Ari & Dharma, July 1977
That's me on the right!
The story: It's 1977. I am just over four years old. I am with my parents in San Cristóbal de las Casas, in Chiapas (near the border with Guatemala). It is fin de siècle of the High Hippy era.
We are walking through the market. Suddenly, my mother is sure she sees one of her school friends, a woman she's known from elementary and high school, and whom she hadn't seen for 10 years, riding by on a bicycle. And this, in the market, of the then-remote and not-well-known-to-gringas, San Cristóbal de las Casas.
She calls out, "Naomi!" and sure enough, it was her. Naomi stops, they get to talking, and we ended up staying a week with her and her three year old son (on the left in the photo). They had moved to Mexico a few years ago and ended up living there.
After a random Facebook reconnect last week, my mother found out that they never left: Naomi became Noemi and she's a violinist in the Mexico City Philharmonic Orchestra. And the tow-headed boy, Ari Brickman, son of a Montreal Jew, like me, grew up to be an actor and musician who sings some songs I rather like.