Old is old.  Can’t deny it.  But Sal’s parents sure do a good job of ‘resisting’ it.  These guys rock.  Well, they roll, lurch, tip a bit and stumble too, but they are pretty much ‘on the ball’ overall and happy to get out and about.  As a group, we’re a bit slow but, when milling about amongst the hoi polloi of the publico mercado, speed is not much of a factor.  We get around.

Nice thing about the local mercado: R is still tall enough to see in a Mayan crowd.

While Sal and the two A’s (abuela and abuelo) went searching for veggies, I sought out my ‘butcher, Raoul, again.  We did meat business once again in his 10 foot by 10 foot cubicle complete with bandsaw, sink, stool, boxes, side-of-beef, tiled front counter and three other members of his family.  Wife was all smiles.  Kids were nice.

Butchers in the mercado do not cut meat in the same manner as do NortAmericanos.  They just slice ‘blobs’ off of ‘hunks’ hanging overhead and, for the most part, everything ends up looking like stewing beef.  To get BBQ-type steaks the first time was a challenge and so I go back to my now T-bone-educated Raoul

Raoul wants to give me his undivided attention but he has other customers so I wait my turn.  Everyone likes that – especially me.  Lots to watch and learn about while waiting.  Interesting.  No matter what they say, they all walk away with stewing beef.

Stewing Beef and More

The customers who have a bit of English stick around to help me with Raoul.   Today I could not get my request across.  I finally drew pork spareribs on a napkin (the universal translator) and everyone shrieked the proper name at me.  Still haven’t a clue.

Too much pride, laughter and congratulatory smiling all around to say, “What?!”  Instead, I do the gringo nod, smile and say “Gracias”.

Raoul doesn’t carry pork.  So he sent his wife down the way to ‘borrow’  some from his cousin.

Mind you, that limited selection tends to limit the both of us to the ‘quasi’ t-bones.  I am going to have to remember how to ‘cut’ some other ‘types’ and teach them to Raoul.  He wants to learn.  He’ll get more gringo customers that way.  I was a butcher-boy when I was 14/15 but I have forgotten everything.  Still, I am not above making it up as I go.  Should be fun.

Currently experiencing an earthquake as I write this………been going on for about 30 seconds now.  I’d guess; 6.0, maybe 6.5.  Ponds a’sloshing, wind-chimes singing, plants and trees rocking to and fro. Glasses and cups clattering in the kitchen.  Pretty neat.  R says very calmly, “Well, P, maybe this is how we are going to die!?  Should we do something?”

We all just grin.

A few hours at the mad Mayan mercado.  An earthquake.  Maybe a nap. Happy hour.  Dinner.  Ho hum……..all in an ordinary day in Antigua.