Friday, April 2, 2010

I made it to Austin, Texas around 7 p.m (first class from LAX) and headed for the address I was given for the bus I was supposed to work on (chaperone was the title being bandied around) that was to head to MTY MEX music festival, Monterrey Mexico at 10 p.m.

It was the last night of SXSW and the streets were packed and going absolutely bonkers with bands playing every square inch of the town. It was also getting really fucking cold so I bought some gloves and warmed myself with local beer at Cheer Up Charlies.

I found my contact, a lovely girl who was in near tears as the bus drivers hadn't been turning up and quite a few bands were bailing out on traveling down south due to hearing the reports of increased Mexican mafia drug violence happening in the border towns. Cars blowing up and machine gun fire was apparently being shown on the news. These bad ass noise bands mummy's had told them they couldn't go or else they were just filling up their dacks with terrified turds themselves at the thought of scary ol' Mexico. None of the bands that were supposed to be on my bus turned up...but then again neither did the driver. I was told the bus wasn't going to be heading out until six the next morning by this chick so I wandered off into the night not really sure where the fuck I was going to be staying.

Funnily enough I bumped into alot of Melbourne. Crayon Fields, Guy & Ben, Beaches, Love Of Diaphrams and that other guy and went out partied for a while till the only choice I had was to head back to where the bus was supposed to be leaving and maybe sleep under a rock. Even a cold indie rock would do.

I got to the ricketiest, most decrepit yellow school bus I've ever seen and luckily enough there were a couple of terrified kids and a scattering of musicians huddled up inside. Grabbed myself a seat, dropped a brick and passed out only to wake up at some point when some psycho jock was running around outside the bus kicking it and throwing witches hats at windows. I went outside and me and an old hippie managed to subdue him until the police were called.

6 a.m came and went and no driver so they hired some big ol' Latino loco lady to drive the piece of shit and get us on the road. After ten minutes we were screwing in the screws on the side of the bus with quarters, taping the mirrors back on and preying to even get anywhere at all.
Bus lady stopped the bus 20 minutes out in a supermarket car park and said she wasn't going anywhere anymore 'cause this bus was going to get her and/or us killed. Said she'd drive us down in her own van for 50 bucks a piece. We finally convinced her to take us back.

I was watching bands break up and freak right out while I ate some local tamales I bought at a little farmers market on the side of the road and was just glad to be somewhere different. By midday we were back on the road with a radical bus driver and a slightly improved school bus and we tore down through Texas with me up in the front seat both trying to chaperone and trying to hide from any questions nervous band members might have had. They just gave me a gas card, some border crossing instructions and a good luck.

Shit this was my first time traveling alone and I didn't even bring a phone or ipod let alone a laptop. 'This should be interesting' was my mantra as we neared the border and the the Texan stars began to light up the sky.

Saint Simon

I'm back in one piece. Nobody got murdered by drug cartels while I was in Mexico.

In a botanica in The Mission district, back in San Fransisco, I came across a figurine of San Simon. El Hermano San Simon. Maximon (pronounced "Mashimon")

I went straight for the little guy, completely intrigued by the only saint wearing modern (mid last century at least) clothing.
Moustached and handsome, a smart black suit, red tie and fedora, sitting on a chair with a bag of coins in one hand and a flag in another.
The Espiritualista behind the counter told me his name but couldn't elaborate as my Spanish is non existent (for shame senor Montero, for shame) but since our meeting (the higher powers were gracious hosts and introduced us in polite and cosmic manner) in that little shop I have discovered that this dashing deity is a saint of the hopeless, the gamblers, the drunkards and a symbol of male sexual power.

San Simon/Maximon is actually a pre Colombian Mayan pagan god of the underworld who the missionaries tried to turn into a bad guy by casting him as Judas! The plan backfired as the locals saw Judas as a hero for handing out the gold coins that he earned by snitching on Jesus to the needy and impoverished.

So he has a dark side. Like all of us. The whole yin and the yang thing that Catholicism and Christianity really has a problem with. If only they could learn to pull the release valve every now and then, right out in the open then they wouldn't need to do it behind closed doors. Then our spiritual crop would grow strong and healthy. I don't want or need to get into a religious rant here because I have no religious background for which to rebel against.

I sit here recovering from jet lag. Recovering from getting off the plane and heading straight for my empty house (which we all have been kicked out of! I ran around my room throwing things into bags and boxes and getting rotten drunk while two landlords stood over me) and I've lit my San Simon candle. I've bought him wine and chocolate and a yellow candle (yellow for the protection of loved ones...but only because I can't find green for prosperity, red for love or black for revenge. Which colour for money?) and I've made a prayer for myself.

I'm so glad that I've met you El Hermano San Simon. These drinks tonight will be for you.

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