Vaquera loca

I was stressed out, I was tired, I had to rush to the airport and by then I was seriously starting to wonder whether that was a good idea to hop on a plane to Texas for just two days right before three mad work weeks that would take me from DC to Pittsburgh to Istanbul.

After a crazy attempt to innovate and taste a meatball sandwich (I know, I know. I thought I'd be adventurous. I won't do it again) which promptly ended up in the trash, I was delirious enough to buy the "cheese and crakers" pack sold on the aircraft, only to discover that if there were a lot of crakers, the cheese (and it's quite flattering to call it that) was the solitary type.

By the time I landed in Dallas, waiting for a hotel shuttle that was in no hurry to come take me to a charmless Hilton nested between two highways, I had made up my mind: this was a mistake. This wedding of a friend I hadn't seen in several years, whose wife to be I hadn't even met, with friends of his who would barely remember they'd hosted me seven years ago in Mexico.

That was last weekend by the way. And I had a blast.

Why? Because Texas with a group of Mexican, and handful of Colombians, some Spanish-speaking Americans and a fellow blond French girl is hard to compete with.
Because swapping the golden sandals that match my fancy dress for cow-boy boots that match my cowboy hat was exhilarting and much better for my toes. And because cabron, it's so good to be around spontaneous and affectionate people!

From the moment I met these guys in the lobby on the Friday, it was easy. Easy to talk to the people I didn't know. Easy to switch from Spanish to English in the same conversation without having to think. To wander down the old streets of Forthworth on Saturday, looking for the hats a bunch of us had decided to wear. To discuss the charms of Palenque in Chiapas, from where Raul's family is, while sharing a turkey leg. To set my DC life aside for a moment and not even talk about it.

It was such a relaxed afternoon that it was after 4 pm when we left Fort Worth and after 5 when we managed to make our way back to the hotel (east Texas seems to be just an endless ballet of cars on infinite highways) for a wedding that was due to start at 6. Even though that was just the civil ceremony, a sort of rehearsal before the massive Mexico-based sequel in November, I would have lost my nerves hours earlier if I had been the groom, or, as a matter of fact, the bride waiting at the hotel!

It was not about the food (hum!). It was not about the setting. It was about a great mix of people grinning under their sombreros, celebrating the marriage of two cultures and dancing to the music of a Texan country band (who thought they were never going to be able to leave when Raul grabbed the mic to sing whatever he could find on his ipod!)
And I got invited to dance! After weeks of not being invited by anyone even to grab a sandwich, that was like breathing in my native Alps.
And did I mention the crazy cousin who offered her affection to all the males in the room? She dropped half dead on a table around 2am and was reportedly picked up by the police.

So, sure, there was Texas. The hotel patio where a sign warns you that you can't enter with your guns. The pink plastic riffles for ladies at the outdoor shop (yes!). The buffalo steak that reconciled me with food for the weekend.

But most of all, there were people. And not even the report on financial stability that I painstakingly tried to read on the flight back could spoil that soothing feeling at the end of the weekend.

Now I just wonder: when am I ever going to wear this vaquera outfit again?