mejor andar solo que mal acompañado
this was the title of one in a series of abstract paintings i saw today, all titled after common yucatecan sayings. it means “better to go alone than with bad company,” and thus nicely sums up much of my life philosophy and much of my goal for the afternoon.
i set off from my calle at 3:30, savoring the freedom of carrying just one bag and the promise of an afternoon without program-directed plans. my destination was the city center, and after a sweaty wait for the appropriate bus, i traveled without incident... we passed empty lots already reclaimed into jungledom, the spaces between streets filled with flamboyanes (which are beautiful lush green trees that occasionally sprout these urgently orange flowers), some old out-of-use brightly painted train cars alongside their tracks, low vibrant building after low vibrant building, and a gently menacing sky. i reached my stop and stepped from the bus to a familiar street-- here is the central UADY building, here the teatro peon contreras where the symphony plays every friday and sunday, here the hotel casa del balam where i stayed with my parents several years ago and wondered what it would be like to live in mérida. i did the picture thing, catching a pigeon on the head of a dignified statue of some sort, feeling like a tourist but deciding that was a dumb reason to stop since i kind of am. so i continued to the plaza grande, the large square park that is the very center of the city. i slipped into the catedral and felt the peacefulness tinged with outsiderdom that pervades majestic buildings belonging to the religions of others. grey arches and thick delicate pillars colluded to make me feel small and respectful and vastly out of place. i walked out to the plaza grande, seeking some hint of belonging, and there i was stopped by a man.
my natural inclination when stopped by a strange man, especially in mexico, is to brush him off with some polite variation on “not interested,” but for some reason i paused to listen to this one. it certainly wasn’t anything about him, since i can’t recall his face now. but what he offered wasn’t false-ringing devotion, nor was it a wooden fan or a mexican flag or a twining carved snake. he pointed instead toward the museo macay, a free contemporary art museum strewn through an old colonial building. so. i accepted the card he proffered and crossed into the museum itself.
first i checked my bags and signed the guest book. then i walked to the central plaza of the building, and cautiously admired faux-maya busts nosing through greens and a bright blue fountain. then i climbed a stately stairway. at the top, i saw the next layer of the trees from the plaza, and was ushered personally into the first cool chamber. the walls teemed with eyes and serpents and roots and trees and bodies in canvas and in carved wood. i was the only one in all the museum, and i got escorted from room to room by door-holding guards whose smiles grew as they saw the time i took with their art. each room held something marvelous, and i was alone, utterly, free to orbit a small block of lava rock with cubes carved away in varying depths and admitting slivers of light through long channels, or stand captivated before a canvas with approaching child’s feet sprouting ghostly trees, or cavort from one to the next in a series of abstract muted but still-bright pieces titled after yucatecan sayings (whence comes the title of this entry), or squeal softly over a room of stunningly freeform art by yucatecan kids, including a slender claw titled “sombra” by the exquisitely named (if misspelled) lesslie, age seven, or do a little dance upon discovering a collage including the cover of Rayuela, or slide along the tiles of a corridor lit by yellow-paned windows containing sheet after sheet of fine-art doodles...
the thunder began while i was in the museum, and by the time i left, the trees were slick and the streets ran with dirty water. here came the distressing part: wading back and forth through four overcrowded blocks for forty-five minutes, trying to find my bus, begging directions from everyone who would stop and getting a different set from each. i cried a bit, keeping a steady voice as matter-of-fact tears slid off my chin. finally i found the bus i needed, and got home, and sank into a puddle crouched under my umbrella to rid myself of the sobs that had accumulated. i had planned to go out that night. the plan changed. i slept instead, and woke feeling worlds better.
because, after all, there is always the next night. after a day in the blue-white-blue salt-sand-salt of progreso, i defiantly boarded a bus once more, this time with camila and a mission. we planned to meet mara and vish at the UADY building. mara found us there quickly, and we sat around under blinking colored lights, discussing the difficulties of interacting with boys, the nerves around being somewhere where we stand out in an appealing way and what that means for romance-- well, they did, mostly. i listened. i’m good at listening. we found ourselves a sidewalk cafe with bright music, and munched on enchiladas and salsa and sipped cheladas and mojitos and watched the passersby, or rather dancersby-- old couples looking in love, a small wrinkled man in a dapper shirt twirling an imaginary partner, another gyrating at toes and hips and shoulders, eager hands twisting out grace as though wringing it from the saturated air, flinging back long curly hair and seeking a partner with similar enthusiasms. i got asked to dance, and awkwardly obliged, before we were joined by vish. soon thereafter mara went home, and vish and camila and i danced a bit ourselves, emboldened by the trio approach. we proceeded down the street, stopping at each of the many bands playing for a moment or two, receiving some wordless dancing lessons from two yucatecan ladies, shadowing jared (the oldest member of our program group, seemingly ancient at 29) and the lovely new friend he made and silently rooting for him. then, a taxi home. home is beginning to feel more like a home, a place to rest, filled with people who want the best for me. so, todo bien.
p.s. i've been writing most of these on my new myspace account, so if you're into that kind of thing, you should make me your friend. but it is being picky and so i am writing this here because i feel like posting something. maybe i'll start doing both? i dunno... no matter. i'll figure it out.
hasta pronto...
i set off from my calle at 3:30, savoring the freedom of carrying just one bag and the promise of an afternoon without program-directed plans. my destination was the city center, and after a sweaty wait for the appropriate bus, i traveled without incident... we passed empty lots already reclaimed into jungledom, the spaces between streets filled with flamboyanes (which are beautiful lush green trees that occasionally sprout these urgently orange flowers), some old out-of-use brightly painted train cars alongside their tracks, low vibrant building after low vibrant building, and a gently menacing sky. i reached my stop and stepped from the bus to a familiar street-- here is the central UADY building, here the teatro peon contreras where the symphony plays every friday and sunday, here the hotel casa del balam where i stayed with my parents several years ago and wondered what it would be like to live in mérida. i did the picture thing, catching a pigeon on the head of a dignified statue of some sort, feeling like a tourist but deciding that was a dumb reason to stop since i kind of am. so i continued to the plaza grande, the large square park that is the very center of the city. i slipped into the catedral and felt the peacefulness tinged with outsiderdom that pervades majestic buildings belonging to the religions of others. grey arches and thick delicate pillars colluded to make me feel small and respectful and vastly out of place. i walked out to the plaza grande, seeking some hint of belonging, and there i was stopped by a man.
my natural inclination when stopped by a strange man, especially in mexico, is to brush him off with some polite variation on “not interested,” but for some reason i paused to listen to this one. it certainly wasn’t anything about him, since i can’t recall his face now. but what he offered wasn’t false-ringing devotion, nor was it a wooden fan or a mexican flag or a twining carved snake. he pointed instead toward the museo macay, a free contemporary art museum strewn through an old colonial building. so. i accepted the card he proffered and crossed into the museum itself.
first i checked my bags and signed the guest book. then i walked to the central plaza of the building, and cautiously admired faux-maya busts nosing through greens and a bright blue fountain. then i climbed a stately stairway. at the top, i saw the next layer of the trees from the plaza, and was ushered personally into the first cool chamber. the walls teemed with eyes and serpents and roots and trees and bodies in canvas and in carved wood. i was the only one in all the museum, and i got escorted from room to room by door-holding guards whose smiles grew as they saw the time i took with their art. each room held something marvelous, and i was alone, utterly, free to orbit a small block of lava rock with cubes carved away in varying depths and admitting slivers of light through long channels, or stand captivated before a canvas with approaching child’s feet sprouting ghostly trees, or cavort from one to the next in a series of abstract muted but still-bright pieces titled after yucatecan sayings (whence comes the title of this entry), or squeal softly over a room of stunningly freeform art by yucatecan kids, including a slender claw titled “sombra” by the exquisitely named (if misspelled) lesslie, age seven, or do a little dance upon discovering a collage including the cover of Rayuela, or slide along the tiles of a corridor lit by yellow-paned windows containing sheet after sheet of fine-art doodles...
the thunder began while i was in the museum, and by the time i left, the trees were slick and the streets ran with dirty water. here came the distressing part: wading back and forth through four overcrowded blocks for forty-five minutes, trying to find my bus, begging directions from everyone who would stop and getting a different set from each. i cried a bit, keeping a steady voice as matter-of-fact tears slid off my chin. finally i found the bus i needed, and got home, and sank into a puddle crouched under my umbrella to rid myself of the sobs that had accumulated. i had planned to go out that night. the plan changed. i slept instead, and woke feeling worlds better.
because, after all, there is always the next night. after a day in the blue-white-blue salt-sand-salt of progreso, i defiantly boarded a bus once more, this time with camila and a mission. we planned to meet mara and vish at the UADY building. mara found us there quickly, and we sat around under blinking colored lights, discussing the difficulties of interacting with boys, the nerves around being somewhere where we stand out in an appealing way and what that means for romance-- well, they did, mostly. i listened. i’m good at listening. we found ourselves a sidewalk cafe with bright music, and munched on enchiladas and salsa and sipped cheladas and mojitos and watched the passersby, or rather dancersby-- old couples looking in love, a small wrinkled man in a dapper shirt twirling an imaginary partner, another gyrating at toes and hips and shoulders, eager hands twisting out grace as though wringing it from the saturated air, flinging back long curly hair and seeking a partner with similar enthusiasms. i got asked to dance, and awkwardly obliged, before we were joined by vish. soon thereafter mara went home, and vish and camila and i danced a bit ourselves, emboldened by the trio approach. we proceeded down the street, stopping at each of the many bands playing for a moment or two, receiving some wordless dancing lessons from two yucatecan ladies, shadowing jared (the oldest member of our program group, seemingly ancient at 29) and the lovely new friend he made and silently rooting for him. then, a taxi home. home is beginning to feel more like a home, a place to rest, filled with people who want the best for me. so, todo bien.
p.s. i've been writing most of these on my new myspace account, so if you're into that kind of thing, you should make me your friend. but it is being picky and so i am writing this here because i feel like posting something. maybe i'll start doing both? i dunno... no matter. i'll figure it out.
hasta pronto...