More stories of Veracruz

Aha! I forgot two stories, the story of the palm reader and the story of the skirt fixer!

So I had bought this dress, an awesome one with zebras that made of a light fabric fit for the beach, and I went to a grundgy bathroom in an internet cafe to change into it from my heavier dress from Papantla. I made a few unfortunate observations after I left the cafe: it was obvious I wasn’t wearing a bra (proof came later when I went up to a hotel clerk to ask directions and he just stared at my boobs for a full 10 seconds); there was hole the size of a quarter at my belly (so that’s why it was half off!); and the bottom was so narrow I couldn’t take my usual gringa strides. A few minutes later, fed up, I sat down on a bench to try to rip the seams of the bottom to make more room for my legs and found one side already ripped and the other almost impossible to get the seams out with my pen tip. I was sitting there, sweating in the sun, obstinately poking away at my dress when an older woman came up and offered to help me, pulling out her swiss army knife. Then in a very motherly way she proceeded to rip the seams as if this happened to her every day, was completely normal occurrence. Hey, maybe it is! We chatted a bit, both sweating profusely now, and when she had finished tearing it up, we stood to say our goodbyes. I thanked her profusely, and she almost didn’t let me give her a kiss on the cheek, embarrassed by the drops falling off of her face, wetting the brick-covered ground. It doesn’t matter! I said laughing, and gave her a couple of hugs and kisses, so happy that this stranger wasn’t a stranger and helped me with the utmost familiarity and kindness of a grandmother. We parted ways, both beaming with mutual humanity.

One of the other women I encountered that day approached me at the Malecon (Boardwalk), head wrapped in a shawl, the usual pleading look in her eyes of someone who is selling something they know you don’t want to buy. In low Spanish she said, “I’ll read you palm, the lines will tell you the future…” I paused; it has been a goal of mine for while to get my future read, and she jumped on the opportunity, grabbing my hand and saying, “20 pesos, the lines will tell you.” And as she read the first one I could tell it was completely bogus, so I smiled my best innocent, stupid American smile and said, in Spanish, “I’m sorry, I don’t speak Spanish well, I can’t understand you,” but she kept my hand in her grip until I just kept saying, no thanks, I don’t understand you!, hoping to get out of paying anything before it was too late. I rushed away and thankfully she stayed behind, only to grab her next victim by the palm.