...And Then The Rains Came

Sitting in my cuarto in a grump following a frustrating lunchtime interaction with the language barrier and the two tweenage girls of the household, I suddenly hear the patter of raindrops against the window pane. Within a minute the patter has turned to an uproar, and the rainy season begins. I've heard this seasonal change mentioned by various people and decide in a flash that I'd sooner go outside and risk a soaking than be inside with myself for company.

Grabbing a waterproof and the camera, I duck out of the house and tiptoe my way around the block under the awnings of the houses as the rain lashes down, heading for the central plaza. The stories I've heard are fully substantiated; the cobbled streets have become rivers, torrents pouring through the town, paying attention only to the inexplicable variation of gradients. Eventually I stand at one of the block intersections, facing an ankle deep, fast flowing stream as cars thrash up and down the street and the detritus of the town drifts lazily by, heading for the river. Finally tired of waiting, I step into the tide and feel my shoes instantly saturate, slopping big, wet footsteps across the intersection as I am watched by the curious townspeople from the shelter of their windows. Once again, I misrepresent foreigners as a bunch of curious eccentrics that would sooner be soaking themselves in the filthy first rain of the season than sheltering in warm and dry interiors, waiting for the storm to pass.

And pass it does, the forking lightning and loud, violent rumbles of thunder diminishing to nothing along with the pounding of the rain. Sopping wet and dripping in the shelter of the vast town fountain in front of a curious crowd of Mexican tourists, I watch the skies clear. The rapid turn in events of the weather permits the rest of the teaching staff to forge their way to afternoon classes without having to wring their socks out and leave them to dry on the desk at the front of the class.


Chiapa de Corzo
15th Mayo 2009