We've gone through the process of obtaining our FMM3 visas, giving us legal residency for a year, we've been to a lot of places, seen a lot of things.
It has been an amazing journey so far.
The other day I went out fishing with some guys. Bob is a friend from Scotland. He brought along a co-worker named Sergei, who comes from Russia. The fourth member of our party was a guy named ken, who is a member of the New Mexico National Guard and works for NORAD who was in the final days of a week-long vacation here. The crew was a Mexican national and his son.
The Sea of Cortes was splendid, hardly a ripple as we worked our way to an area known as Gordo Banks, one of the prime fishing holes in all of the world.
There was, as in any fishing trip, a high degree of anticipation. What would the sea yield today?
The water was warm -- more than 85 degrees. The sun was brilliant in the sky. There was a slight breeze to help with the heat and humidity. It was quite a day.
The four of us sharing the 28-foot super panga -- a nice fishing boat with a bit of cover from the sun and a motor that allowed us to cut the waves nicely -- had one of those very cool days chasing fish around the ocean.
It wasn't loud and raucous, wasn't an excuse to pound beer all day long, or any of that stuff, just four guys looking to hook into some fish.
I got more out of that, however.
It was interesting having conversation with these guys. First there were the accents. Bob's heavy Scottish accent and Sergei's Russian influences came forward throughout the conversation. Ken's inflections were clearly Norte Americano, as were mine. The skipper and his son spoke only Spanish. The boat was rich in diversity and there was an instant comradeship that happens when you get a group of people together on a fishing boat. We all wanted to hook into something nice, have a good time and enjoy the beautiful day at sea.
The fishing trip came about a week after we took in the Mexican Independence Day celebration, which, really, stretched out over several days.
It began on Sept. 15, the night before Independence Day down here, with a spectacular fiesta in the plaza.
The place was crowded with people who came to take in the cultural celebration. There were dancers, there was music, there was food. In front of the municipal offices -- a very old, two-story building with a balcony overlooking the plaza -- a crowd gathered as the Presidente de Los Cabos came out about 10 p.m. for the traditional poetry, patriotic speech, bell-ringing ceremony and flag waving. A large crowd stood beneath the balcony, entertained by the Los Cabos drum and bugle corps, awaiting the appearance. As he finished, the fireworks show began with stands built against the plaza depicting the Mexican flag and historic figures. Then, the sky lit up with a spectacular fireworks display.
Now, I don't know what you think of when you hear the words "fiesta," but I'll bet it's a little different than the reality.
I mean, this wasn't some drunken bacchanal, a crazy party, it was, instead, a very family friendly gathering, focusing on heritage, culture, community. There was no commercialization. In the United States, for weeks before the July 4th celebration, you can find tablecloths, napkins, paper cups, T-shirts, even bikinis all decked out in the colors and design of the American Flag. Not here. There were some token items -- hair ribbons, earrings, little flags and the like, but everything was tastefully and respectfully done.
And, there were no strangers in the plaza.
There was a bit of a language barrier, but the woman was slow and patient as she pointed out the highlights.
We ate authentic Mexican food -- quesadillas that are nothing like what you experience in the States, tostadas that were about 180 degrees different than what you will find in any Mexican restaurant Stateside, tamales that were so rich and flavorful that your taste buds were on sensory overload.
The plaza was jammed, it was a hot, sweaty night, but there was no pushing and shoving. Everybody found a spot in the plaza, which was filled with green, white and red lights -- the colors of the Mexican Flag -- and took it all in.
Fathers placed their little ones on their shoulders so they could see the lights, the speeches, the fireworks. Children, some fresh from performing on the plaza's large stage, laughed, ate fresh fruit cups from one of the street vendors or chewed on a homemade ice cream bar, available from the tropical helado (ice cream) shop on the plaza. We shared a cab home that night with some turistas visiting from States who kept talking about how much fun they had, how beautiful the town looked, how friendly the people were. We couldn't help but agree.
Each school carried their own banner, each school had a drum and bugle corps. Each child was in a crisply pressed uniform, which was incredible considering hot very warm it was.
There was more dancing in the plazas, the Mexican Army presented the colors. Some folks dressed in cultural costumes and rode horseback in the parade.
There were no floats with signs advertising the local businesses. There were no Independence Day sales at the local markets or shops. There was just a celebration of Mexico's independence from Spain 201 years ago, freeing the nation from dominance that began when Cortes began his savage attack on the Aztecs.
After a siesta, we returned to the plazas for more food. Again, it was incredible. The flavors are much more subtle than you would imagine. I tasted an wonderful habanero salsa that was heavier on flavor than heat. The jalapenos here? They are sweeter, not as bitter andnot as hot as those I had grown accustomed to in the States. The fruit? Usually, it is flavored with chili powders or doused with lime juice. Rarely does it stand alone. You have not lived until you have tasted fresh mango with chili powder.
We saw another round of performances in the plaza, meandered with the crowd. The pastiche of colors, smells, accents, cultures was refreshing.
Now, we came here from a small southern Utah community. There was little diversity there. You rarely heard a foreign accent, encountered people of color and, except for rare occasions, never sampled much of a foreign culture.
It's not St. George's fault, I realized. I mean, even when living in Los Angeles, I rarely experienced another culture. It had all been homogenized, Anglo-ized. The celebrations took on a commercial bent, the foods watered down to U.S. tastes, the fiestas not as focused on heritage. There was never any real context connected to what was going on around us, even in the more ethnic-soaked communities.
We are a part of a bigger, more interesting world and I cannot, for the life of me, understand why more people do not embrace it, seek it out, celebrate that which makes us different instead of trying to blend us all into a melting pot, creating this hybrid stew that is a compromise and a sell-out of who we truly are.
I don't like the homogenization of humanity. We lose our roots, lose our identity, lose our connection to who we are and where we came from until we all start looking the same, sounding the same, acting the same.
Because sameness, quite frankly, is boring.
I mean there's more to this life than bologna, cheese, and mayo sandwiches served on white bread, isn't there?
Take a bite out of life.
You just might enjoy it.
