My trip to The Market

Last week Mrs. Dada and I went to "The Market" in El Paso's Lower Valley. It was our first time there -- ever. We took a few pictures.

The morning began with a beautiful sunrise in the hood. Little did we know this would be an excellent day for a ride. That's because remnants of hurricane Dolly would blot out most of the sun for the next 3 or 4 very soggy days.

On the way to The Market, we stopped a few minutes at the Ysleta Mission. It's one of three missions established by New World Spaniards in the El Paso area after the revolt by Pueblo Indians routed the Spanish from New Mexico in 1680.

Photogenic, save for its garish silver dome, the Mission shares a parking lot with the former Ysleta's Speaking Rock Casino that our Texas senator John Cornyn successfully closed down (while serving as this state's Attorney General) by claiming "in Texas, Indian tribes are simple associations and have no more rights than a sorority or a fraternity."

The Tiguas have a different take on the reason their casino was shut down. They claim it was done because they contributed more to (then) governor George Bush's opponent than Bush in his run for a second term as the state's leader.

But what is worse than being screwed by self-righteous conservatives? Answer: Being screwed twice by self-righteous conservatives. That's what happened to the Tigua tribe of Ysleta after they lost their casino to John Cornyn. See, Dick Cheney's darling and former chief of staff, Jack Abramoff, screwed the Tiguas again with promises to help their tribe reopen the casino (for big bucks, of course). It proved good corruption can always find ways to profit more - even from beating a dead horse. But I digress, for this is a story about our trip to The Market. Not everything is political. (Or is it?)

Just a mile or two from the Ysleta Mission is The Market. Out front in the parking is this promising sign. Being quite large, it successfully competed for, and won, my attention. I had to think for a minute about what it meant.

I concluded it must be promoting meats served up by willing butcher's attentive to the customer's wants or needs. And that probably explains the huge sign out front. Because butchers are a vanishing breed. They no longer work in places like Wal-Mart super centers which some years ago did away with all butchers when they tried audaciously to organize a union!

Instead, what they got themselves was a royal throat slitting and gutting by Wal-Mart management. What a bittersweet irony: meat cutters getting butchered?

Once inside, we located the meat market. Everything there is brightly and colorfully displayed. I wondered if maybe for Mrs. Dada, who is a vegetarian, surveying the counter of exotic meats wasn't more like seeing a zoology exhibit of vivisections gone dreadfully wrong?

The Market is bustling with shoppers who can pause for a bite to eat from the multiple food and drink counters and shops. The choices were pretty overwhelming.

Mrs. Dada snapped this picture while I was looking over the menus and ruing my Spanish wasn't better. The sights and aromas spoke one word loudly: "Delicioso!"

The busiest area of the The Market was the produce aisles which were very crowded, often to the point of total gridlock. While hemmed in on the melon aisle, Mrs. Dada shot this photo of me examining a calabasa. I remember exactly what I was thinking when she took this: "What the hell is a calabasa?"

In all, our trip to The Market was a nice outing. As we reemerged outdoors into the bright sunlight, chiles were being roasted next to another little food concession stand. That's when I noticed a women's clothing store next door. I paused to take a picture of the topless dummies modeling blue jeans outside on the sidewalk.

(So OK, I realize this may increase Dada's Dally's hits from Google searchers. )