“Pues, si no cantas, te beso.”
I laughed. Diego laughed. I then told him that I was meeting a friend (I wasn’t), so without resistance, he bid me farewell.
I was in Guanajuato, Guanajuato at the time and enjoying every moment. See photos here. There was a street concert happening some 30 minute walk from my host family’s home, so I grabbed my bag and went off on my own, at night. This would certainly not fly in San Jose, Costa Rica. I’d probably get mugged. But this wasn’t San Jose, and I’d most likely be alright as long as I stuck to the main, populated roads. Everything was fine.
I walked down Avenida Sopeña toward El Teatro Juarez, and turned right into El Jardín de la Unión – lively as usual. A guy sitting on a bench invited me to take his photograph. He then asked for my name and for me to sit down. I responded. I sat down. He offered me his tequila, contained in a large, white soda cup with a straw. I declined, several times. He carried a guitar, so I asked him to play me a song. He did, with drunken eyes and words selected just for me. He told me that morenas have sabor, and that they sing well. I wasn’t that morena, but Diego insisted that I sing. I assured him that I could not and did not sing [well], but he told me that it was in my blood, en mi sangre. I tried to convince him, but he moved from my blood to my lips, telling me that they were perfect for singing. “No puedo cantar,” to which he responded, “pues, si no cantas, te beso.” We laughed. We said our goodbyes.
Thank you, Diego, for five minutes of your time.