We stayed in San Jose Cholul the day after Chichen Itza. Lazy breakfast with the now familiar waiter, Antonio, however my rectum is on fire with the habaneros that I stuff into my eager mouth. It is difficult to sit comfortably. They burn on the way in and burn while running for the exit too,,,not like our State of Mexico chili manzanos which are bien piquante but disappear within your system before they head hastily for the door. The habaneros don't really burn, they cut like a crude welder lodged in your ass trying desperately to hack a jagged hole to freedom.....yet chilis do call attention to themselves. I cannot help but spread a little of the habanero sauce on my eggs. despite the rent that is due in a few hours,,it becomes an addiction these chilis. I have found that the food is missing something without them,,,,,,,,,,like when a dish cries for salt.
They told us Bill and Hilary Clinton stayed in our suite,,,, probably on corporate dimes. I thought about that when I was on the toilet. I feel your pain.
We swam a bit in our private pool, swirling about making "dolphins" gently then floating about like the idle rich,,,,but I was not drowning in the need for this lifestyle,,,,I still maintain my social concience in the wings ready even if at times that conscience is obscured by the fog of delight. There is, however, something narcotic about floating idly while parrots flit and sing in the palms and waiters fawn over your desires.
Later we entered the larger hacienda pool,,,empty of people. They rest were probobly off somewhere in search of some other private decadence. It is here, in the larger pool, that I think that I contracted an infection in my ear that I took back to Tenancingo with me. The water was refreshing in the heat. The invisible birds carried on their conversations in unfamiliar languages. A waiter came to poolside with towels. We asked if we could have two of the coconuts on one of the coco trees by the edge of the pool. He obliged, twisted off two good ones and went off to the kitchen to cut off their heads so to speak. I asked for a spritz of gin in mine. In a bit he returned with the goods. Mexican cocos are deliciously fresh. The juice is delicately flavored. Because they are picked fresh, and when "just" ripe, the layer of edible meat is very thin and tender, and juicy,,, like a type of jello. Droplets of water hung on my skin like tiny transparent jellyfish and then disappeared into the hot air. My bathing suit was more than halfway dry while I was sucking on my coco and gin. I felt like a decadent pig at poolside. Here we were aside this long pool surrounded by trees alone, two cocos with straws, large soft towels, and I encountered my yankee sense of sin and discomfort with anything too comfortable. Comfort must be regarded with suspicion. If it hurts it's good. Yankees are in ecstasy after they have whacked their finger with a hammer. They prefer a brick for a pillow,,,,, boilerplate for a mattress.
I jumped in the pool and swam laps liesurely. I can always make the world disappear in water. Swimming is my thing. Tenancingo doesn't have lakes or rivers to swim in so this was an opportunity for which to take advantage. The body glides weightless through the water, the sound stage mutes towards slosh and medium silence as I break the surface and submerge like a latter day dolphin. We can be fish-like for a moment, "back to the sea", and content. My wife entered and we swirled a bit more in embrace. Although we are embracing she is forever distant from me,,,like someone unto herself.....or another illusion from her past. I never really feel loved by her.....could it be that latin american fear of just getting too close to obligation. I have noticed people when I collect money at the church. You can say buenas dias all you want but they are walking straight ahead expressionless. I have found that many here cannot afford contact. It can lead to committment and no one has the time or money for that. One must be very selective.
I tried to teach my wife to swim better. Most people waste a mountain of energy in formless flailing of the water. They castigate the medium and use their arms to actually retard their movement, their asses and legs dangling downward like bait, their heads upright twisting to and fro with each spasidc stroke. Of course they tire after a few tormented motions. This is the look of my albondiga in the water. She says it is because she belongs to the tribe, "Nada Cuellas" (no necks). I say bullshit,,,it's because no one ever taught her form. In swimming function follows form. If the body rides upon the surface like a surfboard, the kick is supple, the arms lifted out of the water, the head down and breathing at the side, then one advances slickly forward. I will admit however that she has improved a bit after this trip.
My wife treated me and herself to a massage with Doña Macaria. She is a thin mayan woman with the "golden mexican smile". The "smile" is prominent because backs of the teeth are filled with gold and the gold spills over a bit to form a new edge that defines the tooth. A pile of Mexicans have "the smile". It's like they are wearing a Rolex in their mouth.
Doña has a casa maya on the hacienda grounds. It is shaded, and clean. Doña is really good at what she does. I asked her to marry me afterwards. She flashed the "smile". She was poor as a church mouse before she became a masseuse. Her husband is a cargador,,,this means he lifts things,,,,a human burro. He was a macho. He wished her to be pregnant in the summer and barefoot in the winter. She, however had the opportunity through the hacienda to learn massage. Hubby was up-ended. She would be gone all day rubbing the thighs of rich foreign men. He put the pressure on but Macaria persisted and overcame his fears by her hard work. Now that she is bringing in some bread ($) and they are building a modest house. Hubby has softened. The way to a man's heart is by having the capacity to buy bricks, re-bar, and mortar. He is downright proud of her now. He has killed the clouds that threatened his manhood. Everyone has benefited.
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