photo from http://1ms.net/rose-barbed-wire/
“Wow, that place smells great! Let’s go check it out!”, growled my stomach.
The lunch hour was well behind us and the smells of slow-cooked meat were wafting out the door, carried on waves of loud Latin beats. Hidden in the faded paint on the wall we could barely make out the word Barbacoa and a picture of a sheep. My stomach growled again
The place was packed, with rows upon rows of well-worn wooden tables filled to capacity with older men in dirty flannel. A waiter cleared off a small table covered in empty beer bottles and soiled napkins, seating us with an easy view of 3 different soccer matches on the wall-mounted flat screens.
This place was seriously local. My skin color was the palest by several shades, and through the dim light and smoky haze I stood out like a sore thumb. Our neighbors to our right immediately engaged us in conversation in a broken mix of Spanish, Tsotsil, and Tseltal (the 2 most common local Mayan languages) that was truly dizzying. “Where are you from?” “Welcome to Mexico!” “You like it here?”
We sipped our warm stale beer from Dixie cups as we waited for our order of tacos, and did our best to participate in the verbal barrage coming our way. Two of our new friends didn’t speak Spanish any better than we did, and the 3rd as self-appointed ambassador did his best to share their questions, difficult as it might be with alcohol hindered enunciation. For 2:00 pm on a Sunday, he was sauced. Hell, for 2 am on a Friday he was sauced
Our topic of conversation took a hard right with the arrival of another, pressing a rose into Winnie’s hand. “No, I don’t want it”, she said repeatedly, trying to put it back in his floral basket. “No, it is free, please take it.” After 4 or 5 bouts of this, she finally gave up and placed the rose on our table.
“Throw it on the floor!”, said our ambassador, making an aggressive stomping gesture, completely obliterating his imaginary rose. His message was clear even if his words were not, but why? This whole experience was confusing. A goal was scored in one of the soccer matches and the whole room erupted in cheers and whistles, back-slapping and high-fives, and just at that moment our meal arrived
We devoured our meal in seconds. For sure people came to watch the matches, but these tacos must be why they returned and stayed. The meat was cooked to perfection with a delicious blend of spices. Juice dripped down our chins, hands, and arms, and soon our table was once again covered in beer bottles and soiled napkins.
We took turns going to the restroom to clean up, and I returned to find a guy in his 70’s talking with Winnie with all the confidence that comes at the bottom of 3 40-oz beers, my absence, and the full knowledge that Viagra is sold over-the-counter. He was slapping his right elbow with his left hand, and I understood him saying that he sent the rose. Smartly, Winnie just said, “No entiendo… I don’t understand.” As I approached, I rested my hand on his shoulder as I said hello
BAM!!!! A look of complete hatred filled his eyes as he took a swing at my face with his elbow. He meant to hurt me or die trying. All those years of martial arts and high school wrestling took over and I responded the best way I knew how…
… by simply stepping aside and letting his momentum carry his drunk ass to the floor.
His friends stepped forward, simultaneously helping him to his feet and holding him back. Our friendly ambassador prompted me with “Go get him, we got your back!” I just looked at our waiter and said, “Check!”
I learned later that the conversation while I was in the bathroom had a theme of “That white guy doesn’t belong here” and “You are only with the white guy because of his dollars, you should be with me.” Much to my surprise, not everybody loves me.
As we were walking down the street back towards home, we heard someone yelling to get our attention. “Oh shit!”, I thought, “Here it comes.” I told Winnie to get ready to run as I clenched my fists and turned to see what was coming
It was our waiter. Slightly out of breath, he approached and handed something to Winnie.
“You forgot your rose”, he said.
(Life on the road is incredible, but we would be naive to assume that everything would always go smoothly and exactly as planned. Sometimes, things have an interesting twist. Sometimes, even roses don’t smell sweet)
“Every rose has its thorn” as the great philosophers in Poison once belted.
We had a similar experience in Mexico. I was chatting with a friend at a bar and suddenly Mrs. RootofGood got snatched up and forced to dance with “El Lobo” as my friend described him. Mrs. RootofGood didn’t even get a rose from him. And she has been called names suggesting she has a certain occupation that involves trading money for companionship as we walked back to our hotel late at night since she looks a lot more like a local than I do. And hey, you know how white guys love the local ladeez right?!?!
To put this all in context, negative shit happens right here in the good ole U.S. of A. all the time, and not all guys are chivalrous gentlemen at all times. Sometimes a caballero is just a caballo.
Haha, I love sometimes a caballero is just a caballo
Bret Michaels is one of the unrecognized great minds of our age
Wow, once again you’ve entertain and spun a good tale. Life happens and I’m reminded, “you can’t make this stuff up”. Thanks for sharing.
Hey Pappy, glad you enjoyed it! If you are able to make it down for a visit I know a great place for barbeque ;)
What a story, and you tell it well. I have had similarly odd encounters with my wife in the US, as some people don’t like the idea that a pretty white redhead chick should be with a half-Filipino guy. Go figure. Nothing’s gotten violent though, thank God.
Glad you walked away with nothing but a good story!
Thank you for sharing your experience Done by Forty. Go figure indeed
We did indeed get a good story. And also some good BBQ :-D
On Winnie’s Chinese blog she gets some negative comments about her being married to a white guy. The world has come a long way in being open and respectful to people different from ourselves, but we still have a way to go
Can I have the link to Winnie’s Chinese blog? Thanks.
http://winni328.pixnet.net/
Knuckleheads are everywhere, and drunk knuckleheads especially so. Winnie is a very beautiful woman, so I’m sure it’s not the first knucklehead you’ve had to deal with. When I was younger, I would bristle at any untoward attention paid to my wife (also very beautiful) and would call the “suitor” out, ready to fight at the drop of a hat. With age, I’ve learned that my wife is quite capable of handling most of these situations herself, and I don’t view such encounters so much as a disrespect issue toward me, as I do a compliment toward her. That being said, physical contact is going to merit a physical response on my part — it’s just how I’m wired. Glad this one didn’t get out of control for you.
I’m not sure why but this story really bothers me. Maybe I am naive or am generally optimistic in believing that such things don’t happen in my world – physical attack by a local on a visitor to his country – and yet …. We were visiting Guanajuato a few years ago and decided to take a local tour. We were about a dozen people in a van – all Mexican and me the only gringo (my wife is Mexican). The tour went fine and we saw many of the important sights. We had just visited the inquisition museum and were taking a break in a little souvenir shop. My wife and I walked outside and we saw a group of men riding donkeys up the street toward us. My wife said to take a picture so I walked in the street and snapped some pictures. The group was getting back in the bus so we joined them. The men on the burros continued toward us, then came right up to our van, stopped and demanded money for the pictures. Turned out they were quite drunk and quite insistent. I just stayed quiet while the van driver tried to reason with the men. The other tour members started to look a little nervous. By then I had decided I wasn’t going to pay anything to these guys so I continued to sit there quiet. The burro guys proceeded to surround the van with their burros and blocked our path. Just as it appeared things were about to escalate, the guys backed off a bit and then proceeded up the street. But when the driver turned the key to start the engine the van would not start. He finally had to call for another van to come get us. It was quite a relief for all of us when the van came and we could leave the borrachos (drunk guys) behind.
That sounds unpleasant. Never mess with a drunk guy on a burro, haha
Drunk people in the US do stupid stuff all the time too, I’m pretty sure every fight or almost fight I’ve ever been in has had alcohol involved
The guy in this story reminds me of my Mexican father in law. He has never warmed up to his Guerro yerno (Son in law). Sounds like you already know, the whole mixed race thing is generally fine but the knuckleheads do still exist.
knuckleheads and alcohol are a bad combo