Mexico OR Where I Found Religion

By Joel C. Daniel

(It's seems that there is a running theme with most of Joel's stories that he so kindly allows me to share on this little bliggity-blog of mine. That theme? Bodily functions. But only Joel can tell a story with that kind of subject matter and still make me hungry for tacos. Enjoy.)

It is 3:30 a.m. PST. I am awake. My roommate’s bunk bed is squeaking in the room next door, and my neighbor across the street is wailing, “Louie,” over and over in a drunken slur¹. The last time I was awake at 3:30 am, I was in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico² listening to my girlfriend vomit. Montezuma laid his revenge upon her with conviction, and I was relegated to using the neighbor’s toilet any time I had to go. We were with her family; they think it was the food. I think it was Jesus. Baby Jesus to be exact, or a plastic doll being used as his stand-in. She kissed said Jesus, along with the rest of San Miguel de Allende, at midnight mass on Christmas Eve. I didn’t. It is pertinent to note, I think, that she is a Jew.

There was nothing wrong with the food. I could eat Mexican food every day. I could eat Mexican food in Mexico every meal of every day, and for five days I did. The food rocked. It rocked the way an elephant standing atop a very stiff and thin candle would rock. My girlfriend’s family insisted upon eating at “nice” restaurants³. Although the food was good, it never felt right passing a vendor making fresh tacos at a cart on the side of a cobblestone street – who probably had been doing the same every day all of his or her life – to eat something else. In Mexico, passing this by seemed preposterous and American.

Eating at a taco stand is not an experience you can get in the US. You can take your chances at a taco truck⁴, but it is not the same. The stands I visited were imperative to the city and its people, and I believe they were authentic connections to the roots of the city. The people I purchased my meals from were residents and sole proprietors making a living selling to mostly local residents and citizens. The food was delicious, and I felt closer to the culture, because I met the people of the city that keep it nourished.

I think my girlfriend’s family was looking for easy answers. She and I ate the same exact food while we were in Mexico. I did not throw up or discharge anything abnormally. Thus, it could not have been the food. It could have been the water, (although in this particular town the water is supposed to be okay for the gringos), as she had a few ice cubes in margaritas on our trip. I did not drink these, but I saw her father take a sip of at least one of hers. Therefore, I do not think it was the water, which leaves only Jesus. I am not a religious person, but I have also never seen fluids move forward and back through a human at the rate they moved through my girlfriend. Only a divine hand could explain this. Only in Mexico could I find religion. Good night.

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1 He does this about twice a week.

2 An artist community and city founded in 1542 in the state of Guanajuato.

3 Usually Italian food.

4 Which is not to say there is no value in a taco truck. There is. However, a great part of its value is the result of our fast-paced lives and capitalism.