatch photos of vendors, corrupt policias, and sluggish old men from a safe distance. James and I sat on the small balcony, as another man waited inside for what smelled like papas fritas. The Senora was kind but slow, and he sat patiently for at least twenty minutes. When I caught the man exiting onto the terrace through my camera lens, I noticed him hand his hard-earned food to a man clearly overwhelmed, hair in knots, clothes in tatters, lugging around a worn garbage bag over his shoulder. I marveled at the quiet humanity. In a place where one tends to think more of thievery, kidnapping, trafficking, and the like, despite having those perceptions changed, it's always nice to experience somewhat intimately a moment like the above. This act was still counteracted by the twin-brother team of petty terrorism--pickpocketing, stripping in the plaza, squealing in strange high-tone nasal voices that seemed to come straight from hell. At any rate, these were the varying sides of humanity that Borda's cafe afforded.

Taxco is a hillside town that we'd hoped would provide a bit of respite from the heavy pollution of the city, from work schedules that seem to interrupt our attempts to further explore, from congested traffic. The air was fresher, the sky bluer, the stars viewable from one of many rooftop terraces. We serpented through the narrow cobblestone streets (the European influence is distinct), sat in unpretentious plazas in front of simpler churches, higher in the hills. And ate well. If there's one thing that Mexico has consistently offered me, it's been top-notch comida at an affordable price. I've been gorging myself on the various salsas, relishing the cheap comida corrida, the Mexican rendition of the Menu du Jour, but at a scant fee of $3.50. Carrot soups con queso, aromatic rice, chile rellenos, chicken-stuffed squash, etc., these are the trappings of America's finest fare, and yet it is served with flare and humility, and at a price that alienates no one.

I already dread the end. These pictures will show you why!