Tears, Teargas and Tequila Part I

Eschewing more elaborate weddings, M. and I wanted to have something small, interesting and exotic. We should have qualified just how interesting before we left. Anyway, we chose to hold the ceremony in Oaxaca, Mexico. My aunt Val has called Oaxaca home for decades. Nestled between seven mountains, Oaxaca has a reputation for temperate climates, unique flavors and gorgeous historic sites. And so, about twenty-five guests boarded flights to share this with us.
For the next few days leading up to our wedding, we explored the marketplace, local restaurants and churches while preparing the final details for the Big Day. Meanwhile, there was a low-key protest underway. Local teachers set up tarps and tents, camping out in the middle of Oaxaca to protest low wages. Val informed us that the teachers had been striking this way for years. It really didn't seem like a big deal. Yes, it was a bit more smelly and crowded than we prefered in the town squre. But most of our hotels and restaurants were far enough away from the center that these activities didn't affect us much. If anything, they added an interesting flair.
The morning of the wedding, we awoke to a strange new sound. In my sleepy daze, I assumed large trucks driving back and forth over the streets below. Disoriented as I was, I didn't ask myself why. Having many beautifying treatments to undergo in the hours before the ceremony, I got up and quietly showered, all the while listening to this strange, repetitive buzzing. I was starting to think it wasn't trucks. Toweling off, while debating the merits of waking my fiance by turning on the hairdryer, there was a knock at the door. A phone call for me at the front dest. It was 6:30 AM.
"Sorry to bother you," R. began, "it is just that we are getting teargassed over here." Yes. Teargassed. Apparently, the teachers had upped the anty from peaceful, grimy camping rebellion to a more physical aggression, blocking the entrance to the local municiple building. Thus, the teargas.
I awoke M. and shared the "interesting" news. It was raining teargas down the street. We had hoped against rain for today and the skies were blue but there was still rain. Stinging, chemical rain. A former marine, M. and another "street smart" friend who spoke Spanish decided to do the rescuing. Unfortunately, they know exactly where the hotel was located. Directions like "follow your stinging eyeballs" were not the most reliable indicators. However, I did have a map. So, off they went with a shaky, pen-drawn map and their wits. The next tense hour and a half I waited with my friends and family on our hotel's rooftop terrace, watching the police helicopters (which turned out to be the buzzing sound I heard upon awakening) drop teargas various places around town. They flew right overhead our clan a few times but thankfully decided against gassing us for the time being. I consider that my wedding gift from Mexico!
To be continued...