Plaza San Antonio is our plaza in our neighborhood, colonia San Antonio. It is a half a block up from the gate into my apartment complex. It did not dawn on either Rick or me when we arose this morning that this is Palm Sunday. We had intended to attend mass anyway but were thrown off by the switch to Daylight Savings Time here last night. So that was all out the window right away.
We were feeling our oats because three Mexican women came into the apartment and cooked a big meal for us late yesterday afternoon--a traditional dish, pollo en mole, which is chicken drowning in a chocolate sauce jacked up with chile peppers. Along with side dishes. I had to buy the ingredients of course.
Later, I regretted not having taken pictures of that operation, but then I realized they would just be pictures of women working around the stove. Presumably, we have all seen something like that. God, they washed the dishes afterward, swept up, and the whole deal. Worth the money this time.
There is one of them right there. The mole sauce expert. Photographed in a different setting.
So we ambled down to the plaza late. There was an outdoor procession that we enjoyed while we had a smoke.
Our pal during his fifteen minutes of fame.
When the procession was over, they tied the donkey up to a light pole while the ever so long mass was concluded inside the church. (It finally ended at 2:00 p.m.) Which is exactly the way I figure it happened originally. The little donkey carried Christ into Jerusalem. Then they promptly kicked his ass to the curb, his fifteen minutes of fame over. Rick and I felt sorry for this one.
It took the donkey a while to make up with Rick. Finally, Rick won him over by feeding him a couple of unfiltered cigarettes. Faros sin filtro, to be exact. That donkey is going to be worm free now. In the end there is no question in my mind that he enjoyed his cigarettes with Rick this morning in the plaza on Palm Sunday.