The eve before the big day, El Grito, September 16. 2oo years since winning independence from Spain and 100 years since the toppling of the dictator, Porfiro Diaz. Viva Mexico!
In the early hours of September 16th, 1810, Miguel Hidalgo y Costilla, a priest in the small town of Dolores, Guanajuato, rang the church bell to gather the townspeople. He called for the people of Mexico to rise up against the Spanish Crown, thus initiating Mexico's War of Independence. The country did not achieve independence until 1821, but it is this event, known as the Grito de Dolores which is commemorated every year in town squares across Mexico.
I wish I was there, but... I'm not. So start the revolution without me.
And i guess I am not sure where I am, maybe between worlds. So much has changed in El Norte in such a short time. I barely recognize the place. Sure, many things are the same, but in case you haven't noticed one of the political parties has gone Galt or something like that. And the rampant greed and hatred, what people are openly saying, well, it has done a number on me. And there is NOTHING on teevee, just total sh*t, reality shows and idiot talking heads - as Sting says, "they all look like game show hosts to me." Man, I am paying big bucks for expanded basic cable and I've got a channel that show nothing but old hockey games all the time!?!
So I feel like an alien here and I feel like, and always will be, an alien in Oaxaca. Being of two places is really like being of neither.
It makes me think of the kids we used to teach that came from inner cities or foreign countries. They were never gonna be preps and when they went home, they were no longer homeys. It was and is a tough way to live, but it opens many doors, many insights. Back to the other world, Oaxaca, in a few days. Eyes wide open.