It’s all about the women in my short “Senora de las Iguanas,” now up at the gorgeous Yareah Magazine. Many thanks and gratitude go out to co-editors Isabel del Rio Yareah and Martin Cid. I remember writing this in second person thinking no one will ever pick this up; second person is…I don’t know, outdated? Maybe it was just an imagined insecurity. I wanted to honour women in this story and blend it with my fascination with Mexico and some of its culture and heritage. Much like my mother country, Mexico has fantastic tales and legends, and much like my mother country, they vary from region to region. In this story, there is also a nod to photographer Graciela Iturbide–Mexican artist whose images are so beautiful and so haunting. Isabel at Yareah did a fantastic job collecting a sample of Iturbide’s work; I’m so grateful for Isabel’s pairing them with this little story.
The first time I visited Mexico (1986), I flew into Mexico City with a friend and took a car down the coast to Veracruz. En route, we passed by one of the few remaining old-school VW Bug factories in Puebla. I don’t know why that was so significant, or why it mattered so much to me then. It still resonates. Maybe it’s because I had always wanted one. The road was littered with horses, sheep, goats, slow-moving tractors, bikes, horse-and-buggies, and my friend was fuming at the horrible time we were making (it took almost 8 hours for what we figured would be a 4 hour trip). He was also appalled at how poor Mexico was; we drove past shacks, shanty towns, mud huts…for me, it provided comfort. It was not unlike the Romanian countryside or the villages outside Bucharest and the other few major towns. It felt like home, and at that time I had been away from home for 6 years.
I have a forthcoming story called “Veracruz in Fragments” in The Rusty Nail magazine; a story which deals with a much different side of Mexico than this one in Yareah. Mexico is so savage and beautiful and, despite its recent problems, the Mexican people are such good souls; again, they remind me of our Romanian peasants: always welcomed to stay at their house, always offering something to eat, to drink.
I hope you like this story; it’s something a bit different than what most people are used to seeing from me. But it’s not really different than how I write most other things…most things which have not been published.