Gringo en Laredo
The beginning of a South Texas adventure
Desayuno
I woke up this morning with a knock at my door. I wiped away my eye crust, tumbled off of my mediocre blow up mattress and kicked an empty shoe box out of my way to answer the call. These two words were all I needed to leave my slumber and greet the day: barbacoa and lengua.
What were these foreign and strange words? I had no idea. I knew I was a gringo; I learned this word the previous day. I knew that I lived in a casita, a word I was made aware of by answering a chance Craigslist ad. And when you are a gringo living in your casita, you don’t question things — you trust your landlady and go eat breakfast.
The tacos were tender and juicy, topped off with the perfect amount of chunky salsa and a dash of salt. Corn or flour tortillas? Both. My first breakfast in Laredo was traditional, simple and the perfect way to start a cultural journey in an area of Texas that is just as much Mexican as it is American. I’m not attempting to be tongue-in-cheek, but I could get used to eating tongue and cheek.
Pinky
My landlady’s nickname is Pinky and she is the tía of her family, meaning her home is where nieces, nephews and grandchildren go for the hugs and kisses— abrazos y besos. This retired school teacher and business owner certainly has the spunk to match her greying red hair. I observed this after breakfast while sitting on her sinking couch and reading the newspaper while chatting about politics, her life and the intricate details of how “things work” in Laredo. Pinky has lived in Laredo for around 30 years. She “knows where the bodies are buried,” a phrase she quipped while I sipped on freshly-made sweet tea and she puffed on her cigarette.
She told me of her days as a social worker in Arkansas during a time of intense racism and how she received a kiss from a black baby while her white colleagues cringed at the mere thought of allowing the infant to touch her. She told me about the power families of Laredo and how they rule local politics. And she even introduced me to Santa Muerte, the saint of the drug cartel. Pinky tells me the violence has subsided in the recent months, but it is still dangerous to travel to Nuevo Laredo. She misses the days of undisguised travel between the two cities, separated by a border but culturally one and the same.
We talked for a few hours, and I’m pretty sure we solved all of the world’s problems.
Próximo
Words to learn, roads to navigate, food to taste, culture to soak in and things to write. ¡Deséenme suerte!
