I was doing a little Christmas shopping at our local natural health store, called Moonrise Health (http://www.moonrise-health.com/home.html). The new owner, an attractive young woman, approached me to offer assistance. We got to chatting and she asked where I was from.
“Most recently from the San Francisco bay area,” I said, “But I grew up in Northern California.”
“Where in Northern California?” she asked.
“Well, the first 13 or so years were in a little town that you’ve probably never heard of; Garberville.”
“Give me a hug!”
(Garberville has a population of about 1,500. What are the odds?)
Her name is Shanti and she graduated from my old high school in Miranda (my high school before we moved to Eureka) and went on to college at Humboldt State University in Arcata.
The store got busy so we didn’t have time to share further. But I’m at her store every once in a while so we’ll have to see if we know anyone in common. I kind of doubt it given the generational difference. But still, it felt good to run into another Humboldter here in the middle of Mexico.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Approaching 50
I received a birthday card when I turned 40 that read: “The good thing about turning 40 is that you know that you’ll never die young.” Harsh.
Last Wednesday was my 49th birthday. Not technically a milestone birthday but sobering nonetheless.
I never thought I’d live to be this old. I used to tell people that I planned to die at 45. “Live hard, die young, leave a pretty corpse,” I’d say.
I was approaching 40 years old when I was on a sail boat some place in the South of France, and I shared my long self projected demise with my friend Debra. She said, “Maybe 45 will just represent the death of your old life and you’ll move onto something new.” (In hindsight she couldn’t have been more accurate.)
Now as I see 50 looming on the horizon, I’ve begun to take stock of my life. And much as one does with New Year’s resolutions, I’m asking myself what I want this second stage to look like. After all, the prospective corpse is not looking as pretty as I’d like so I need a plan ‘B’.
Some times I look at the skin on my hands or my naked body in a mirror and ask myself, “When did I become my father?” And on closer inspection, “When did I grow a second set of eyelids?”
Even though the current state of the economy has dramatically altered my retirement vision, I still have so very much for which to be thankful; a simple, peaceful life, loving family and friends, and so far, my health. And if I’m going to enter the second half of the game, I might want to pay a little more attention to that last item; health.
But oh how I hate exercise. That whole process of going to the gym, eating “right”, etc. I need to find something that I love to do that has a healthy side effect. Tennis? Hard on the knees. Golf? Expensive. Swimming? Fear of drowning. Bike ridding? Flat tires.
Yoga? Maybe I need to think about yoga.
And there is the 50th birthday to plan. Ideally I’d like to get a big group together and go whitewater rafting in Costa Rica. But that is probably prohibitively expensive.
So I’m open to suggestions.
Last Wednesday was my 49th birthday. Not technically a milestone birthday but sobering nonetheless.
I never thought I’d live to be this old. I used to tell people that I planned to die at 45. “Live hard, die young, leave a pretty corpse,” I’d say.
I was approaching 40 years old when I was on a sail boat some place in the South of France, and I shared my long self projected demise with my friend Debra. She said, “Maybe 45 will just represent the death of your old life and you’ll move onto something new.” (In hindsight she couldn’t have been more accurate.)
Now as I see 50 looming on the horizon, I’ve begun to take stock of my life. And much as one does with New Year’s resolutions, I’m asking myself what I want this second stage to look like. After all, the prospective corpse is not looking as pretty as I’d like so I need a plan ‘B’.
Some times I look at the skin on my hands or my naked body in a mirror and ask myself, “When did I become my father?” And on closer inspection, “When did I grow a second set of eyelids?”
Even though the current state of the economy has dramatically altered my retirement vision, I still have so very much for which to be thankful; a simple, peaceful life, loving family and friends, and so far, my health. And if I’m going to enter the second half of the game, I might want to pay a little more attention to that last item; health.
But oh how I hate exercise. That whole process of going to the gym, eating “right”, etc. I need to find something that I love to do that has a healthy side effect. Tennis? Hard on the knees. Golf? Expensive. Swimming? Fear of drowning. Bike ridding? Flat tires.
Yoga? Maybe I need to think about yoga.
And there is the 50th birthday to plan. Ideally I’d like to get a big group together and go whitewater rafting in Costa Rica. But that is probably prohibitively expensive.
So I’m open to suggestions.
Thursday, December 04, 2008
Thanksgiving 2008
I thought we were a large group at 16. But then I ran into a gringo at the flower Mercado who said that he was attending an event of 35. Who does that? Who hosts 35 people for Thanksgiving dinner? I imagine someone very wealthy. Why don’t we know this person?
Alex wanted to provide a farm raised turkey from his family’s ranch. “By the time it gets here, it better look like a store-bought turkey,” I told him. “I wouldn’t know how to deal with a feathers and a head.”
In the end it turned out that their turkeys won’t be ready until Christmas. So off to Costco I went. Picking out a turkey in kilos instead of pounds was relatively easy. And I know the difference in Spanish between a smoked turkey and a regular turkey. I found the regular turkeys but was momentarily confused by a notation that read, “Doble Pechuga!” Double breasts? What? Are there four? What kind of turkey is this? A phone call to Rod cleared it up. He said that it probably meant that the breasts were twice as big.
While searching for sage (“Salvia” in Spanish) I ran into one of Rod’s clients; a Greek woman who lives here. “You’re so lucky,” she said. “Rod cooks too. I have to do the whole dinner myself, for 10 people.”
“Why are you doing that?” I said. “Rod and I are doing the bird, the stuffing and the gravy. Everyone else is bringing everything else.”
“Well that is not the Greek way. You know. In
“I know. But in
“You’re right. Next year it will be different.”
Three stores later I found the sage and bought enough for her in case she couldn’t find any. She did the same so now we both have enough sage to last us for several years.
Christine and Mario joined us, finally reunited in
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Pollo a la Cacerola
(A tangy way to prepare chicken, that just falls off the bone. Rod got this recipe from his mother and I ask him to make it about once a week.)
5 or 6 chicken thighs w/o skin
Salt & pepper
1 Tbls cooking oil
Two large potatoes, peeled and chopped into 1 inch cubes
Apple vinegar
2 large bay leaves
1 Tbls flour
2 cloves minced garlic
Wash chicken thighs, dry with paper towels and season with salt & pepper.
In a deep pot (that has a lid) brown chicken thighs in the cooking oil. Add the chopped potatoes and nearly cover (about 7/8ths) the chicken and potato mixture with apple vinegar. Use water to finish covering the mixture.
Put flour in a glass jar with 1/3 cup water and shake to mix. Add to pot and stir. Stir in bay leaves and garlic.
Cover and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until potatoes can be easily pierced with a fork but are still a little firm (about one hour).
Remove lid and continue to simmer until sauce is reduced by half.
5 or 6 chicken thighs w/o skin
Salt & pepper
1 Tbls cooking oil
Two large potatoes, peeled and chopped into 1 inch cubes
Apple vinegar
2 large bay leaves
1 Tbls flour
2 cloves minced garlic
Wash chicken thighs, dry with paper towels and season with salt & pepper.
In a deep pot (that has a lid) brown chicken thighs in the cooking oil. Add the chopped potatoes and nearly cover (about 7/8ths) the chicken and potato mixture with apple vinegar. Use water to finish covering the mixture.
Put flour in a glass jar with 1/3 cup water and shake to mix. Add to pot and stir. Stir in bay leaves and garlic.
Cover and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer until potatoes can be easily pierced with a fork but are still a little firm (about one hour).
Remove lid and continue to simmer until sauce is reduced by half.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
_resize.JPG)
Padrino (Godfather)
You may remember some years back when I was asked to be the Godfather to Karla and Pawis’ daughter Enya. It was quite an honor, being invited into my first Mexican family.Since I am gay (and not Catholic) it was not an official baptism but rather a spiritual service performed under a tent in or front yard by our friend Reverend Nancy Anderson, and translated by Rodrigo.
That was over three years ago. Since then Karla and Pawis divorced and Karla took Enya to Cuernavaca where they have been living with Karla’s mother. So I only get to see Enya on the occasional visit to San Miguel which, thus far, has been about once a year.
Monday was one of those days.
My heart melted as I opened the door and Enya threw herself into my arms for a fierce and long-lasting hug. Throughout the afternoon she would yell, “CharleS!” (with a special emphasis on the “S”.) But my favorite was when she called me “Padrino.”
We spent the afternoon looking for ‘ranas” (frogs) in the pond. More often than not Enya was carrying our kitten “hipo” (hiccup) wound up in a ball in her arms.
What amazed me was how much and what this three-year-old would eat. First she consumed two bananas before lunch. At lunch she ate rice and chicken in poblano sauce (Thanks Bob and Karen for the leftovers!) and César salad. Later she had a couple pieces of Halloween candy and just before leaving, she ate a ripe tomato as one would eat an apple.
As they drove out the front gate, Enya insisted on leaning out the window for her third kiss goodbye.
Rodrigo’s father’s 70th birthday is in December with Christmas falling the weekend after. We’re thinking about renting a house in Cuernavaca for that week thereby allowing us to spend time with Rodrigo’s family and now, of course, with Enya and Karla.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
The Election
A couple of firsts;
The first time I’ve ever been glued to the television watching election returns.
The first time I’ve ever voted for someone younger than I am.
I had a dream last night, after the election, that I was asked by Obama to be a political advisor. I wasn’t certain, in my dream, what advice I might be qualified to offer, other than how to make a good salad dressing. But I accepted and was very excited at the prospect of dispensing my opinions in the west wing.
I’d come out of retirement for that job.
The first time I’ve ever been glued to the television watching election returns.
The first time I’ve ever voted for someone younger than I am.
I had a dream last night, after the election, that I was asked by Obama to be a political advisor. I wasn’t certain, in my dream, what advice I might be qualified to offer, other than how to make a good salad dressing. But I accepted and was very excited at the prospect of dispensing my opinions in the west wing.
I’d come out of retirement for that job.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Thursday, October 23, 2008
La Boda (The Wedding)
We’ve hosted parties here before, up to 80 or so people. We’ve even hosted a wedding, but the entire wedding party was only 12 people. Christine and Mario’s wedding was by far our biggest, at 130.
I was fairly successful at keeping my control freak nature at bay. I provided the space and my maid (who, along with some family members, prepared the meal). Christine and her family did the rest.
The wedding was a huge success. The bride was beaming and exquisite, the groom happy and handsome and Alex and Pao officiated brilliantly in English and Spanish. The food was even great.
I was fairly successful at keeping my control freak nature at bay. I provided the space and my maid (who, along with some family members, prepared the meal). Christine and her family did the rest.
The wedding was a huge success. The bride was beaming and exquisite, the groom happy and handsome and Alex and Pao officiated brilliantly in English and Spanish. The food was even great.I think the one thing that set this wedding apart from so many others that I’ve attended, was the very bi-cultural nature of the entire evening. Family and friends from both sides blending together, communicating with whatever language skills they had. Some would effortlessly switch back and forth between English and Spanish, while others muddled their way through with “Spanglish”. But it worked. It worked very well. So well that it didn’t end until 5:30 in the morning.
I guess at 5:30 in the morning we were a little negligent about closing shop, because Rodrigo awoke to find the neighbor’s two dogs curled up asleep on the couch; the front gate open as well as the front door. (The dogs must have enjoyed themselves because the next evening they were waiting outside the front gate for someone to let them in.) In retrospect, I guess it was a good thing that the dogs were there. Otherwise, someone could have walked in and robbed us blind while we were sleeping.
The drama began the second day after the wedding.
Christine and Mario left Monday morning for Mexico City. That afternoon I called Christine’s parents at the house that they were renting, in order to plan a hand-off of some items that Christine couldn’t fit in her luggage. That is when Ruth (Christine’s mother) told me that she was taking Larry (Christine’s father) to the hospital. He was admitted that afternoon. Diagnosis: amebas and severe dehydration (particularly dangerous for Larry since he has a kidney transplant). He was immediately started on intravenous antibiotics and saline solution.
Meanwhile, the bride and groom were in route home to Denver, Colorado. Mario, traveling on a tourist visa, was turned around at U.S. Immigration and, after a night in a holding cell, sent back to Mexico City (supposedly because he did not have six months remaining on his visa).
The next day we moved Ruth from the rental house up to the ranchito, to wait for Larry’s release from the hospital.
In summary, Larry recovered and he and Ruth returned to the states on Saturday (one week after the wedding instead of the planned three days). Christine is in Denver, working and wandering around their new home, which has to feel very empty without Mario. Mario is with his family in Mexico City and he and Christine are working with an immigration attorney to try and figure out when, and if, Mario will be able to return to the U.S.
It’s complicated.
The drama began the second day after the wedding.
Christine and Mario left Monday morning for Mexico City. That afternoon I called Christine’s parents at the house that they were renting, in order to plan a hand-off of some items that Christine couldn’t fit in her luggage. That is when Ruth (Christine’s mother) told me that she was taking Larry (Christine’s father) to the hospital. He was admitted that afternoon. Diagnosis: amebas and severe dehydration (particularly dangerous for Larry since he has a kidney transplant). He was immediately started on intravenous antibiotics and saline solution.
Meanwhile, the bride and groom were in route home to Denver, Colorado. Mario, traveling on a tourist visa, was turned around at U.S. Immigration and, after a night in a holding cell, sent back to Mexico City (supposedly because he did not have six months remaining on his visa).
The next day we moved Ruth from the rental house up to the ranchito, to wait for Larry’s release from the hospital.
In summary, Larry recovered and he and Ruth returned to the states on Saturday (one week after the wedding instead of the planned three days). Christine is in Denver, working and wandering around their new home, which has to feel very empty without Mario. Mario is with his family in Mexico City and he and Christine are working with an immigration attorney to try and figure out when, and if, Mario will be able to return to the U.S.
It’s complicated.
Friday, September 26, 2008
San Miguel de Allende - Independencia 2008
The clip above was taken from the roof of Alex’s mother’s house, on Independencia. Independencia is Mexico’s 4th of July.
Many people think that Cinco de Mayo (or the 5th of May) is Mexico’s independence celebration. It is not. Mexico’s Independence Day is September 16th. The night before the “Grito” or cry for freedom is re-read all over Mexico (with the attending crowd screaming “Viva!” after each line) and then there are fireworks. San Miguel de Allende and neighboring Dolores Hidalgo, are considered the seats of independence because they are where the grito was first read which ultimately lead to revolution and Mexico’s independence from Spain.
Cinco de Mayo is rumored to be a Corona holiday, designed to sell more beer in the US. The 5th of May is a day in history, when Mexico defeated an attack from the French. But here in Mexico, it is almost a non-event.
Obama-fest
I don’t think he’s really this tall, do you?Alex and I dropped in at the Obama-fest fundraiser last night. This was my first democratic event in San Miguel and I have to say that it was an interesting crowd.
Think social mixer (about 400 people) at a retirement home for hippies. (It wasn’t a retirement home, it was a private residence, but that was the feel of the event.)
When I thought about it, doesn’t it make sense that democrats that live abroad might just be a lot of old hippies? (Many with money, but hippies nonetheless.) They would probably be the first to leave the trappings of corporate America and the policies of the current administration.
After watching the first presidential debate tonight, I sent the following to the Democratic National Party website:
"After watching the debates tonight, I have a suggestion. I hated the way that McCain kept saying that Obama " . . . doesn't understand . . .", clearly trying to imply that he, McCain, is older and wiser. I think that Obama, when rebutting a statement, policy or point of history, should start with, "John, you probably don't remember . . ." (Just an idea to level the playing field.)"
Friday, September 12, 2008
Pet Diaries
(Lifted from the internet)
Excerpts from a Dog's Diary:
* 8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
* 9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
* 9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
* 10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
* 12:00 pm - Lunch! My favorite thing!
* 1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
* 3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
* 5:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
* 7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
* 8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
* 11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
Excerpts from a Cat's Diary:
Day 983 of my captivity.
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.
They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.
In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Bastards!
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow - but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.
The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now . . .
Excerpts from a Dog's Diary:
* 8:00 am - Dog food! My favorite thing!
* 9:30 am - A car ride! My favorite thing!
* 9:40 am - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
* 10:30 am - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
* 12:00 pm - Lunch! My favorite thing!
* 1:00 pm - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
* 3:00 pm - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
* 5:00 pm - Milk bones! My favorite thing!
* 7:00 pm - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
* 8:00 pm - Wow! Watched TV with the people! My favorite thing!
* 11:00 pm - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing!
Excerpts from a Cat's Diary:
Day 983 of my captivity.
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects.
They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.
In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomit on the carpet.
Today I decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts, since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Bastards!
There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight. I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means, and how to use it to my advantage.
Today I was almost successful in an attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow - but at the top of the stairs.
I am convinced that the other prisoners here are flunkies and snitches.The dog receives special privileges. He is regularly released - and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.
The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicate with the guards regularly. I am certain that he reports my every move. My captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe. For now . . .
A Growing Family?
Rodrigo found this little girl abandoned in the back of a pick-up truck.
Tisha says she’s not welcome.Wednesday, September 10, 2008
San Juan de Alima
Croatia was Olivia’s first proposed destination for her 30th birthday. However, as the economy turned and we saw our travel budgets evaporate, another opportunity presented itself.
Mariana’s family has a beach house in San Juan de Alima, in Michoacán near the border with Colima. Mariana offered the house and all we had to pay for was our food, drink and tips for the staff; $300 USD per person for 10 days. (At $30 per day, I figured that it was cheaper than staying at home.)
Alex, Olivia, Rodrigo and I loaded up our cars with meat and liquor and the likes of things that we felt we wouldn’t be able to find at the beach. We drove the four hours to Guadalajara where we met up with Karl and Mariana and continued on to San Juan de Alima. Our total travel time, including a stop for lunch, was 10 hours.
The house is in a gated community, smack dab on a private beach. Three floors of beautifully designed family living (the house sleeps 20 and we were only 10). But there is no town to speak of; no restaurants, no tourist shopping, nothing. The house is it. (Although there is a “Tiendita” or small store that services the private community with the basics – i.e., beer, sea food, rice, beans, etc.)
The next day two of the vehicles headed off to the airport in Manzanillo to collect the additional guests arriving from New York, London and Toronto.
To say the least, we were an eclectic group. (I of course, was the oldest.)
We spent the week swimming, taking walks on the beach, playing games, reading, boogie boarding, doing puzzles, kayaking, and when it rained, we watched movies from a collection that I brought from home. Rodrigo and Alexis attempted tennis but the oppressive heat and swarms of insects quickly drove them off the court. And we drank a little too.
Mariana arranged for a massage therapist to come nearly every day. A middle-aged single mother who attended massage school in order to support her family, the small traditional community refers to her as the “whore of San Juan de Alima”. While they clearly don’t understand her profession, a wealthy member of the private beach community told her that she has a gift and bought her a professional massage table so that she could further her career. She and her children now have a better quality of life than most of the residents of the village.
One of the highlights of the trip was when I was walking on the beach with Ali and Alexis. We were watching sand crabs dart in and out of their holes when we saw movement of a different color. It was a freshly hatched baby sea turtle making his maiden voyage to the ocean. Careful not to touch him, we watched him scoot across the sand and enter the surf, his little black head surfacing from time to time, until he cleared the breakers and began his underwater life. People pay thousands of dollars and camp out at night just to witness something like this. And there the little fellow was, heading out at around noon. I guess he was either the first of his nest, or the last, to be making this journey in broad daylight. (We never saw another even when we headed down the beach at night with flashlights.)
A rather handsome young man, one of the women asked him if he had a girlfriend. He pointed to the map that I had spread out on the dinning table and said, “Yes, I have one here, and one here, and one here . . .” I ran into Josh (Olivia’s straight male friend from Canada) in the kitchen. “He is so good looking, “Josh said, “I’d consider switching teams if I could hit that.”
We returned home to find out that it had rained in San Miguel de Allende nearly the entire time we were away. The presa (the lake at the bottom of town) was at 117% capacity. The neighboring town of Atotonilco had to be evacuated due to flooding. The rains have continued since our return although with more breaks in between. The countryside is green and flowering. However, the mosquitoes are also prolific.
(Christine and Mario are to be married at the ranchito on October 11th. It is to be an outdoor wedding and I’m a little concerned about the bride potentially swatting her way down the aisle.)
Last night I stopped at Karl’s studio on my way to bingo. “It must cost so much to keep up that beach house,” I said, “A full-time staff of three, the groundskeepers, the guard at the gate, not to mention the upkeep for a house on the beach.”
“Did you notice a vehicle following you out when you left?” Karl asked, “That was an armed guard. Years back, one of the residents was shot by drug runners. And another time, a resident was driving in with his family, saw a suspicious vehicle and told his family to get down and gunned it. When he got to the community gate there were bullet holes in the side of his car. Also, did you notice that there were guards at each end of the beach day and night?”
I admitted that I had not noticed. “I’m glad you didn’t tell me this before we went, otherwise I might not have gone.”
Mariana’s family has a beach house in San Juan de Alima, in Michoacán near the border with Colima. Mariana offered the house and all we had to pay for was our food, drink and tips for the staff; $300 USD per person for 10 days. (At $30 per day, I figured that it was cheaper than staying at home.)
Alex, Olivia, Rodrigo and I loaded up our cars with meat and liquor and the likes of things that we felt we wouldn’t be able to find at the beach. We drove the four hours to Guadalajara where we met up with Karl and Mariana and continued on to San Juan de Alima. Our total travel time, including a stop for lunch, was 10 hours.
The house is in a gated community, smack dab on a private beach. Three floors of beautifully designed family living (the house sleeps 20 and we were only 10). But there is no town to speak of; no restaurants, no tourist shopping, nothing. The house is it. (Although there is a “Tiendita” or small store that services the private community with the basics – i.e., beer, sea food, rice, beans, etc.)
The next day two of the vehicles headed off to the airport in Manzanillo to collect the additional guests arriving from New York, London and Toronto.
To say the least, we were an eclectic group. (I of course, was the oldest.)
Breakfast was waiting for us every morning and a sumptuous fresh seafood lunch served promptly at 3:00 PM.
We spent the week swimming, taking walks on the beach, playing games, reading, boogie boarding, doing puzzles, kayaking, and when it rained, we watched movies from a collection that I brought from home. Rodrigo and Alexis attempted tennis but the oppressive heat and swarms of insects quickly drove them off the court. And we drank a little too.
And of course, there was the birthday party.
Mariana arranged for a massage therapist to come nearly every day. A middle-aged single mother who attended massage school in order to support her family, the small traditional community refers to her as the “whore of San Juan de Alima”. While they clearly don’t understand her profession, a wealthy member of the private beach community told her that she has a gift and bought her a professional massage table so that she could further her career. She and her children now have a better quality of life than most of the residents of the village.
One of the highlights of the trip was when I was walking on the beach with Ali and Alexis. We were watching sand crabs dart in and out of their holes when we saw movement of a different color. It was a freshly hatched baby sea turtle making his maiden voyage to the ocean. Careful not to touch him, we watched him scoot across the sand and enter the surf, his little black head surfacing from time to time, until he cleared the breakers and began his underwater life. People pay thousands of dollars and camp out at night just to witness something like this. And there the little fellow was, heading out at around noon. I guess he was either the first of his nest, or the last, to be making this journey in broad daylight. (We never saw another even when we headed down the beach at night with flashlights.)
One afternoon after my siesta, I walked out to the pool deck. Mariana was in the pool talking with someone who wasn’t from our group. His name was Abraham Levy and he is currently kayaking the entire cost of Mexico (he’d covered 10,000 kilometers by the time we ran into him). He was staying by himself at a neighbor’s house, waiting out a passing storm. He quickly made himself at home, joining us for meals and sharing technology with Alex. (Check out his website at: http://www.abrahamlevy.com/) At 27 years old, once he completes his journey, he will be the first to have done so in a kayak.
A rather handsome young man, one of the women asked him if he had a girlfriend. He pointed to the map that I had spread out on the dinning table and said, “Yes, I have one here, and one here, and one here . . .” I ran into Josh (Olivia’s straight male friend from Canada) in the kitchen. “He is so good looking, “Josh said, “I’d consider switching teams if I could hit that.”
We returned home to find out that it had rained in San Miguel de Allende nearly the entire time we were away. The presa (the lake at the bottom of town) was at 117% capacity. The neighboring town of Atotonilco had to be evacuated due to flooding. The rains have continued since our return although with more breaks in between. The countryside is green and flowering. However, the mosquitoes are also prolific.
(Christine and Mario are to be married at the ranchito on October 11th. It is to be an outdoor wedding and I’m a little concerned about the bride potentially swatting her way down the aisle.)
Last night I stopped at Karl’s studio on my way to bingo. “It must cost so much to keep up that beach house,” I said, “A full-time staff of three, the groundskeepers, the guard at the gate, not to mention the upkeep for a house on the beach.”
“Did you notice a vehicle following you out when you left?” Karl asked, “That was an armed guard. Years back, one of the residents was shot by drug runners. And another time, a resident was driving in with his family, saw a suspicious vehicle and told his family to get down and gunned it. When he got to the community gate there were bullet holes in the side of his car. Also, did you notice that there were guards at each end of the beach day and night?”
I admitted that I had not noticed. “I’m glad you didn’t tell me this before we went, otherwise I might not have gone.”
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Your House is (almost) Ready
We're still missing a couple of pieces of furniture, but otherwise, the guesthouse is ready.
Spring Means New Life
Cattle, sheep and horses graze around the ranchito. This spring we were witness to this little guy wobbling around when he was only a few days old. However, his mother didn’t let us get close enough to take a photo until recently.
Deadly Water
One morning I walked out to the fish pond and found every fish floating dead on the surface. The water was crystal clear; unnaturally so.The night before I’d added a couple of inches of water to the pond. Nothing I haven’t done before and frequently far more than a couple of inches.
After lab tests that showed up with nothing, and calls to the water company that revealed multiple customer complaints about the chlorine smell, we’ve concluded that an employee of the water company over-chlorinated the well that supplies our area.
It is the first time that this has happened in over three years so I’m not going to lose my head over it. I am, however, annoyed that I lost about $300 USD worth of koi and goldfish, and had to empty the pond and scrub it out.
A few weeks ago I bought some small, cheap goldfish and put them in the pond as a test. After a couple of weeks surviving, I bought a few more. We’ll see how it goes.
We don’t drink this water. However, we do bath and cook with it. I’m aware of a number of fancy purification systems used by people here. Sure they kill typhoid, and all kinds of bacteria. But would they be effective with over-chlorinated water? Water so over-chlorinated that a couple of inches diluted in hundreds of gallons wipes out over 25 mature fish? Scary.
No fancy purification system for us. I think we’ll stick to drinking bottled water.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
Mexican Friends
(Something that is floating around the internet.)
FRIENDS: Never ask for food.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Are the reason you have food.
. . .
FRIENDS: Will say 'hello.'
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Will give you a big hug and a kiss.
. . .
FRIENDS: Call your parents Mr. and Mrs.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Call your parents mom and dad.
. . .
FRIENDS: Have never seen you cry.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Cry with you.
. . .
FRIENDS: Will eat at your dinner table and leave.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Will spend hours there, talking, laughing and just being together and then take a plate to go.
. . .
FRIENDS: Borrow your stuff for a few days then give it back.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Keep your stuff so long they forget it's yours.
. . ..
FRIENDS: Know a few things about you.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Could write a book with direct quotes from you.
. . .
FRIENDS: Will leave you behind if that's what the crowd is doing.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Will kick the whole crowds' ass that left you.
. . .
FRIENDS: Would knock on your door.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Walk right in and say, 'Hey, I'm here!'
. . .
FRIENDS: Are for a while.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Are for life.
. . .
FRIENDS: Pretend it is OK when you are being a pest.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Tell you, 'ay, como chingas !!!! (Kind of like, “Enough already! Quit whinning!!!!”)
FRIENDS: Never ask for food.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Are the reason you have food.
. . .
FRIENDS: Will say 'hello.'
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Will give you a big hug and a kiss.
. . .
FRIENDS: Call your parents Mr. and Mrs.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Call your parents mom and dad.
. . .
FRIENDS: Have never seen you cry.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Cry with you.
. . .
FRIENDS: Will eat at your dinner table and leave.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Will spend hours there, talking, laughing and just being together and then take a plate to go.
. . .
FRIENDS: Borrow your stuff for a few days then give it back.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Keep your stuff so long they forget it's yours.
. . ..
FRIENDS: Know a few things about you.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Could write a book with direct quotes from you.
. . .
FRIENDS: Will leave you behind if that's what the crowd is doing.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Will kick the whole crowds' ass that left you.
. . .
FRIENDS: Would knock on your door.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Walk right in and say, 'Hey, I'm here!'
. . .
FRIENDS: Are for a while.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Are for life.
. . .
FRIENDS: Pretend it is OK when you are being a pest.
MEXICAN FRIENDS: Tell you, 'ay, como chingas !!!! (Kind of like, “Enough already! Quit whinning!!!!”)
Monday, July 28, 2008
Getting Past the Price of Golf
The local private golf course wants close to $35 USD to use their driving range. Outrageous! It is only $15 more (weekdays after 2:00 PM) to play nine holes including your caddy. (Caddies are not optional, they are required.) So Eric came up with a solution; he made his own driving range. (It helps when your family has a big ranch.) And it is less than a mile from our house.His plans for upgrading our new venue include having his mother sew flags for the range markers and moving his airstream trailer to the site, to serve as a clubhouse. His family is now producing grapes and making wine on the ranch so homemade wine will be available at the clubhouse.
So bye-bye expensive private club range. (However we’ll still need to go to the club in order to play an actual round of golf.)
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Return to San Luis Potosi
This weekend we decided to get away for a night and visit our friend Victor in San Luis Potosi.
According to Victor, people in San Luis are all about the food. Given such, there are numerous restaurants with varying cuisines. So for you visitors, when you're tired of Mexican food, I cannot recommend highly enough the Oriental Grill. The menu is a delightful combination of Thai, Japanese and Chinese dishes.
After our sumptuous dinner we went to a bar called "Sheik" (which the Mexicans pronounce "Shake"). I went to the bar to get drinks for Rod and I. While there a boy who looked about 18 years old kept making eye contact with me. I simply nodded and took our drinks upstairs. A few minutes later Rod excused himself to go to the restroom. Immediately the young man approached me and struck up a conversation. When Rod returned Victor told him that he’d better keep an eye on his man because he’s the only gringo in the bar and the boys are circling. “It’s ok, “Rod said, “It’s good for his self esteem.” (Bless him.)
After Sheik we went to my favorite bar in San Luis, El Greko. The photos below will probably explain why it is my favorite.
According to Victor, people in San Luis are all about the food. Given such, there are numerous restaurants with varying cuisines. So for you visitors, when you're tired of Mexican food, I cannot recommend highly enough the Oriental Grill. The menu is a delightful combination of Thai, Japanese and Chinese dishes.
After our sumptuous dinner we went to a bar called "Sheik" (which the Mexicans pronounce "Shake"). I went to the bar to get drinks for Rod and I. While there a boy who looked about 18 years old kept making eye contact with me. I simply nodded and took our drinks upstairs. A few minutes later Rod excused himself to go to the restroom. Immediately the young man approached me and struck up a conversation. When Rod returned Victor told him that he’d better keep an eye on his man because he’s the only gringo in the bar and the boys are circling. “It’s ok, “Rod said, “It’s good for his self esteem.” (Bless him.)
After Sheik we went to my favorite bar in San Luis, El Greko. The photos below will probably explain why it is my favorite.
Hugo, Victor and Rod (after a few cocktails).
Me (after a cocktail or two) with a few of our waiters.
Some Random Photos
Night shot of the Parroquia from Alex's mother's rooftop.
Patti, Karen, Bob and Pao on Alex's mother's rooftop, after an amazing meal at THE Restaurant at Sollano #16
The recently engaged Marianna & Karl in Bob & Karen's Sala.
Cynthia and I in Bob & Karen's entryway.
Our rescue dog Evita, waiting for someone to pet her.Friday, July 18, 2008
Tokens
Rod and I seem to be the token diversity couple in town. This was a from a shoot for a new website to be released some time in the future.Chilango Prices
First a little background. A “chilango” is what Mexicans call a person from Mexico City. Originally it held a rather derogatory implication relating to behavior (i.e., how a person drives, the way they treat wait staff or how they generally behave in public like they are better than other people). Now it is a matter of context. As I refer to myself as a “gringo” another may refer to himself as a “chilango”, and the expression can be playful between friends. However, “F’n gringo!” or “F’n chilango!” take the expression back to its roots.
Second, many books will tell you that there are two prices in Mexico; the Mexican price and the gringo price (the gringo price, of course, always being the higher of the two). This doesn’t apply to restaurants or department stores where prices are labeled, but can apply to services rendered or in a Mercado (Market). Instructions to gringos in these same books, say to buck-up and pay the higher price. After all, it is not that much higher and they need it.
The other day I parked at my favorite downtown parking lot. I’m a regular at this lot, probably at least once or twice a week. After running my errands I was waiting to pay with a 10 peso coin in my hand. As I was waiting a chilango gentleman (we can spot them immediately from their license plates) approached the attendant for his ticket. When the attendant handed him the ticket, the chilango asked the price per hour. The attendant pointed out the rate on the ticket at 15 pesos per hour. (I was surprised. I’ve never paid more than 10 pesos an hour.) The chilango nodded and walked toward the exit. The attendant kept me waiting as he watched the chilango walk away and then he silently nodded to the coin in my hand. I was charged LESS than a Mexican!
We’re not talking a lot of money here, but I was elated. Clearly, to some, loyalty overrides race or locals get preference over tourists. Whatever the case, little gestures like this make San Miguel feel more and more like home.
Second, many books will tell you that there are two prices in Mexico; the Mexican price and the gringo price (the gringo price, of course, always being the higher of the two). This doesn’t apply to restaurants or department stores where prices are labeled, but can apply to services rendered or in a Mercado (Market). Instructions to gringos in these same books, say to buck-up and pay the higher price. After all, it is not that much higher and they need it.
The other day I parked at my favorite downtown parking lot. I’m a regular at this lot, probably at least once or twice a week. After running my errands I was waiting to pay with a 10 peso coin in my hand. As I was waiting a chilango gentleman (we can spot them immediately from their license plates) approached the attendant for his ticket. When the attendant handed him the ticket, the chilango asked the price per hour. The attendant pointed out the rate on the ticket at 15 pesos per hour. (I was surprised. I’ve never paid more than 10 pesos an hour.) The chilango nodded and walked toward the exit. The attendant kept me waiting as he watched the chilango walk away and then he silently nodded to the coin in my hand. I was charged LESS than a Mexican!
We’re not talking a lot of money here, but I was elated. Clearly, to some, loyalty overrides race or locals get preference over tourists. Whatever the case, little gestures like this make San Miguel feel more and more like home.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Tequisquiapan
The city of Tequisquiapan is about an hour and a half drive from San Miguel de Allende. Every year I’ve heard about their annual wine and cheese festival.“I want to go,” said our friend Paola, “Let’s go tomorrow.”
“Somehow I don’t think an afternoon of drinking wine and eating cheese and then driving back is such a great idea,” I said.
“I’ll hire a driver,” she said; and did.
The next day Alex, Rodrigo, Pao and I pilled into Pao’s car with a quiet, competent driver at the helm. The ride there took a little longer because we had to stop at Pao’s apartment in Queretaro so that Pao could change shoes.
I liked the Tequisquiapan immediately. The narrow streets and architecture had a very European feel. People were well dressed and the town was very clean.
The festival was held in a big tent in the park, just steps from the town square. It felt kind of like a mini Oktoberfest except with wine instead of beer. And being from California I found the variety of wines offered to be very lacking. So I settled for buying a cheese and meat plate and a magnum of champagne. We pulled up stools around a wine barrel, visited with Pao’s co-workers who had joined us, and listened to the band.
“There’s Tory,” said Rod.
I’d wanted Tory, our architect, to meet Pao since she purchased some land a couple of years ago and eventually wants to start building. I’ve been very happy with Tory’s work, and as a tall, strapping young man, he is very easy on the eyes. I flagged him down and he came over to our barrel. Tapping Pao on the shoulder I said, “Pao, I’d like you to meet out architect Tory. Tory, this is Paola.”
Pao turned around and looked up at Tory. Extending a limp hand her eyes got big and her mouth dropped just a little too open. It took an awkward second for her to spit out, “Nice to meet you.”
We exchanged some pleasantries and a soft agreement to schedule something in the future where they could sit down and talk. As Tory walked away I turned to Pao. “Wipe the corners of your mouth Pao. You’re drooling.”
After we’d polished off the champagne we strolled into the center of town and found what is probably the best restaurant Tequisquiapan has to offer. And in honor of the festival, they just so happened to be offering a five course wine pairing dinner. The food was passable at worst and some courses were really wonderful. The same was true of the wine, and all for 350 pesos per person; a real bargain. Throughout the meal a Spaniard presented each wine and discussed its qualities and how it was best paired with the food.The atmosphere was so upscale, as one expects from a wine pairing dinner, that I was surprised when one of the owners (a woman probably in her late 50’s) asked if she could have one of my cigarettes. The whole table stifled smiles as I said “Claro” (of course), but then we had to stifle our laughter as she proceeded to serve us our next course with a plate in one hand and the lit cigarette in the other. (So much for upscale.)
The driver proved to be a God-send as minutes after we got into the car, we were all asleep.
The next weekend Rod and I returned for lunch and some light shopping. We also went to the monument for the geographical center of Mexico. Rather unimpressive given some of the monuments that I’ve seen in Mexico. But at least we can say that we’ve been there.
In short, I’d say that Tequisquiapan is a nice place to visit. There is not a lot going on and one probably needs to bring one’s own party to have a good time. The town is known for its thermal waters and spa’s which we have yet to experience. But I think they have a golf course so we’ll probably be back.Tuesday, July 01, 2008
English Language
After volunteer teaching English for a year, I found this little internet piece very on-point:
Reasons why the English language is so hard to learn:
1) The bandage was wound around the wound.
2) The farm was used to produce produce.
3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
4) We must polish the Polish furniture.
5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.
6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present.
8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.
9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
10) I did not object to the object.
11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.
13) They were too close to the door to close it.
14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.
15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
18) After a number of injections my jaw got number.
19) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.
20) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.
21) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?
There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England or French fries in France. Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat. Quicksand works slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.
And why is it that writers write, but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham? If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth beeth? One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese?
Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend. If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it? Is it an odd, or an end? If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell? How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out, and in which an alarm goes off by going on.
English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible.
P.S. - Why doesn't 'Buick' rhyme with 'quick'?
Reasons why the English language is so hard to learn:
1) The bandage was wound around the wound.
2) The farm was used to produce produce.
3) The dump was so full that it had to refuse more refuse.
4) We must polish the Polish furniture.
5) He could lead if he would get the lead out.
6) The soldier decided to desert his dessert in the desert.
7) Since there is no time like the present, he thought it was time to present the present.
8) A bass was painted on the head of the bass drum.
9) When shot at, the dove dove into the bushes.
10) I did not object to the object.
11) The insurance was invalid for the invalid.
12) There was a row among the oarsmen about how to row.
13) They were too close to the door to close it.
14) The buck does funny things when the does are present.
15) A seamstress and a sewer fell down into a sewer line.
16) To help with planting, the farmer taught his sow to sow.
17) The wind was too strong to wind the sail.
18) After a number of injections my jaw got number.
19) Upon seeing the tear in the painting I shed a tear.
20) I had to subject the subject to a series of tests.
21) How can I intimate this to my most intimate friend?
There is no egg in eggplant nor ham in hamburger; neither apple nor pine in pineapple. English muffins weren't invented in England or French fries in France. Sweetmeats are candies while sweetbreads, which aren't sweet, are meat. Quicksand works slowly, boxing rings are square and a guinea pig is neither from Guinea nor is it a pig.
And why is it that writers write, but fingers don't fing, grocers don't groce and hammers don't ham? If the plural of tooth is teeth, why isn't the plural of booth beeth? One goose, 2 geese. So one moose, 2 meese?
Doesn't it seem crazy that you can make amends but not one amend. If you have a bunch of odds and ends and get rid of all but one of them, what do you call it? Is it an odd, or an end? If teachers taught, why didn't preachers praught? If a vegetarian eats vegetables, what does a humanitarian eat? In what language do people recite at a play and play at a recital? Ship by truck and send cargo by ship? Have noses that run and feet that smell? How can a slim chance and a fat chance be the same, while a wise man and a wise guy are opposites? You have to marvel at the unique lunacy of a language in which your house can burn up as it burns down, in which you fill in a form by filling it out, and in which an alarm goes off by going on.
English was invented by people, not computers, and it reflects the creativity of the human race, which, of course, is not a race at all. That is why, when the stars are out, they are visible, but when the lights are out, they are invisible.
P.S. - Why doesn't 'Buick' rhyme with 'quick'?
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Home Repairs and Upgrades
Anyone who owns a home understands that they can represent significant challenges in one’s life. Whether it is repairs or the never ending upgrades (where you put your personal touch on the property), it all boils down to time, money and lessons learned.The last three days we have been without a phone or internet. The phone challenge is easily overcome by use of cell phones. However, I never realized how addicted I’ve become to the internet until I didn’t have it.
I felt cut off from the world. Not only was I unable to check my email but what about the weather? My daily horoscope? The news? The stock market? (Although not watching the stock market only proved to reduce my stress levels over the last three days.) I couldn’t google a recipe for “Duck Tacos” which suddenly seemed very important. I hardly knew what to do with myself.
What did I do before the internet? I guess I read newspapers and watched the news on TV. However, I don’t get a newspaper now and I’m not sure on what satellite channel I’d find the news. (I’m sure it’s there, national and international, but I just never watch it.)
Telmex (the telephone monopoly in Mexico) finally found the property and ran all new lines from the street to the house, so I’m back in business, both phone and internet. I had to ask Rodrigo if it is customary to tip a telephone repair person. He said yes, something like 30 pesos ($3 USD) but this was a big job so I planned to give a little more. However, the repairman left so quickly that I didn’t have the opportunity. Later, while sitting on the patio, I saw something hanging from the trees in front. It was the old telephone line. He’d just left it dangling. So he didn’t deserve a tip anyway.
The most annoying upgrade in the last year was the septic system. There is nothing quite as motivating as having your own business coming back at you through your shower drain. This was especially frustrating because when I bought the house I upgraded the septic tank. I was told that I wouldn’t need to pay any attention to it for 20 years. (My sister in the U.S. hasn’t had to do anything to her system since it was installed 40 years ago.)
We had to move out and give the maid and gardener the time off. (One can’t exactly live in one’s home without access to a toilet, or expect your staff to work without one either.)
Our friends Bob and Karen graciously allowed us to stay in their beautiful vacation home. However, it wasn’t much of a vacation for us because we had to go back and forth every day to take care of the dogs. “Tomorrow,” the plumber kept telling us – every day. So each day we’d take one change of clothes and one meal, in anticipation that we would be able to move home the next day. This went on for nearly a week.
After much snaking and digging up of the yard, the plumber’s verdict was that the septic tank had been installed backwards. So after more digging and installing of leach lines, the landscaping devastated, we moved home.
Two days later, it happened again; crap in the shower.
The plumber returned. The only option was to tear up the bathroom floor; the new bathroom tile work that I put in during the initial house renovation. The problem was roots in the old cement drain under the house. (Might this have been the initial problem that, had it been diagnosed properly might have saved my landscaping and a couple thousand dollars? The plumber didn’t charge us for this repair. I think he might have been a little embarrassed.)
Then there was the roof upgrade. Heavy rains meant towels and buckets throughout the house. After two months of pounding from dawn until dusk, with dust and little chunks of concrete raining down inside the house, we’re dry.
Not done yet. Electrical upgrade. It was explained to me that our wires from the transformer to the house were too small. This is why, whenever one would flush the toilet and the water pressure pump would kick in, the lights would dim and the stereo would shut off. (Really annoying at parties.) Underground lines had to be run from the transformer at the end of the road, to the front of the property and then down the property to the house; and then from the house to the casita. We can now flush with no interruption to music and my electric bill appears to be cut in half.
Oh, and then there was the barbeque roof that collapsed; but I’ve already written about that.
So while the house isn’t feeling as much of a bargain as it did originally, I’m hoping that I’m nearly done with repairs and the future will only be upgrades.
These, plus the casita upgrade, have all totaled over $60,000 USD within the last 12 months. So if you don’t see me traveling for a while, you know why. Come visit – bring food.
Hopefully the creek won’t flood and reach the house during the rainy season.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
A Bad Day for Dogs (and the people who love them)
A few days ago, BG, our new Newfoundland puppy, was diagnosed with Parvo virus. Rodrigo consulted with other veterinarians in town and all he could do was to put her on an IV solution and wait. We canceled our scheduled trip to Cuernavaca for Rodrigo’s parents’ 35th wedding anniversary and settled in to watch and wait.Yesterday our maid Mari’s adult son, Oscar, came by the clinic with Mari’s younger son’s (Rafael’s) new puppy. Oscar explained that the puppy had fallen off the roof patio. Upon examining the dog, Rodrigo found that it had a fractured neck and he had no option but to put it down.
Oscar didn’t want to tell his mother and asked Rodrigo to do so. Rodrigo didn’t want to either and asked me. I thought about what I’d want to say, “Mari, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you but your dog fell off the roof patio and fractured her neck. Oscar took her to Rodrigo and she had to be put down. I’m terribly sorry, but if you want to leave early, please do so. I understand.” However, I thought about my limited Spanish. It would come out more like, “Mari, I’m sorry but your dog is dead. Oscar bring her to Rodrigo and Rodrigo dead her because of the roof.” This would of course, have to be accompanied by some gruesome gestures and it still wouldn’t be clear.
“No,” I told Rodrigo, “I don’t have the language skills. It’s Oscar’s responsibility. He can tell her when she gets home.”
Last night I had just gone to bed when Rodrigo came in to the bedroom in tears. “We’re losing her,” he said.
I got out of bed and we both went to the bodega (storage room) where BG was caged with her IV solution. Her breathing was shallow and she appeared to be in a coma. Her soft puppy fur gave no evidence of her suffering, and we stroked her with tears in our eyes. About an hour later she passed on.
Rodrigo went to the computer and sent the following, poignant story that has been circulating the internet, to his friends:
Dogs Purpose, (from a 6-year-old)
Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a ten-year-old Irish Wolfhound named Belker. The dog's owners, Ron, his wife, Lisa, and their little boy, Shane, were all very attached to Belker, and they were hoping for a miracle.
I examined Belker and found he was dying of cancer. I told the family we couldn't do anything for Belker, and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home. As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for six-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn something from the experience.
The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker's family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away.
The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker's death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives. Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, "I know why."
Startled, we all turned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me. I'd never heard a more comforting explanation. He said, "People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life -- like loving everybody all the time and being nice, right?" The six-year-old continued, "Well, dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long."
Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly. Remember, if a dog was the teacher you would learn things like:
When loved ones come home, always run to greet them.
Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride.
Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in yourface to be pure ecstasy.
Take naps.
Stretch before rising.
Run, romp, and play daily.
Thrive on attention and let people touch you.
Avoid biting when a simple growl will do.
On warm days, stop to lie on your back on the grass.
On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shadytree.
When you're happy, dance around and wag your entirebody.
Delight in the simple joy of a long walk.
Eat with gusto and enthusiasm.
Stop when you have had enough.
Be loyal.
Never pretend to be something you're not.
If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it.
When someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit closeby and nuzzle them gently.
Be always grateful for each new day.
ENJOY EVERY MOMENT OF EVERY DAY
Monday, April 28, 2008
Coming Full-Circle
Rodrigo is back.
I won’t go into a great deal of detail, it is too personal. Suffice to say that I received an email from Rod about a month and a half ago, saying that he’d been doing a lot of personal development work and wanted to meet to discuss reconciliation. After two weeks I conceded, we met and have hardly been apart since.
In many ways, we’ve fallen back into old routines and social circles and it feels as if he never left; a comfortable familiarity. In other ways, there is a new level of maturity in the relationship and improved communication and negotiation. In short, we’re both happy but understand that a relationship is an ongoing process that requires communication and compromise on many different levels.
We are not living together yet (although he spends every night here) and I have some “unraveling” to do. For example, I had rented out the ranchito for five months beginning in November of this year. (I didn’t know where I was going to go but I was going to go somewhere.)
Additionally, since construction has started on the casita, there is no longer a dog house for his dogs. This little detail, however, did not prevent him from seizing an opportunity to acquire a new family member while working at a dog show in neighboring Queretaro.
Enter BG (for Big Girl).
BG is a three month old Newfoundland puppy who promises to weigh close to 130 Lbs. when full grown.
I explained to Rod that bringing BG to the ranchito is kind of like surprising me with a new roommate; a roommate who is not potty trained and likes to tromp through the flower beds.
But she is awfully cute, and I’ve agreed to try. And he’s agreed that no new dogs will magically appear. I guess that counts as compromise.
I won’t go into a great deal of detail, it is too personal. Suffice to say that I received an email from Rod about a month and a half ago, saying that he’d been doing a lot of personal development work and wanted to meet to discuss reconciliation. After two weeks I conceded, we met and have hardly been apart since.
In many ways, we’ve fallen back into old routines and social circles and it feels as if he never left; a comfortable familiarity. In other ways, there is a new level of maturity in the relationship and improved communication and negotiation. In short, we’re both happy but understand that a relationship is an ongoing process that requires communication and compromise on many different levels.
We are not living together yet (although he spends every night here) and I have some “unraveling” to do. For example, I had rented out the ranchito for five months beginning in November of this year. (I didn’t know where I was going to go but I was going to go somewhere.)
Additionally, since construction has started on the casita, there is no longer a dog house for his dogs. This little detail, however, did not prevent him from seizing an opportunity to acquire a new family member while working at a dog show in neighboring Queretaro.
Enter BG (for Big Girl).
BG is a three month old Newfoundland puppy who promises to weigh close to 130 Lbs. when full grown.
I explained to Rod that bringing BG to the ranchito is kind of like surprising me with a new roommate; a roommate who is not potty trained and likes to tromp through the flower beds.
But she is awfully cute, and I’ve agreed to try. And he’s agreed that no new dogs will magically appear. I guess that counts as compromise.
Valentine’s in San Luis Potosi
Pao and Alex and I were having dinner one night before Valentine ’s Day. “Alex,” I said, “Do you remember several years ago, when you put together that lonely hearts Valentine’s dinner at Market Bistro? What were we, 17 people? If you were to do that for this Valentine’s, how many would we be?”
Alex thought for a moment. “Three,” he said, “And we’re all sitting right here. Everyone else who was there is coupled, married or no longer in San Miguel. And we haven’t met any new single people.”
“That’s depressing,” said Pao. “How pathetic would that look? The three of us out to dinner together on Valentine’s Day.”
“Then let’s get out of town. We don’t want to run into any of our ex’s, potentially out on a date with their new squeezes.” I thought for a moment. “Victor! San Luis Potosi! Victor will be alone on Valentine’s . . . Mark is in the U.S. . . . They have plenty of bedrooms and it’s only two hours away.”
Suddenly Valentine’s Day wasn’t a depressing “thing” looming in our future. We got on the phone, called Vic and a plan was born. Alex and I would drive up on Thursday, Pao would schedule a sales call for Friday in San Luis and meet us there Thursday night. We’d bring our golf clubs and play a round at the country club.
Valentine’s dinner was at an upscale Chinese restaurant, surprisingly named “China Express”. It was a wonderful treat as we lack good Chinese food in San Miguel. (We have it; it just isn’t very good.)
San Miguel has a very nice, and challenging, golf course called Club Malanquin. But it is only nine holes. If we play on a weekday after 2:00 PM, it costs about 500 pesos. So on Friday in San Luis, for about 1,000 pesos, we played our first full 18 holes and finished just as the sun was setting. The course was in a gated community with about every style of architecture imaginable; the common thread being a lot of money. (This is clearly how the “other half” lives in Mexico.) We all had fun and I could tell that Pao and Alex were rapidly becoming addicted to the sport.
The next day we toured centro and stopped in to visit the new Hotel Palacio de San Agustin http://www.palaciodesanagustin.com I have not included any photos because none can compare to those on their website (I highly encourage you to click on the link). While we were sipping sodas in the lobby, waiting for our private tour of the hotel, Alex and Pao began flipping through a large photo book they found on one of the tables. The book contained high quality photographs of the best golf courses in Mexico.
“This is what we should do,” said Alex. “Travel around Mexico playing all these courses.” Pao agreed with him.
“Great,” I said. “I’ve gotten you hooked on the most expensive sport possible.”
The last night Victor and I left Pao and Alex talking in the courtyard while we ventured off to one of the local gay bars called El Greko. It was really my first time out since the break-up and I have to say that I enjoyed myself immensely. Quite apart from San Miguel, Gringos are not common in San Luis. Victor’s friends were educated, well dressed and friendly. Many spoke English and were anxious to practice. I received all kinds of attention, especially from a totally ripped personal trainer named Hugo. He was so cute I almost asked Victor if I could take him home (but I didn’t).
When Alex and I were driving home the next day, he asked me, “What was your favorite part of the trip?”
“Hugo,” I said. “It was just nice to be flirted with. It did wonders for my self esteem. I can’t stop smiling about it even though I’d never take it any further. For one, he’s about five foot nothing and we’d look pretty silly together. And, he doesn’t speak a word of English and lives with his family. I think we’d have a little trouble finding any common ground. What was your favorite part of the trip?”
“The golf,” Alex replied without hesitation. “It was so cool. We have to go back and do it again.”
And so I imagine we will.
Alex thought for a moment. “Three,” he said, “And we’re all sitting right here. Everyone else who was there is coupled, married or no longer in San Miguel. And we haven’t met any new single people.”
“That’s depressing,” said Pao. “How pathetic would that look? The three of us out to dinner together on Valentine’s Day.”
“Then let’s get out of town. We don’t want to run into any of our ex’s, potentially out on a date with their new squeezes.” I thought for a moment. “Victor! San Luis Potosi! Victor will be alone on Valentine’s . . . Mark is in the U.S. . . . They have plenty of bedrooms and it’s only two hours away.”
Suddenly Valentine’s Day wasn’t a depressing “thing” looming in our future. We got on the phone, called Vic and a plan was born. Alex and I would drive up on Thursday, Pao would schedule a sales call for Friday in San Luis and meet us there Thursday night. We’d bring our golf clubs and play a round at the country club.
Valentine’s dinner was at an upscale Chinese restaurant, surprisingly named “China Express”. It was a wonderful treat as we lack good Chinese food in San Miguel. (We have it; it just isn’t very good.)
San Miguel has a very nice, and challenging, golf course called Club Malanquin. But it is only nine holes. If we play on a weekday after 2:00 PM, it costs about 500 pesos. So on Friday in San Luis, for about 1,000 pesos, we played our first full 18 holes and finished just as the sun was setting. The course was in a gated community with about every style of architecture imaginable; the common thread being a lot of money. (This is clearly how the “other half” lives in Mexico.) We all had fun and I could tell that Pao and Alex were rapidly becoming addicted to the sport.
The next day we toured centro and stopped in to visit the new Hotel Palacio de San Agustin http://www.palaciodesanagustin.com I have not included any photos because none can compare to those on their website (I highly encourage you to click on the link). While we were sipping sodas in the lobby, waiting for our private tour of the hotel, Alex and Pao began flipping through a large photo book they found on one of the tables. The book contained high quality photographs of the best golf courses in Mexico.
“This is what we should do,” said Alex. “Travel around Mexico playing all these courses.” Pao agreed with him.
“Great,” I said. “I’ve gotten you hooked on the most expensive sport possible.”
The last night Victor and I left Pao and Alex talking in the courtyard while we ventured off to one of the local gay bars called El Greko. It was really my first time out since the break-up and I have to say that I enjoyed myself immensely. Quite apart from San Miguel, Gringos are not common in San Luis. Victor’s friends were educated, well dressed and friendly. Many spoke English and were anxious to practice. I received all kinds of attention, especially from a totally ripped personal trainer named Hugo. He was so cute I almost asked Victor if I could take him home (but I didn’t).
When Alex and I were driving home the next day, he asked me, “What was your favorite part of the trip?”
“Hugo,” I said. “It was just nice to be flirted with. It did wonders for my self esteem. I can’t stop smiling about it even though I’d never take it any further. For one, he’s about five foot nothing and we’d look pretty silly together. And, he doesn’t speak a word of English and lives with his family. I think we’d have a little trouble finding any common ground. What was your favorite part of the trip?”
“The golf,” Alex replied without hesitation. “It was so cool. We have to go back and do it again.”
And so I imagine we will.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Living in Language
One of the principle challenges of living in a foreign country is living in the language. Many of the mistakes that one makes simply make one unintelligible. Other mistakes can be embarrassing or worse, insulting.
My friend Mark has been living in Mexico for over 10 years. His Spanish has been described by native speakers, as the best Spanish that they have ever heard spoken by a gringo. He is fluent and at times he teaches Spanish. His story (courtesy of his partner Victor) is an example of how someone can become almost too comfortable living in another language.
It was the day of the signing of the private purchase-selling agreement for their new home in San Luis Potosi. In Mexico, the signing of this kind of document is a very serious and almost formal ceremony. The notario (or notary - a position more like an attorney in Mexico) is in attendance to oversee and document the transaction. Mark was being appropriately formal, using the “usted” form of speaking with respect to the elderly woman who was selling the home.
When the moment came to sign the documents, Mark took the pen and turned to the woman. “Los impuestos y los servicios están pagados?” he asked. (Are all the taxes and services already paid?) “Por que no quiero tener ningún tipo de PEDOS en el futuro.” (“Because I do not want to have any kind of FARTS in the future.”)
Everybody in the room looked at him with eyes wide open and an expression of OH MY GOD!!!... WHAT IS HE SAYING?!!! When Mark saw the looks on the faces in the room and experienced the deafening silence, he turned and asked, “Did I say something wrong?” Victor leaned in and said, “PROBLEMAS!” (“PROBLEMS! You do not want to have PROBLEMS in the future, Mark. You must say PROBLEMS not FARTS.”)
Of course he apologized to the crowd especially to the elderly woman.
To further enlighten me, Victor provided the following explanation: “In Mexico we use to say Pedos (farts) instead of problemas (problems), but we use this word ONLY with very confident people like family or friends and they know us very, very well. I do not recommend to use this word when you do not know the persons around you. You can get some free problems or being considered low class. Although is fun use it once in a while.”
The purchase of the property went off without a hitch. But we’re pretty certain that the story of the transaction will live on for years to come.
Similarly, I was out in the yard speaking with my gardener the other day. With dismay we were looking at the state of our garden. I wanted to say that the rabbits (conejos) are eating the lettuce. Instead I said, “Los cangrejos estan comiendo las lechugas.” (“The crabs are eating the lettuce.”) My gardener looked at me and smiled. “Creo que no,” he said, (“I don’t think so”) “Estamos son muy lejos del mar.” (“We are very far from the sea.”)
Similar words can also have very different meanings. For example, “cama” means “bed” while “cara” means “face”. A friend from Portland, Oregon, was visiting San Miguel recently. He speaks Spanish fairly well and stopped in to visit his old landlady. As they were talking her pretty young daughter entered the room. “Recuerda mi hija?” his landlady asked, (“Remember my daughter?”) “Si,” he replied, turning to the daughter, “No recuerdo su nombre pero recuerdo su cama.” (“I don’t remember your name but I remember your bed.”)
There was a tense moment before they figured things out and then had a good laugh.
My friend Mark has been living in Mexico for over 10 years. His Spanish has been described by native speakers, as the best Spanish that they have ever heard spoken by a gringo. He is fluent and at times he teaches Spanish. His story (courtesy of his partner Victor) is an example of how someone can become almost too comfortable living in another language.
It was the day of the signing of the private purchase-selling agreement for their new home in San Luis Potosi. In Mexico, the signing of this kind of document is a very serious and almost formal ceremony. The notario (or notary - a position more like an attorney in Mexico) is in attendance to oversee and document the transaction. Mark was being appropriately formal, using the “usted” form of speaking with respect to the elderly woman who was selling the home.
When the moment came to sign the documents, Mark took the pen and turned to the woman. “Los impuestos y los servicios están pagados?” he asked. (Are all the taxes and services already paid?) “Por que no quiero tener ningún tipo de PEDOS en el futuro.” (“Because I do not want to have any kind of FARTS in the future.”)
Everybody in the room looked at him with eyes wide open and an expression of OH MY GOD!!!... WHAT IS HE SAYING?!!! When Mark saw the looks on the faces in the room and experienced the deafening silence, he turned and asked, “Did I say something wrong?” Victor leaned in and said, “PROBLEMAS!” (“PROBLEMS! You do not want to have PROBLEMS in the future, Mark. You must say PROBLEMS not FARTS.”)
Of course he apologized to the crowd especially to the elderly woman.
To further enlighten me, Victor provided the following explanation: “In Mexico we use to say Pedos (farts) instead of problemas (problems), but we use this word ONLY with very confident people like family or friends and they know us very, very well. I do not recommend to use this word when you do not know the persons around you. You can get some free problems or being considered low class. Although is fun use it once in a while.”
The purchase of the property went off without a hitch. But we’re pretty certain that the story of the transaction will live on for years to come.
Similarly, I was out in the yard speaking with my gardener the other day. With dismay we were looking at the state of our garden. I wanted to say that the rabbits (conejos) are eating the lettuce. Instead I said, “Los cangrejos estan comiendo las lechugas.” (“The crabs are eating the lettuce.”) My gardener looked at me and smiled. “Creo que no,” he said, (“I don’t think so”) “Estamos son muy lejos del mar.” (“We are very far from the sea.”)
Similar words can also have very different meanings. For example, “cama” means “bed” while “cara” means “face”. A friend from Portland, Oregon, was visiting San Miguel recently. He speaks Spanish fairly well and stopped in to visit his old landlady. As they were talking her pretty young daughter entered the room. “Recuerda mi hija?” his landlady asked, (“Remember my daughter?”) “Si,” he replied, turning to the daughter, “No recuerdo su nombre pero recuerdo su cama.” (“I don’t remember your name but I remember your bed.”)
There was a tense moment before they figured things out and then had a good laugh.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
