Tacqueria Mexicana

So while I moseyed on down to the Book Eddy today to replenish my stock of casual reading, I was afflicted by the sticky heat. Today was much more oppressive than it's been the past couple of days, probably because we're due for rain.

I was feeling dizzy from the heat, aided no doubt by lack of sleep, but I did leave victorious with my spoils:

Lost Horizon - James Hilton. A fine piece of idealizing Tibet and introducing the myth of Shangri-la (or more properly, Shambala) to a wide audience. Strange that I hadn't read it yet, but that will be rectified.

Plain Tales from the Raj - edited by Charles Allen. I'm sure it's ammunition for post-Orientalists, but I found Charles Allen's book, The Search for the Buddha: The Men Who Discovered India's Lost Religion (I prefer the British title, The Buddha and the Sahibs: The Men Who Discovered India's Lost Religion), quite compelling, albeit not as well documented in that pedantic academic way as I would like.

And a translation of Milarepa's biography. More on the reason behind purchasing that later, hopefully.

After leaving Book Eddy, I had intended to walk downtown to photograph some of the old buildings being renovated, but I thought perhaps I should fortify myself first. So I popped into Tacqueria Mexicana in the same strip mall as Book Eddy. It's combined with a Mexican grocery store, which has some great Mexican football league hats. I covet the Club Deportivo Cruz Azul one the most.

The waitress seemed quite surprised when I, a gringo extraordinaire, came in. It was long after lunch, and I suppose they were setting up for dinner. She shyly asked me what I wanted to drink in Spanish so I got an agua fresca, tamarindo. Delicious. I tried to summon up my restaurant Spanish, feeble at the best of times, but I kept getting it mixed up with Nepali. No matter, dos asada tacos got me two great tacos, a plate full of pico de gallo, chopped onion, and cilantro. For less than $5, I had a great meal and the pleasure of shocking the waitress and checkout person since I think gringos are not the usual patrons of this establishment. Incidents like this drive home just how divided culturally the U.S. is in some way. I think I'll go back and order a torta some other time after brushing up on some pathetic Spanish.

As I was ruminating and paying the bill, I noticed on the counter a brand of condoms I was not familiar with: Rough Rider. Marketing for condoms must be a fun gig, but who the hell came up with that name? I suppose the ad copy just writes itself. Turns out this particular brand is appropriate for Knoxville since there is a statue of a Rough Rider downtown.