When my family arrived in Chiapas, I was on stage, in front of more than a hundred people, being led by Kuki the Klown through a mock-wedding with a a local girl. Thanks to a mix up with their taxi driver, my family had been running late and, growing bored waiting, I strayed too close to the clown show and was called onstage to participate. The girl was a good sport. I haven’t seen or talked to her since, but we remain legally wedded under clown law.
Seeing my family again made me realize how solitary my days had become; I’ve grown used to the distance of online teaching and cross-continent phone calls. It felt a bit weird to spend so much time with physical people. We spent the week meandering from restaurant to restaurant, eating everything in our path and overcoming the resultant diarrhea by strength of will. Together we rode a boat through the towering stone faces of the Sumidero Canyon, explored the sprawling markets of San Cristobal, and got carsick upon the winding road to Palenque. Their presence increased my gringo vibes twenty-fold, and vendors hawking handbags, bracelets, and keychains were drawn to us as if by scent. It was the most fun I’d had in a long time.
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