Zacatecas (22deg 46' N 102deg 34' W) same Spanish colonial mining town
story as Batopilas, but without the canyon and drug cultivation. Zacatecas
is a nice Mexican town. So nice that I spent five days there. Before I
arrived there was nothing I wanted to see or do there. I quickly noticed
that plaza life moves at a much faster pace in the city. Occasionally
people would overtake me walking down the street. It almost seemed as if
they were in a hurry. Possibly they were in a hurry to do something.
One morning I walked into a store just to look at the pictures of Zacatacas
hanging on the wall. When I turned to look at the other photos I saw a man
sitting at the bar wearing a K-State ball cap. What a shock to see a
K-State ball cap this far from home. I took his picture and we talked as
best we could. He was well liquored up for this hour of the morning. As I
left the bar I told the bartender that I would return that night.
That night I shaved close and cleaned myself up for a night on the town. I
made my first call at an all night taco shop. While sitting there eating my
tacos I noticed two ladies who were "smokin" and I don't mean just
cigarettes. They looked out of place. Certainly their tight blouses and
short skirts blended well enough with tropical Mexico, but their pale
sunburned skin and blonde hair pointed to their origins being from somewhere
further north. I walked to their table and asked to join them. I
introduced myself (Pancho) to Fennuna and Martina a couple of chain smoking
Irish vixens. They were in Mexico for a couple months of holiday before
returning to Ireland to beat an education into a bunch of potato headed
fourth graders. I teamed up with them and we went to some club they had
been to before. When we got there the line was to long and the cover charge
to high. I convinced them to follow me to the bar I had visited that
morning. As the two chain-smoking Irish vixens and myself walked to the bar
we were serenaded by a Mexican chorus of catcalls, wolf whistles, horn
honks, and lewd comments. Funnuna and Martina had heard it all before and
accepted it calmly. I of course thought I was "The Man" walking through
downtown with not one but two smokin' Irish vixens. Oh, I knew they were
beautiful not only in my judgment, but in the judgment of the local girls
who were giving them that hateful look that women reserve for women they are
jealous of. All the guys were looking at me with "vixen envy" of course.
The three of us walked through the swinging Wild West saloon doors of the
bar. Immediately we created a stir. (Fennuna would explain to me later that
bars with doors like that were "men only" bars. Who knew?) The bartender I
met that morning was still there and I gave him wave as we sat down in a
booth. Immediately the empty seat by Martina was occupied by an intoxicated
man. For the next two hours he kept repeating the only English phrase he
knew, "Welcome?..my friends?..to Zacatecas?.My name is??Charlie". He set
himself on auto repeat. Funnuna got up and returned with a guitar from
somewhere. She strummed the guitar once and started into a song. She sang
beautifully. I had forgotten that she taught music. Everyone was watching
her. She returned the guitar to the old crooner. He took his guitar back
and started into a song. His singing too was wonderful and his guitar
playing better. Another man at the far end of the bar wearing a hat with an
exceptionally wide brim harmonized the chorus with the old crooner. I sat
there taking it all in and experiencing voice envy, guitar playing envy, and
hell even a little hat envy. Eventually the old crooner stopped singing but
the drunk kept talking so we left. We walked through Zacatecas listening to
more catcalls and looking for another place to go. I soon grew tired of
looking and said goodbye to my two chain smokin(g) Irish vixens. After all
I needed my rest for tomorrow there were bullfights.
