Last night in Tlacochahuaya, I heard the bus honk at the bottom of the hill and looked around to see that I was the only teacher packed up and ready to go. As it past, I was as disappointed as a child who got something beautiful in pink but secretly wanted purple.
We had been talking about going to see the Danzon under the laurel on the zocalo and then heading to drinks. If I don’t get a bus around six, I have to wait until seven, and then Danzon is done by the time I finally arrive on the plaza.
So, when everyone was done and we were trying to decide how we were going to get back, we jokingly asked three police officers if they would consider giving us a lift in the back of their truck. They agreed and seemed as delighted by the adventure as we were, even posing for pictures where they were practically hanging out the window and giving us a thumbs up (I have nothing to show of this though as I was taking photos with someone else’s camera; you can see X-, one of the last teachers to hop out of the back).
The ride in the back of the truck on two metal benches was a lot more comfortable, believe it or not, than riding in the bad of a bus. There were chains in the back, and one of the teachers reported that people can be handcuffed to the benches as a sort of drunk tank.
How appropriate to be hauled out of town in the drunk tank on my last night (this summer); I do confess, I am intoxicated by this pueblo.
shewhodaresnothing 