Fish

Class trip to the fishing harbor. You knew it was going to be amazing. Instructor M. says she goes there all the time, she just loves it. I don’t buy it, especially when she starts gagging in the auto. Frankly, I like the smell of fish. Even stanky fish harbor fish. Reminds me of Viet Nam. As usual, there was no plan. We just approached a group of women scaling fish next to the dock. The fish were about six inches long, slim and silvery. In the middle of the circle of women was a huge pile of these things, packed in ice shavings. An all too familiar scenario played out. We approached them, interrupted their work, surrounding people noticed the white folks trying to speak Telugu and that’s how a scene at the harbor gets started. I don’t know why - maybe it’s my inner anthropologist - but I felt compelled to walk away from the group to a couple women sitting on the other side of the circle. Away from the growing knot of people. Luckily Instructor L. followed me for the photo op and stayed to translate. It wasn’t the deepest conversation, and I couldn’t have held up my end without Instructor L. But it was a real conversation. She told me about her family, and her livelihood. Anthro nerd stuff. It was exhilarating.