Broom … through the magic of Aeromexico I went from Oaxaca to Veracruz, and a friendly taxi brought me from the airport to my small hotel. I had chosen (I thought) a hotel by the malecón close to the place where my aunt and her family used to live. It turned out to be in the right neighborhood of Villa del Mar, but two blocks from the shore. Rats!
I went for an exploratory walk and found out that in three days time the Carnival is starting, so the whole of the malecón is now lined with stands for people to sit and watch the parades, so the peaceful view of the ocean was not there to begin with.
It is hot here, so I waited until the evening to go for a walk through “my old neighborhood”. My Tía Guillermina was my mother’s sister, and she was larger than life: A heavy set woman, loud, happy, and mischievous, who could swear like a stevedore, and who was the ideal image of a Veracruzana. The family on my mother’s side all came from Veracruz, but after my Grandma lost her husband, when her two daughters and son were 8, 10 (my Mom), and 12 years (my Tía Mina) old, she moved the family to Mexico City. Years later, probably to keep her out of mischief, my Tía was sent back to Veracruz, where she stayed for the rest of her life. She was married to my Tío Caliche, a respected and beloved doctor, and had five boys in quick succession, and years later a little princess Paty, who now lives in Cancún. My boy cousins, my brother, and myself were close enough in age that when we went to visit for a couple of weeks every summer we created a seriously mischievous band. Since then three of my cousins have passed away, victims of the AIDS pandemic, and the other two had a falling out with the family so I have no near relatives to visit while I am here.
In any case, my aunt’s old house is only three blocks from my hotel, so I walked there, past the familiar market and the Parque Hidalgo with its large head of the Father of the Nation until I reached the house. It looks unkempt but is not abandoned, so I assume my youngest male cousin still lives there, but I didn’t bother to knock. From there I went to see the condominium where my Grandma lived (she eventually went back to Veracruz, although in her very old age my Mom brought her back to Mexico to live with them), crossed the park, and took the street that our Band of Brigands used to follow to reach the beach, three blocks away. I was lost in memories when, to my astonishment, I saw the paletería where we used to buy Percheron Popsicles. The sign proudly proclaimed that it had stood there since 1928, and I was glad to corroborate to the young woman in charge that I had bought popsicles there 60 years ago! She was flabbergasted. A Percheron Popsicle is, like the horse, a popsicle that is three times as large as a regular one. I bought myself a nanche one; It didn’t look that large once I got it, but to an 8-year-old kid they used to look like you had your very own pyramid of deliciousness to fight the relentless heat. Talk about going back in time!
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