Blowhard, Esq. writes:

Yesterday I spent the day walking around downtown Los Angeles with faunafrailty, who has been known to show up in the comments here occasionally. During my leisurely Sunday stroll, my keen observational faculties revealed something that might elude less sophisticated analysts — there are a lot of Mexicans here.

After arriving at Union Station (more on that in another post), we headed over to Olvera Street, the oldest part of the city which now serves as a tourist trap perfectly legitimate and uplifting celebration of Mexican culture.

This is actually the church across the street from Olvera, but what the hell, I thought it made a nice opening image. In case you don’t read Mexican or “Spanish” as the locals call it, that says “Founded September 4, 1781.”

On the church, a lovely mosaic of what I assume is the Annunciation.

Being that it was Sunday morning, many were gathering for Mass. But there was also a huge line to see this other holy priest.

I wonder if she’s hiring?

OK, let’s go across to Olvera Street proper.

Hard not to love the color, silliness, and folk art of the luchador mask.

More touristy swag mixed with a little Mexican nationalism and Catholic icons.

Here’s the oldest house in L.A. No doubt the mortgage is underwater.

Who’s the dude holding up Mary?

We had lunch at the Grand Central Market.

Mole, anyone?

I opted for the carnitas.

Mexican Coke, claro.

We leave the market, we’re la-di-da walking down the street and, what’s this?!

What…?!

You guys, when you’re walking down the street in a major metropolitan center and you come across the Sanctuary of The Holy Death you best believe you go inside and show your gratitude. We were not disappointed.

Protestant reserve is for pussies.

Alright, did I feel a little 19th-century-racist-anthropologist-gawking-at-the-superstitious-natives? Kind of! Did that stop me from snapping pics? Nope! The proprietor, a white-haired gentleman in his 60s, seemed amused at how amused I was. He led me around his shop pointing out the Kodak moments. Like this makeshift shrine.

Beautiful, frightening, mysterious, ghoulish, ridiculous, naive, spiritual.

There was a little more. My guide motioned me to follow him. (I’m not making any of this up.) We went past this door…

…and into the back room.

This is where the Act I turn happens, when the Stupid White Tourist is physically assaulted or possessed by, if not exactly Satan, one of your lesser Mayan-Aztec-pagan-Catholic demons. To prevent that, I left an offering. That’s my dollar bill in the Santa Muerte: Carmen Miranda Edition to the right of the red-cloaked one.

But lo, there are evils among us even worse than Santa Muerte and her minions. Beings so foul that one take the utmost vigilance lest their darkness drag one into the depths of hopelessness. Thankfully, the good people at Farmacia Y Botanica Million Dollar (still not making any of this up) sell the proper magical paraphernalia, like this candle and “spiritual spray,” to keep these monsters at bay.