No se porque...

I have discovered that I have a strange effect on old Mexican men, not one that I would say I enjoy, but one that I seem to have nonetheless.

While waiting for my bus to Puebla in the bus station in Oaxaca, I was approached by the porter who asked me where I was headed. I told him Puebla and he asked where I was coming from. After a brief exchange, he complimented me on my Spanish and pointed me in the direction of the waiting lounge.

A few minutes later, the man reappeared, and seemingly oblivious to the fact that I had begun to read my book, he began talking about his job and where he was from. I politely put down my book and conversed with him for a few minutes. He then excused himself and returned with a bag full of tortas, Mexican sandwiches (which he had made by himself because he was not married), and offered me one. I had already had breakfast, but after he continued to insist, I agreed to take one to have for lunch on the bus. Then regardless of my protestations, he hurried off to buy me a drink to go with the sandwich. Each time he left, I resumed my reading, but he continued to return and pick up the conversation where he had left off. Once it was determined that I was 29 and not married, he began to mention that he would like to see me again and that whenever I came back through Oaxaca I should visit him at his house, all possibilities I politely refused.

Finally, much to my relief, it was time to board the bus and I bid farewell the porter "promising" to write him at the address he had given me (after refusing to give him mine saying truthfully that I had none). Much to my dismay, even after I boarded, he continued to come on to the bus to tell me that I was beautiful and making me promise to write and finally that he loved me and hoped that I would be the mother of his children. I was extremely grateful when the bus pulled away from the station leaving my new admirer behind.

Thinking this a rare occurrence, I thought nothing of the older man who approached me and began talking to me in a museum in Cuernavaca. He mentioned that he was married, but that he wife didn’t like to travel and so he was here on his own for the day. He seemed nice enough and somewhat sad, in the manner of an old retired man who feels his life has passed him by, so of course when he asked me if I would like to have a drink and chat for a while, I agreed.

We left the museum and I followed him to a local outdoor cafe, where he proceeded to tell me about his life and ask me about mine. I thought maybe he was just lonely and would like to talk, so I kept the conversation going by asking him about his work and his hobbies and his family. Finally when the conversation turned to how lucky he was to have met me, how he was in love with me and how much he would like to see me again, I began to mention the "friends" that I was "meeting" in half an hour. He said that it was a "lastima" that I had to go and told me that he would never forget that moment. He asked me to wait just a few more minutes because he wanted to sing me a song, at which he began signing me what sounded like an old Frank Sinatra song, much to my relief - just lough enough for me to hear. When he was finished, I thanked him for his company, told him how nice it was to have met him and took my leave.