The funny thing about the polite people here in Oaxaca is that they often warn: “Cuidado” (Careful) AFTER a person has bumped her head or fallen out the door of the corner store onto the street or banged into a knob that was, for some reason, installed into the sidewalk.
Much taller and bigger and less graceful than the majority of the inhabitants of this city, I often feel as though I am a larger-than-life show, and what I have to offer in terms of entertainment usually results in bruised shins or my red face.
Guiding M (who has a sore knee) around the city, I am even more aware of all of the places where the sidewalk ends or where there’s a sudden dip into the sewer or other uneven pavement ahead. I am trying to save him from stealing the show.
