Ocotlan

Me and my parents headed out to the Friday market in Ocotlan. It had everything from useless doodads hand painted with thousands of micro-dots to super practical gear like agave rope, horse saddles, sandals made from tire rubber, and anything else you can think of.

Here are some pictures...



Ocotlan's very own Doctor Quinn Medicine Woman prescribed locals with sea urchins, chamomile, coral and more.



It made for good shopping, but all I really wanted to see was the livestock rumored by fellow travelers to be sold somewhere within the market. Turns out it is an entirely separate location catering to a markedly different consumer.

The parking lot held a bunch of trucks and a few SUV's. A couple of people were keeping it extra real, arriving by horse drawn carriage.



While vegetarians and PETA members may cringe, I was happy to find that the local livestock trade remains small scale and highly personal. Farmers sit with their animals, field curious consumers questions and mostly just socialize.









Sure, I was tempted to untie the rope around a piglets ankle or a goats neck. Few people can look at a creature who's sad fate has been sealed since birth and not consider an intervention. But I can't deny that these animals live a happier existence than most of their brothers and sisters stateside, even if it is only a brief one.



Fortunately, poverty keeps meat (especially the red sort) where it belongs, in the treat category, a rare indulgence for the average citizen. I guess livestock is a luxury for the same reason. The upsides to poverty are slight at best, but not to be ignored.

Mexico must have its own brand of industrial farming and all the nasty rituals attendant that chip away at a more intimate relationship with whats eaten. One where you know the guys name who sold you Sundays dinner while its heart was still beating - pulsating with the hope of a wider and greener pasture, the crunch of a sweet carrot and the touch of a gentle hand.