Cinco de Mayo in the world next door

America, like South Africa, has worlds within worlds within worlds, like a cultural Russian doll. The outer layer is my least favourite, although it can be fun. I like the others more. But you don’t really see them when you’re driving around in your car, even whizzing past on a bike. That’s why I decided to talk the five miles to Cinco de Mayo celebrations in Santa Ana, the not-so-little Mexico of Orange, CA.

I saw yellow butterflies, and baby squirrels (so cute) and lots of bright wild daisies and jasmine and men selling flowers.

When you cross this road, you enter a new kind of America.

When I grow up and buy my first palace I’m going to get this chair and put it in the TV lounge.

There’s always something inviting about a bit of empty, fenced off land. I can’t help thinking “why not?” and “how hard would it be to get in?”

A surname you don’t want in South Africa. I love US mailboxes – with the red thing to show your spam mail has been delivered. I always get one letter from the bank (who I have asked not to send me mail) and a rubbish bag full of adverts for stores, greasy takeaways, and other junk. I can’t figure out how it’s legal to send me all these things I never agreed to have clogging up my mailbox, yet it’s not legal to send a bunch of harmless, easily deleted emails.

I nearly just went and played pool there, in the bar next to the mommy shop. Awesome.

Rothko in the mutherf$cking hood?

Something tells me I’ve arrived.

See this is what I love about traveling, and life in general. Who would have thought that there would still be a fruit I’d never tasted? I had a glass of the pink one – it’s a sort of fruit Horchata made with Mamey, which is like a cherry melon…  almost. With rice milk and plenty of sugar and vanilla. Awesome on hot day after a five mile hike.

I’ve always thought it funny that Cinco celebrations take place on the corner of “French” street in Santa Ana. Here’s why.

And after buying myself some hideous flip flops at the dollar store and changing into a clean dress, I set out to party all night long. It’s not nicknamed Drinko De Mayo for nothing, people. Viva la revolution or something.

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