The Rites of Passages

I've heard the expression said, "I spent a month in El Paso one night." My rebuttal: Try ten nights and a night in El Paso. Which is what I set out to do in April of 1993. I made the arrangements, packed my overnight (well over ten nights and a nightbag), and caught a flight from DC to El Paso. The townsfolk were notably friendly upon my arrival. I could have sworn they were people just like me from DC. But the climate was different for sure. Hot. Arid. Humid. It was that unbearable mixture of dry heat and wet heat. I knew that for the next ten nights and a night it would be rough. It would be sweaty work.

I soon learned that El Paso was Mexican for "The Picasso," for right in the middle of the town square these natives had erected an enormous print of Picasso's "Light for the Ages." I quickly made a note of it. This native tribes worships Picasso. Strange, I thought. But it would get stranger. For the next ten nights and a night I would see and experience things beyond my wildest dreams. I would overhear these villagers use a 'y' in place of a double 'l.' (vaniya; tortiya; basketbay). I would see them play soccer and yet refer to it as football. I would watch them wear their religious trinkets on their head - large, ridiculous hats they called 'sombreros.'

I have compiled eleven stories for each of my ten nights and a night. And while I am glad I spent my ten nights and a night in "The Picasso," I am very happy to be back in DC, with real humans who speak correctly and act decently.

Post a Comment