Street Corners

Ileft the Palacio and walked through a series of residential districts, in search of a strongly recommended restaurant. Eventually I arrived at No. 26 Vincente Guerro. Well, whatever this establishment’s business was, it did not involved serving food, and even if it did, all the lights were out and the doors locked.

On one corner of the small crossroads on which I stood was a bar. Outside loitered ten middle-aged men dressed in gray suits, white shirts and cravats. Two of them held guitars and plucked away at their strings in an impromptu manner.

‘Hello Sir,’ one of the crowd greeted me. We shook hands. ‘What are you looking for?’ 

I pointed to the restaurant, which was shrouded in darkness.

‘Yes, but it is now a pharmacy and it’s closed. Where are you from?’

‘Near Liverpool, England.’

‘Ah yes, there is a famous bar there. A bar with bittles.’

‘I think you mean bottles’  (bar/bottles. It seemed to be an obvious connection).

‘No I mean the bittles in the Cavern Bar.’

‘Ah I see, the Cavern Club. It’s still there actually, but no Bittles.’

‘Hey Michael, ‘ he called over one of his accomplices and pointed to me, ‘From Liverpool, England.’

‘Ah the Beatles,’ said Michael.

Hanging around on dark neighbourhood streets like this reminded me of corner shops I had lived near in the past; juvenile delinquents sitting on steps, ghetto blasters, drinking cans of lager, smoking, hissing at passers by. All this contrasted with the current gathering, which was much older and more nattily dressed with suits and white ruffled shirts. It had a ritualistic purpose about it; lots of male bonding; hugging of new arrivals; a very macho affair; an evening constitutional of sorts, without the walking.

In addition to the two acoustic guitars, I had noticed four big bass cases propped up in each of the bar’s corners. So where was the music? After all, with their uniformity of dress, the men could easily have been part of a male choir.

As in Zacatecas, I longed for them to trot out some rendering of, well anything, even ‘All my loving’. But I couldn’t wait forever. I moved on in search of food, and when retracing my steps one-hour later the crowds had dispersed or moved onto another street corner.