night snacks

In the corner of a park, just down the block from where the mariachis practice and wait patiently (despondently?), there is a small, wooden quesadilla stand on wheels. Last night we visited, I unfortunately without hunger, and while the couple inside the stand prepared mushroom and chorizo quesadillas, they told us about how the police have been trying for the past couple weeks to remove them from the park. The first time the police came, there were a lot of people waiting for quesadillas and they began to shout at the police, "Get out of here!" "We want to eat!!" Since then, the police have returned several times, each time without success and the couple have gone to the city to see what sort of deal they can work out. "Either way, we're not going anywhere," says the woman, with a huge smile on her face.

I just have a blackberry atol and watch the incredible loyalty and comraderie among this one lone stand's clientele and among the vendors themselves, as lovely and sweet as the thick purple atol in my hand, which is also the perfect amount of warm on a chilly San Cristóbal night.