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.
Friday, September 26, 2008
San Miguel de Allende - Independencia 2008
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.”
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