In the lands of the coffee, from the book, Searching for treasures
Queretaro Historical Center, Queretaro, Mexico
Jean Marie was surprised to find, in less than a kilometer, a village by the name of Venecia.
“This walk-around has turned into an international tour,” he thought with a grin, while the jeep’s driver, whose name was, Andrés Corrales, born and raised in Marsella, mentioned another small town to visit called Palestina. When he noted Jean Marie’s surprised expression, he added:
“As you can see, here we have a lot of places and towns with names that refer to famous cities and sites from other parts of the world. Sometimes, I wonder if my ancestors needed a bit more of imagination, you know, for they could have come up with new names, or at least, original ones. What do you think?” he commented as he smiled mischievously.
“Here in the surroundings, you can visit the towns with names like Jericó, Pensilvania, Filadelfia… They were creative while naming the towns here, don’t you think?” After which they both laughed whole-heartedly at the expense of Andrés’ forefathers’ lack of imagination.
On that day, he returned late, tired, but very happy and satisfied with his first outing. At night, he went out to the park and found himself a sidewalk-stand that sold pieces of pork, grilled on the spot, and served on a stick with a creole-potato on either end. These were called chuzos. The stall belonged to a young woman who received the weary explorer very kindly. She marinated the pork strips with a pungent herbal coating, delectably spiced. Then she skewered the meat on a wooden stick and crowned the kabob with a white arepa that she cooked together with the meat slices on the coals. The Frenchman somehow found enough space to accommodate three of these delicious pork-kabobs.
Having finished and paid the young woman, he walked to one of the park’s benches to enjoy the charming night, for the weather was indeed at its best. No need to mention that later on, Jean Marie fell into bed and into a deep, dreamless slumber.