Balancing the Gringo Image

I was walking back from the bank today and witnessed an accident.

Across the street a car was pulling over to the curb when it clipped the front bumper of a parked car and tore it clean off.

I stopped and stared as did a couple of other gringos. The offending vehicle waited a moment and then drove off and around the corner.

“We just witnessed a hit and run!” said the man standing next to me.

“I couldn’t make out where the plates were from,” I said, but I remembered the plate numbers.

“Texas,” he said. “And it was a white Volkswagen.”

Traffic does not move swiftly in San Miguel, so I headed off at a brisk pace whilst drawing my pen and notebook from my bag. Sure enough, half way down the block the Volkswagen was stuck in traffic. It turned the corner and stopped in a handicapped space. I walked up and copied down the information; white Volkswagen Touareg, Texas plates and the number.

I saw a Transito officer near the car and tried to explain, in my horrible Spanish, what had just happened. All he did was point out to the driver (a gray bearded gringo) that he was in a handicapped zone.

I charged back up to the scene of the crime to find another Transito officer standing in front of the damaged vehicle, writing in a little notebook. I walked up to him and explained that I had seen the accident (or in my Spanish, “I see the accident”) and had a description of the vehicle and the plate numbers. “Bueno!” responded two women in the nearby shop. I gave him a description of the car, my name and home phone number.

Home, about an hour later, I received a call from the owner of the damaged vehicle. She asked that I meet her at the “Ministerio Publico” to help her file a complaint. I agreed (since the Ministerio Publico is very close to my house) and met Maria. A lovely young Mexican woman, very animated, who was quite unhappy with the way her day was going but extremely grateful that I was willing to be a witness. We talked about how easily the offender could have handled the situation. Body work on a car is not expensive in Mexico. He could have left a note, they could have met, and for about $75 USD he probably could have resolved the whole situation. (Anyone who drives a Touareg can probably afford a lot more.) Instead, he hit and ran, probably afraid which I tried to justify on his behalf (although I didn’t think his behavior correct).

I’ve heard horror stories about filing a compliant with the Ministerio Publico but I feel that I need to do my duty.

I probably should have stuck my head in the window of that Volkswagen and said, “I saw you take the bumper off that car and I have your plate numbers. You need to go back and resolve this or I’m going to turn you in. If you need my help, I’ll provide what translation services that I can.” But in truth, I was afraid that he might be a freak and I did what we tend to do in the states; turn it over to the authorities. But the authorities are a little different here and, in retrospect, I wish that I’d had the guts.

Maria needs more paperwork before she can file her complaint. So she has my home phone number and cell phone as well. We’ll see how it plays out. But I clearly felt like the good behavior of one gringo helped balance the bad behavior of another.

Man of the House

The husband had just finished reading a new book entitled, 'YOU CAN BE THE MAN OF YOUR HOUSE'. He stormed to his wife in the kitchen and announced, 'From now on, you need to know that I am the man of this house and my word is Law. You will prepare me a gourmet meal tonight, and when I'm finished eating my meal, you will serve me a sumptuous dessert. After dinner, you are going to go upstairs with me and we will have the kind of sex that I want. Afterwards, you are going to draw me a bath so I can relax. You will wash my back and towel me dry and bring me my robe. Then, you will massage my feet and hands. Then tomorrow, guess who's going to dress me and comb my hair?"

'The wife replied, 'The fuckin' funeral director would be my first guess.'

Mixing With Old World Celebrities

Background:

Toby and I met in San Miguel six years ago. He was 19 years old and was spending a year in Mexico studying Spanish. We struck up a friendship and since I was recently retired, and not quite sure what to do with myself, we decided to spend a month exploring the Yucatan together. When I asked Toby how his parents felt about him spending a month traveling with a 42 year old gay man, he said, “They say kindest regards to Charles.” A year later I was in London and received an email from Toby. “You can’t be this close and not come to Munich.” So I did and spent an amazing week with him and his family. Our friendship has endured and three years ago, he came to visit with a girlfriend.

Through his visits to San Miguel, I have come to know a German woman named Anita. Anita and her late husband split their time between San Miguel and Vienna and used to host German youngsters who come to San Miguel to study. They published one of the first German travel guides to Mexico (which I understand is still in publication) and have appeared on the cover of National Geographic, Anita in scuba gear reaching for the tail of a moray eel that was swimming above her.

This February Toby, now 25 and studying in Vienna, came to visit for a month. We decided that we needed to return the lovely dinners that Anita has invited us to in the past, so we invited Anita, Alex and his mother Regina up to the ranchito for dinner. Anita invited us to dinner the following evening.

The next night we were met at the door by a maid in uniform and directed to Anita’s beautifully appointed living room. In addition to Rodrigo, Toby and me, the guest list included our young friend Vanessa, Margarita (an Italian Princess) and Toller (a former Canadian ice skating champion and Olympic bronze medal winner, now an artist and full-time resident of San Miguel).

The dinner, as usual, was exquisite. Anita would use a small bell strategically placed in front of her, to summon the maid to serve and clear. But it was Toller (his long auburn hair slicked straight back, wearing a bright orange blazer and sporting a belt that might have been worn by Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Caribbean) who stole the show.

It is no secret that Toby is a strapping example of German youth. Toller took one look at him and it was to Toby that Toller focused nearly all of his attention for the entire evening.

“I’m having a show in Ajijic,” Toller said, “Worse than trailer trash. I’m going to have to import my own guests.”

At one point Toby was speaking with Vanessa when Toller interrupted. “Toby, I’m speaking to you. What amazing hands you have. Do you play the piano?”

“Umm, no. I did a bit as a child.”

“I’ll bet you could reach nearly two octaves with those hands.”

“Maybe and octave and a half . . .” Toby replied.

“Well, I must take my leave,” Toller said, standing to address the room. “I’m going to be walking home past the park. So if you hear screams of someone being molested, don’t come.” And with a flourish, he was gone.

The next day I received a phone call from Anita. “Hello Charles, I’m trying to reach Toby on his cell phone and it is not working. Toller has invited me and some ladies over for dinner this evening and he wants to invite Toby.” (No mention of me or Rodrigo or any of the former evening’s guests.)

“I’m sorry Anita, but Toby has gone to the ranch with Alex for the weekend. He’s out of cell phone range. Rather a good excuse for Toby I imagine.”

“Alright then, I’ll let Toller know.”

(I don’t know if Toller made any further attempts to contact Toby. Shortly after he returned from the ranch we took off on a road trip.)

Toby

Yale University Band Concert

When Rod asked me, “What kind of band is it?” I responded, “Well, it’s a band, not an orchestra so it’s like “Bring It On” kind of music. (Or so I assumed.)

The Yale University Band was all in black tie. Rod endured, I enjoyed.

Picture this:

In front of this (on a warm spring evening):

I guess it is a "band" instead of an "orchestra" because there are no string instruments.

It was a wonderful (free) concert. And while I was a little dissapointed that there were not more Mexicans in attendance (probably less than 2%), I was delighted when they brought out the local Mariachis to play for the band at the end.

And I have to admit, the Mariachis probably got a bigger round of applause than the Yale University Band.