I should be waking up in Pátzcuaro this morning.
Or Guanajuato.
Or Morelia.
But not in Villa Obregon.
This was supposed to be the week I started my "let's move to the highlands, and not wear a kilt" tour.
Instead, I have spent the past week puttering around town -- enjoying the rhythm of life that drew me to Mexico. Talking with friends. Sitting. Thinking. Reading. Writing.
The spirit of mañana wraps her seductive arms around me and whispers (in what must be Salma Hayek's voice): "It will be there tomorrow. Sit. Relax. Have something to eat."
And she is correct.
If the Aztecs could not conquer the people around what would become Pátzcuaro, I suspect it will still be there in another week or two.
So, I sit. Relax. Eat.
Mañana.
