February 20, 2003
Livin’ on Gringo time
Sunday 2/16
The desert still amazes me. After I arrived in Albuquerque, I was breathless with the dry brown vastness of the land all around me. The sky and sand met in a dusty blue haze on the horizon as I drove down to Belen to hook up with my old buddy Jose. He’s one of the most decent, kind people I’ve ever met, and the years certainly haven’t changed him. Perhaps the best thing I can say about Jose is that he taught me how completely irrelevant and capricious time is during a trip to Mexico in the early ‘90s. Anyone who knows me is aware of my obsession with timeliness. I think it’s an inherited trait. When we were kids, the Benz family was always among the first in the pews at St. Anselm Church, awaiting the start of Sunday Mass. We were never late. And I am never late. It’s just part of me. But during that trip to Mexico, Jose taught me about time. It’s largely irrelevant, and instead of being at its beck and call, we should force it to be our servant. At first, Jose’s “lateness” made me crazy. But slowly, reluctantly, I came around. I learned to go with the flow during this trip through Ciudad Juarez, Mexico City, Puebla, Oaxaca and the Pacific Coast. It certainly didn’t come easily. And I quickly reverted to my antsy gringo ways after returning from Mexico. But for that one stretch of time, I learned to disrespect minutes and hours. We came and went as we needed to. And it all worked out. Schedules be damned.
Jose did me one other great favor. He introduced me to his family. His dad, a jeweler in Puebla, his brothers, and his mother. After meeting them, it became obvious why Jose is such a great person. I’ll never forget how his father spent time with me, showing me his craft and quizzing me on my Spanish. Jose’s mother served some of the most incredible food I’ve ever eaten, and I’ll never forget a night his brother Nacho and I spent draining a bottle of Oro de Oaxaca mezcal while swinging in hammocks on the Pacific Coast. Nacho’s English was abysmal; my Spanish almost non-existent. But for one glow-in-the-dark night in Puerto Angel, we communicated fluently in a dialect drenched in mezcal.
It was great to see Jose again today. He’s doing well, teaching at a local high school and at a branch campus of the University of New Mexico. One of his sons is studying at the University of Tampa, while the younger son is in high school. Life seems to be treating him well, and I’m glad to see it. I realized how much I miss him during the brief few hours we spent together today. I used to sit in on his night Spanish class at Valencia campus, and afterward we’d go to his home in Belen and drink beer and talk late into the night. He was a big influence on me and taught me much about Mexican culture, music and art.
Posted by Bob Benz at February 20, 2003 12:01 AM