Divorced Eggs, Separated by Red and Green Sauce

Huevos Divorciado. That's what the menu said in the Mexico City Airport. It sounded like malo suerte to me -- bad luck -- so I ordered the omelet de casa. Wed spent four days in the timeless town of Tepotzlan, an hour south of the city. Cobblestone streets ran up and down hills through the impoverished market centro and spilled out into the verdant, mountainous countryside. Miles of expansive, hidden estates lay in wait behind fortified stone walls and medieval gates, doused in fluorescent pink and purple bougainvillea..

There were Mexican prices and turista prices. How long would a foreigner need to live in the country to earn the right to pay local prices? Our bed and breakfast was in the countryside, a green patch bracketed by severe cliffs. We ate breakfast by the pool, served by a 40 year-old Mexican man, supporting three young children. How much was he paid, ministering to the rich visitors who might order the $55 rack of lamb or $100 bottle of wine listed on the menu? Not us, modest therapists, who shopped the outdoor market in the city center and made homemade guac from scratch in our room, to the ire of our innkeepers.

One night, very late, hungry and a bit restless, we hobbled over cobblestone in darkness towards town. We found a large outdoor restaurant, a blaze of trees and shrubs covered by an enormous canvas canopy, stone tables sunk in sand. The night air was soft and still. It was after-hours. We ordered pizza and cocktails. There was an impromptu stage up front, and a DJ and his friends were spinning tunes off his Mac --- trance, electronica. The Smiths' 1986 "There Is a Light that Never Goes Out" came on, and we got up to dance, excited and a bit homesick. The DJ smiled. I smiled back. I called out, "Buena musica. Lo quiero. Gracias!" It was the best I could do to bridge the separation.

Cleopatra Victoria, MFT

Listen to the Smiths' single, "There is a Light that Never Goes Out," by clicking here