Mexico loves its mariachis. I have to admit, I do too. After a day of sightseeing in Mexico City with friends, my friend Rodrigo pulled our car into Plaza Garibaldi. Mariachis dressed in Charro costumes and carrying their guitars, violins, trumpets and basses stood in the square, waiting to get hired to play a single song or get hired for a celebration.
In Mexico, mariachis help families celebrate life, death and everything between. On the day we pulled up, it was my birthday. Rodrigo handed over a few pesos, and standing outside of our car on the busy Lazaro Cardenas Avenue, I was serenaded with passionate birthday songs.
We passed this square in a gritty part of town several times during my visit in Mexico City. Once we passed at night, and mariachis in the bus lanes swarmed our cars as we were stopped in traffic. They tried to push business cards into window cracks and begged for business. They always had smiles, though, and even mocked themselves as they pretended to wash our windows or juggle fire balls as so many do at stop lights.
I loved my mariachis. Sheryl asked me which one I wanted to take home. I said I couldn’t decide between the young trumpet player or the old singer because I just really loved his voice that seemed to erupt from his toes.