viernes, 7 de junio de 2013
La Calle Por La Noche
Oaxaca, in the days leading up to Día de los Muertos. Maybe it was just my imagination, my own excitement for Día de los Muertos, but there was an energy, an electricity in the air, and particularly at night, when people would come out dressed up, or in a parade. I remember thinking shortly after arriving in Mexico, that while it is pretty during the day, it is stunning at night. Maybe it is because everything seems to take on a kind of mystic quality, like the borders between the real and the unreal, reality and dreams seem to blur. There is more potential at night; greater possibilities, choices and events that would never occur during daylight hours. This is, of course, exaggerated to a completely different scale around Día de los Muertos, when the divide between the living and the dead realms is meant to be at its weakest. Everyone seemed to be buzzing. Although it may have just been that my vision was distorted by my own buzzing, shaking everything, I don't really believe that. Sitting at this food stall I could feel the excitement tugging at me, drawing me back to see what was happening around the zócalo.
What I wouldn't give to be back there now, instead of working on an essay for Uni. Even take away the excitement of Día de los Muertos, what could be more enticing than the carelessness of walking down a deserted street late at night, drawn by the scent of frying meats and tortillas? Like a moth to the flame, not just drawn in by the smell, but by the well-lit stall against the dark night. The carefree days of late night tacos.