Callejón Temezcuitate

We walk down Callejón Temezcuitate to get from our apartment to el centro. The flagstone alley is like the word “Temezcuitate” itself: a long, interesting zigzag that is hard not to trip on. It lurches down the hill, wedged between red, yellow, white, blue, and green concrete houses. We wobble down it best in running shoes; clogs and cowboy boots have not served us well. Sometimes a toddler taps a toy drum on the street outside a house’s open doorway; sometimes teenagers kick a soccer ball in the steep and narrow space; sometimes we follow a tiny old lady in an orange rebozo shawl as we make the descent. We have passed burros loaded with bags of potting soil; we have been passed by a pizza delivery motorcycle. We exchange "buenos dias" along the way.