Vela Week

Velas are "candles" in Spanish, but 'round here that's what they call the local fiestas where the women get dressed in the Tehuana gear. (I've actually lost weight since the States, but it's difficult to see with a petticoat, an over-skirt, and a shapeless velvet tunic.) Beer, a band and lots of dancing with men and women (they're equal opportunity dance partners around here) equals a good time. I went to two this weekend and there are three more this week. I may plead vela-poisoning and opt out, though . . . assuming the locals don't find me and force me to go.

I do work, also, by the way.


Me and my friends, Elsa and Rocio, who are professors at the University with me. We all felt like idiots the first hour, but tequila covers a lot of social awkwardness.

Me dancing with my boss' wife.

I have no idea who these kids are, I just thought they were cute. Notice the dazed look of terror on the bigger one's face as the mutant-like blonde giantess (5'6 in my heels and towering over almost everyone) holds her hand. Good times.