From the wrong side of Culebra on San Antonio’s westside to inside Nuremberg walls.

A few years back I took a trip with some kinder to Deutschland. And there while doing due diligence watching o’ de flock of youngsters.  I took a stroll down to the square in front of the church.  I had wandered around and looked at the neato shops and liitle eateries on the inside of the great wall. Before that I had wandered the streets of Nuremburg, looking at the buildings that showed the obvious patches on the buildings with damage that the Allies had visited on the city and its people.

There in the square in front of the church was a group of small brown men.  There in some colorful feathered headdress the Mexican men stamped their feet and played on a flute tunes that belonged to the past or at least another mystical part of the ancient Mexico. Evoking some deep dark jungle and yet there amidst the old dark centuries old bricks that kept the German people inside from the outside, people were held captive by the spectacle, the noveltyof some short brown men from Vera Cruz reenacting an Aztec dance and ritual.