Mariachi musicians head for cover (written August 20)

Standing in the light shone on the main entrance of ‘Cortes’ Palace,’ built by the Spanish adventurer directly on top of where a indigenous structure had once stood, Jared, Norma and I began to feel the initial sprinkles of what in Cuarnevaca, after about 10 PM, is likely to develop into an all out thunderstorm. At Norma’s command, we quickly sought out nearby shelter. Only having to endure a minute or two of the light rain, we found refuge under the protection of an underpass. However, it soon became obvious that we weren’t the first ones to come up with this seemingly wise idea.

Over the next thirty minutes, as the sprinkle did, as it always does turn into a downpour, every one of the maybe twenty benches shielded by the underpass would be filled with anywhere from one to four mariachi musicians. For these street musicians, all uniformly dressed in black, sequence lined pants, ruffled white shirts and flamboyantly undersized matching black coats, the party might have moved, but it certainly hadn’t stopped.

Occasionally a lone trumpet, or guitar player would saunter in and lay claim to a free bench. But before long a bass player, followed by a guitar, or even another trumpet player, would accompany the one and together they’d begin cranking out universally known mariachi tunes. Certainly, it would take more than a night void of payment to phase these public servants.

Being the only ones not wearing a ridiculous pair of flared black pants and without an instrument in hand, we stood out like three gringos in an underpass full of more than 30 mariachi musicians. It was the first time I felt slightly intimidated by a bunch of guys in matching costumes. At one point in our nearly three hours sitting on the same bench, we began taking bets on where their allegiances would lie in a hypothetical fight:

Jared: That guy with the trumpet that just passed did not look happy to see us.
Me: We’re probably sitting on his bench.
Jared: What if we got in a fight with one of them?
Me: With just one?
Jared: Yea, just one. Say for instance, that one. The small one with the big guitar.
Me: One on one…no problem.
Jared: I’m sure all the benches would clear, and lets be honest, they wouldn’t be helping us up.
Me: Well, it depends on who started it.
Jared: No way, these guys are definitely unionized and I’m sure fighting on the same side is part of the contract.
Me: That is a good point.

The fact is, their time out of the rain was time away from having to entertain people like us. If I were one of them, let’s say one of the miniature-guitar players, I would totally come to the aid of a trumpet player getting his butt kicked by some oddball gringo. And, in this hypothetical fight, I would totally use my instrument as a weapon just to further humiliate the gringo.