Grapes Upside Down

5. McDonald's

~Madisen~

"Cuidado." Edgar grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd of people, his other hand attached to his girlfriend, Juliana. Noah follows at a trot by my side.

Edgar's navigation through Viña is crisp and alert, as he commands me to be cautious for the hundredth time.

"Cuida tu cartera." He readjusts the position of my purse, instructing me to hang it in front where I can see it.

We learned the word bolsa for purse in Unit 6 of my Spanish 1 textbook, freshman year of high school. About fifty percent of the main words here seem to be synonyms, regional variations or slang alternatives to my classroom Spanish vocabulary.

Processing a different language all day long is mentally taxing and emotionally draining. I imagine the inner workings of my brain as a series of gears grinding and spinning in every direction, like a chaotic cartoon scene of toy-building machines in Santa's workshop.

"La Quinta Vergara," Edgar proclaims, gesturing non-specifically to our surroundings.

"Hm?"

"El estadio se llama la Quinta Vergara."

"Ah." I can't seem to form natural rejoinders in Spanish, so I resort to ohs, ahs and other random vowel sounds. Mostly, I'm focused on weaving through the crowd of people without being tromped on or losing Noah. He is the only one not linked by the hand to our little group.

"Por acá." Edgar tugs me as we make a sharp left turn towards the ticket checkpoint.

"¡Noah!" I locate him over my shoulder, then take his hand to tug him along with us.

The Quinta Vergara Amphitheater bellows with echoing chatter and chaos as people stream in. It was a sweet gesture from the Mendez family to arrange this outing for us, but if it were my preference, I would already be sound asleep in bed.

When we finally reach our section, I collapse into my seat, leg muscles burning from all the city touring over the past three days. People don't walk nearly as much on a day to day basis in the U.S.

Edgar is tall and chubby with curly dark hair and a thick, upturned nose. His demeanor, confident and uninhibited, is ideal for playing tour guide to a pair of strangers from the United States. In contrast, his girlfriend is a tiny, petite thing with long, chestnut hair and a closed-off personality that comes across almost as cold.

"Este evento se llama el Festival de Viña..." Edgar explains that tonight's concert is part of a six day music festival. He names a few of the artists who have performed this week, but no one sounds familiar, mainly because I cannot really understand the names he is saying.

"¿M~~~?"

I stare blankly, eyes darting to Noah seated on the other side of me. He offers a slight shake of the head, too far removed from the conversation among all the ruckus to be of any assistance.

"Maná," Edgar repeats. The name registers like a blinding golden light bursting in my brain neurons.

"¡Maná!" I exclaim, overly enthusiastic about the rare moment of comprehension. I turn back to Noah. "¡Maná!"

He raises his eyebrows with a sweet half-smile and noncommittal expression that conveys he has no idea what I'm excited about, but he's pleased that I'm pleased.

"¡Me encanta Maná!" I tell Edgar. He informs me that they played a few nights ago.

At around 9:30, a man enters the stage dressed in a blue suit and addresses the crowd. Naively, I assume he is there to introduce the band. The audience laughs at his first few statements, then boos after his next bout of indecipherable words, which to me are nothing more than echoes and wisps of sounds.