Tricks and Treats

Before coming to Mexico, the last time I had either carved a pumpkin or passed out candy to trick-or-treaters was at least ten years ago. The last two years, I felt too tired from work to even go out for Halloween. This past Friday night though, I found myself elbow-deep in pumpkin guts and surrounded by party revelers after spending my Halloween afternoon distributing treats to children. Being in a foreign country as turned me into more of an American as I feel more inclined to celebrate the holidays and traditions of the United States.

My feeling of otherness began the Thursday before Halloween when I went to run errands in preparation for the holiday. First stop was the marketplace where I bought small toys, plastic pumpkins and whole-wheat cookies that I later passed out to the kids at work. I had a feeling that I was being overcharged for certain things, but language prevented me from bargaining with the vendors. In a sort of reverse colonialism (the white people who originally came to the Americas sold the natives cheap trinkets in exchange for their land,) Jessica confirmed that I had in fact been ripped off.

No matter, I had the wine that I had bought for the parish party we were to throw to console myself with. Going to the liquor store was an adventure as the shop attendants were eager to show off there English skills to me. (You can´t actually enter a liquor store around here because they are behind bars, so I had to stand on the street to place an order.) Disturbingly, there was a drunk guy drinking in front of the licqour store spoke enough English to ask me where I was from, my age, and exchange swear words with the attendants. After I completed the transaction, he followed me a little away from the store before deciding not to stray to far from the liquor. His behavior didn´t really bother me, but the fact that he could speak better English intoxicated than I can speak Spanish is troubling.

Next stop was the fruit market where Jessica and I bought pumpkins. It took us a while to track down gourds suitable for carving, as most of the calabezas around here are green and oddly shaped. However, we found orange-ish pumpkins that cost five pesos per kilo from a pleasant man who spoke English. We later realized that we had paid 120 pesos for 18 kilos of pumpkins, and that once again we had taken advantage of, having been disarmed by the man´s friendly chatter that caused us not to pay attention to the scale. Apparently, the Halloween spirit has yet to permeate Mexico.

Except for at the parish, where everyone had been excited all week for the party. Father cooked pasta with salmon (because he knows I like fish) and served red wine (goes without saying). Jessica and I successfully cut and gutted our pumpkins and the whole table took a turn carving them. I roasted the seeds, and I felt a little bit more at home because I was allowed to do the dishes. (There in no dishwasher at the parish and typically when I try to wash dishes I am shewed away. My former roommates would be shocked to see how I often I plead with the church ladies to be allowed to clean up.)

After our pumpkins were lit, Jessica and I returned back to the casa were we wrote the names of our relatives next to the offering she had prepared for Día de los Muertos , the November 1 and 2 holiday whereby the non-living supposedly pay their relatives a visit. The next day, as I roamed the streets tired and worn from the night before, I wasn´t sure if the stares I got were because I am an American, or if people were mistaking me for a a visiting soul.