TheBanyanTree: more Stories again

[Pam North]

I'm days behind, but that's because, like Paul, I have a cache of 'things to
read' that I can NOT delete yet....  so, as I get to them, I'm reading.

And like Julie said... they're making me think and remember, and heck!!, I
might even write!!!

Tobie dear, you've motivated many here to sit down and put those thoughts
and memories into words....  write on deary!!!!!!!

Besides, we all know it's therapy!!  :)

Pam


On 9/26/06, Tobie Shapiro <tobie at shpilchas.net> wrote:
>
> September 26, 20000000000000000000000000006
>
>
> Deer Ewe,
>
>        I'm beginning to feel like I should stop.  I need some
> feedback.  Someone tell me if this is getting old, or if it's still
> being enjoyed.
>
>                                QQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQ
>
> Oh, Estelle
>
>        Dweller and I went to Mexico City on our honeymoon.  This was
> way back in 1969.  The little men had just landed on the little moon,
> and the world was abuzz with space travel.  We, however, stayed on
> earth and took a plane to Mexico City.  We had arranged to stay in a
> nice hotel, had reservations and confirmation numbers.  We planned
> the whole thing through a reputable travel agent.  We got a cab from
> the airport, and were delivered to our fine establishment.  It was
> billed as a place that upper class Mexicans would stay.  Oh good.  No
> tourists, we!
>
>        But something very wrong happened when we showed up.  The
> clerk at the front desk looked at us with a blank expression and
> said, "I don't see a reservation."  We were crestfallen, and also
> befuddled.  We showed him the printed confirmation.  There.  Right
> there on paper.  "Sorry," he told us, "Not in the book."
>
>        It took me at least a couple decades to figure out that that
> was when we were supposed to hand him some extra money to make our
> reservation appear in his book.  But, instead, we turned around, and,
> dispirited, dragged our luggage back to the curb.  We hailed another
> taxi, and told our sad story to the driver.  He had a good idea where
> we should stay, and said he'd take us there.  Very clean.  Very nice.
> Maybe a little expensive.  Fine fine.  Just take us there.
>
>        So we stayed in hotel number two.  There was a little
> altercation with the room having two single beds, but they found us
> one with a double after we begged them and added that it was our
> honeymoon.  This was our home base.  It was pleasant, well decorated,
> and the hotel restaurant made a delightful fresh vegetable soup that
> I can still taste, with the raw egg cracked into it right before
> taking it off the stove.
>
>        We amused ourselves walking around the streets in downtown
> Mexico City.  I had been warned to dress conservatively.  Mini skirts
> were all you could buy in the States, and I had to find older
> clothing.  But, damn, clueless, I wore my colourful tights, and this
> attracted much unwanted stares.  In fact, this being the old days
> when I was buxom and zoftig, I attracted a lot of male attention.
> Dweller didn't mind.  He'd just smile at the men staring at me, and
> pull me a little closer.  Sometimes the men staring would be passing
> a church.  Every time they passed a church, they kneeled and
> genuflected.  So, sometimes, there would be a man crossing himself in
> front of a church while oggling a young bride, his tongue hanging out
> of his mouth.
>
>        We took side trips.  One side trip was to Tasco, the silver
> capitol of Mexico.  We were scheduled to stay there one night, and
> then return to our home base.  We decided this would be our one
> touristy jaunt.  We'd booked what we thought were two seats on a tour
> bus, but what showed up at the hotel was a private limousine.  We
> piled in the back seat, and looked out the window during the ride to
> Tasco.  Did I mention it was the silver capitol?  Now we felt like
> very ugly Americans, but there was nothing we could do about it.
> Well, I suppose we could have taken public buses, but we weren't up
> to that.  So maybe we were ugly Americans.  The driver of the
> limousine was also our designated guide.  He spoke English very well,
> but had a clause that he kept repeating:  "Now you will be about to
> be able to ......."  "Now you will be about to be able to see local
> children selling Armadillos by the side of the road."  "Now you will
> be about to be able to arrive in Tasco."  "Now you will be about to
> be able to go to your room and you will be about to be able to meet
> me in the lunch room in two hours."
>
>        So Dweller and I took ourselves upstairs and down the
> colonnade to our new room.  The hotel was a vast Spanish resort.  In
> fact, everything in Tasco from the street signs to a hot dog stand,
> to a vast Spanish resort had to meet with strict requirements and
> specifications.  It all had to conform to the architecture and style
> of a Mexican village in the 1800s.  It gave the town an allure and
> affixed it with a fantasy rather than a reality.  We were frozen in
> time, before airplanes, before television, before antibiotics.  Our
> hotel looked like something from a Hollywood set where Elizabeth
> Taylor would be strolling the outdoor hallways with their rows of
> grand arches, the rain pelting the ceramic tile roof, the lightning
> illuminating the tin masks hanging on the walls.
>
>        Our room was another little fantasy, a quarry tile floor,
> white bed linens on a wrought iron bed, an elaborate tin angel above
> on the wall, an ornate mirror; the bathroom fixtures were old
> fashioned porcelain.  Every few minutes one of us flushed the toilet.
> We each thought the other had forgotten to flush after a particularly
> florid event.  But when I turned on the tap in the sink, the truth
> came out.  The water was brown, opaque brown.  And let's just not
> think about it.  It would be agua purificado for the squeamy ugly
> American gringos.
>
>        We had two hours before we would be about to be able to meet
> our guide in the comida. So, we decided to try out the bed.  We got
> in and started fussing around with skin and hair, when we were
> interrupted loudly by a booming thick New York accent next door out
> in the hallway.  The speech came from a middle aged man that I
> imagined was wearing an Hawaiin shirt stretched over an ample belly,
> and bermuda shorts with his bare knees and shins spilling out below
> the pant lines.  Maybe he had a camera or two slung around his neck.
> But it was what he said and how he said it that has kept his speech
> in my permanent memory.  This will stay in my craw long after I
> forget my social security number.  Remember the thick New York accent.
>
>        "Oh, Estelle!  Ya know, I'm so emotional about leavin' owa
> little room!  Why if owa little room could only speak!  Think what it
> would say, preparin' for a new inhabidant!"
>
>        When we'd heard these words, we stopped all the foreplay, got
> dressed immediately and went for a walk.
>
>                                QQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQ
> --
>
>
>
>
> Tobie Helene Shapiro
> Berkeley, California   USA
>
> tobie at shpilchas.net
>