The mysterious hole in the wall, part I

The Embajadoras market in Guanajuato springs up on Sundays. It's a big market in my view; I imagine that square-feet-wise it might rival a Wal-Mart, though the disorientation one feels wandering through its arterial passages is more satisfying than the false order of a big box store. The closest thing Guanajuato has to a Wal-Mart is a place called Pozuelos, which comprises a "Mega" chain grocery/retail store, a movie theater, and a mall that would be considered small by American standards. I walked there today, passing through a long tunnel on the way where I encountered the preceding hole in the wall.


The Embajadoras market was enjoyable for me. I dug into piles of jeans that I think must have been sitting in warehouses for years. They were new but not in particularly good condition and freak sizes were common, like a 40-inch waist and 30-inch inseam. Brands like "Macho" that I've never heard of, another world of jeans I didn't know existed! It satisfied a vague longing to be among so many man-made things and among so many people choosing among them. I didn't really go there to buy, I went shopping for the whole experience. A Nike Air Max 360 hanging on a wall with a hundred other right-footed shoes sucked me in for a closer look at its red and white curvature and its gratuitous Velcro strap wagging there like a dog's shiny tongue. It was the joy of description to muck around in so much finished product.