Hussong’s Cantina on Ruiz Street in Ensenada, Baja, is one of those checklist places that anyone from San Diego had to visit at least once.
An original Caesar salad in Tijuana (or one of the more unsavory attractions), a margarita at the Rosarito Beach Hotel, a stop for lobster and a pitcher of margaritas in Puerto Nuevo, and a night at Hussong’s, ebbing and flowing with the tide of drunken masses.
Now that was a pretty good weekend.
Hussong’s was unique among cantinas. It wasn’t artificially constructed as some faux Mexican fantasy to pull in the tourists with campy decor and T-shirts. Hussong’s holds liquor license No. 2 in Ensenada and is in the same building John Hussong bought and gussied up in 1892.
A few days ago, I watched a documentary on the human digestive system. One thing these scientists and nutritionists kept repeating when asked about food choices: “Listen to your body.”
OK, what does that even mean?
Since puberty, “listen to your body” has been the siren’s call leading me down a path to only one place, a place filled with regret, remorse, shame — and maybe a little “wowzer!”
Today was an important one at the Parroquia San Antonio de Padua here in Colonia San Antonio.
Families brought their sons and daughters — boys in white suits, girls in white dresses — for the religious rites of first holy communion and confirmation. I am guessing it was for both, given the range of age and height of the children.
Your heart can not help but swell as you watch the families approach the church. The mothers, fathers, grandparents, and siblings surround the child in white — who is practically floating above the ground. They walk quickly toward the steps of the church where the children gather in white clusters as the parents sit on the walls nearby.
I have come to see these affairs as private family moments and am reluctant to run around taking photos — me the stranger, the gringo, in their midst. I no longer take photos unless I am encouraged or invited.
Today, my friend Jim Gramprie and I were walking up the Ancha toward Mercado Sano and this pickup truck pulled up beside us in slow-moving traffic.
How could you not smile?
I shouted “Felicidades!” and clapped my hands in case my Spanish was more horrible than I imagined it to be. They smiled and waved and shouted “Gracias!”
This happened three more times in the stop-and-go traffic and finally, I couldn’t resist.
“Con permiso, una fotografia?”
They were all for it. especially the two young ladies on their high thrones in the back of the family pick-up truck.
Traffic suddenly picked up and they were on their way — to a beautiful family fiesta, I imagine.
I tried my idea for global peace on a few people in the crowd today as we waited for the Exploding Judases to commence.
“What if all across the United States people had a day like this where you could hang effigies of your enemies and other bad people — and watch as they were blown to bits?”
“Just think of the catharsis!”
How to begin to describe the strange looks that I got. …
If you haven’t been, you owe it to yourself to go see the Exploding Judases, today, Sunday, at noon. Go sooner and get a close-up look at the lifesize papier mache figures that will be blown to smithereens. You may even recognize one or two! You may even want to project a name or two of your own onto the more anonymous ones.
Frankly, the pyrotechnics signal the end of High Season, that semi-sad time of year when the season begins to change, to heat up and get really really dry, and all that money changes course and begins to flow back north to the United States and Canada.
What better way to kick off Holy Week than the sacred rivalry U.S.A vs. Mexico in the finals of the Concacaf Cup — again? Ok, there are better ways if soccer isn’t your religion. We’ve got them here! (Photo: Concacaf)
You can attend two magnificent classical performances on the same day, a spooky play reading, a night of expert storytelling, and learn how to read “Ulysses” for pleasure. Watch as the greatest soccer rivalry in the Western Hemisphere fires up again Sunday night. Take to the stage for a Live Mic night, watch an Oscar-winning documentary, or see one of the greatest movies of all time.
The toughest seat in town will be for the re-birth of the guitar-fueled Media Luna’s trio of concerts.
Probably most important of all is that all week long the Catholic faithful will be reliving the Passion of Christ in ceremony, pageantry, prayer, liturgy, and in the end pyrotechnics.
On Wednesdays, I have about an hour between appointments, time I would normally spend sitting in the Jardin with a cup of coffee and a pastry, watching people pose in front of the Parroquia, marveling at how easily alliteration springs from my fingertips.
Not today. Something inside me said I didn’t need the coffee. (The previous three cups?) Or the pastry. (The spreading waistline?) As I reached Calle Hernandez Macias a decision needed to be made.
Ahead of me was the pastry, park, Parroquia, and people. To my left was the Centro Cultural Ignacio Ramirez El Nigromante — Belles Arte for the more mellifluously inclined.
“Once you have tasted flight, you will forever walk the earth with your eyes turned skyward, for there you have been, and there you will always long to return.”
– Leonardo da Vinci
Flying like Superman no longer appeals to me the way it did in my youth. You remember, “faster than a speeding bullet,” – and all that leaping tall buildings with a single bound.
It may be an age thing.
These days, I could use “stronger than a locomotive.” But I’d settle for just a stronger cup of coffee.
The apex of my yearning to fly like Superman came as he streaked around the world counterclockwise until he created enough counterforce to slow its rotation. He did do that, right? I could be conflating my own imagination with some comic book or movie scenario.
The story this week is probably what I didn’t get to. Oh, well. There’s something here for everyone, especially the Lord of the Column procession at the end of the week. To repeat what I said below, the procession is moving and wonderful to watch — but — do yourself a favor and walk over to Independencia on Saturday evening and watch as scores of devotees create beautiful murals of colored sawdust in the streets.
In the morning, Roman soldiers, priests, acolytes, processioners and all will walk slowly through the sawdust, sending the art into oblivion. Following behind will be a legion of city sweepers with bags and brooms and within minutes it will all be the stuff of a dream. So, go see the dream being created on Saturday evening.
In 2003, I walked out of a San Diego theater struggling to explain the movie I had just seen. This was bad news in a way because I’m pretty sure that I’d been assigned to review it for the newspaper.
Maybe not. Reviewing movies was not my full-time gig with the paper. But I knew I had to write about it.
“It’s like … It’s like.” I stopped. Closed my eyes. Inhaled.
Musings, Magic, San Miguel and More 