Mariachis normally congretate in Plaza Garibaldi each evening to play popular Mexican music. However when I arrived there tonight, there was a sombre mood and no sound of guitars or trumpets. Then I noticed a crowd gathered where some policae cars with flashing lights were parked. Then I noticed a pink blanket on the ground with a pair of trainers sticking out the bottom of it. The blanket was covering the body of a dead man.
- 'What happened?' I asked a man sitting nearby eating monkey nuts.
Judging by the looks of an inebriated man slouched near the dead body mourning loudly, the deceased was a homeless drunk. I don't think foul play was involved, or at least not according to the man shelling legumes next to me, who motioned that the man had died from drinking one too many chupitos (shots of spirits).
My own high spirits at having earlier eaten a quarter roast chicken with pan, papas and a bottle of fanta naranja for the equivalent of GBP 1.80 and then also finding a cheapish copy of 'Las venas abiertas de america latina' in a second hand book shop on the way to Plaza Garibaldi were already seriously deflated at seeing the dead body with its feet sticking out from beaneath the pink blanket. On top of that, I was also starting to get into an uncomfortable debate with a greasy-haired Mexican in an AC Milan top that had sat down next to me, as to whether Scotland was a country or a colony of England.
So rather than hanging around for the official post mortem results of the dead man in Garibaldi Square, I instead headed home to my hotel, walking quickly and looking over my shoulder several times to make sure the man in the AC Milan shirt wasn't following me.
