Viva Mexico

Fourth of July... err... Well, imagine our Independence Day with a change of colors, language, songs and a bit more unrest. Alli, my friend and fellow gringa, came up from Xochimilco for the weekend to head to the Zocalo and pretend to be mexicanas. Throughout the Zocalo, bright lights of red, green, gold and white swirled and blinked. Vendors hawking their goods of various flags, glitter and gaude. People carrying Lopez Obrador signs (remember the leftist that had the election stolen from him and that has since supported a planton and blockade, that has been taken down in the past few days) and registering for the Democratic National Convention that was taking place the next day in order to determine what the next steps should be for taking

The Patriot wears... Not Prada (and might I add, I have yet to find a decent shoe store that sells quality, decent priced shoes with good arch support and cute style? Ugh...), but glittered headbands that read "Viva Mexico" framed by the (glittered) Mexican flag. I'm talkin' the Karate Kid headband, yo. These lovely tokens of fashion and patriotism are worn by many, but I'm certain my dear Alli and I were the only gringas sporting these lovely gems (see photo). For less than a buck I have my own piece of Mexican patriotism that can only be rivaled in gaudiness by U.S. flag, string bikinis (unfortunately, I don't have one of those... shucks...). Added to that are our Mexican flag markered cheeks. Slap some handcuffs on me, read me my rights, charge me with treason, and stick me in Guantanamo, but I loved the feel of this false parading of Mexicanness. Viva la Patria!

I gotta go bafvroom. So, in the midst of the mayhem, my leetle leetle bladder decided that this here lady needed to relieve herself. Lovely. My option. Yup, port-o-potties. But not just any port-o-potty, but Mexican ones. That have probably been there since the beginning of the protests on the Zocalo and more than likely not been cleaned out. I searched for a McDonalds, Starbucks or some other form of Capitalism to exploit for clean facilities. None to be found. So, with Alli's reluctant support and encouragement, I covered my nose with my sweater, climbed into one of those bad boys and squated over the most disgusting toilet I have ever encountered. I prayed that nothing would splash back up as I gave my quads a work out. Funny thing is that in Mexico we don't throw toilet paper in the toilet to be flushed, but instead put it in the trash (the toilets cannot take the bulk). Well, this Mexican tradition even extends to port-o-potties, because due to lack of little trash can, the ENTIRE DAMN stall was used as a paper disposal. Not a pretty sight. At all.

Sickness. Well, I may have braved the treacherous experience, but Alli refused. She held it. And might I add, her needs extended beyond the simple, tinkle. Alli had been having more intestinal problems in general, which I have thus far escaped and hope to continue with such luck. After several breaks to try and think it away and other such nonsense, I finally convinced her to go put on her sweetest face and very lady-likely express her "needs" to a nearby hotel (that runs about $250 USD a night, I might add) doorman. He kindly felt sorry for him and allowed her to enter and use the facilities but forced me to wait for her outside. After about 15 minutes, he probably felt sorry for the gawks and stares I was receiving as the swarms of Mexicans filtered through the street on the way to the Zocalo. He finally let me in where I attended to her in the "not $250 USD a night bathroom" (but kilos better than what I endured). After 15 minutes of coaching her through the bathroom stall, I finally excused myself to wait in the lobby. There I sat, exchanging smiles and knowing giggles with the hotel staff, for an additional 20 minutes. Alli finally, and confidently made her exodus from the ladies' room, and we walked laughing out of the hotel to the crowd. Viva Mexico headbands on and all.

El Grito. At 11pm, surprisingly on time, the Governor of Mexico state (not President Vicente Fox who retreated to Guanajuato to avoid a possible stoning), stood from a balcony over looking the Zocalo and declared a whole lot of "Viva Zapata... Viva las Aztecas..." The crowd screamed back, "Viva!" with every announcement. Finally, he yelled his "VIVA MEXICO" and the crowd went wild. I laughed at myself as I pounded my fist in the air with excitement and cheered along. We then turned around to watch an impressive fireworks display that was shot off, not over a distant water or field as we are accustomed to in the good ol' US of A but, over our very heads. I swore that if I didn't sufficate in the crowd, it'd be death by pyrotechnics. But all was safe, and with an extraordinary finale to boot. It was one of the best Independence Days I've ever had.